Tara Donovan

While I am preparing my next post, I thought I'd fill the page with imagery that I find so beautiful and organic, porous and feminine, the works of Tara Donovan. I had to see if she was of Asian decent as these spoke hints of fish and flora life, hence she is not, and actually looks a lot like Bridget Fonda. People have told me that I look like Bridget Fonda, so in a sense she looks like me, my artistry kin.

She is the one in the middle. (all photos have been pulled off the web and are not mine)

Tara Donovan

While I am preparing my next post, I thought I'd fill the page with imagery that I find so beautiful and organic, porous and feminine, the works of Tara Donovan. I had to see if she was of Asian decent as these spoke hints of fish and flora life, hence she is not, and actually looks a lot like Bridget Fonda. People have told me that I look like Bridget Fonda, so in a sense she looks like me, my artistry kin.

She is the one in the middle. (all photos have been pulled off the web and are not mine)

Coney Island, Cyclones game, fireworks on the beach, and beer at Rubys.

Coney Island, Cyclones game, fireworks on the beach, and beer at Rubys.

No, this is not Hawaii, it's Wildwood Crest

After seeing a blog that highlights a gem of a film, by Ruthless Films titled, Wildwood , I had to post. My brother sent this to me on Thursday, and it was so worth it. Not only is it spot-on. It ties into my theme of places in which time stands still, and stagnancy is seen at it’s finest. Wildwood is the epidimy of that.

My family and I summered here in the 1970’s. To me, it was my wonderland, my Disney World, my American Dream to vacation in such the splendors of Wildwood Crest. We stayed in the Compass Hotel, and our cousins stayed across the street at The Shalimar was a step up from the Compass, garnished with purple paint and a pool that included caverns and bridges. The Compass was more humble. It was a nice orange themed motel with shuffleboard, a pool, and rooms equipped with kitchenettes. All the rooms had a shared balcony, and the high light was getting a bucket of ice down the end of the hall for our folks’ gin and tonics and sodas for us. At night the lights situated on the balcony would shine down upon the pool illuminated our vacation pod with a stunning view of the long stretched beach over the parking lot. We ate breakfast in our our kitchenette; cereal from the individually wrapped boxes where you cut the top open to the cardboard and pour the milk right in. Apple Jacks for me, Froot Loops for my brother, the Rice Krispies were always the left over boxes in the mix. After a long day at the beach, we’d come back to cook spaghetti and meatballs on the stove top, and again retrieve ice from down the hall, and over look the lit pool. Aaahhhh. Honestly, what more could a person ask for. Maybe it’s just nostalgia, but as an adult I yearn to head back there for a weekend vacation with some girlfriends in hopes that these small things will still excite and thrill me, and honestly I believe it will.
If you have any Wild Wood stories yourself, I’d love to hear your comments.

No, this is not Hawaii, it's Wildwood Crest

After seeing a blog that highlights a gem of a film, by Ruthless Films titled, Wildwood , I had to post. My brother sent this to me on Thursday, and it was so worth it. Not only is it spot-on. It ties into my theme of places in which time stands still, and stagnancy is seen at it’s finest. Wildwood is the epidimy of that.

My family and I summered here in the 1970’s. To me, it was my wonderland, my Disney World, my American Dream to vacation in such the splendors of Wildwood Crest. We stayed in the Compass Hotel, and our cousins stayed across the street at The Shalimar was a step up from the Compass, garnished with purple paint and a pool that included caverns and bridges. The Compass was more humble. It was a nice orange themed motel with shuffleboard, a pool, and rooms equipped with kitchenettes. All the rooms had a shared balcony, and the high light was getting a bucket of ice down the end of the hall for our folks’ gin and tonics and sodas for us. At night the lights situated on the balcony would shine down upon the pool illuminated our vacation pod with a stunning view of the long stretched beach over the parking lot. We ate breakfast in our our kitchenette; cereal from the individually wrapped boxes where you cut the top open to the cardboard and pour the milk right in. Apple Jacks for me, Froot Loops for my brother, the Rice Krispies were always the left over boxes in the mix. After a long day at the beach, we’d come back to cook spaghetti and meatballs on the stove top, and again retrieve ice from down the hall, and over look the lit pool. Aaahhhh. Honestly, what more could a person ask for. Maybe it’s just nostalgia, but as an adult I yearn to head back there for a weekend vacation with some girlfriends in hopes that these small things will still excite and thrill me, and honestly I believe it will.
If you have any Wild Wood stories yourself, I’d love to hear your comments.

Deerfield North

I spent the weekend In Bucks County, Pennsylvania for Father’s Day. Bucks County is a place in which I can count on most things and people to be in place as they were since I was a kid there and its landmarks can sometimes depict that stagnancy. And this sign is a prime example of that. I can still always be a kid, or a teenager when I go ‘home’

A few months back, in order to break in a new camera, I decided to document the Deerfield North sign. I have always loved its aesthetic charm, and the fact that it has been there since 1976. To me, the sign is representative of how time stands still there in more ways than one.

Deerfield North, a typical suburban division of Richboro and its welcome is this blocky, stone wall with a wooden sign with the title of our development etched into it, and unbelievably held up pretty well considering the weather in Pa. It has never been updated or replaced in all these years, and just a few months I finally decided to document this sign before the township awoke up one day to say, Wow, that sign is going into another decade and it wrecks of 1970.

Well, as time has it, two weeks ago the sign was uprooted by a drunk driver and has since been replaced with a modern sign. I didn’t notice this until I passed it this weekend with my Mother and was horrified to see in it’s place a ‘modern’ at least by Richboro standards, a brand new thin metal frame with the words Deerfield North in cursive on frail base, and so unappealing. It made me so sad to see, but so relieved that I took a piece of that memory with me before its fall to modernity.

images on the inside

Deerfield North

I spent the weekend In Bucks County, Pennsylvania for Father’s Day. Bucks County is a place in which I can count on most things and people to be in place as they were since I was a kid there and its landmarks can sometimes depict that stagnancy. And this sign is a prime example of that. I can still always be a kid, or a teenager when I go ‘home’

A few months back, in order to break in a new camera, I decided to document the Deerfield North sign. I have always loved its aesthetic charm, and the fact that it has been there since 1976. To me, the sign is representative of how time stands still there in more ways than one.

Deerfield North, a typical suburban division of Richboro and its welcome is this blocky, stone wall with a wooden sign with the title of our development etched into it, and unbelievably held up pretty well considering the weather in Pa. It has never been updated or replaced in all these years, and just a few months I finally decided to document this sign before the township awoke up one day to say, Wow, that sign is going into another decade and it wrecks of 1970.

Well, as time has it, two weeks ago the sign was uprooted by a drunk driver and has since been replaced with a modern sign. I didn’t notice this until I passed it this weekend with my Mother and was horrified to see in it’s place a ‘modern’ at least by Richboro standards, a brand new thin metal frame with the words Deerfield North in cursive on frail base, and so unappealing. It made me so sad to see, but so relieved that I took a piece of that memory with me before its fall to modernity.

images on the inside

Coo Coo for Coa Coa Puffs

Party Saturday night was hostile, and odd. The people were wasted and therefore hurting one another with their words, and presumptions, accusations, and opinions, after a few consoled the others by analyzing and answering the questions as to why what was being said. This was a party hosted by a woman who completed her PHD in psychology, all of the guests there were her peers in the program. Man, I wonder if that is how loose my psychiatrist gets when out! And they seem so damn docile!

A West Side Story

I awoke Saturday morning with a horrible restlessness bordering on depression. I knew exactly what is it was, Change. I yearned for a new scenery, a purpose to life outside of the cement and routine of a 9-5 job. I was feeling stuck. I have been living in New York, Carroll Gardens, to be exact for 6 years. Prior to that I was living in San Francisco, also for 6 years, seeing the trend here? And to validate that feeling I was invited to; not 1, not 2 but 3 “Going Away” parties that same night. Man, was I reeling with jealousy but also, I couldn’t help but take it as a sign. If you ask me where I want to go and why, I will be flaky and answer, somewhere Latin, so I can fulfill my dream to speak fluent Spanish and to be in a place that is not New York. Another minute I may say that I want to live somewhere in Colorado or Maine or Vermont, any place I can hike and bike around daily. In any case, I yearned for the great out doors and nature that can compel me to have a great outlook on life and the world that surrounds me. I went to 2 of the 3 parties, both were in my neighborhood, just to make feel even more ‘stuck’. Both these hosts to were embarking on a new adventure; one, a 6 month residency, in India, the other, a year residency in Asia, and I wasn’t even getting out of Brooklyn that night! Pass one more pot cookie please, I need to go away at least mentally.

The very next day, this feeling of happiness and joy and utter pride and appreciation washed over me, and extinguished my self-imposed rut from just hours before. See, I purchased a new laptop the day before. It only took me three years of complaining how I needed to be technologically mobile, but too cheap to throw down the cash on such an imposing implement of technology. I despise most electronics, and hence my gradual craw into the 21st century. Yes, I was the last one to own an ipod, and when my employer enforced a Blackberry upon me, and I thought I would die. In any case, I had to buy an external hard drive from J&R, so I used that as an excuse to hop on my bike, head over the Brooklyn bridge and towards Battery Park up the West side high way along the water. It restored my love for New York again. I didn't need to leave New York, I just needed to leave Brooklyn and be a tourist. I’m all about being a tourist in my own city. It's like being on vacation everyday and they do not annoy me because I am sharing in their newness and pleasure, but I also own the pride of residing in my city. The water did wonders for my spirit, as did the rest of the greenery, flora and architecture I was unaware of.

Along the route I saw the gas station that my brother and I turn right at to get to the Holland Tunnel when heading home to Pennsylvania when visit our folks. It was closed down, the 2nd one that day. The first was one in Brooklyn went I went to get air in my tire. I have connections to most things here, and this is one of them, I didn't realize the connection until I saw it was closed down.

A West Side Story

I awoke Saturday morning with a horrible restlessness bordering on depression. I knew exactly what is it was, Change. I yearned for a new scenery, a purpose to life outside of the cement and routine of a 9-5 job. I was feeling stuck. I have been living in New York, Carroll Gardens, to be exact for 6 years. Prior to that I was living in San Francisco, also for 6 years, seeing the trend here? And to validate that feeling I was invited to; not 1, not 2 but 3 “Going Away” parties that same night. Man, was I reeling with jealousy but also, I couldn’t help but take it as a sign. If you ask me where I want to go and why, I will be flaky and answer, somewhere Latin, so I can fulfill my dream to speak fluent Spanish and to be in a place that is not New York. Another minute I may say that I want to live somewhere in Colorado or Maine or Vermont, any place I can hike and bike around daily. In any case, I yearned for the great out doors and nature that can compel me to have a great outlook on life and the world that surrounds me. I went to 2 of the 3 parties, both were in my neighborhood, just to make feel even more ‘stuck’. Both these hosts to were embarking on a new adventure; one, a 6 month residency, in India, the other, a year residency in Asia, and I wasn’t even getting out of Brooklyn that night! Pass one more pot cookie please, I need to go away at least mentally.

The very next day, this feeling of happiness and joy and utter pride and appreciation washed over me, and extinguished my self-imposed rut from just hours before. See, I purchased a new laptop the day before. It only took me three years of complaining how I needed to be technologically mobile, but too cheap to throw down the cash on such an imposing implement of technology. I despise most electronics, and hence my gradual craw into the 21st century. Yes, I was the last one to own an ipod, and when my employer enforced a Blackberry upon me, and I thought I would die. In any case, I had to buy an external hard drive from J&R, so I used that as an excuse to hop on my bike, head over the Brooklyn bridge and towards Battery Park up the West side high way along the water. It restored my love for New York again. I didn't need to leave New York, I just needed to leave Brooklyn and be a tourist. I’m all about being a tourist in my own city. It's like being on vacation everyday and they do not annoy me because I am sharing in their newness and pleasure, but I also own the pride of residing in my city. The water did wonders for my spirit, as did the rest of the greenery, flora and architecture I was unaware of.

Along the route I saw the gas station that my brother and I turn right at to get to the Holland Tunnel when heading home to Pennsylvania when visit our folks. It was closed down, the 2nd one that day. The first was one in Brooklyn went I went to get air in my tire. I have connections to most things here, and this is one of them, I didn't realize the connection until I saw it was closed down.

Memorial Day at the Met

Why do most people go to the Met? To see a particular exhibit of course, or perhaps explore their romantic side and view the old steadies. Myself, I go for the best roof action in NYC.

I will go to the roof to grab an over priced martini and sit among the tourists as I look over the landscape of Central park, and all the ‘dripping wet rich’ apartment buildings. It is my escape. The art up there merely serves as my backdrop for outdoor drinking. The installation is quite nice to view, and no, I’m not a total ignoramus. I very much wanted to see this exhibit months in advance, and I did enjoy it. It was an installation of stainless steel branches, titled, Maelstro, by American artist, Roxy Paine.

I took a few snap shots of the long, silver, shiny branches, while overhearing an ignoramus ask, I wonder how they got this up here? I guess he didn’t know that A.) Um, all of the pieces were very visually welded together, and B.) There is thing called d a forklift, and c) A fairly feasible thing to imagine as it is being placed on an open roof. I needed to leave, all the European and country accents and comments were reminding me of why I don’t venture out to the city during weekends and holidays. I headed inside, back down to the exit.

Yes, of course I took in some of the art inside, on the way through towards the exit. And this caught my eye, not the art work itself, the room, the light and how the collection was so immaculately laid out, sort of my Aunt Mary’s humble collection in Northeast Philly apartment.
Ah, art is in the eye of the beholder that is trying frantically to find the way out of the elaborate institution. I had to seize my primary quest to ease my thirst for art, which was to see the Frank Lloyd Wright exhibit at the Guggenheim. (I highly recommend it, but I'm biased, he is one of my favorite wonders.)

This was my day to walk and take part in MY city; I relinquished and was one with the tourists. After all that art and dry martini, I was starved, needless to say I was so absorbed in art viewing I missed the bbq back in Brooklyn. So I succumbed to my ache for a hot dog, and low and behold I had one, and why, because it’s New York. Oh and it being Memorial day, rules went out the window I had to get a chocolate cone with jimmies, yes, Philly folks call sprinkles, jimmies.

Art viewing art.

Memorial Day at the Met

Why do most people go to the Met? To see a particular exhibit of course, or perhaps explore their romantic side and view the old steadies. Myself, I go for the best roof action in NYC.

I will go to the roof to grab an over priced martini and sit among the tourists as I look over the landscape of Central park, and all the ‘dripping wet rich’ apartment buildings. It is my escape. The art up there merely serves as my backdrop for outdoor drinking. The installation is quite nice to view, and no, I’m not a total ignoramus. I very much wanted to see this exhibit months in advance, and I did enjoy it. It was an installation of stainless steel branches, titled, Maelstro, by American artist, Roxy Paine.

I took a few snap shots of the long, silver, shiny branches, while overhearing an ignoramus ask, I wonder how they got this up here? I guess he didn’t know that A.) Um, all of the pieces were very visually welded together, and B.) There is thing called d a forklift, and c) A fairly feasible thing to imagine as it is being placed on an open roof. I needed to leave, all the European and country accents and comments were reminding me of why I don’t venture out to the city during weekends and holidays. I headed inside, back down to the exit.

Yes, of course I took in some of the art inside, on the way through towards the exit. And this caught my eye, not the art work itself, the room, the light and how the collection was so immaculately laid out, sort of my Aunt Mary’s humble collection in Northeast Philly apartment.
Ah, art is in the eye of the beholder that is trying frantically to find the way out of the elaborate institution. I had to seize my primary quest to ease my thirst for art, which was to see the Frank Lloyd Wright exhibit at the Guggenheim. (I highly recommend it, but I'm biased, he is one of my favorite wonders.)

This was my day to walk and take part in MY city; I relinquished and was one with the tourists. After all that art and dry martini, I was starved, needless to say I was so absorbed in art viewing I missed the bbq back in Brooklyn. So I succumbed to my ache for a hot dog, and low and behold I had one, and why, because it’s New York. Oh and it being Memorial day, rules went out the window I had to get a chocolate cone with jimmies, yes, Philly folks call sprinkles, jimmies.

Art viewing art.

Harlan Ellison

Harlan Ellison You Tube Video
Today, like every Saturday, I was cleaning up my apartment while listening to NPR’s 360. Tuning in to the man being interviewed, I stopped and listened closer. This man, was so animated and this was just through the radio! He was blunt and honest, irate and enjoyable; such a pleasure to listen to, but most of all, this guy was funny! Reason why? As the wise words of Homer once said, “It’s funny cuz it’s true’. I grabbed the name of the interviewee of Kurt Anderson towards the break of the show, and he introduced his guest, as Harlan Ellison. I immediately put down my broom, hoped on the Internet and goggled him and this is the video I came upon. It couldn’t define his character any better, or demonstrate why I feel in love with this character, he is H-i-l-a-r-i-o-u-s! Let the video speak for itself. This is for all you talented artists out there! Enjoy. And if you too, become an immediate fan of his, you are in luck. This piece is part of a movie on DVD, titled, Dreams with sharp teeth. You can download the 11 minute interview. The lesson here: Be yourself, be frank, and f*&ck Warner Brothers.

Harlan Ellison

Harlan Ellison You Tube Video
Today, like every Saturday, I was cleaning up my apartment while listening to NPR’s 360. Tuning in to the man being interviewed, I stopped and listened closer. This man, was so animated and this was just through the radio! He was blunt and honest, irate and enjoyable; such a pleasure to listen to, but most of all, this guy was funny! Reason why? As the wise words of Homer once said, “It’s funny cuz it’s true’. I grabbed the name of the interviewee of Kurt Anderson towards the break of the show, and he introduced his guest, as Harlan Ellison. I immediately put down my broom, hoped on the Internet and goggled him and this is the video I came upon. It couldn’t define his character any better, or demonstrate why I feel in love with this character, he is H-i-l-a-r-i-o-u-s! Let the video speak for itself. This is for all you talented artists out there! Enjoy. And if you too, become an immediate fan of his, you are in luck. This piece is part of a movie on DVD, titled, Dreams with sharp teeth. You can download the 11 minute interview. The lesson here: Be yourself, be frank, and f*&ck Warner Brothers.

Bad Luck of the Irish (NY Press)

Read my published piece in the New York Press.

Bad Luck of the Irish (NY Press)

Read my published piece in the New York Press.

My Top 5 New York

1. Red Hook park pier at 8am in the early summer. Where black fisherman still exist and grab some time together before the pier becomes crowded and can enjoy their fishing tradition with an unobstructed view of the Statue of Liberty. You can hear and the ocean lapping against the land making hard to remember that you’re in Brooklyn. This place is rugged and open, and seems to remain a secret. In one case, one of the fishermen asks if I want to see what he caught, I look over and into his bucket, scream and recoil when I see a bloated, bluish, thorny looking fish with bulgy eyes reminiscent to Blinky. They all laugh and I respond with, that fish is so ugly you cant even use it for bait!

2. The Gowanus Canal located between Red Hook and Park Slope, and on the edge of Carroll Gardens is a sacred place that you will never have to compete with a tourist or any local for that matter, to have view while a leaning against the Union street bridge, one of the four bridges that this toxic canal passes through. Mostly known as the dumping ground for the Mafia back in the day. It sits on the edge of Carroll Gardens which has a reputation as ‘home’ to the mob. Al Capone’ wedding took place just a few blocks away in this predominately Italian neighborhood in St. Ann’s.

3. Carroll Gardens, is a place I call home, with tree-lined streets that meet Smith Street, the main strip, otherwise known as, ‘Little France’. There is Bartabec, Robin de Bois, Patois and a hair salon, Salon de Quartier. Patois, was a great little restaurant with horrible service, but heart warming food. It houses a dinning room with a hearthy fireplace, reflecting a cozy and intimate environment. It closed up and moved away from Smith street two years back to the city. It was wonderful for brunch where you could once indulge in roasted duck with poached eggs, unlimited Bloody Mary’s and coffee, and brown bread with butter that tastes like cream. It reminded me of having a late lunch in Dingle, Ireland.

4. Red Hook Recreational Center and Pool is the best thing to do to beat the heat. All you need is a bikini, a lock for your stuff, and some money. Claim a spot for your towel towards the end of the large, Olympic size pool (this is the pool they were going to use if we were granted the summer Olympics.) After a few laps, cross the street to the Latino Food Stalls, and enjoy some home-made Guatemalan tamales and Salvadorian empanadas. Burn it off, with a 5-block walk over to Sixpoints Brewery for a pint of Brooklyn’s finest atop the balcony to enjoy views of the sun set.


5. Pearl River is an over-priced, Asian store on Broadway close to Canal that specializes in super cool trinkets, you know, of all of the things you don’t need, but must have once inside. You go for two bags of the brown rice loose tea, and walk out with everything ranging from little silk purses, to bamboo placemats, wooden blinds and one of those cute ceramic waving, one-eyed cats. Once you have burned through your wallet, after making that one final purchase of a gold dipped dog with money in it’s mouth, for the Year of the Dog, you spend what ever you have left over on stocking stuffers and gifts for out-of towners on Canal street.

My Top 5 New York

1. Red Hook park pier at 8am in the early summer. Where black fisherman still exist and grab some time together before the pier becomes crowded and can enjoy their fishing tradition with an unobstructed view of the Statue of Liberty. You can hear and the ocean lapping against the land making hard to remember that you’re in Brooklyn. This place is rugged and open, and seems to remain a secret. In one case, one of the fishermen asks if I want to see what he caught, I look over and into his bucket, scream and recoil when I see a bloated, bluish, thorny looking fish with bulgy eyes reminiscent to Blinky. They all laugh and I respond with, that fish is so ugly you cant even use it for bait!

2. The Gowanus Canal located between Red Hook and Park Slope, and on the edge of Carroll Gardens is a sacred place that you will never have to compete with a tourist or any local for that matter, to have view while a leaning against the Union street bridge, one of the four bridges that this toxic canal passes through. Mostly known as the dumping ground for the Mafia back in the day. It sits on the edge of Carroll Gardens which has a reputation as ‘home’ to the mob. Al Capone’ wedding took place just a few blocks away in this predominately Italian neighborhood in St. Ann’s.

3. Carroll Gardens, is a place I call home, with tree-lined streets that meet Smith Street, the main strip, otherwise known as, ‘Little France’. There is Bartabec, Robin de Bois, Patois and a hair salon, Salon de Quartier. Patois, was a great little restaurant with horrible service, but heart warming food. It houses a dinning room with a hearthy fireplace, reflecting a cozy and intimate environment. It closed up and moved away from Smith street two years back to the city. It was wonderful for brunch where you could once indulge in roasted duck with poached eggs, unlimited Bloody Mary’s and coffee, and brown bread with butter that tastes like cream. It reminded me of having a late lunch in Dingle, Ireland.

4. Red Hook Recreational Center and Pool is the best thing to do to beat the heat. All you need is a bikini, a lock for your stuff, and some money. Claim a spot for your towel towards the end of the large, Olympic size pool (this is the pool they were going to use if we were granted the summer Olympics.) After a few laps, cross the street to the Latino Food Stalls, and enjoy some home-made Guatemalan tamales and Salvadorian empanadas. Burn it off, with a 5-block walk over to Sixpoints Brewery for a pint of Brooklyn’s finest atop the balcony to enjoy views of the sun set.


5. Pearl River is an over-priced, Asian store on Broadway close to Canal that specializes in super cool trinkets, you know, of all of the things you don’t need, but must have once inside. You go for two bags of the brown rice loose tea, and walk out with everything ranging from little silk purses, to bamboo placemats, wooden blinds and one of those cute ceramic waving, one-eyed cats. Once you have burned through your wallet, after making that one final purchase of a gold dipped dog with money in it’s mouth, for the Year of the Dog, you spend what ever you have left over on stocking stuffers and gifts for out-of towners on Canal street.

I AM FROM...........

I am from

I am from red candy apples, chalk on pavement, and hopscotch
I am from plastic covers that protect living room furniture
From the game ’Twister’ and Shoots and Ladders
I am from ‘Threes Company’ and ‘Little House on the Prairie
I am from tiny individual cereal boxes that come in a “variety pack”.
I’m from vacations that include motels with a kichenette, a hallway that leads to an ice vending machine, shuffleboard and fake palm trees
I’m from frozen dinners and take out pizza, with the thin crisp crust and the gooey cheese
I’m from the city of cheese steaks and soft pretzels, mummers parade, disgruntled fans
I am from Atari, Simon, Parcheesi and tag
Tag at night, in the summer, after catching lighting bugs and mosquito bites
I’m from the twilight of the tv screen in a darkened room
And an imagination all my own

I AM FROM...........

I am from

I am from red candy apples, chalk on pavement, and hopscotch
I am from plastic covers that protect living room furniture
From the game ’Twister’ and Shoots and Ladders
I am from ‘Threes Company’ and ‘Little House on the Prairie
I am from tiny individual cereal boxes that come in a “variety pack”.
I’m from vacations that include motels with a kichenette, a hallway that leads to an ice vending machine, shuffleboard and fake palm trees
I’m from frozen dinners and take out pizza, with the thin crisp crust and the gooey cheese
I’m from the city of cheese steaks and soft pretzels, mummers parade, disgruntled fans
I am from Atari, Simon, Parcheesi and tag
Tag at night, in the summer, after catching lighting bugs and mosquito bites
I’m from the twilight of the tv screen in a darkened room
And an imagination all my own

POEMS

:: train ::

Ladies and gentlemen
I’m hungry
A dollar
A nickel, a penny, anything would help
Maybe a piece of fruit
And if you are feeling up to a hug

Heads shift up out of habit
But then retire back to their book
Anywhere to avert their eyes

Same ol' song and dance
For some, this F train
has been their performance space, platform , and sounding board
for years

No woman, no cry no woman no cry
I remember whenna' we used to it…

In between, fade outs of public speeches and entertainment
we sit unfazed or at least sport a mask of sub-emotion
fade back in, and become the clinking, the clattering of the train amid a fog of conversations

“Delancey, East Broadway next stop”

train escorts us along
paranoia sets in, of my fellow, intimately situated stranger
reading my most private of thoughts
I look up to determine that he is quite submerged in his own reading
My narcissism, such self-importance to assume this stranger is just aching to share in even just a glimpse of my material
My profanity on paper

Any concern for privacy
Material for my own consumption

look around and take in all of the people in my wide-angle view, my telephoto
outcry of averting eyes
towards public ads: CUNY
Legal assistance, en espanol

Glasses, sans glasses, headphones, black, white, ipods, iphones, blackberries, songs seeping tinny through cheap phones, muffled crap music through others

A palette of fluorescent light and mundane hues, not too foreign from the office I just escaped

We ride in this familiar interior for 20 minutes and more a day strangers to one another we are the pole holders, or the lucky few who are the seat dwellers
We are strangers we are each other, we are new Yorkers.
(end)



::transport me, transfer me::

Transport me, transfer me
Serrendipously, lovingly
In this vessel, this silver submarine
Sleepy and serene
With out an exterior scene
We are forced to look with in
With those we share this 60 feet tin
A temporary place with our urban kin

United we stand
United we claim our place in this 20 minute space

Us lucky ones sit

Unyielding
Colors in dream
redeem
a seat or
a lean

Conversations in Yiddish, Russian ,Spanish
Brooklynish

We ride along in a daze, day dreaming to be someone else, somewhere else
(end)



: love ::

A grab from around the waist
As she does the dishes
A stern, ‘not now Joe’
To follow

‘to my beautiful wife’
‘to my loving husband’
this is how they address one another
on paper during holidays

she wears the pants
he provides them

she dictates
he educates

she reads circulars
he cuts the grass
she leans into the dishwasher
he smacks her ass

they argue, they fight
they bitch and they yell
they dwell
in safety and support
in love
a communion only they can know

kids they come and go
they come and go

pets they live and die
they live and die
a couple , they grow and grow
fore ever they grow

he calls her Bell
she calls him Joe

(end) created for my parents' 40th wedding anniversary

POEMS

:: train ::

Ladies and gentlemen
I’m hungry
A dollar
A nickel, a penny, anything would help
Maybe a piece of fruit
And if you are feeling up to a hug

Heads shift up out of habit
But then retire back to their book
Anywhere to avert their eyes

Same ol' song and dance
For some, this F train
has been their performance space, platform , and sounding board
for years

No woman, no cry no woman no cry
I remember whenna' we used to it…

In between, fade outs of public speeches and entertainment
we sit unfazed or at least sport a mask of sub-emotion
fade back in, and become the clinking, the clattering of the train amid a fog of conversations

“Delancey, East Broadway next stop”

train escorts us along
paranoia sets in, of my fellow, intimately situated stranger
reading my most private of thoughts
I look up to determine that he is quite submerged in his own reading
My narcissism, such self-importance to assume this stranger is just aching to share in even just a glimpse of my material
My profanity on paper

Any concern for privacy
Material for my own consumption

look around and take in all of the people in my wide-angle view, my telephoto
outcry of averting eyes
towards public ads: CUNY
Legal assistance, en espanol

Glasses, sans glasses, headphones, black, white, ipods, iphones, blackberries, songs seeping tinny through cheap phones, muffled crap music through others

A palette of fluorescent light and mundane hues, not too foreign from the office I just escaped

We ride in this familiar interior for 20 minutes and more a day strangers to one another we are the pole holders, or the lucky few who are the seat dwellers
We are strangers we are each other, we are new Yorkers.
(end)



::transport me, transfer me::

Transport me, transfer me
Serrendipously, lovingly
In this vessel, this silver submarine
Sleepy and serene
With out an exterior scene
We are forced to look with in
With those we share this 60 feet tin
A temporary place with our urban kin

United we stand
United we claim our place in this 20 minute space

Us lucky ones sit

Unyielding
Colors in dream
redeem
a seat or
a lean

Conversations in Yiddish, Russian ,Spanish
Brooklynish

We ride along in a daze, day dreaming to be someone else, somewhere else
(end)



: love ::

A grab from around the waist
As she does the dishes
A stern, ‘not now Joe’
To follow

‘to my beautiful wife’
‘to my loving husband’
this is how they address one another
on paper during holidays

she wears the pants
he provides them

she dictates
he educates

she reads circulars
he cuts the grass
she leans into the dishwasher
he smacks her ass

they argue, they fight
they bitch and they yell
they dwell
in safety and support
in love
a communion only they can know

kids they come and go
they come and go

pets they live and die
they live and die
a couple , they grow and grow
fore ever they grow

he calls her Bell
she calls him Joe

(end) created for my parents' 40th wedding anniversary