Grip

I'm hopelessly tenacious

trying to hold onto what is mine

or what I hope to be mine

guarding my territory like an ineffectual kitten

my little corner of the universe threatened once again

by shining stars newly discovered

and here I am, the smallest moon

orbiting around a planet I cannot pull

unable to eclipse or even turn a tide

what little order I restore on the planet's surface

gone unnoticed, for I do not illuminate

like those stars, or even intrigue like stardust

Pond, Central Park

Fluffy punk ducks

strutting across the new grass.

They don’t have time for sparrows,

shrugging at the geese,

who don’t mess with the mallards;

They have a reputation with the ladies,

will rip that bread right out of your boy’s hands-

And they don’t sit for no one.

You find the ordinary in the extraordinary,

sitting like a sort of Buddha on a lumpy couch, harvesting ugliness

while pretending you are fascinating. I haven’t traveled much,

but I hear there are far-off lands where the people would sigh in fascination

at your kind. Well, here you are as exotic as a French fry.

To be fair, I’ve always had an unhealthy thing for French fries.

But you – you’re not even a McDonald’s guilty pleasure.

You’re a nameless Midtown deli’s flaccid excuse, and I’m not even hungry.

This Tiara

I am the queen of the crosstown bus
I wear this tiara to distinguish myself from the common commuter
My head held high, the Swarovski crystals glisten as they reflect off the MTA's windows.
Curtsy to my quirkiness!  This is my kingdom.
Yesterday my carriage pulled away before I could board.
My tiara went askew as I gave chase.
This mutiny did not go unnoticed.
One will write a scathing email of complaint, or a royal Yelp!

A late onset loss
When panic attacks
With heat waving in
The turn of September

In interrupted thoughts
Start of an ending
I venture too far
To fall back again

Procession of dry tears
And rude waking dreams
Opening my book
While the phone rings

Spring Sonnet

It's a tiny squeak of Life, at first blink
Where whispers have yet to find a home
The air smells different today, I think
Lighter, even while excess weighs down
We begin to own the earth again
Bones take coaxing to creak come morning
No longer a child - don't want to be
Even so, I'll dress bright as I like
Just like the tween discovering her point
And I'll eat the gummy vitamins
Paid for with the hard-earned cash derived by
My very grown-up office job
While I am barefoot come lunchtime
And I'll decide if my verse shall rhyme.

too bright

The lights of the streets are too bright for the stars

To shine upon people of the pitiful pavement-

Artificial glitter, giving hypocritical heat

Behind fences, flowers are wrought with homesickness

As the screams of traffic and haste, going, going, 

Never fleeing fast enough to escape the concrete,

While untold millions stacked, piled vertically

Withdraw into similar scenes, absent experience

Painstakingly documenting the unmemorable.