unbound spring.
morning warmth.
a soft sun.
quiet sundays, a semicolon to summer.
`
Grand Central Station.
Iconic.
Marble.
Vibrating today with bagpipes and straight backs and a history forgotten.
There are tears at the edges of my eyes i did not put there.
I am grateful to be on a train today.
Grateful to have heard the music, the complicated instrument.
`
At the edge of Williamsburg, where development meets empty and water.
The city always looks the flattest flat from this angle.
Sunny out, wet underfoot.
Looking for perspective.
And answers that will never arrive.
`
New York is so undeniably itself under grey skies.
Barely perceptible tree buds quietly.
Greenwich Village.
Old streets.
Little corners.
Architectural details.
Brick cleaned by rain.
A whispered vibrancy .even in darkness.
`
the air felt like sea air today.
melancholy.
horizon line promising.
Forgetting.
hands waving at the dock.
fog mist soft wet wool.
`
today is watery melancholy spring
silk bias cut quilted sky
Neither gray nor blue. .both
`
besotted by spring.
`
First there was a string.
Then there was a knot.
`
Tender.
Flaky.
Rich.
Light.
Supple.
Vegetal.
Herbacious.
Unreal.
`
O No.
Vanilla is the muse of chocolate.
`
Today Brooklyn is Oakland.
Quiet. Desolate. Grey. Vast.
`
Purplish night.
New Jersey lights.
A soft and mercurial Hudson River.
Black dock pylons, broken rows, water eaten wood.
Gulls kibbutzing screaming interrupting.
Eyes refocus:one white bird sits neatly on each black line, like a matchstick.
`
Dusk.
Quilted sky.
Water towers silhouette.
Houston street and all its traffic lights.
Old squats.
Shiny kitchen equipment.
Memoried memories.
Footfalls distinct.
`
new york city winter 2009 - spring 2010
This is so beautiful and a wonderful first thing to read in the morning.
I'm so glad you're back in NYC.
I just hope you fell like you're home.
Posted by: Victoria | 26 March 2010 at 06:28 AM
I like your semicolon to summer. Thanks for sharing!
Posted by: Chou | 26 March 2010 at 08:22 AM
Sigh, cry, laugh out loud. Thank you, Shuna, for the visceral visuals.
Posted by: Janice | 26 March 2010 at 01:02 PM
Shuna,til the other day I was unaware that you have this gift as well. Inherited I'm sure from both your parents,but the ability to minimalize words yet say so much,and with such color and impact (plus that subtle wry humor)is your Mom. I cherish these qualities every time I re-read Take The Long Way Home,and it's lovely to encounter them in your writing. Best wishes,Brian V.
Posted by: Brian Voorheis | 01 April 2010 at 10:41 AM
I enjoyed these. "postcard poems."...intriguing title. Is this something you do each time you travel, or do you always write poems on postcards? I'm curious. Thank you for sharing your poems.
hello Denise, I love writing postcards & have been known to write many postcards which form a poem. But these are texts I send to a few people I love and I thought I would share them with the rest of you. They mark my journey here thus far. thanks for reading & being curious. ~ shuna
Posted by: Denise | 05 April 2010 at 06:25 PM