Dear Reader,
Writing poetry at times feels like work. Like a miner, you dive into the “word-hoard” with chisel and spade and hand and hope to come back holding diamonds. But sometimes, on a good day, writing poetry comes easily, like stumbling on an almost-finished painting, or a recipe, all they need then is a steady hand to finish what was already started.
This is how my poem A Quiet City Block came into being.
I was sitting in Soho, finishing my coffee, when all of a sudden the city went quiet. But the silence was quickly interrupted by a taxi rolling down the cobblestone, the silence banished by the sound of rolling rubber wheels. I quickly took out my notebook and jotted down these lines. They came quickly, like water from a faucet and before I knew it I was staring at a finished poem.
Happy Reading!
A CITY BLOCK
Cars rolling over the cobblestone
Like thunder rumbling after a storm—
Out of place on a sunny city block
That knows only the pitter-patter
Of wide eyes tourists
Soaking in the scene.Recent Publications:
Check out my recent essay in Common Good Mag: How to Live A Life of Presence in an Instagram World