Cityscape

to write you a poem

o to write you a poem
sleepy eyes & 5am
sitting (with my thoughts)
back terrace as the city
is still

o to write you a poem
of all the days & ways
we'd celebrate
Life & Love in themselves
(of course be happy)

o to write you a poem
but words don't burn
like night cigarettes
& memories stain
side street lines

o to write you a poem
of hidden stars
now all gone--
they go before sunrise
like us too

o to write you a poem
my mouth is dry
& here we sit
5 hours away
dreaming together

o to write you a poem
you are
my unfinished
poem
(goodnight)

weeping savannah

image.jpg

city of ruins

flesh-colored(dark)dreams

broken bones

 

history noosed

spanish scent of death

all but forgone

 

(women)thick accent

pinned to the breast

home

 

weeping savannah

do not weep

for me

 

repressed (something

distressed) 

archeological memory

 

ancient cross

rasp of splintered

normality

 

cast iron

gates--old as

centuries

 

weeping savannah

do not weep

for me

 

i have seen

both ends of

eternity

 

Friday night in New Orleans

Old dark men in brimmed hats make offers in passing. The city is charged with sounds of hollow brass and wicked laughing.

Here the entire universe is crazy and cock-eyed and extremely strange. 

Friday night in New Orleans never seems to end. Nights and days smear together like the availing souls within.

Here the entire universe is crazy and cock-eyed and extremely strange. 

Color redefined, or rediscovered through the artists lens. All the hues jump through the streets, their culture to defend.

Here the entire universe is crazy and cock-eyed and extremely strange.  

All the action belongs to you, the brawling in your face. The sun will rise in four more hours, but this city will not wait. 

Here the entire universe is crazy and cock-eyed and extremely strange. 

 

"New Orleans La" (2016), Elaine Adel Cummins, American.  Watercolor.

"New Orleans La" (2016), Elaine Adel Cummins, American.  Watercolor.

Millvale, PA

5/5/16

Sitting on a side street curb finishing a cigarette, the roar of a passenger bus reminds me of how close we are to the city. 

Looking around this little place I quickly realize its unique mid-century charm. Must have been beautiful in its previous life of rain coats and Sunday tea.

Eating at some run down pizzeria while an Italian guy cusses out a sidewalk musician and the neighborhood passes us by... 

Gazing at a faded storefront mural across the street, staring into the souls of forgotten loved ones and proud citizens. 

Driving away at dark with a shitty cup of coffee and a new silent hope, despite the continued Pittsburgh rain. 

Waking to sunlight dancing on your face, eyes open and shining like the morning sun. A new beginning yet you remember the old.