Verses after a Storm

I woke on Tuesday with a poem in my head. It was the morning after Hurricane Sandy made landfall, and I was relieved to discover that I had been spared the worst of the storm. The power was on, water was flowing, and both my partner and I were safe in our home. I know that many others were much less fortunate, and that, as I write this, too many are still lacking basic necessities. For them, returning to normal shall take longer. I am thankful for my good luck, and offer these verses from my perspective:

The Sensation of Subtle Sounds

I awake to a variety of subtle sounds:

A hammer tapping,

Tires gliding over damp streets,

While footfalls trod upon the sidewalk,

And from some nearby, though uncertain location,

Soft organ music surfaces.

Eventually, the more obtrusive voice of a leaf blower joins the mix

Along the front walk,

Another sign of moving on,

A partial return, at least, to a routine of daily life.

But most reassuring

(As it has been throughout the storm)

Is the sensation of your warm body

Wrapped tightly in my loving embrace . . . 

*      *     *

Best wishes to all . .  .

photo by creighton blinn, all rights reserved

 

A Week Ago (out on the town)

Last Wednesday, my nest mate and I attended a reading at the Ding Dong Lounge. While located uptown, this latest installment in the Tract 187 Culture Clatch series also fell under the umbrella of the annual Underground Howl Festival. We each took a turn reciting some verse as part of the open mic, as well as hearing some good performances given by others. In addition, I had my camera with me that night and was able to snap some photos. I was taking both black & white and color that evening, though the former seem to have come out better on a whole. Here's a sample:



photo by Creighton Blinn, all rights reserved




photo by Creighton Blinn, all rights reserved

 And, naturally, what evening would be complete without a little . . .



photo by Creighton Blinn,
all rights reserved























Cheers all.