January 24, 2010 7:22 PM
Web-Less in Manhattan
How do you write it when it's writing you and others are writing on it too? That's my question, I think. Which pencil do I use? Or is it a pen or a crayon or a bright piece of chalk?...
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September 16, 2009 7:57 PM
The Young Writer
They made a hole in her moleskin notebook with a drill that they stole from the shop room. Did they think she wouldn't know? (Of course not! That's why they did it!) They slipped it back into her desk and...
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August 14, 2009 11:04 PM
Cross-Walk
Sign here or sign there -- Is it Drag-King or Lady? Tea-time or bath-time in gross-out suds? Sweet flowered dresses or soiled hobo duds? Flowery English or plain? Back in the woods or on Main? Do you own? Do you...
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August 5, 2009 8:05 PM
For Mr. Whitman, from Manhattan
I walk the streets at night in a shifting trudge-and-glide. I walk where you walked, where I think that you walked in the city that once called you home, as you wrote it and sighed it and watched it all...
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July 31, 2009 4:52 PM
For a Dear Cousin
I saw you last night on a screen in pictures I hadn't seen. I saw you and you looked to be enjoying. You were handsome and confident and glad. Your eyes danced like sparkling coffee and your lips looked stained...
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March 7, 2009 12:27 AM
For Miss Claudel
Did you love being there away from them all and the stones and the soil that crush-fed your wings? None of the bull anymore, just breeze and wonder, dew and suns, meals and hatless, clockless thoughts- no shows no need...
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January 3, 2009 6:12 PM
Poem for the Right to Fall
She came to me from darkness, hidden in the pines. A crony-crone of tall-tales-past. And told me I should fall. She said that is our tragic plight - not to fall not to fail not to grow not to learn...
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December 10, 2008 6:05 PM
In a Museum Moment
What is it that pinches me close to the eye? The looks and the shoes and the scuffling purse? The squeaky skid-steps on industrial floors? The sounds of whatisitlookatthestyleofbrochuregimmewaitoverheregimmelookwhathemadethisin1802? Or the mounds of white-doughy-whipped-cream-sculpture-stuff that I'm not permitted to squeeze?...
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September 6, 2008 1:42 PM
Gus
Gus the wooden one-eared giraffe sat perched on a book-stack and laughed, for it sounded really funny, all that talk of eating money! (but his hearing was cut off by half . . .) © 2008 by Christina Pitrelli...
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August 23, 2008 10:00 PM
For Marvel-Man under a Scaffold on 42nd Street
The city looms dark and imposing. The shops and the markets are closing. Commuters rush past, they're walking so fast -- They're tired and not up for nosing. But a luminous smile lights your face, while you sit on the...
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August 23, 2008 9:54 PM
Thoughts at a Stuffy Hotel
The languid try hard at reposing, and access is given by closing certain rooms to the rest, so it all stays exclusive and certain folks feel they're the best. But the birds come and go as they please, flying and...
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June 29, 2008 5:12 PM
A Day at the Fancy Ballet
I spent a day at the fancy ballet, and took a red velvet seat far away from the standing-up one that could've been much more fun had I not been caught up in the fray. And I saw human...
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June 22, 2008 1:57 PM
Reservoir
I walk along the gravel path as writhing joggers splash on past the shiny green of dewy trees and dusky rainbow waters gleam in peachy-violet-grays. I meet his smiling, kind blue eye and profile rippled by the years. He wears...
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June 10, 2008 8:34 PM
A Word with G on the Street
Shaking and clanking his can of coins, his giant bobbing eyes look up and stare right into mine, like sharp, smooth glass on a prism's edge. "Today's the last day," he says. (The sky around him's hazy-blue not neon-red like...
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March 1, 2008 11:48 AM
Bruno
I had an old friend named Mr. Bruno and he had a dear old fat pet duck. (and he and his duck were down on their luck) But he always kept a toothless smile, and told me stories all the...
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December 16, 2007 2:07 PM
Poem from Venezia
I dream of waltzing ghosts on mists and rolling fog and haunted paths. You fought and loved and dreamed and paid. You hid and talked, amongst yourselves. You paddled forth and stumbled on and hurt because you're not the same...
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December 16, 2007 1:57 PM
Poem from Roma
The old and very young and young and very old all lopped together under age-old sky long before a Western World (and maybe after one as well) Different jewels, but some the same. Different foods, but some the same. Feelings...
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