20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers


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Riding Up to Harlem

Riding up to Harlem in a silver chariot.

Hustling & Bustling during a season of busy “cheer”.

A child laughs, a mother cries and I see the city reflected in a hobo’s eyes.

As I exit the train I hear Jazz musicians serenading commuters running by.

I hear a world of renaissance that has passed me by.

I think of this village called Harlem and feel the spirits of greats pass me by.

Can I add a stroke of paint to this village mural and contribute beauty with ashes?

20121209-192325.jpg
125th Street Subway Station Mural in Harlem


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An Everlasting Image

The image of the Father Mychal Judge
is one that will not go, no, will not budge
from my eleventh of September cache
of pictures. How my mind holds on to ash

and leaping people, firemen, siren screams.
How could those strengthened girders and those beams
succumb to airplanes diving in nose-first?
That day, much more than planes and buildings burst.


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The A Train

We’re riding together but sit worlds apart.

The stockbroker, the mother, the hobo living in separate realities, yet riding in the same car.

The A Train zips from beaches to hoods to ground zero.

Our liberal metropolis is a kingdom of progressive “niceties”.

The A Train is a silver chariot carrying us through our politely segregated city.

Photo Credit: NYC Transit Museum

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