20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers


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Under the Brooklyn Bridge

The traffic and the lights are what drew me here.

And then I saw the buildings and gasped in surprise.

How do they make the buildings so high?

I walk the streets and up and down the steps I go.

Subways seem loud but in all reality it’s pretty tranquil down here.

Alone in a world of a billion people.

No where to turn in a world of a million streets.

How does one get lost with these numbered signs?

32nd. St.  33rd. St. and so on and so on.

A tiny cafe is bustling with the morning crowd.

This is not my place.

A dive bar at the corner near an alley with a few people sleeping on cardboard bed.

This is not my place.

Under a bridge, sand and water all around.

A pen and a notebook in my hand.

This is my place to find myself.

My place to be who it is I am to be.

Dreaming………..  always dreaming.

 

Image

Photo courtesy of http://wirednewyork.com/brooklyn_bridge_wtc.htm


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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?

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125th Street Subway Station Mural in Harlem


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Life by Moma Grace

Today while visiting a great farmers market in East Harlem I noticed a wonderful poem in one of the booths and I asked the owner if she wrote it and she said yes. The poem entitled Life was written by Moma Grace from Ghana who formerly worked in her country’s version of the FBI! She said the poem was given to her in a dream and that she reads it everyday after her prayers. I feel so blessed to live in a city where you can run into wonderful people like Moma Grace! Read her poem below to be inspired!

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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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