20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers


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.



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

The Stairs That Just Were There

The Stairs (SwittersB)

They were always a pleasant set of stairs given the low angle. I don’t believe I ever sat on those stairs. I ran up and down them, in a hurry to play. I do recall that people I loved went down those stairs by various means never to return up those stairs again. Now I have left those stairs and with no need to go up them again, I notice them.


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