The 'New York' poems can be found in my collection of poetry The Future is Behind You. published by Selkirk Lapwing Press. www.selkirklapwingpress.webs.com
It can also be obtained from: www.scottish-pamphlet-poetry.com
NEW YORK POEMS
ARRIVAL.
I’ve arrived
Touched down but still flying
In the city that never sleeps, that is never still.
I’ve arrived
Landed but still coming down
Over junior league size baseball pitches
Multi coloured doll houses all in a row
Each with their own America back yard.
I’ve arrived
New York cabbie style.
That is crazy, stop for no man
Or car, style.
‘Where you heading?’ The chewing
Mouth asks in the mirror.
‘ Mid Manhattan, East 51st Street. ’
I say as nonchalant
As I can muster as we swerve into the freeway
To a chorus of horns.
I’ve arrived.
Shaken and stirred.
Blood coursing through my veins.
Skin tingling.
I’ve arrived.
ME, NOT MY BRAIN
Jet lag opens the door to the cynic
And my brain, not me, is thinking,
This is not a city for the alone.
And then again, you can exist
Walking the sidewalk.
In a book. On the 14th floor.
But I would imagine
It would get to you
Eventually.
Being still, amongst
This tumultuous torrent
Of life.
P.S to the above.
And me, not my brain, is thinking
Staring up at St Patrick’s Cathedral
that this is where they mourned
Bobby Kennedy
Walking thru Rockefeller feeling like
The latest hick to take a bite out of the
Apple.
Mouth agape at the reach to the sky
Buildings.
My hotel with its 14 floors suddenly seems
Like a basement apartment.
I walk and walk and eat and eat
Tiredness lifting, the energy of the everything,
The everyone,
Pushing and pulling me down 42nd street
Feeling like Gene Kelly in On the Town.
I’m the groove.
BREAKFAST AT PAULO’S
Coffee, pancakes, apple pie,
Cream piled on cream.
If you’re on a diet don’t
Have breakfast at Paulo’s.
I had a coffee and croissant
Minus the cream but plus the butter
And jam.
Every morning I was greeted like
I had lived round the corner
All my life.
Postcards on the wall, one from soaked to the skin Scotland.
Told the tale—‘We’ll be back’
A picture of Giuliani with Paulo
Himself, smiles and handshakes
After feeding the firemen and police
And anyone else
After 9/11.
That day like a not so distant rumble
Is ever present.
Maybe that’s why they’re so glad to see
You at Paulo’s.
You came back.
DEPARTURE
I’m coming home after
Chatting with ‘Friends.’
Inspecting a parade of Ferrari’s.
Not breakfasting at Tiffany’s.
Definitely dancing down 42nd Street.
I’m coming home after
4 Bucks a Bud at Al’s bar.
Shoeshined outside Grand Central station.
Searching for the ‘real’ American football.
I’m coming home with
Feet worn to the bone.
And not caring
For when all’s said and done
This is my kind of town.
