Inspired by Walt Whitman and my experiences growing up in Sheepshead Bay, I recently published my collection of poems, Walt Whitman’s Wolves. I hope poetry aficionados and lovers of Brooklyn enjoy this sample:
Gerritsen Creek, Brooklyn, at Dawn, 1982
By beach grass mounds and rivulet-ribbed low tide beds I wait for the first speck of sun and bend a little bit so as not to see the Kings Plaza neon sign across the inlet. Standing up straight to the north the World Trade Center towers are orange, in distant silence. A lone seagull caws hovering above the water then drops a drop. Others gather. They head east toward the landfill in Canarsie: A garbage dump to you and me, Mecca to those stomachs on wings. I find a junked car's remains: a large patch of rust in the sand swirled like fudge below brittle metal and vinyl not absorbed. A man in rubber overalls walks his bicycle along the shore and gathers mussels. Even though no one would knowingly eat them, they’re thriving in this cold blue water.
Regards, Peter Arvan Manos
Rather than posting a link you can simply google my name on Amazon if interested. Thanks.
Gerritsen Creek, Brooklyn, at Dawn, 1982
By beach grass mounds
and rivulet-ribbed low tide beds
I wait for the first speck of sun
and bend a little bit
so as not to see
the Kings Plaza neon sign
across the inlet.
Standing up straight to the north
the World Trade Center towers
are orange, in distant silence.
A lone seagull caws
hovering above the water
then drops a drop.
Others gather.
They head east
toward the landfill in Canarsie:
A garbage dump to you and me,
Mecca to those stomachs on wings.
I find a junked car's remains:
a large patch of rust in the sand
swirled like fudge
below brittle metal and vinyl
not absorbed.
A man in rubber overalls
walks his bicycle
along the shore
and gathers mussels.
Even though no one
would knowingly eat them,
they’re thriving in this cold blue water.
Regards,
Peter Arvan Manos
Rather than posting a link you can simply google my name on Amazon if interested. Thanks.