The Spooky Time is Upon Us

The Spooky Time is Upon Us

The Hounds from Hell are returning,

To haunt the park again,

Scaring all the squirrels,

Holding back the rain.

Bedecked in all their finery,

Emerging from the dark,

Their heads held high and haughty,

Thinking they might bark.

They promenade, first left, then right,

Cameras snapping at every turn,

Competition is quietly present,

But it is fun that they will earn.

I can’t help but wonder,

If they talk among themselves,

“Did you see what that ones wearing?

Should have left it on the shelves."

Smiles on every face,

Spreading from ear to ear,

I can’t wait to see,

What they will be wearing next year.

•

peter radley

First Hints

First Hints

Are we too, to be blown into Fall?

This quiet transformation from a summer,

Of heat and relief patented across,

Weeks in succession.

New mornings taking longer to appear,

Almost tranquil, limpid of light,

As the grip of summer,

Teasing in its reluctance, relinquishes its might.

Great winds surge across the South.

As we sit in park’s dappled light,

Children play, shrill their voices, below

The leaves above that soon will fall.

•

peter radley

Bird Flies

Bird Flies

Bop! Shout! Fingers Pop!

Another bird flies in the park.

A jazz migration, people Hop!

Music passing through. Mark

that time once a year,

When people smile and cheer,

Saxophones soar, cymbals crash,

Improvisation worth more than cash.

People cool in fun clothes, a slick hat.

Sunday revelry, Angels scat.

Shades in attendance, no shadows cast,

We should have known it wouldn’t last.

Fold up that chair, head for the train,

Come back next year for Jazz, again, again …

•

peter radley

-----

The 25th annual Charlie Park Jazz Festival is today in Tompkins Square Park from 3-7 p.m.

Mattress Materialize

Mattress Materialize

Month ending, out they come,

Streets dotted with pale monoliths.

We walk among them as pagans,

Between their standing stones,

Magical meaning long forgotten,

no enlightenment to be revealed.

Swathed in plastic, sealing in,

Dreams, some lost, bitter tears,

Release, exhaustion, books half read.

Guarded by rumors of the uninvited,

Biting interlopers who have lost

the decency to leave when asked.

Suddenly, the mattresses are gone.

Pity, an equinox is almost here.

•

peter radley

Orlin

Orlin

I was recently in Orlin.
The food is still good.
Black tables now,
Modern red and black chairs.
Surprised that they had replaced,
Their wooden furniture.
Its many meals, laughter,
Conversations, still palpable in those
Chairs, and tables aging patina
Rocked, sat upon, pulled out, put back.
Elbows on old tables, stories told,
Despair withheld, dreams born,
A babies rattle dropped again, again.
Music too loud, a change has come,
As inevitable as a sunrising.
All not lost, just that familiar
Feeling of a home within a restaurant,
Just there, a degree remaining,
But shaken I feel.
Nevertheless,
the food is still good.

•

peter radley

Cafe Orlin is at 41 St. Mark's Place between First Avenue and Second Avenue

The Macrobiotic Chewing Guild

Memories abound,

That single desk

in the window on 8th Street.

Dragon bowls

that would feed two.

Slightly yellow people,

Chewing and chewing,

Enquiring how fresh

the Tofu. How many

times do you chew?

The organic Sun sets.

Bread and spread no more.

Where will the masticators,

wander to re-fill,

the hungry and the ill.

•

peter radley

Marking the closing of Angelica Kitchen,

after 40 odd years in the East Village. April 7, 2017.