Madison Square Moments

A Poem by redzone

….love this stoic tree....

Madison Square Moments

Near the entrance,

at 23^rd and Broadway,

sits an old, gnarly tree,

with most of its limbs cut,

it looks more like me,

on one of my better days.

Mostly though,

it’s more metaphor for life,

and how it is often hard lived.

When younger,

I knew the feel of emotion,

it’s complexity,

like a soft breeze

blowing through the leaves,

tickling and making me laugh,

or a summer thunderstorm,

making me bend and shake,

then goose bump my skin

with gentle touch.

Wait… Stop….

I don’t wan to talk about this.

It’s boring really,

way too much touchy feely

with sickly gooey stuff

that oozes in between synapses,

syllables, nouns and verbs.

Instead, let’s talk about

hard edges,

jagged lines,

and psycho(delic) spirals

with sharp teeth.

Let’s talk about raw,

steel emotion

that can start a fight

by just walking in the door.

Let’s talk about the pain

of a bloody nose,

or the sting of a knife

thrust in the back.

Now,

these are the emotions

that make you feel alive.

My Madison Square Park Sycamore,

limbless,

dead,

except for a few new growths

at its base,

has looked death in the eye

and laughed.

No birds will sing

in its boughs;

no squirrels will play tag

along its limbs.

But, it has heard Jr. Walker’s

“Walk In The Night”

played at the corner of 26^th and Madison.

It has listened to,

“Ain’t No Sunshine”,

Bill Withers crooning at 26^th and 5^th Ave,

one snowy Winter’s day.

But as I sat on the park bench,

a bitter chill pulled my hood over my head

and I felt

Coltrane blow out his

“Softly In Morning Sunrise”.

You might not believe it,

but that’s as raw as it gets.

Even that old Sycamore

could be seen crying.

Aztec Warrior/redzone 10.11.18

© 2019 redzone

Author's Note

....thanks for reading...

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Reviews

barleygirl

As always, as if from a long-forgotten dream, I enjoy the way music inspires your writing. I almost always have a song in my mind when I'm writing. Love your choice of music, esp. Bill Withers song that I sang a hundred times with my guitar. Love how you suggest that people crave intensity, not a sweet lullaby. Due to your title, I read into this a NYC tough guy attitude, or throwback to when men were expected to be "real men" (no softies!) Most of all, I love how you refer to the chopped-up Sycamore with tenderness, as if you're addressing your own self in your broken body, or mine on hobbling legs. Such a tapestry of toughness & tenderness is exactly what I would expect (& enjoy) from you (((HUGS))) fondly, Margie