waves from the Atlantic Ocean: “She is kind and beautiful, but she can be so cruel and it comes so suddenly” Ernest Hemingway (american novelist, short-story writer)

my city my love: Chrysler Building (style Art Deco, architect William Van Alen, built 1928)

poet’s corner: A Golden Day by Ella Wheeler Wilcox (american author, poet 1850-1919)

The subtle beauty of this day

Hangs o’er me like a fairy spell,

And care and grief have flown away,

And every breeze sings, “all is well”.

I ask, “Holds earth or sin, or woe?”

My heart replies, “I do not know”

Nay! all we know, or feel, my heart,

Today is joy undimmed, complete;

In tears or pain we have no part;

The act of breathing is so sweet,

We care no higher joy to name.

What reck we now of wealth or fame?

The past-what matters it to me?

The pain it gave has passed away.

The future-that I cannot see!

I care for nothing save today—

This is a respite from all care,

And trouble flies—I know not where.

Go on, oh noisy, restless life!

Pass by, feet that seek for heights!

I have no part in aught of strife;

I do not want your vain delights.

The day wraps round me like a spell

And every breeze sings, “All is well”

my city my love: Brooklyn, Prospect Park, “We build too many walls and not enough bridges” Isaac Newton” (british physicist, astronomer 1672-1727)

My City, My Love: Boathouse in Prospect Park…

“The most beautiful sunsets come from cloudy skies” Pablo Coelho (brazilian novelist, lyricist 1965-)

poet’s corner: Your World by Georgia Douglas Johnson (african-american poet, playwright 1880-1966)

Your world is as big as you make it.

I know, for I used to abide

In the narrowest nest in the corner,

My wings pressing close to my side.

But I sighted the distant horizon

Where the skyline encircled the sea

And I throbbed with a burning desire

To travel this immensity.

I battered the cordons around me

And cradled my wings on the breeze,

Then soared to the uttermost reaches

With rapture, with power, with ease!

poet’s corner: Lines written in early Spring by William Wordsworth (english romantic poet 1770-1850)

I heard a thousand blended notes,

While in a grove I sate reclined,

In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts

Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link

The human soul that through me ran;

And much it grieved my heart to think

What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,

The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;

And ’tis my faith that every flower

Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,

Their thoughts I cannot measure:—

But the list motion which they made

It seemed a trill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,

To catch the breezy air;

And I must think, do all I can,

That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,

If such be Nature’s holy plan,

Have I not reason to lament

What man has made of man?

Waves from the Atlantic Ocean: Sometimes the tallest waves in the ocean end up as foam, flat on the beach…

tale of two cities…