Carnegie Hill Village
Staying connected in your own community
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Start spreadin' the news
I'm leavin' today
I want to be a part of it
New York, New York
These vagabond shoes
Are longing to stray
Right through the very heart of it
New York, New York
I want to wake up
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse - and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness -
And Wilderness is Paradise enow.
Summertime
And the livin' is easy
Fish are jumpin'
And the cotton, the cotton is high
Oh, your daddy's rich
And your ma, she's good lookin'
So hush, little baby
Don't you cry
One of these mornings
You're gonna rise up singing
I lift up mine eyes to the mountains, whence my help shall come.
But turnips tango, and carrots two-step
across the lawn, their leafy headdresses
waggling in time. Habaneros, of course,
salsa, the hotter the better, while white
asparagus gavotte, and everyone knows
that yams jam and break, and zucchini
No apple trees or serene seas
I’d rather write of cans of peas.
It’s poetry of potency
despite your most unhappy pleas.
And, I don’t mean pea soup at all
nor snap nor snow nor teamed in rice.
