Anna Wintour

September is born
upon editorial
conception in March.

Anna Wintour: shrew
and mastermind behind Vogue
feared, revered, scorned.

Fashion stops at will
on her command; loved ones will
admit they’re amused

by the high priestess’
choice of profession, and if
RJ Cutler’s show

offers anything, it’s
a glimpse inside the heart,
not all ice and stone.

And Grace Coddington?
who wouldn’t want to be stylized
by her golden eye?

satin, silk, wool crepe
dolman sleeve, tuxedo pants
black is the new black.

genuine divas
revealed by the camera lens:
Mario, Jean Paul

even Yves’ no saint.
funny how men in fashion
are not men at all.

Anna is the color
on the designer palette,
the satin ribbon

a most precious gift.
I cannot quite imagine
Vogue without the Queen.



“As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a giant insect.” – Kafka

ironic, that I choose a topic to ponder
and upon late evening find myself
sitting opposite its train of thought placard on the subway.
bemusing and at times startling how the universe can align and kick itself back to you, verifying on some level that there are no coincidences.

Personal energy

a few years ago
kundalini became
part of my yoga

practice. Dages Keats
led us through a series of
meditations and

kriyas. Together
with the kundalini breath, mantras, mudras, bandhs

and asanas, one
strives to unwind their inner
connection toward

Higher consciousness.
Unlike traditional forms
of yoga, this branch

focuses on the
liquid energy
flowing through our veins.

There is no downward,
upward stance just conscious breathing.
In, out; in, out. In.

the lost day

i lost Saturday
to a mind numbing headache
induced by Tigger.

I think perhaps that
his memory is blurry.
He wakes when he feeds

that changes daily.
I even tried a valium,
one for him, not me.

But it did not last.
His paw reached out to wake me
early in the morning.

Its not totally
his fault. My actions this week
certainly didn’t help:

Working late, staying up,
with a preoccupied mind.
My losing one day

to the migraine mist,
is only redeemed by the
prospect of Monday.

A work holiday
is a gift, a free pass from
anything, everything.

quarter bar

Friday night I met Kristin and Sheila for an al fresco drink in the garden at Quarter, a watering hole in Sunset Park.

My recollection of this neighborhood is filled with residential shopping essentials: bakeries, meat markets, deli, hair salon, pizzeria…apparently times are changing everywhere. In fact on the corner of 20th & 5th Ave, you’ll find Quarter bar with its plate glass windows and chalkboard placard snuggled between a laundromat and a legal services office, just off the beaten path. Seemingly walkable from the north slope, the bar is accessible by train (the R to Prospect Avenue). A drive from a neighboring zip code was quick and I found a well-lit parking space within a block away.

The girls were sitting in the garden. There’s no bar service at back, be prepared for the 4 stone steps in and out.  I stood by the bar with money in clear view for a good 10 minutes while the bartender was conversing with a patron, so service could be 50/50. Selection of beer, wine and drink was good and prices decent; it didn’t appear that anything cost more than $10. As Kristin mentioned mixed drinks were strong, I settled for a Chimay. The garden was conversation friendly and save a few smokers it was enjoyable. Garden closes promptly until 11PM where you’ll be instructed to come  inside. One regular was quite adamant about clearing the area.

Inside the decor is eclectic–dark walls, odds and ends tchotckes (taxidermy pheasant, 1980s boombox, an old fashioned shoe mold) line the wall. Kristin likened it to the setting of a horror movie. Dimly lit and dark, the seating was well-spaced but it was difficult to hear one another…the conversational din noticeably louder than outside. Perhaps an acoustical thing? Other than that the bathroom was clean and well-lit.
676 5th Ave
Brooklyn, NY 11215
(718) 788-0989

all over the place like mud

I am my own worst enemy.

There was no reason for me to linger at work past 5 last night and yet I didn’t close down my computer until way after 6. Sharon chatting over IM stressed my need for more balance. There’s something to be said when the same message is heard from colleagues and friends:  ease up on the work and live a little.

What strides must one take to find balance? In my minds eye that would take commitment to oneself above all others, interest in oneself above all external stimuli. Commitment.

Commitment now thats a word one can reflect on for hours years days.

I used to be committed to my writing. I would devote innumerable hours to stream of consciousness musings, without question, without doubt that I would be missing something ‘out there in the real world’. I would live inside the zone, with or without head phones ignorant to anything but the voice of my characters, the stories of the landscape, the dreams of the unwritten. And I have reams of handwritten pages filled with one-liners, odes, poetry, lyrics and even haiku to show for it. Character studies, plot maps, in-depth descriptions and occasionally dialogue written colorfully in felt tip on college-ruled paper, smudged pencil in journals, notes in the margins, thoughts on the back pages. Hours in early morning late night, stolen minutes from school projects, borrows minutes at work. All for the joy and sake of writing.

And then it changed, I changed. Just typing those words my eyes squint, my brows furrow, my mind searches for the exact moment, to no avail.

Change is not always black and white,  there are not always distinct monumental moments why you choose one path over another, the reasons you search for may not exist. It may or may not go unnoticed, all dependent on the value determined by the person making the decision. Change can be part of an agenda; in the every day of life  it’s instinctual, impulsive. On occasion it’s ground-breaking; most often it just is.


Superfluous blue scarves,
gargoyles gasp for one last breath, near
gutted frames of stone;

Druggies eat french fries
The green market closing time,
bassets and bacon;

Exhaustion creeps in–
street corner bucket percussion,
Twilight water tower;

Spectator denim
legs in camouflage and blue:
dude it’s fashion week!

And have I mentioned:
Love scorned on west fourth and sixth?
Guy. Girl. Back to back.

Witness emotion,
my thoughts wander to friends, I
wonder how they are.

on work/on me

it happened again.
something about my new boss
intimidates me.

rather than speak up
in today’s meeting, minor
comments were offered.

and even then I
stumbled on phrases. (sigh) why?
how can it be true?

i had hoped that my meek self
would be gone by now.
instead, she lingers.

much to my chagrin.
i have grown enormously.
this should be behind

me. I guess then, there
will always be something: to
work on, develop.

humans by nature
are far from perfect. growth comes
in the everyday.

i remain patient
for the next revelation
and can only pray

and can only hope
to step outside my self and
embrace change, again.