9-27-2015 (ascension)

it’s the end of the world as we
know it and i can’t believe how
quiet the morning was, as if the
neighborhood was afraid to wake to the
day, knowing that when
all is said and done,
only consciousness will be
tolerated here, and all else
forced to follow suit.

there was no need to
go to church–
the silent houses
preached the sermon,
obeying the hours became
a type of worship,

and at night,
the blood moon raged noiselessly
against the encroaching sun
that demanded a new dawn.

©A. D. Joyce, 2015

Beautification (street art)

Street art is adorning the walls of more and more buildings in Newark, NJ, lately. I think some of them are being commissioned by Newark mayor Ras Baraka? In any event, these works are increasing the unique character of the city. Just beautiful.

All photos by A.D. Joyce.

©A. D. Joyce, 2015

The last days of August

Without so much as a warning,
the heavy, humid northeastern weather
becomes a memory’s whisper.

My neighbor sits on his porch
and I bet
the relief of a cool morning
doesn’t seem to be
the harbinger of winter frost
that it is,

and as the day moves on to afternoon
and the sun warms up a clear sky,
the green leaves and I
cling to what is left of summer
for dear life.

©A. D. Joyce, 2015

The street of our beautiful lazy solace

Something in you knew
you would find me here
standing on the corner
next to the Starbucks and so
we spend a few minutes
on small talk and pretend
this is a happy coincidence, a
what if I hadn’t
stepped out of the cab
a few blocks back with
a sudden urge to walk,
what if I hadn’t stopped for a
moment to find my bearings,
what if you hadn’t resisted
the urge to sleep in,
hadn’t needed a taste of dark roast—
both of us in an
unfamiliar part of town.
But that’s how it is with us,
nothing is chance,
when I need you,
you’re there,
it’s just that easy,
a cup of coffee and a
walk down the street
of our beautiful lazy solace.

©A. D. Joyce, 2015

Blue Moon Eve

The moon is not quite full yet it still lights up the sky. Taken on July 31, 2015 at around 2 am EDT.

Photo by A.D. Joyce

©A. D. Joyce, 2015

of cherry blossom trees

pure white
or pink as blood
not quite soaked through
cherry blossoms
in branch brook park
cling delicately
to graceful trees

in early april
caravans of people come
from all around
to this oasis in the urban desert
to wander in row upon row
of blossoms

in their glory
the miracle
of cherry blossom trees
reminds some travelers
of their mother japan

for others
the vital colors evict
the harsh northeast winter
from their bones
gray days are forgotten
the overused space heater
in a cold apartment
is left behind
thoughts of sales quotas
and work brought home
are pushed to a safe distance

but as april turns to may
when the pink and white petals
are shed and windblown
into branch brook lake
giving way to
ordinary green leaves
everyone’s thoughts return
to their narrow concerns

as the trees remain mindful
of every minute
of every day
accepting how each moment
changes them

Poem and photos by A. D. Joyce

©A. D. Joyce, 2015

at d park

I took a swarm of pics yesterday when I was in Branchbrook Park. I was hoping the cherry blossom trees would be in bloom but for the most part they weren’t. So my daughter (she’s 26 and looks as young as the kids she teaches) and I ended up making the shoot about us. Considering that we love to mug for the camera, that wasn’t a disappointing plan B in the slightest. This is just a small portion of the pics we took.

©A. D. Joyce, 2015

musing

i was young once, and way back when, i went dancing at a club in washington dc and met someone who looked very much like you, i now recall.

we danced and when our dance was over he didn’t want to stop and neither did i.

but even though my heart told me we could have been more–or was i thinking of you–my destiny was already contracted for the next 25 plus years, and i decided the dance was over.

sometimes i wonder what happened to him.

as for me, back then, i was beautiful and young, and didn’t believe i was either.

i was asleep, dead to the world.

and now beauty and time don’t have the same meaning to me any more.

the butterfly psyche

breaking through the cocoon walls
with nothing but small feet
and powdery wings
this is the power of a dream
from safety
to the unknown of flight
this is the self in the making
there’s a universe of air
so why do butterflies
go it alone
fluttering crazily
from flower to scent
to knee deep in nectar
exposed
beautiful
and expectant

Fluttering a Universe of Air

I was very much fascinated by the sky in 2014 and I took countless pictures of it whenever the spirit hit me. I felt i was rediscovering something I had taken for granted for too long.

So as this year ends, I offer just a few of the photos I took. (Yes, some were taken while I was driving. Distracted driving is dangerous so don’t try this at home!)

May our skies be as beautiful as these in 2015. Happy New Year!

Photos by A.D. Joyce