New York City Shadormas*

        *Shadorma: 6 lines; 3/5/3/3/7/5 syllables per line

Times Square

Blazing lights

Broadway, Seventh Ave

Milling crowds

Break dancers

MAGA caps and shirts for sale 

America’s soul

           

Museum of Modern Art

Hordes in line

Phantasmagoric

Picassos

Hoppers, Klees

Pointillists, surrealists

My head is spinning

The Subway

Blasting forth

Like an angry beast

Wheels screech

Lights flicker

Forty-second, Fifty-ninth

Hold tight, eight more stops  

 Metropolitan Opera

Grand gala

Don Giovanni

Mozart’s riff

Love and lust

Voices soaring to the sky

Don Juan burns in Hell

Oculus

Soaring wings

of the dove of peace 

Tragedy 

Inferno

Oculus signals rebirth

Strength and resilience 

Metropolitan Museum of Art

Fifth Ave Met

Great Hall, breathless crowd

Dutch masters

Genji tales

Every wing a masterpieces

Visitors bewitched

Fiddler on the Roof

Tradition

Tevye and Golde

In Yiddish

Taboo loves 

Pogroms, the village destroyed 

Audience weeping  

Eléa

Eighty-fifth

New Greek restaurant 

Dim white lights

Gentle chat 

Whitefish, pasta with mushrooms 

Overcome with bliss   

Bloomingdale’s Department Store

Fairyland

Seven floors of swag

Preppy staff

Plastic smiles

Whisper “buy buy buy” to all

Somehow I resist 

Taylor

Handsome coat 

German Shepherd prince

Obeys Bruce

Calm and cool

Races to his dog walker 

Smarter than a fox

On "Portrait of Pierre Loti" by Henri Rousseau

Henri has completed my portrait

A masterpiece, if I say so myself  

Rarely have I looked more handsome 

My piercing eyes

My Mona-Lisa-like expression

And, best of all, my gorgeous black and yellow stripes

We felines, indeed, are rulers of the Universe

I invited my manservant to pose with me

His name is Loti, Pierre

He came along with the house  

You might think Pierre somewhat dim  

in his turban and starched white collar

with his wrinkly crinkly mustache

He is not the brightest lightbulb in the chandelier 

But his duties require little intellect

Pierre brings me food and water when I wish them

Keeps me well supplied with catnip

Provides fresh sand daily in my box de litère

My bed for naps, my toys to amuse me

Perhaps a ball of yarn

He will pet me for hours at a time

Or take me on outings to the Bois de Boulogne 

Pierre asks for nothing in return

And I rarely show him any attention

He is ecstatic if I give him a single purr  

If feeling whimsical, I might bring him a dead mouse

Our relationship, seemingly lopsided, is fair and equitable

My sheer presence is fully rewarding to Pierre

I have only the one misgiving

I am less than amused by his smoking