Light Verse: A Double Dactyl for Grace Schulman

Wiggledy Figgledy,

Grace Schulman,

twenty-first century

wordsmith in prime;

indefatigably,

ever so brilliantly,

pulls from her students

lyrics and rhyme.

Urban Haiku

Radio talking.

Grab a coffee from the cart.

Good morning, New York.

Garbage on the street.

Greasy soot on window sills.

Authenti-city.

While nesting high above,

pigeons point tail feathers down.

Watch out for vile rain.

Street noise overhead.

Never one to be outdone,

the subway roars back.

It hurts to beg but

it hurts more to be hungry.

She cries for her child.

Music on the street

draws attention from the crowd.

Spare change pays the rent.

Through the underpass,

 a graffiti gallery.

Admission is free.

Under city skies.

Dancing in your underwear.
The moon is laughing.