7:30 am in Urban Paradise

I’ve been living in downtown Toronto temporarily for the past month or so
as our condo by the water  is being repaired from water damage due to a slow leaking pipe ( water amd words can wear things down – specifically copper and wood flooring this time  )
I miss the calm of the lake . It’s relatively placid there most of the time , although the city is alive with its own varied, busy, and sometime tense excitement. It’s harder to really really relax at night with all the sirens and  nightlife noises at Yonge and Bloor but the city is inspiring in a different way. It seems like I’m going back to those  city walks I used to have in my 20’s and seeing them with different eyes now, older eyes but also with new younger eyes . The eyes of the 20 & 30-something condo dwellers in the vertical beating heart of the city . They’re all clicking away at their iPhones and Blackberrys while walking, just like me .
It’s amazing . Never thought I’d be into the urban lifestyle again and especially living it out loud like this .

7:30 am  in Urban Paradise

7:30 am and the city is almost quiet
Just a few cars in the street .
Been off  and on
through the night
I’m up for a drink
and something to eat .
Listen to the hum ,
and see the light
rising higher .
Tower lights are  on .
The moment is sweet .
I fall back into sheets
a willing participant
of meditation and sleep .

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On Queen Street West

On Queen Street West

The sirens of the city

are traveling along

the fabric bazaars

and appliance stores

of Queen Street West.

The wood tin spire

of St Marks

lurches into the air

at an angle

listening.

The daylight heat

is blazing.

So is the fire.

The fire trucks

are bullets.

They careen

breakneck down

the street.

Shining

red and yellow cabs

follow right

behind them.

Do they care

about the fire?

The fire is burning

somewhere along

Queen Street

and

black smoke is rising

up into the air.

From “The Black and Other Base Elements “by PWChaltas

Dinner Conversation With Self

Dinner Conversation  With Self

Sat down at my table
for a dinner for one .
Salmon on salad
water with lemon
done quickly
to catch an evening  flick.
Soon an elderly lady
with a white chin beard
and a head of grey hair
sat at a  table beside me .
Rotund body wrapped in red ,
complete with her imaginary friend ,
she never stopped talking
the whole time she was there .
“Charles proposed this
and mother she just disagreed ‘”
she said
and on she went all through her meal
of burger and frites ,
with a wavering thumb .
She only spoke  briefly
and ever so curtly
with the waitress ,
but in her head
the conversation
fluidly continued .
I thought to myself :
What’s less uncomfortable ?
This lady who leaves
nothing unsaid ,
or a diner next to me
eating  in deafening silence .
I’ll pick this lady I confided
secretly to myself,
and under my breath .
After finishing I waited
awhile  to make her feel
welcome and more at ease
then got up smiling  to leave .
There was a disappointment
marked on her face .
She was losing a
dining companion ,
but she never stopped talking
regardless .

Outside in a lobby cafe
I noticed another
elderly lady
was sleeping on
folded newspaper pillow,
her head flat on the table .
She was thin  pale, frail
but well dressed .
She was dreaming or dead .
A young coupled checked
to make sure
that she wasn’t ill or dead,
before I could get there .
Old age really sucks
I thought to myself
but being there alone
Is  without question
much  worse.

Yonge Street

Yonge Street

Empty stores
for lease
My steps passing
bookstores ,
crowded lit cages of diners , and vacant  doors .
The second floors sing
with promise of neon massage .
Hanging socks and laundry ,
clothes lines,
are up on second  floors
as well.
Someone  is  home
above the
storefronts drying out
on a weeknight
all in a yellow glow .
The condos will be
coming
and soon
no one will know
what this city block
looked like
In the  1900’s