The Measure of A Dream

He rose not from marble, but memory’s flame,
With a name the world first stumbled to name.
From Honolulu’s shores to Chicago's street,
He found his rhythm, found his feet.

A scholar’s calm, a poet’s tone,
A voice that made the country own
Its fractured past, its promised land—
With steady mind and open hand.

He spoke of hope when hope was thin,
Of bridges built, not walls within.
And dared to dream in full daylight,
That justice might reclaim its right.

No crown he wore, no throne he sought,
Just ballots cast and lessons taught.
A father’s pride, a husband’s grace,
A quiet strength in history’s place.

He walked the halls where few had stood,
With skin like mine, misunderstood.
But there he stood, a mirror wide—
For every child once pushed aside.

Yes, he was flawed—as we all are—
But lit a path like a rising star.
He did not fix what time has worn,
But showed us how new dreams are born.

For in his words, we saw the climb,
The long arc bending into time.
He changed the frame, he raised the bar—
And left the door a little ajar.

The Mirror and the Flame

He came not quiet, nor clothed in grace,
But loud and sure, he took his place.
A builder’s hands, a branding name,
He entered power like a flame.

A tycoon turned to president,
Dividing lines wherever sent.
To some, a voice the world ignored—
To others, all that they'd deplored.

He spoke in sparks, not tempered tone,
A throne of tweets, a rule his own.
He rallied crowds with fervent cheer,
While others watched with doubt and fear.

The truth bent hard beneath his claim,
Yet millions still invoked his name.
For every wall he swore to raise,
He tore down norms in bold displays.

To critics, chaos marked his path—
To loyal hearts, he stirred their wrath.
A showman standing center stage,
A lightning rod for modern rage.

But history, cool and slow to judge,
Records the tide, not just the grudge.
It weighs the storm, the gain, the cost,
The trust rebuilt, the trust once lost.

For now, he stands a nation’s test—
A chapter fierce, still not at rest.
A symbol both of fear and pride—
The mirror where we must decide.

Recovery in NYC

 1.

I wake with still breath.
The city hums outside me—
we both survived night.

2.
First cup of coffee,
hands still shake but less today—
this is how it starts.

3.
Sunlight on my face,
just for a second, I smile—
it’s real, and it stays.

4.
I walk to no place,
feet remembering the path—
healing wears no map.

5.
Books in the window,
I stop, read a single line—
it holds me steady.

6.
Pigeons scatter wide,
startled by my sudden laugh—
I didn’t fake it.

7.
Raindrops hit the glass,
but I do not brace this time—
let the sky release.

8.
Subway ride alone.
No fear in the tunnel dark—
just steel and forward.

9.
I write on napkins,
poems with my old rhythm—
my voice remembers.

10.
Therapist nods once.
A silence blooms in the room—
I don’t run from it.

11.
The mirror blinks back,
not perfect, but more complete—
I see someone whole.

12.
Streetlights flicker on,
but I don’t take that as threat—
just light being light.

13.
Old haunts feel softer.
Nothing pulls or pushes me—
I can just be here.

14.
My name in a text,
not a ghost or a warning—
just a friend, checking.

15.
Park bench. A deep breath.
I count the birds overhead—
none of them judge me.

16.
Fulton Street wind shifts—
no voices, no hidden codes—
just a crisp jacket.

17.
I eat, not to fill,
but because I want the taste—
spice lands like a win.

18.
Music in my ears,
I don’t skip the sad love songs—
some things just sound good.

19.
My room stays messy.
But I opened all the blinds—
light sprawls over flaws.

20.
Socks dry on the sill,
laundry hums a slow rhythm—
order in the spin.

21.
I call my mother.
She breathes in my quiet voice—
says, “I’m proud of you.”

22.
In the East River,
I watch the tide take old pain—
then bring back nothing.

23.
A cab honks, I laugh.
Not at them—but just because—
my chest feels roomy.

24.
I sleep without weight.
Dreams don’t drag me under now—
they just drift, like fog.

25.
The skyline glows still.
And I do not chase or flee—
I stand. I inhale.

Psychosis in NYC

 1.

Sirens speak in code.
Pavement pulses like a heart—
the street knows my name.

2.
Billboards blink too loud,
every ad looks straight at me—
they know that I know.

3.
Voices in the steam,
subway grates chant secrets out—
I walk between worlds.

4.
Skyscrapers lean close,
whisper truths through glass and steel—
I am the center.

5.
The pigeons all stare,
still as statues on the rail—
judges in gray suits.

6.
Brooklyn Bridge shivers,
its cables hum like my thoughts—
I can feel it breathe.

7.
A stranger just smiled.
Or was that a warning flash?
My shadow agrees.

8.
Crosswalk signals lie.
Red says go and green says stop—
the rules change each block.

9.
Neon veins flicker
in puddles that speak in tongues—
I walk through the code.

10.
My mirror won't blink.
It holds a version of me—
or something wearing me.

11.
The deli clerk nods—
or does he? The lights just dimmed.
Don’t look at the meat.

12.
My phone glows again.
It hasn’t rung—but it hums.
They listen through light.

13.
Garbage talks softly,
whispers from plastic and bone—
nothing is wasted.

14.
Numbers in the street—
license plates align too well.
Pattern becomes truth.

15.
Rain taps Morse on glass.
The cab driver doesn’t speak—
he doesn’t need to.

16.
My name in graffiti—
five walls across five boroughs.
It must mean something.

17.
A payphone rings once.
I answer without a voice.
No one hangs up now.

18.
Trees in Central Park
watch me with electric eyes—
branches buzz with thoughts.

19.
The skyline folds in,
glass bending into my chest—
I inhale metal.

20.
Window shadows move.
No one lives in that building.
I wave anyway.

21.
Alone in Times Square,
I feel the crowd inside me—
each screen a mirror.

22.
Elevator groans—
it rises without button.
I ride where it wants.

23.
My footsteps double.
Someone else is wearing me—
we walk out of sync.

24.
Streetlight speaks in clicks,
its Morse code drips through my ears—
I decode the dark.

25.
City disappears.
Only I remain, pulsing—
built of static light.

Elation in NYC

 1.

Sunrise on the L,
a stranger smiles, and I glow—
morning sings in gold.

2.
Broadway lights ignite,
my heart beats in bright marquee—
tonight, I belong.

3.
We dance in the rain,
no umbrellas, just freedom—
puddles clap with us.

4.
On a rooftop bar,
the skyline blushes with us—
the toast is to now.

5.
Music in the park,
my body moves before thought—
joy has no reason.

6.
Met steps, warm pretzel,
your hand finding mine again—
the whole city nods.

7.
First snow, no warning,
we laugh, mouths open like kids—
winter tastes like yes.

8.
SoHo windows shine,
I see myself grinning back—
even glass believes.

9.
Skates on Bryant Park,
we fall, laughing at the stars—
ice can’t freeze this grin.

10.
Fire escape sunset,
the city wrapped in orange—
my feet leave the ground.

11.
Late train, jazz guitar,
a couple slow dances near—
the platform claps once.

12.
New job, crisp white shirt,
reflections wink in the glass—
yes, this suit is mine.

13.
Pizza slice in hand,
walk home at 2 AM light—
I could marry life.

14.
Friends fill the rooftop,
laughter like fireworks burst—
the skyline listens.

15.
From the top of Rock,
my voice echoes over all—
I am not small now.

16.
Feet off the pavement,
a jump for no reason—yes.
Just yes, without end.

17.
Coffee shop window,
sunbeams slice the steamed-up glass—
today’s page begins.

18.
The ferry takes off,
wind whips the hat from my head—
I chase it laughing.

19.
A baby giggles
on a stroller near the Met—
we all smile back hard.

20.
Street fair in full swing,
I bite a cloud of fried dough—
powder sugar breath.

21.
My team finally won,
horns, shouts, high fives from strangers—
the city’s one voice.

22.
New ink on my arm,
the artist grins, and so do I—
joy beneath the skin.

23.
Fireworks explode
above the East River’s joy—
my heart bursts with them.

24.
Free concert in June,
voices raised with strangers' hands—
this, this is enough.

25.
In the mirror’s edge,
I smile without a reason—
the world answers back.

Heartbreak in NYC

 1.

The subway still runs,
but your voice is in the gaps—
doors close with a sigh.

2.
Our coffee shop hums,
your chair holds only echoes—
I sip what's not there.

3.
Fifth Avenue lights
can't outshine the empty seat—
I still walk beside you.

4.
At the Met alone,
brushstrokes blur behind my eyes—
art aches now, not heals.

5.
Rain taps on the glass,
your key still hangs by the door—
some storms never leave.

6.
We kissed by the arch—
now I walk through it alone,
each step a farewell.

7.
You left in summer,
yet snow fell inside my chest—
I shiver through June.

8.
Your old sweater sits
where your warmth used to begin—
wool without the soul.

9.
Taxi rides are cold,
though the heater’s turned full up—
no one says my name.

10.
In Chinatown dusk,
I eat for two by habit—
no hands across mine.

11.
On the Brooklyn Bridge,
our lock still clings to the fence—
but keys don’t return.

12.
Your last message sits
between two unread emails—
time forgets to heal.

13.
Bodega flowers
once meant “I’m sorry” or love—
now they rot unseen.

14.
Two mugs in the sink.
I wash both out of habit—
one heart still in rinse.

15.
The skyline still glows,
but your name dims every view—
stars blink like regret.

16.
Autumn in the Heights,
leaves fall without ceremony—
you took the seasons.

17.
In Grand Central’s crush,
I search each face for your eyes—
none turn back to mine.

18.
Your laugh filled this room—
now silence writes on the walls
in a broken script.

19.
No more toothbrush kiss,
just the hum of radiator—
your warmth turned to steam.

20.
We fought on this bench.
Now it holds only pigeons—
peace, but not my own.

21.
You took your records,
but left the sad ones behind—
they spin like my thoughts.

22.
Rain walks me to work.
You used to, in softer shoes—
the puddles don't care.

23.
Streetlight through the blinds
reminds me of your shoulder—
still glowing, still gone.

24.
St. Marks, late at night,
I read old texts in the cold—
your silence replies.

25.
Even in this grief,
the city does not slow down—
somehow, neither do I.

Winter in NYC Haiku

 1.

Steam from subway grates—
footsteps echo off brick walls,
snow hushes the night.

2.
Frozen Hudson flows,
Lady Liberty stands strong,
gulls whirl in gray skies.

3.
Fifth Avenue glows,
windows dress in twinkling lights—
fashion wrapped in frost.

4.
Central Park whispers
beneath a pale morning sun—
ice coats the branches.

5.
Cabs slip down Broadway,
snowflakes blur their yellow speed—
horns lost in the swirl.

6.
Brooklyn Bridge at dusk,
lamps ignite the falling snow—
steel bones rimmed with ice.

7.
Mittens clutch hot cups,
smoke curls from halal food carts—
hope warms through the cold.

8.
Skates carve frozen loops
under Rockefeller’s tree—
laughter echoes high.

9.
Frozen pigeons hunch
atop graffiti-stained ledge—
City sleeps less now.

10.
A saxophone bleeds
slow blues through an icy grate—
the rhythm drifts up.

11.
Beneath snowfall’s hush,
sirens cut through painted dark—
peace is never still.

12.
Wind tunnels through streets,
coats flap like angry banners—
taxis vanish white.

13.
Streetlamp halos glow,
blankets of light coat the stoops—
winter holds its breath.

14.
Snow on fire escapes,
stairways become skeletons—
dreams descend slowly.

15.
Empire stands proud,
its crown swallowed by snowfall—
ghost in the skyline.

16.
The deli stays lit—
a lone man buys cold coffee
to warm his silence.

17.
Snow in Chinatown,
lanterns dance with icicles—
dim sum steam rolls out.

18.
Bronx playground empty,
swings frozen mid-winter arc—
memories on pause.

19.
On Staten Island,
frost clings to ferry railings—
seagulls chase the wind.

20.
Subway doors clatter,
scarves and boots crush melting slush—
each stop breathes and waits.

21.
A poem of lights
written across winter’s dusk—
Times Square never sleeps.

22.
Wall Street’s flag hangs still,
its red stripes crusted with snow—
money doesn’t freeze.

23.
Snowflakes on black coats,
passing strangers share a nod—
together alone.

24.
Frozen playgrounds sigh—
statues of forgotten games
watch the city age.

25.
The skyline exhales,
wrapped in a blanket of frost—
New York dreams in white.

Staten Island Haiku

 1.

The ferry departs—
city fades in ferry mist,
gulls scream soft goodbyes.

2.
Tottenville sleeps still,
Victorian homes in green—
history exhales.

3.
Staten Island trees
whisper louder than traffic—
quiet has a sound.

4.
Freshkills reborn now—
a dump grown into meadow,
earth forgives in time.

5.
A fisherman waits,
casting lines off the North Shore—
waves reply with hush.

6.
In St. George, rain taps
umbrellas lined for the boat—
commute in a dance.

7.
Wagner College rests
on hills kissed by Hudson fog—
students chase soft light.

8.
Pizza in your lap,
ferry slicing into night—
skyline glows ahead.

9.
Mariners Harbor
smells like salt and summer sweat—
nets dry in the sun.

10.
Richmondtown’s stillness—
cobblestones from other times
echo under feet.

11.
Snug Harbor gardens,
shadows fall on koi ponds—
peace in every leaf.

12.
A child’s laughter spills
past Staten Island Mall walls—
sneakers squeak with joy.

13.
Old men feed stray cats
near the Arthur Kill’s slow waves—
both have earned their peace.

14.
Underneath the bridge,
waves slap against waiting boats—
tides don’t check the clock.

15.
Egret in the marsh—
still as prayer before flight—
grace in every pause.

16.
Tompkinsville drums
rise with smoke from backyard pits—
barbecue and pride.

17.
The ferry returns,
gliding past Lady Liberty—
commutes with meaning.

18.
Autumn’s orange glow
sets High Rock’s trail ablaze—
crunch beneath each step.

19.
Stapleton storefronts
reflect the borough's remix—
old meets rising bold.

20.
Great Kills watches waves—
sea glass waits in soft silence,
shaped by storm and time.

21.
Eltingville kids race—
scooters chasing fallen leaves,
freedom on one wheel.

22.
At Fort Wadsworth’s edge,
cannons rust beneath blue sky—
past guards present still.

23.
Verrazzano span—
steel bridge holding distant worlds
in a silent arc.

24.
Island of the hills,
forgotten, yet never lost—
you bloom quietly.

25.
Here, the city sighs—
not in sirens, but in wind,
and soft waves that wait.

The Bronx Haiku

 1.

Where hip-hop was born—
echoes from a basement set
the world in motion.

2.
Yankee Stadium—
cheers erupt like summer storms
under navy skies.

3.
Bronx Zoo calls at dawn,
lions pacing concrete grass—
kids press against glass.

4.
Pelham Bay’s soft tide
laps against graffiti rocks—
peace in silver light.

5.
Soundview benches hum
with old heads telling the past—
dice click in rhythm.

6.
Boogie Down still moves—
breakbeats on linoleum,
passion spun on decks.

7.
Gun Hill Road flickers,
past and present switching tracks—
graffiti trains slide.

8.
Mott Haven sunrise—
murals stretch across the block,
hope in every stroke.

9.
A bodeguero
greets each face with one nod—
respect in silence.

10.
Bronx River flows slow—
green surprise in grit and smoke,
turtles drift like dreams.

11.
Castle Hill still fights—
fists of joy, pain, and progress
raised in every storm.

12.
Co-Op City stands
like a concrete colossus—
lives in every brick.

13.
Arthur Avenue—
the scent of bread and red sauce
wraps you like a hug.

14.
In Fordham’s loud blur,
bookbags and chopped cheese collide—
students dodge the day.

15.
Bronx night sky aglow,
not with stars, but siren flares—
urban constellations.

16.
Crotona Park grass—
soccer cleats kick up the dust,
flags from every land.

17.
Underneath the L,
cumbia and reggaeton
bounce off bodegas.

18.
Aunties on the stoop
argue over recipes—
adobo pride wins.

19.
Tremont’s early steps—
street sweepers and sun alike
scrape away the dark.

20.
Melrose murals weep
with beauty and defiance—
paint resists the fade.

21.
Bronx is a story
written in bold, block letters—
never lowercase.

22.
Fish fry smoke drifts slow
from sidewalk to apartment—
Saturday has come.

23.
Wave Hill gardens bloom
while the Hudson dreams below—
peace beyond the fence.

24.
Parkchester arches
guard mothers with strollers full—
gentle warriors.

25.
Not just survival—
the Bronx is joy, fight, rhythm—
a loud, beating heart.

Queens Haiku

 1.

Jackson Heights morning—
a sari, a hijab, jeans—
worlds pass on one street.

2.
Planes hum over homes,
JFK wings slice the sky—
journeys overhead.

3.
Flushing food steam speaks
Mandarin, Korean spice—
no sign needs English.

4.
Corona Park wide—
kites tangle with unisphere,
laughter in twelve tongues.

5.
A Greek grocer sings
old songs on Astoria—
feta and romance.

6.
Jamaica dances
to the rhythm of patois—
buses bounce with bass.

7.
Sunnyside quiet—
cats sunbathe on fire escapes,
newsprint on doorsteps.

8.
Little Guyana
glows with gold and red saris—
oxtail, curry, peace.

9.
At Rockaway Beach,
a surfer’s dream collides with
a pigeon’s lunch quest.

10.
Queens Boulevard roars—
pedestrian prayers rise
with every crossing.

11.
Elmhurst's tiny shop—
behind beads and incense smoke,
fortune cookies crisp.

12.
In Forest Hills, still
remnants of grand tennis cheers
echo through green shade.

13.
College Point sunrise,
rosy light on quiet docks—
fishermen sip steam.

14.
Woodside trains rattle
above lumpia vendors—
rice paper in breeze.

15.
Auburndale whispers
of old gardens and screened doors—
quiet in the grid.

16.
Queensbridge’s beat drops
from windows cracked just enough—
a borough in verse.

17.
Baisley Pond still sleeps—
a heron stalks what’s unseen,
still in city rush.

18.
Masala and jazz
spill together on one stoop—
neighbors call by name.

19.
Ridgewood brick and dusk—
backyards hum with summer smoke,
cans clink in salute.

20.
Long Island City
blinks awake at river’s edge—
glass teeth in the sun.

21.
In Douglaston green
a child counts bees on petals—
city, but barely.

22.
Queens, queen of them all—
melting pot, yes, but more:
spice, sound, sky, and soul.

23.
Korean BBQ
smokes under subway shadows—
laughter, charcoal, meat.

24.
A bookstore in Bayside
sells stories in five languages—
pages turn the same.

25.
No skyline needed—
Queens thrives in mosaic light,
built from every root.

Brooklyn Haiku

 1.

Brownstone morning light
paints stoops in golden silence—
coffee warms the dawn.

2.
Prospect Park exhales,
cyclists glide like quiet thoughts—
birds rewrite the breeze.

3.
Smells of jerk and spice
float through Flatbush afternoon—
rhythm in the flame.

4.
Bushwick’s walls speak loud,
spray paint prayers and protest—
colors won't back down.

5.
Old Coney Island—
cotton candy on the pier,
seagulls chase lost fries.

6.
A Hasidic boy
clutches books against the wind—
faith in every step.

7.
Fulton Street alive,
bass bumping from passing cars—
beats beneath the breeze.

8.
In Red Hook’s salt wind,
warehouses hum with new dreams—
oysters on the dock.

9.
Bridge shadows stretch long,
Manhattan a skyline tale—
Brooklyn holds the base.

10.
Park Slope stroller swarm—
lattes, yoga mats, and pups—
soft gentrified steps.

11.
Green-Wood Cemetery,
angels sleep beneath the moss—
city still in stone.

12.
A Bed-Stuy sunset—
block parties and grill smoke rise
with old school slow jams.

13.
In Crown Heights, stories
bloom in every window frame—
prayers hung like curtains.

14.
Williamsburg cafés—
beards and laptops, silent wars
over charger space.

15.
R train crawls below
as life bursts above the ground—
layers in motion.

16.
Brighton Beach murmurs—
babushkas in boardwalk rows,
vodka-flavored wind.

17.
In a dumpling shop,
teen lovers whisper secrets—
soy sauce, side of blush.

18.
DUMBO's cobbled paths—
tech meets art beneath the bridge,
dreams priced by the square.

19.
Canarsie sunrise—
tide greets a sleeping canoe
rocking like a breath.

20.
Erasmus bells ring—
voices rise in every shade,
learning on the move.

21.
Crown Heights Carnival—
flags and feathers on fire,
steel drums pulse with pride.

22.
Brownsville blares truth—
a block raised on strength and loss,
beauty tough as brick.

23.
Bay Ridge lights the bay—
families crowd porches late,
Arabic and Greek.

24.
The bridge is a thread
braiding sky to borough bones—
every step a song.

25.
Brooklyn never sleeps—
not in the way Manhattan
boasts, but with full heart.