The Park

The Park …

Colossus watches, his eyes adjourn each night,

his last sight The Park, its utopic quintessence.

Moonlit baths upon his sheets endow the time,

and his soul respites in resplendent evanescence.

 

Eventide comes and sheds her pallid skin,

so many dreams upon her dying friends.

A Wonderland with Alice and her kin,

atop a fungal bronze, the hatter pens.

 

The tribute asks for kids to take a chance,

to smooth their hands upon her polished plate.

Behind them, fields of emerald reeds of grass,

a lawn so grand its name begins with, “Great.”

 

The Belvedere amidst rebuilding phase,

its balcony, a panoramic treasure.

The naked eye can gaze for days and days,

And everywhere it looks it finds adventure.

 

With scaling pathways atop an iron bridge,

I walked on water, chosen like the gods.

Her bow, a strong one, with palettes at her ridge,

and scenic landscapes placed for all to laud.

 

In changing hues, months are stored forever past,

each springtime graced by papery blushing blooms,

a Hill so named for the resemblance cast,

engrossed by the scents, like sweet perfume.

 

The Ipe wood that lines the bridge expanse,

its color deepens as torrents assail.

The richest reds fall to rapture’s trance,

in vibrant reprieve from tough travails.

 

With rowboats thrusting below the archways,

To the north again, is Alice and her friends,

To the south a granite bench where poets play,

yarns spun from the mind of Hans Anderson.

 

When I see the flora I think of weddings,

with multitudes of European flairs.

From soft lilac and magnolia blessings

near Frances Burnett’s statue, to imbue a prayer.

 

Then onward north near Italy

In crabapples, yew trees, and climbing vines,

Wisteria pergola on trestles from Sicily,

And majestic fountains intertwined.

 

Foretold to wanting eyes, the French affirm,

as tulip bulbs plot with eternity,

With Schott and his Dancing Maidens holding firm,

I lounge in Heaven, in its brevity.

 

If honor needs a stage to exhibit hope

A noble quadruped shall be evoked.

His name is Balto to normal folk,

a bronzed cenotaph that never spoke.

 

But past endeavors were of a hero’s scope,

To save his dwelling from a deadly mix

He traversed through blizzards, through frozen slopes,

six hundred miles about, to bring the fix.

 

So upon his statue a message sent

endurance, fidelity, intelligence.

How simple these words that were Heaven sent,

Good words for our heroes who stand in defense.

 

Athwart to the park just a short hike,

Abiding diligence when crafting wonder,

through depressions and civil wars alike,

Calvert Vaux planned retreats from urban thunder

 

Vaux said to put, “Nature first, second, and third,

then Architecture comes after a while.”

The way that God took our breaths, his sacrosanct words,

From Bethesda porch, all I could do is smile.

 

Bethesda Terrace overlooking the lake,

Instituted during the civil war

Men ravaged with muskets and gun powder flakes,

whilst Olmstead and Vaux made visions on two floors.

 

Twenty six feet wide and ninety feet high,

On the first courtyard lies Bethesda Fountain.

In neoclassic fashion, an angel sighs,

protecting four small angels from drowning.

 

As ripples of water cascade to the base,

With hopes and dreams cast by copper face,

The angels in motion ever giving chase,

mingled hope and fact and hope they interface.

 

No more superstition just mind and will,

The chess and checkers house will call your name

Where neophytes come to better learn the kill,

Blessed by ample shade and potential claim—

 

This rustic pagoda of skill and cunning

Lends to us a battlefield of black and white

The view of course is nothing less than stunning

to take your army into the fight.

 

Alone, like a chameleon, the arsenal blends,

A home once for Parks and Recreation,

The first abode for history to extend,

A place where law enforcement built a station,—

 

The arsenal and its massive towers

with medieval, fortress-like details

no room in this arsenal for flowers

a cast iron eagle at the gate prevails.

 

I love a subject of great debate

Like the coming of age of the great lawn

Once a reservoir bringing thirst to sate

Now a spot where city natives play upon

 

I’ve found myself a spectator looking in

As many young children and adults still play

Around the diamond, with bat and gloves worn thin,

A favorite pastime is enjoyed by many each day.

 

With offers of solace or calm of peace,

Each step in the park hints at nostalgia.

Take in a concert, embrace the release,

Step on the fields and be part of the gala.

 

In the joys of each day, and iconic motifs,

in expressions of movement like kids in the park,

Quests of culture in the hues of a leaf,

Or panorama of the city after dark

 

Surrounded every way by minarets,

The soul of metropolis resides in green.

In spells where life gleams and in changing palates,

The park still has a way to fulfill your dreams.

Paul Neglia

Paul Neglia

Proud father of 3. Part time writer of poetry and short stories. I want to paint the world in but a few words.
Paul Neglia

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Paul Neglia

Proud father of 3. Part time writer of poetry and short stories. I want to paint the world in but a few words.

8 thoughts on “The Park

  • August 16, 2018 at 12:54 PM
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    Oh how I would love to run and play on the Great Lawn – that is the child in me, brought out by your description of the Park. A lot of history there, and that image is great. I felt transported back to the past, seeing all the history born there. Great work, Paul. I love it!

    Reply
    • August 17, 2018 at 10:26 AM
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      Thank you so much for your kind words. New job is ok, always a learning curve. Central Park has too much to discuss in one poem. I missed so many things. It’s one of my favorite places in the city, almost like it’s out of place, but so refreshing. Thank you again

      Reply
  • August 16, 2018 at 2:10 PM
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    Your visuals took me on a world wind journey that I thoroughly enjoyed reading Paul. The descriptive nature of characters, architecture and playfulness definitely drew me into this passionate work of art. You sir have a way with your pen that only the gods would surrender to you. I felt in a time warp as I tripped through your park bringing out the child in me and wanting to see all the ghosts that hung out there over time. A whimsical work of art indeed, I was truly captivated by your words. Cheers and so well penned.

    Reply
    • August 17, 2018 at 10:35 AM
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      Central Park, NYC if you havent been there, it is worth seeing at least once. The views are amazing, the architecture is beautiful. Thank you for your kind words my friend.

      Reply
  • August 17, 2018 at 1:57 AM
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    Glorious New York in such splendifferous detail and at the heart Central Park in all its glory. A wonderful testament to one of the most famous cities on the planet. So well crafted and expressed Paul. Kudos.

    Reply
    • August 17, 2018 at 10:28 AM
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      Thank you so much Tony. It truly is a remarkable place to visit. I go there everytime I visit the city. It is like a kingdom of its own, away from the hustle and bustle of Manhattan. Thank you again

      Reply
  • August 20, 2018 at 1:07 PM
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    It’s amazing that you’ve captured so many different “angles” associated with the park; it’s like taking a nostalgic journey that comes with tons of new benefits. Nice job!

    Reply
    • August 20, 2018 at 1:14 PM
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      Thank you so much Ralph. I’m glad you enjoyed my take on The Park.

      Reply

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