Disappearing cities
this proud highway I ride moves recklessly towards the bright city ahead
like a runaway raindrop on the window
the city lights appear on the horizon,
disappearing
- opportunity to stop lost –
much faster than they come
January 2006
What is needed
to have what you want, he told me
is to know what you want
but all the money in the world, he advised,
is a generic answer, this it is discounted
life fulfilled only by riches
is wasted time on earth
I want a room full of Da Vinci painting
and Botticelli sculptures
Volumes of poetry and lyrics
by Shakespeare and Nas
I want a tiny beachfront home
with a porch caressed by loving sand
Where I can sit with my girl, coffee, and dog
watching the sun awaken the east coast
making my own conclusions as to where
the birds are actually flying
I want a pen and a pad
and a million fresh ideas
explain through poetry the water crashing the sand
like an old man breathing deep breaths
I want to look upon my life and smile
not because I have mountains of fortune
but because I have what I want
Summer, 2005
Seaside
I can still see your sweatshirt
stretched over your hands
bitten by the chill of the ocean
in that seaside town, desolate from summers fall
your arm entangled with mine shivering
but walking slower than ever
feet shuffling, saying nothing
as curfew approached
smiling at you through foggy glasses
the mystery of your other life
far from this small cape
waiting for you when your plane leaves
September, 2005
The Woods Out My Window
the news of winter is broadcast in the first gust of solitary chill
the weather man telling us to put extra sheets on our beds
ice decorating the morning grass
replacing dew with frost
the river smiles at its good fortune and newfound momentum
a final resting spot for the limbs and leaves
no longer providing shade,
but opening a window to the entire forest
many travelers have crunched these sticks
long gone, not forgotten by either party
but the foundation remains unchanged
telling new generations old stories
January, 2006
Seventh dinner guest
The seventh dinner guest is
always paid the most attention
like the most suspicious looking package
looming at the airport
The other six,
all paired off, deeply in love
laugh like I joke, but seriously state
That I hate being alone on nights like this
like a starving poet reading others best
knowing he is up to par with them.
January, 2006
Magic
Surrounded by hurry
Arm in arm was casually
stroll through the winters’ first snow
As people shuffle passed
I could look at you forever
Sipping coffee, before which you
Had to remove the scarf from your lower face
Hands cupped around your coffee
Bringing it slowly to your face
Gently blowing as if your tiny breath
Could magically alter the hottest temperatures.
November, 2005
I’ll Be
I'll be your gentle green of grass
or the southern smoke smothering the mountains of your Tennessee
I'll be the whispering waves walloping your Atlantic
while a one hundred year old sea captain
rehashes a century of exaggerations
August, 2005
Carolina
For J.B.
Funny, how it meant nothing at the time
but how fondly I remember you
leaping into my arms as the spiders
hid from the sunlight
For two days we toasted with wine
to good company and summer
We tasted salt coming off the shore
as surfers bobbed, awaiting their ride
We used my visit as an excuse
to dress up and spend money we didn't have
We slept a little closer together that night
After we heard of Wilmington's ghostly past
Strangers we met provided drunken laughter
Martinis and wine sealed the deal
We stumbled along cobblestone streets
As poets performed for only us
I played you jazz on that old ladies porch
in that perfect Carolina night
The piano and the summer wind created a perfect soundtrack
for a kiss that never happened
December, 2005
In a day
I like to stay up late
No TV, just me outside with the crickets
all alone in the California night
Watch the lights in every apartment
flicker off for the evenings final time
Feeling the inescapable finality
of the world calling it a day
Tomorrow brings new sun
but the same tired routine
So i stay up late watching, waiting,
wishing, as today turns to tomorrow
Why do we wish for the end of a day
and arrogantly think our last is far, far away?
If we keep rushing, it'll come quicker than we want
We spend most of our time lost in translation,
not wanting our day to being, then begging for it to end
Most of us don’t really live our days
as evidenced by hitting the snooze button a dozen times
And hitting the pillow immediately following the days charted course.
August, 2005
The wording of forever
The words I write you may never read
The thoughts I think may never be spoken
I hide from my introverted self
And speak too loudly emotion
The pull of tomorrow, it draws us away
and adds numbers to the pages full of words
to read back on yesterdays thoughts though
brings pain of pleasurable memories and fruitless complaints
Life presents daily challenge
which we handle with convenience
We leave people we never thought we could
and haunt ourselves with broken opportunity
Inspiration is mostly spontaneous
sights, sounds, and people forever shifting
capturing the present
can promote longing for the past
The sun sets subtly over the blue horizon
allowing the moon to illuminate bedrooms with lovers
time spent entwined with another goes by too fast
and sometimes forever doesn’t seem long enough
Words written one hundred years hence
can describe so aptly
the sting of summer love or winters whispers
so that those things are peculiarly present
I can write how I feel right now
And remember you this way forever
February, 2005
Writers
Although we are writing about our troubles
the unpaid bills...
a crummy boss...
our tiresome job we're too good for...
the girl we're not good enough for...
When we're writing
None of these things really exist
April, 2005
Remember Mexico?
Do you remember Mexico?
We got drunk and stole kisses on the bars' balcony
We held hands and laughed
When vendors tried to sell us their crap and called us "honeymooners"
I was unemployed and poor
working for $40 freelance stories
You took the day off
and insisted I drive
Remember I got frightened
when you took too long in the restroom?
We sat in traffic for an hour
while our buzz slowly wore off
Another country away
just me and you
You blocked the sun with your discount sunglasses
and scored us a shady shot of tequila
A moment didn't pass without a statement of compassion
or without physical confirmation of it
Remember Mexico? We only stayed for a few hours
But we got drunk and stole kisses from the bars' balcony
We shared cigarettes
and chased shots with Mexican cerveza
Whistles blew and the music was way too loud
you hold yours hand on my leg from across the table
Your dimple was showing because you laughed at everything I said
I was hilarious that day
But that was in Mexico
and we're not there anymore
July, 2005
Stolen Away
She left
And it made me bitter
I came home from work and
She had picked up and left
Took her clothes and music
and my curiosity with her
I could not sleep for days
as if part of me was missing
She didn't return my letters
or my calls
For six months diligently
I checked my post office box and answering machine
It seemed as if she had disappeared
my friends urged me to get over her
They vowed to have me attack the bottle
and get me laid
What happened was
I eventually told them
She left halfway finished
when she went
And in the process
she stole my favorite book
I cursed and took a sip
I want it back.
July, 2006
Standing by the bridge at noon
Standing by the bridge at noon
there was an old couple holding hands
fifty years of memories encompassed
in aging interlocking fingers
Sparrows made faces at me as they breezed past
And flowers taunted me with their spot
Forever in the glow of the sun
tasting mist off the waterfall
An absence of common noise is a peculiar sound
The wild is felt, the stream whistles inaudible melody
The scribe tries to recreate
All that can fit on paper
Reflections show in layers like a vintage portrait
one eyes sees on thing, the other something different
It mirrors life idyllically
Like we don’t want to believe otherwise
So I stood by the bridge at noon
with no poetic intention
I laughed at the notion because
I never come here without them
May, 2005
Where are you?
Too far away to hold
I close my eyes to see
To find what I am looking for
I search the back of my eyelids
And travel on the back of my dreams
like and old African proverb
encouraging the enslaved to fly home
Failing to see what I do
The perfection of the future
Envisioned as we create it
Regardless of what our past suggests
Every day starts anew
Nights erasing days
and allowing us to dream awake
July, 2005
Bird
Are the birds really singing
or doing as humans do?
Different sounds mimicking
confronting
bragging
complaining
reminiscing
walking on cloud nine after a night of passion
or kicking the sand after yesterdays disappointment
or is it
like i said
that they're just singing
all the time
May, 2005
Haiku's
#1
Every now and then
A random memory comes
Always me and you
#2
If I have learned one thing
Its that people aren't that smart
That's not changing soon
#3
You were gorgeous
Blonde hair, long legs, fire blue eyes
You had to talk, huh?
September, 2006
Lexington Autumn
Head aching
Arms stretched to the side
The rain smashing my cheeks eliminating
The suns idle threats
The clouds of smoke torn apart
From the wind and rain alike
The cold burning like a match
flickering towards its end
The end of a cigarette
Illuminates the dashboard
And the radio plays
Songs we already heard tonight
Lexington sleeps under September skies
The narrow roads lined in oak
Up the hill, right before the store
The dirt road like coming home
Writing to live this time twice
in the moment
Then in retrospect
The luck is ours to share
Searching the lines
Hidden with meaning
Underlined with regrets
And reflections of past triumphs
October, 2006
Missing Her Daughter
She graciously smiles at everyone she recognizes,
half the faces she knows strictly from well-wishing.
She embraces strangers she never met,
and tightens that grip on the familiar because, by now, she's so used to being admired and pitied at the same time.
She'll favor number eight for the rest of her life, and consider it lucky until the day she joins her beloved butterfly. What is this world without faith?
October, 2006
Imaginary escape
He speaks like a piano, with depth and articulation
But esoterically sometimes so that
the cultured and sophisticated can understand
The beauty of his conversation
Lovers quarrel while leaves of brown escape the limbs of trees
fluttering toward the freedom
of just a few seconds until it hits the ground
like a runaway slave sniped at the Ohio border
He looks toward the west in an unavoidable December
Over the fence to an imaginary escape
Falling in love before the sandman comes
Every night another reminder of solitude
August, 2006
Optimistic Negativity
The long absences wear on me
like a romantic dry spell
Yours is a face I cannot bear to see leave
Caught in a flytrap, the cob webs
at a stand still
with the sun screaming at midnight
To live another day
with the streets swept clean
but the earth stands lonely and still
Hearts palpitate quickly in lovers view
stopped stone still at the breathing
that happened flawlessly, consistently
Emotions fluctuated high, low high low
faces mashed together once again
Alone in front of the world
January, 2006
Missing the point altogether
Missing the point altogether
in a houses crowded with noise
watching behind closed doors
avoiding familiar strangers
An empty barroom floor
a twisted view of the cold
mysterious shadows blend in with the scenery
emerging to frighten children
The phone in the hall
with you on the other end
serious conversations are left to the politicians
short, yellow hair and skirt
The silence of a scribbling madman
An artist paints with his thoughts
Delivering sermons of angels and demons
A thousand shades of blue and red
Color shapes the feel of a room
Tells us whom not to speak to
Shyness envelopes two people with everything in common
Both of whom unwilling to engage
While the parade follows the annual path
The clown is jettisoned
Coy and rejected toward a tiny car
Hiding from the relentless view of the people
Tiny words meant for no one to see
Re-read before thrown into a campfire
forgotten as such
who know the book would sell so well
October, 2005
So Much Arrives Unannounced
Somewhere in town lies an empty street
Too cold for a trip to the store
A year seems so long ago
From the vantage point of this same setting
Familiar surroundings seem to change
The noises, the faces, the winds
The houses change colors with the leaves
So much arrives unannounced
Smells remain the same
A roasting turkey or the seasons change
The wind pushing us around like feathers
God and the Devil laughing next to hospital beds waiting to collect their rent
Weary glances from behind coffee cups
Each time the stranger sits
Inlaws and death
Remain the most unwelcome dinner guests
December, 2006
