1/31/11

Some people think the cars we may obtain,
Define our value and our dignity,
A sense of status, I once deemed insane.
But now, I’m less inclined to disagree.

A man rode by today and changed my mind,
On viewing a display of his effects.
Such vehicles in his procession line!
Each one commanding reverence and respect.

They all paraded by, so I could see,
The number which this fellow had amassed.
His friends all driving in their finery.
His greatest wealth assembled when he passed.

Indeed, in death, the worth of who we are,
Is counted in the number of our cars.
1/30/11

Outside the fitting room of some department store,
Beneath florescent skies, I bide my time and sit,
With listless eyes, I stretch my legs and pace the floor,
And pray inside you'll find the rare, elusive, fit.

Although it tries my patience as I'm waiting here,
The moment that you re-emerge  and smile is worth, 
Far more than every occupation I hold dear,
And any time I have to spend upon this earth.

1/29/11

Drinking in a Brooklyn bar with friends,
Revisiting today and days long gone
A pleasantry indulged in, now and then,
A quiet sidestep from life's bustling throng.

An eye inside the daily, raging, storm,
To which we all contribute in our way,
A chance to slip away and thwart the norm,
And gift ourselves a misspent chance at play.

Historians will not recall this day,
Upon this time, no weight will be bestowed,
No one will quote a word that we might say,
And what transpires, none shall wish to know,

But, as we live, sparse moments such as these.
Define our most persistent memories.
1/28/11

Flurries, flakes, precipitation,
Slush and sleet, crystallization,
Dustings, blankets, knee-deep ice-drifts,
Blizzard, hale, and white-out tempest,

Angry man with shovel, digging.

Frigid, arctic, frozen, cold drafts,
Untrustworthy weather forecasts,
Whipping, gripping, chills that blow,
Snow, and snow, and snow, and snow.
1/27/11

For several years, it rode upon my wrist,
As I would journey on and make my way,
It kept the seconds, not a moment missed,
Persistently, pronouncing times of day,

It kept close measure with each rising breath,
Through great elation and dark brooding moods,
It’s mechanisms met my pulse, and yet,
A mishap saw it’s watchfulness removed.

But as it’s checking stopped- my life advanced,
Despite it’s loss, my tempo still persists,
Although it’s memory fades and life supplants,
In times of fancy, I imagine this:

In some reality split off by chance,
A man who seeks the time still checks his wrist.
1/26/11

While getting dressed this early winter’s ‘morn,
And searching through my closet’s deep recess,
I found a heavy jacket, rarely worn,
All but erased from daily consciousness.

And donning this while I pursued my chores,
Hands sheltered, in it’s pockets, from the snow,
I unearthed artifacts, absently stored,
When last I wore this garment, years ago.

A cocktail napkin scribbled with designs,
A lady’s lipstick held and kept by chance,
Old ticket-stubs, brochures, and scraps I find,
Recall the day’s fond joys and ambiance.

Who was this man who left these clues behind,
In vanished years of changing circumstance?
1/25/11

Great Peter the Adventurer,
Set off upon your path today,
Perhaps you’ll play at knighthood, Sir,
In search of dragons you might slay.

An astronaut on Planet X,
Or else, a captain on high seas,
A scientist, an athlete-  Yes,
I’m sure you will excel at these!

And as you age, if you should face,
Some dragons which are fiercer still,
As you once played, stand unafraid,
With valiant strength and iron will.

But, if the dragon wins sometimes,
And you should doubt what’s right and true,
Let these short lines serve to remind,
How much we all believe in you.

Tonight, sleep tight in mother’s arms.
Tomorrow, you’ve got work to do!
1/24/11

A winter fire in the dark,
Emerging from a fledgling spark,
The shadows parted by it’s glow,
As grappling tendrils gently grow,
And so emerge as brilliant blooms,
Which blossom on all they consume,
And feed with childlike, frenzied glee,
Releasing heat and energy.

Before it’s brilliance, stagnant drafts,
Retreat and scurry off like rats,
As from it’s core, a maelstrom storms,
Which flies, and terrifies, and warms.
And in it’s hiss and crackle sings,
The start and ending of all things,
It’s raging blaze so radiant,
Immortal, yet impermanent.

So now, in this chill, empty, room,
So dim and cold, I pray that soon,
A winter fire will ignite,
To burn, and urge my hand to write
1/23/11

Chipping the paint off an old window pane,
One might hear, as expected, a scraping refrain.
But, when listening close, you’ll attend verbose ghosts,
Which it’s dense layered lead, oil, and latex contains.

You may hear tender whispers and passionate vows,
Precious, desperate, vespers and blasphemous rows,
Great laughter and rapture, dread hopeless disaster,
And volatile secrets which mean nothing now.

The first loves and lost loves and loves found again,
Dividing debates fought between lifelong friends,
Some screaming, some sighing, a small infant crying,
A comforting rite with a breath at the end.

And among all these flecks, you may even detect,
Your own words that were heard by the walls now and then.
1/22/11

A gentleman procured a vintage wine,
Of finest flavor and variety,
He sought to let it mingle over time,
And hoarded it away covetously.
He withstood all temptation through the years,
Past celebrations and deep tragedies,
Past rites of passage and commencement cheers,
And rash, nocturnal, joviality.
He kept it from his courtships and his wife.
Through pleas of friends and family he endured.
He long outlived them all, and all his life,
His prize, sequestered, spirits had matured.
‘Till finally, all alone, he sought his bliss,
And found his cherished fortune flavorless.
1/21/11

There are fish in a bowl, but they know not their role,
As they flitter about in their single-celled shoal.
They sustain occupation in feeding and flight,
Marked by vague punctuation of darkness and light.
They have very few questions, crave little affection,
Their quandaries involve but to swim which direction.
And though their small minds know no better or worse,
They are largely confined from the whole universe.

1/20/11

Late one night as I was treading, on a path with no sure heading,
Down a dark and stagnant street beneath a curtain-veil of gloom,
Suddenly, emerged a mansion, long forgotten and abandoned.
Dark and empty, but for one lit window in the tower room.

Strange, I thought, that I might spy, in such an odd locale, a light,
With all the house unlit it seemed unfit to find one room possessed.
Then upon the moaning wind, I thought I heard a rising din,
A clamoring of angry voices, filling me with deep unrest.

At this time, you must believe, I had the strongest urge to leave,
"'Tis none of my concern" I thought- yet curiosity prevailed,
Suddenly, I heard a crashing. Fragile, glass-like sounds of smashing,
And above it all, there came a terrifying, mournful wail.

Fixed upon the window sash, I craned my neck and tried to catch,
A glimpse of shadow through the blinds that might connect with what I'd heard,
All for nought, my sight caught nothing, but my ears could hear a thumping,
Or was it the sound of gunshot as I backed away unnerved?

Though unraveled, pale and shaking, still I watched. Was there mistaking,
This for some small celebration? Revelers, rejoicing high?
Came a voice as if responding, all my hopefulness absconding,
From the window, crying out one chilling, desperate, query: "why?!"

How should I hope to address, this strange perceived call of distress?
Should I retreat or should I meet my fate and bravely charge inside?
But my panicked indecision, seemed to be met with derision-
Sharp and mocking laughter as the window blinds began to rise.

There from where I stood, I peered, and saw each detail, crystal clear,
Then turned, and walked back home, and went to bed, and there I slept till noon.
Unless you imagine that I saw the death of some stray cat,
Forever you shall wonder hence, what happened in the tower room

1/19/11

A small crack in the asphalt, calmly coaxed,
By simple, cyclic, stresses which divide.
Through gentle pressures, frost and thaw revoke,
Industrial endeavors of mankind.
We stare upon our crumbling works with rage,
Rebuild and reinforce them with repair.
Alas, aloof, unblinking, scourge of age,
Your arsenal, eternal, seems unfair!
We cry injustice thus, with vengeful thirst,
The elements are sworn as enemy.
Yet, our ambitious digging drew blood first,
The earth strives, but to heal it's injury.
When fissures of our flesh reform and fade,
Does nature's hand not win our highest praise?

1/18/11

Passwords keep my home computer safe from stranger's eyes.
Automatic text encryption thwarts those who might pry.
Shopping-website log-in passwords shelter and protect.
Several more ensure my network modem can connect.
When I enter my I.D., my home alarm gets set.
One more phrase recovers all the passwords I forget.
Random keys shield my utilities and all accounts.
Do my days exist with more protection than without?
Should my life be so reliant on mistrust and doubt?

1/17/11

I sit inside my home with things displayed so I can see them,
And think upon what has become my very own museum.
The artifacts that hearken back to triumph, joy, and strife,
Loose, scattered, scraps of salience 'tween milestones of life.
A grand exhibit of my most significant effects.
Yet, in this diorama, caution, likewise, must be kept.
For while this archive of my acquisitions does console,
It only mirrors what has passed, and reverently extols,
The marks that fade as those who made them cease to grant them life.
From time to time I must remind myself to go outside,
On expedition, to explore with old and newer friends,
To bring new treasures back and fill my galleries again.    
1/16/11

Why does the most affecting cruelty,
Seem to originate from innocence?
Why do the slings and deepest injuries,
Appear to have no aim or ill intent?
How can an action so innocuous,
Elicit such enduring misery?
What is the phantom hand that masters us,
And turns our tongues to harm where none was meant?

Why is so seldom there a second thought,
That cautions lips to close and wait their turn,
Before an unintended wound is wrought,
Before the tinder pile begins to burn?

Assassins show their axe before we die.
This kindness, conversation won’t abide.
1/15/11

Quick soaring jets that thread between the seas and continents,
Fast engines spinning speeding wheels across vast distances,
Great wired webs and signals sent between the earth and skies,
All engineering wonders I admired with young wide eyes.
But on this day, cease to amaze these gifts of modern times,
For each just seems another means to sorrowful goodbyes.
Each new device serves to divide and carry us apart.
Each new contrivance meant to bind us, does so from afar.
Today, you leave.  Technology brings cutting-edge regret.
My eyes once wide with wonder, now made sullen, red, and wet.
1/14/11

If hatred were the easy path,
It seems we'd choose it all the time.
We'd blindly strike in lawless wrath,
And burn all bonds which bridge mankind.
The least resistant course oft wins,
And yet, most roads lead not to hell,
And it would seem, for all our sins,
We haven't yet destroyed ourselves.
We must conclude that love is free,
And hate more taxing to commit.
If so, why do so many seem,
To work so very hard at it?


1/13/11

They gathered in the desert, shovels, maps and picks in hand,
Claiming ownership of all which lay asleep beneath the sand,
And, like drooling dogs in search of prey, their quarry was unearthed,
But, not any one among them paused to heed the mummy's curse.

The seekers toiled and labored all the night to excavate,
Delving deeply 'till they heard the pit emit a stony scrape.
As the dust withdrew, unveiled the tomb, the men cried out with mirth,
But in all their jubilation none recalled the mummy's curse.

With greedy eyes they pried the stone that sealed this ancient crypt,
By the dim torch light to guide their climb, into the dark they slipped,
Gleaming treasure then reflecting frenzied filling of each purse,
But among the coins and jewels purloined, they packed the mummy's curse.

They lived as wealthy men, but then, one stone, men cannot buy,
And their cherished treasures were interred among them when they died.
Thus in later days, marauders came and saw their fates reversed.
Time will steal all riches from us. Suffer all, the mummy's curse.

1/12/11

Mr. Cappy bought a gun,
He bought it for protection,
But there wasn't really anybody who was out to get him,
And it never made him clever,
Or any more attractive,
And it never made him more impressive, or his life protracted.
No, it didn't help to feed him,
He bought meat at the market,
And it didn't make more people need him if that was his target.
No, it didn't make him knightly,
Or strong, or fit, or taller.
He was only, very slightly, made more capable of murder.

1/11/11

Each time we come upon a date like this,
I wish I was a numerologist,
For there would surely be no mystery,
That I could not solve through arithmetic.
With arcane knowledge, I'd interpret signs,
And these predictive digits would divine,
By rituals of old, the future told,
From mathematic fact and magic trick.

And yet, the way these numeral's values twist,
So often will resemble randomness,.
Like cotton dragons fly through clouded skies,
They only seem to be, because we wish.
For on this date to which fate is ascribed,
One man wins fortune, yet another dies,
And who can say which way the numbers play,
Toward outcomes that would merit specialness.

No, I shall call the numbers as they are:
A simple trace of where we've been so far,
And hope for you, your fondest dreams come true,
On this, or any other numbered days,
And urge we guard to not exaggerate,
As we revere these fleeting times and dates,
Lest we forget the gift of every breath,
And, through our careful counting, loose our way.

1/10/11

'The world is due to end this coming year,
Destruction is at hand- Repent! Recant!'
With low foreboding tones of mortal fear,
So spoke the doomsday, armchair hierophant .
But, as he smugly preached and prophesied,
I couldn't help but watch and pity this.
If God intends the end, this man will find,
His last days wasted on self-righteousness.
1/9/11


There's a cat in the road and it crosses my way,
And it darts with a startle, this poor hapless stray,
But, it doesn't rehearse in it's mind this transverse
It dives headlong through this death defying display.
In it's feline minds-eye it perceives no nine lives,
Just an impulse of need and a quick fearless drive.
As this cat clears the road, I pray I'll be bestowed,
With the same leap of faith and the same will to try.

1/8/11

The snow descends in silent revelry,
And fills the air with opaque haziness.
It settles on the dwellings and the trees,
Enclosing all expectant surfaces.
It's calming hands caress the empty streets,
Restricting all our harried busyness,
Like nursing fingers tucking linen sheets,
And sending us to sleep with gentle kiss.
With calm concern, it urges we must stay,
And know, for this short time, we won't be missed.
The worried world can wait another day.
For now, the skies provision nothingness.
1/7/11

Today it is my birthday,
And I can't believe I made it here.
Tomorrow is my first day,
How shall I survive another year?

1/6/11
I travel on a highway West and East,
Amid a blurry wash of scenery.
Each day I stare through space in dreamlike peace,
But on this morning, it occurred to me,
Beyond the miles of watercolor trees,
And steel and stone divides on either side,
Beyond my limited periphery,
Are countless people living out their lives.
The houses where they fear and love and grow,
Communities in which they all reside,
The dramas they play out, much like my own,
All vanish from this earth as I rush by.
I see the exit ramps. I know they lead,
To passions great and small, from death to birth,
But, as I bisect this humanity,
They simply vanish from the universe.
I wonder if I stopped along my route,
And visited in some such nameless place-
Some other world beyond my own pursuits,
Would my existence, likewise, be erased?

 
1/5/11
Like an old sweater hung on a hook by the door,
That you've owned several years and will keep countless more.
One that's threadbare and worn, but still wanted and warm,
Colors faded and changed, yet it's fibers endure.
Varied memories you carry in fond retrospect,
Have been sewn 'neath the cloak of this garment's protect.
All the comfort and rest long received by this dress,
Has dyed into its cloth, soulful stains, deep and pure.
As the decades pass by, I should still hope that I,
Have retained the same manner of long useful life.
Through the stretching and strife, let me be not unlike,
This old sweater, defending, soft, steadfast, and sure.


1/4/11
In life, too often we will pass our days
By waiting for the day to finally end.
We wish each minute quickly wilts away
In daydream of the fonder times we'll spend.
But on this day, I have not one regret,
For hastening decaying beats of time.
I'm glad this day is done. let me forget,
Each ebb that led me to this bitter rhyme.

1/3/11
She spied him sitting on the train,
He caught her prying eyes and smiled,
Her stop passed by but still she stayed,
He lingered too. They talked a while.
They courted on for several months,
Sometimes they fought, but most was bliss.
They shared a hundred setting suns,
And marked each sunrise with a kiss.
He finally asked to share her life,
They took their vows. and joining hands
Set down their path as man and wife,
And carried out their fondest plans.
And as years passed, their love remained,
And grew with each new passing day,
He caught her staring on the train,
Chagrined she turned and looked away.

1/2/11
A simple fleeting act of carelessness,
While standing with my hands too close to flame,
Despite a few small marks of permanence,
Which bear a signature in folly's name,
There was received no lasting, crippling blow,
Among the seared and scalded injuries,
No loss of limb did lapping flash bestow,
But blistered, wrinkled, swollen misery.
And as the heat and pain slowly abates,
And deadened cells form into plates of mail
While younger, brethren-flesh remediates,
The patient, wounded, guardsman, flesh prevails.

As withered skin begins to fall away,
I think on all the many things it touched.
As old life is supplanted, and replaced,
I ponder passing textures smooth and rough,
That this old skin transmitted to my soul,
The tactile teachings that it did impart,
The moments it met with a hand to hold,
And told romantic tales to head and heart.
The countless things it helped me to create,
The many things it held which I hold dear,
The times it clenched in fitful balls of hate,
The moments it absorbed a fallen tear.
For this, i make a vow in old skin's name,
For memories shared, i hereby promise this,
I'll keep my new skin farther from the flame,
And always guard it well from idleness.

1/1/11
This year begins as all years must,
And as time carries on, I trust,
That it shall heal wounds come before,
While introducing several more.
But still I hope for better days,
And rise resilient and amazed,
That after all I did and saw,
This day brings innocence and faith.