Warm sunlight.
Warm coffee.
Warm thoughts,
are enough for me
this morning.
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Rain Shower Souls
What happened to that rain shower soul?
The sun’s still shining but where did it go?
And all those sidewalk chalk talking dreams
came loose like a button torn at the seams.
What happened to that day dream tune?
The song’s still playing but how bout you?
And all those streetlight coffee shop blues
aligned like the sun eclipsed by the moon.
Did it help to regret all that came too soon?
Like skipped rocks reflect rippled waters in June?
Cause that honey was sweet so I tasted it all
aware that no one dear could break this fall.
Did it help to indulge in the depths of the Eve?
If Adam were blind don’t you think he’d still see?
Cause more often than not two stars in the sky
do cross one another in the blink of an eye.
What a trip to be youthful, dramatic and bold
To walk just a block with those rain shower souls
But age without reason can make you quite old
I’ve stitched my last button, when you’re ready I’ll go.
die a King in your fantasy.
I don’t want to be a burden
I just wanna sit here and read.
So if that’s ok
then the band can play
I’ll look up a couple times to see.
Everyone who’s silently cursing
checking out the latest feed.
There’s someone I knew
from another life
I look away so they don’t notice me.
It’s a living, a hard living
the barista says while pouring cream
a couple swirls and a twist
now there’s a swan swimming in my drink.
Guess I never really felt like drowning
I just swam in this misery.
I guess I can’t complain
I made my bed
skipped my prayers
now I’m counting sheep.
Guess I never really felt like dying
just romanticized how life could be
it’s like a game of chess
you protect the Queen
and die a King in your fantasy.
Cause it’s a living, a hard living
it could be worse is a common phrase
a couple riffs then applause
now the band packs their noise and leaves.
If I have to take a vow of silence
plead the fifth in double time.
With all due respect
I think I must confess
I cracked up like a nursery rhyme.
Still I can’t sing that song without crying
so whatever shall be shall be.
I guess the world’s the same
rinse repeat complain
the punch line never hit with me.
So if you’re living, a hard living
here’s raising this glass to you
and if you’re worried, don’t worry
there’s bound to be an answer soon.
Cause baby I don’t wanna be a burden
I just want to write my poetry.
Because I’m not a rock
or an island but
ain’t that the only way to be free.
moving West
I flipped myself
like a coin
then flipped again
just to see
if heads or tails
would land twice
like a pollinating
honey bee
I figured if I had a
50/50 chance
I might as well
take a look see
and feel what lie on the
other side of dying
rather than spend another
long day trying
to convince myself
I’d be better off another house wife
crying
into coffee
or screaming into laundry
relying on the offerings
of innocent smiles
casting unintentional
shadows on my coffin
of denial
marred by my own
self loathing
which like a
preacher’s devotion
I took such pride
in approaching
solitude
like a potion
endlessly encroaching
on my own
well being
I admit I was broken
so I flipped that coin
heads
then I flipped myself
tails
and discovered
this notion
that
heads or tails I was going
Going
Gone
with the wind
not a rolling stone
or a tumbleweed
not a nickel or dime
not a honey bee
no I was a wreck
cast far out to sea
but that’s just the thing
it took all that to see
moving West wouldn’t be
all that easy for me
no nothing is lucky
nothing is free
except the glow of bonfire
in the dead of tree
where dancing shadows
take form and
I’m just
understandably me — hell
it’s already 1:03
and I’m hungry
but
I’ve got no food to eat —
so call it in the air
no
on second thought
I’ll just let this one be.
coffee
When Hemingway writes
coffee
but doesn’t really
write about coffee
I crave it
Taste it
I smell it’s sorrow
And pour a cup
As the morning becomes I
And I the morning’s passing
another night
At the end of the day
I am nothing but
sweat and fat
and bad breath
and poems
strewn out among sage
and corkscrew, lighter, and coffee mug
wine and love for it all
all the things that I have carried
and still carry till this day
another night
another light
twinkling in the Friday night hysteria
of weekend fun
unseen.
peace.
All is quiet yet again
and I know what I must do
as if tasting coffee
for the first time
8:52
I drink slowly, carefully
cautiously
while sunlight enters the room
and from my window I can see
I am nothing
I am nothing more than
what I choose to be
and what I’ve chosen
this morning
is peace.
this old coffee shop
It’s all the same, all of it
except it’s all very different
from what I remember
it’s more or less weathered
the wall’s still orange
the bricks are still painted red
the music’s never stopped
it’s still sympathetic
in this old coffee shop
where I once roamed
head over heels
with everyone, though
I know it’s hard to believe
Rosie’s staring back at me
judging as if to say,
welcome back old friend —
now get the hell out of dodge!
when Whitman sings
I often hide the cover of the book
I’m reading,
commuting on the subway
or relaxing over coffee,
like anyone would care
either way, because yeah!
What if they did? They don’t.
But what if? And how does one explain
his book of choice, when more than not
the books I read give me no choice! Aha!
They’d label me pretentious, surely they should
but what if they didn’t?
Would I really have time for a friend,
when Whitman sings and celebrates self
Oh! You better believe I butt in.
A Common Conundrum
There
is a
brief
window
as a kid
where
they
don’t know
about
overtime
morning commute
time and a half
cut hours
nor should they,
because
they’re kids,
kids who need to let the adults speak
you tell them all the time
so
when
the kid’s
all grown up
and wants nothing to do with you
don’t forget
all
those
times
the kid
just wanted to play.
