The Crap I Write

I finish the crap I write

over coffee I can’t afford

in the mornings on

my days off from work

and I call it poetry.

Before the ice waters down

my Ethiopian cure

I can usually turn 3 or 4

workable pieces I find alright.

Nothing’s ever perfect and

I don’t strive for perfection anymore.

I just do as I do and that seems

good enough for now, besides

nobody reads poetry anymore unless

you’re dead or one of those Slam poets,

but that’s a pack I’d never run with—

the dead are fine but the Slam, no thank you—

since I’m no actor I haven’t the stomach.

I just know how I feel and put it down

whether or not it kills—HA!

If anybody actually cared what I had to say

I’d still be broke. I’d still be here,

no longer curious but still sincere,

breaking 8 balls and biting glass for reasons

only I can understand.

Walking home I no longer debate, I just

spit laughing blood and repeat,

waiting to be called back and told what to do.

A Simple Game

His thoughts were tailored by

The absence of himself

Her words sincere but from

The mind of someone else

Each clicked like a chess clock in the park

Played by strangers in the nude

It’s a simple game we complicate

When we react before we move

Her thoughts were tangled by

The silence in the room

His words unclear because

They sounded from a tomb

Each fit like a shadow in the dark

Exchanging others clothes

It’s a simple game we complicate

What we wanted with the truth—

I’m not a gambling man but I’ve played a hand or two

I’m not a fable or myth but I’ve read what sounded good

A tired man sits idle in the park asking questions with his eyes

I’m not that man in the park but what separates the two?—

It’s a simple game we complicate

When we react before we move

It’s a simple game we complicate

What we wanted with the truth

My studio by the sea

The incense

Cigarette smoke

The neighbors next door racket

The dirt, the grime

Reminds me of Grove Street

And Mac, sleeping

Angelic snores from a lofted bed

Where I sat, idle in the morning

Last nights memory a circus

Holding my piss, hungry

Waiting for Forest to finish his shower

So as I could relieve myself

And head back to Long Island

Where I’d dream of dying

In my studio by the sea

Left: Mac, Right: Me looking down the hall at Forest, BK 2013-2014

Beautiful Days

Beautiful music plays

while I remember—the worst—

most beautiful days.

Austin’s Coffee, 2011

If nothing, I knew better

Yes, I knew better

with every fiber of my being

I just couldn’t stop the show

even if I’d wanted to

The dancers danced regardless

while the showmen sang,

underpaid and underdressed

If nothing, I knew better

than to give them validation

or the contents of my soul.

Cassadaga, 2011

In the presence of family, be only with family.

In the presence of family,

be only with family.

Put aside the work and worry.

It’ll be there when you part.

And enjoy one another

as if each member of your family

were a dish at the dinner table.

Fill yourself with their essence.

Allow them like nutrients

to replenish your mind, body, and soul

so that when you leave one another

you’ll do so knowing

their presence is with you

for better or worse, forever and onward—

second star to the right and straight on till morning.

Family Gathering, 2012

Love is a language

Love is a language

a well written play

worn like a curtain

pulled closed on a stage

the cheering erupts

thrown roses at bay

behind a closed curtain

life’s finest display.

Mac On Happy High

An open question for the one’s still reading.

What is it that makes you Tik? And I’ll tell you what makes me Tok.

(But for real! What makes you get up in the morning, drives you through the day, and helps guide you to sleep?)

I’m curious to know more about you.

I’m all ears…

I allow the teachings of the past to help guide my future.

After a good, long day of self reliance, sleep, and in depth personal analysis, I am left with this thought.

What you do from here on out is your own cross to bear.

Though like a broken record I’ve continued to circle in place.

But why?

Einstein said, “insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

Well, though I agree I’m no Einstein, I’m not insane, I’m just a bit of a slow learner.

See, the hardest pattern to break isn’t necessarily the pattern but the mission so to speak.

We’re all on our own personal mission, aren’t we?

And whether or not we choose to accept it, it exists.

It’s taken many years through trial and error, deliberation, and self reliance to understand.

Carole King said, “you’ve got to get up every morning with a smile on your face and show the world all the love in your heart…”

Carole also had two children by the time of her divorce and continued to create with love and compassion.

So what’s my personal mission? And what’s yours?

Will we rise tomorrow with faith and gratitude in our hearts or repeat the same patterns that no longer serve us?

Olmec said, “the choices are yours and yours alone.”

But of course we all need a few humorous anecdotes to help us get through.

And I will, as will you.

Tomorrow, reach a little further than you did today. Try something new and show the world the love in your heart. The choices are yours.

And I’ve built my cross, one which I’m willing to bear.

It’s a heavy son of a gun, but I assure you I’ll be walking, hand over foot—that which does not kill us, makes us stronger— like Nietzsche once said.