Standing on the street that for now is my home.

The sky flashes and the tympanies resound across the night sky.

I listen to the mantra of the crickets and the chorus of raindrops.

The street lamps cast a series of glimpses through the mist – like cinematic pictures on the pavement.

I look up and down the street and smell the air, the wet quiet stillness.

And as the day yielded to night so did my fancies – from one to another, 

where one lets go – a new one takes hold.

For now only mystery, but for unseen possibilities to turn the page

As cyclical as the rain which fell before.  Flames reignite.

And finding a door – closing to open into itself, 

I pause to wonder.  And enjoy the flight of taking chances.

And not to question, only be grateful for the beauty and grace of the fall.

Wherever I stand, give in or give way to – the choice is my own.

And I am always home.

Posted: August 28th, 2008 under my poetry, my thoughts.
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Words to give, tossed back and forth,

like darts, so fast they roll.

Thoughts to catch and cause a wripple effect,

my brain engaged.. now the game is on!

What would winning look like?  From each vantage point?

Am I that negative – so as to put a silver lining on every dark cloud?

To spin something resembling what I want – out of what is,

even if it’s only a partial synonym or a temporary clause?

Who are you to tell me how to live?  How to make my choices fit?

Indifference.

And yet you get so upset.

What does being a good person have to do with this?

It’s all one choice or another.. every cause has its effect.

Getting hurt is my reward for living my life fully.

But indifference.. that begs a few pointed thoughts.

Indifference is the opposite of love.. it leaves a mark far deeper than any insult or back of the hand can do.

For it is the lack of feelings.. an emptiness that stares you down cold.

It’s nothing at the end of the day.  

It’s a board with pons and plays that still remain in the box.

It’s an excuse for inaction, a hiding place for steps untaken

And ultimately befriends regret, sitting back club in hand,

staring at the open course and not taking a swing.

Where’s the move in bluffing?  Who’s counting the cards?

The deck is stacked and the king of hearts – risen to the top,

only to disappear in sleeves of ambivalency.

It’s hard to move foward when you’re stumbling back into your own retreat.

It’s hard to take it slow when one is not willing to keep moving.

Posted: August 18th, 2008 under my poetry, my thoughts.
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Is it time to take out the trash?

This is the time of night when I’m at capacity

And in order to sleep I have to write.

Almost 3 a.m.  Sometimes I’m up til 4, 5 or 6.

Which can be annoying.. because then the birds start chirping.

And what’s with that?! 

Is it time to feed the walls that surround me or knock them down

before they start tumbling?

This is the time of night when I peel back the paint

And peer into the words I choose, the thoughts that make my heart beat.

Almost tired.  Sometimes I’m unable to crack the codes.

Which can be altogether disappointing.. because then I don’t advance to the next level.

And what’s with that?!!

That is where I’m at.

Tossing and turning, sleep is the most difficult part of my day.

Getting this brain and heart to unwind, to close my eyes and rest.

Trying to ignore the empty space taking up most of the bed!

Designating a pillow to be something of what I had.

I find myself avoiding sleep, avoiding the bed.

“As You Like It” in the park tonight was splendid.

Such words rushed into my head. 

Too many to conjure, but here are the lasting impressions..

Love is the playground, the battlefield, the balancing act.

Love is the ground beneath, the yearning just above arm’s reach.

Love is the reason, the answer, the cause and effect.

Its in the dance, the song inside, each breathe.

Love is right behind you and where you stand,

Its in striving, the relentless attempts, and where you land.

Love is never one thing, nor all things at once.

Its autonomic as the beat of your heart and chosen with action

From the devotion of one’s thoughts.

Posted: July 19th, 2008 under NY Chronicles, Soliloque on Gabriel (poetic journey), my poetry, my thoughts.
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There he is with a glass burn in his chest,  twitching as he bites his nails raw,                                                 half asleep, half dreaming, half not there at all.

He’s such a beautiful boy, his joy is something to behold.                                                                                 Then the monster takes him by the core,                                                                                                           spins around the pain he’s managed to ignore.

Now I leave him pacing on his shore, smiling through his disappointment,                                                     wounded and mighty – plugging back into the curse that feeds him.

(written: 8/1/2007)

Posted: June 18th, 2008 under my poetry, my thoughts.
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Disparate and Being

They say that as humans we are set up to need, to want, to crave – emotional states. Thats part of how we’ve survived.. how love is derived..  How we stay so intertwined.

We are addicted to emotional states of being.  How much do you create your own emotional state?  How much does someone else bring that to you?  How do you know which one from the other?

Where does the dream begin? Do you share the same dream with him?

Or are you appearing in other people’s sense of reality that you will never feel, nor taste, nor make.  Never real for you?

I reel in this predicament.  I feel resentful of this disparate play.  To play out roles in other people’s heads that I am not in.  They create me.  My entrance and exit, my soliloquy, my rise and my lasting regrets.  And then I feel the consequence. They feed the character I play – with their own script, sound clips and visual angles.  The tensions and subtext, of which I never felt, persists within them - within their head, within their heart.

And who am I to say that it is not real? – for them?  Am I not real for them?

Okay I was on the scene.  I showed up that day. I had lines and feelings to offer.  I walked beside you and we spoke, but you heard other words, mostly your own.  I looked in your eyes and you saw someone else, thought you caught something.. of yourself, but I had sent nothing your way as I flew, landed and left feeling funny and running away.

And all this could happen – to you reading this now, to me looking at you – imagining the one that’s lifting these words off this page in a familiar voice inside your head, my words now yours,  

So I ask…                                                                                                                                 “Are we in the same dream?”  “The same movie, the same script?”

Just checking..

Don’t need an answer.  But thanks. Good to know,  for now.

(NYC Chronicles #7)

Posted: April 15th, 2008 under NY Chronicles, my poetry, my thoughts.
Comments: 1