Overcast skies,
mourning doves crooning,
cars gliding slowly
across soaked asphalt.
Wisps of steam
rise from your teacup,
raindrops streak
down the half-open windows
of the screened-in porch —
pooling on the sills and
trickling from the gutters.
The world grinds to a halt,
just for this moment.
Breezes blow in
through the insect screens,
rustling branches
and carrying
wafts of petrichor
that connect you
to the world you swore
you’ve escaped from.
A few more minutes
out here
couldn’t hurt.
Arranged meticulously,
posed purposefully,
captured faithfully —
life not as it happened,
but a skillful composition.
Sliced pomegranate,
with a few loose jewels nearby,
a vase full of poppies,
wine glasses half full,
a fresh loaf of bread
a steak knife flanking
an empty plate.
We stand on the outside
looking in,
a window to a moment,
forever undisturbed —
not life as it once was,
just an arrangement.
Take this with you,
only in memory,
no flash photography.
Stay with me, please.
You’re always on my mind.
I don’t care
when you go hide,
or wander far and wide,
scratch the curtains
or knock my glasses
off the table.
Take your time,
I know you’ll be back.
I feel you with me always,
When you’re nuzzled with me
I am stable
once again.
Stay with me please,
because you’re my friend.
I am tamed once I see you–
how little you do for me,
my favorite freeloader.
To every need, I will tend;
you can feed yourself,
bathe,
and live your life without me,
but I’ll do it all — all for you,
that’s what I choose.
Please stay,
you’re always on my mind.
Chack
Goes the cue ball,
as it breaks
the tenuous structure
at the start of the game.
We collected these balls,
and set them here
for specifically this purpose.
The purposive percussion,
can have unforeseen side effects,
such as scratches,
shouting matches
or, at worst,
the 8-ball finds a way
to lose you the whole affair.
But with precision and care,
the collisions
and chain reactions you hope for,
carry you through.
A game of pool revitalizes the night.
It brings joy and energy,
that escalates,
as each ball finds its way to a pocket,
out of sight
but not out of mind.
All from the predictable instability
at its outset.
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A light touch,
can really pluck
the heart strings.
My heart sings,
at the opportunity,
to practice with you.
But I, at times, am Icarus
too ambitious-
too inconsistent
with the placement of my fingers.
But vigorous no doubt,
My hope is that practice makes me perfect,
I can fine-tune this
day by day,
I just hope the neightbors
have nothing to say.
As they have their privacy,
so do we,
we’ll keep our sour notes
and symphonies,
all to ourselves.
Black and white montages
of your every day
average Joe
miserably failing
at mundane tasks.
Cut to open,
blinding white,
well-lit
studio space-
a prophet enters
to offer liberation.
His promises are grand,
his obligations are reasonable,
he tells you
salvation is yours for the taking;
he shows you
the sacred code
to speak with one of his disciples.
They beckon you
to pay your indulgences,
and enter the promised land
of Convenience.
Judgement day is upon us,
the prophet sweetens the deal,
if you are among the first 200
to accept him,
he will give unto you
a sacred chalice
that is impossible to spill
because of its NASA-inspired design,
but the clock is ticking.
You dial the phone,
but the line is busy.
You cannot live a life
of fear and ignorance
anymore.
When the words of the prophet are with you,
who stands against you?
Once more you dial,
and it rings for 3 minutes,
limbo.
Evil will not prevail today,
you tell yourself,
but you’re not so sure.
You walk in the shadow
of the valley of death,
into the kitchen,
where the reception is better.
One ring begets two,
which begets three
and on the fourth,
Hallelujah!
You have been welcomed
to the pearly gates of Convenience,
where every widget
is yours to order,
for 5 easy payments
of $19.99.
The angel on the other side
Is pleased to inform you,
that you are the 156th caller,
you have earned a sacred chalice
of your own,
what a steal!
Bit,
by agonizing
bit.
Every tooth will fit
neatly into its
corresponding groove,
so that all
goes smoothly along,
without a drop of oil,
or so help me
God.
I will breathe life into this machine,
by the sweat of my brow,
the skill in my heart
and every tool on my belt.
There is no room for interpretation in my work,
it is so,
or it does not function.
I consult my micrometer,
and make my judgement calls,
which bits can serve,
and which
must be filed down,
beaten flush,
or discarded.
I am the Stradivari
of player pianos,
my creations will help themselves,
play their parts
and serve their needs
with or without you.
The fine folks at Z Publishing House have selected my poem I Hope you Find What You’re Looking for to be published in their compilation “New Jersey’s Emerging Poets!”
I’m very excited and thankful, and wanted to share the link with my followers here, which you can find below.
http://www.zpublishinghouse.com?rfsn=940491.a8f6e6
Stay tuned for a new poem today, if you’re into that sort of thing…
At the open-air bazaar of ideas hangs
A smog of apocrypha,
So thick,
You could bottle it,
For any one eager and gullible enough,
To buy.
Yet filtering the miasma,
Of misinformation,
For its kernels of truth,
Shows how easy it is,
For certainty to be crowded-out
by lies.
It covers your face,
With thick soot,
The smell lingers
And stains your clothes-
The gasses
will burn your eyes.
But just because the truth is scarce,
Does not mean it’s not worth the trouble,
Of uncovering-
Keep your hazmat suit handy,
And your goggles on.
Prospecting is a hard days work,
For little pay,
But, nevertheless,
You will find it enriching
If you see it through.
The File Pile 