Monthly Archives: September 2013

2 Dollar Barefoot Friend

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My 2 dollar barefoot friend

Say’s don’t forget the gift he sent

I don’t give these away cheap

For this gift I give you now

Was once mine to keep

Is the best I have to offer

Not much monetary

All my pockets could carry

With no shoes on my feet

Keeping my limbs clean

Not a requirement

A choice rather

To stay simple and connected

So on bare feet I stand

Resurrected

He imparted simple knowledge

With a gift of simple patronage

In a coffee house with steam buzzing

People talking

Computer keys chirping

My 2 dollar barefoot friend stood standing

Connected to the ground

In a way so organic and true

His motivation true

Eyes keen on anti-convention

Somehow he felt more alive

With a true world connection

As the night got late he carried on

I went my way he went his

But his two dollar bill

Was his gift to give

And the simplicity of

A barefoot connection

 

Moving Words

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Moving words

In late night discussion

Sporadic thoughts

Where we are moving

To the deserts of the west

Canopy of south of the Midwest

Through highway curves

And underpasses

I am left feeling lost

Lost between New York

And LA

Not quite sure where

The words will take us

Today

Lost in a cover of clouds

Covering my thoughts

So silent

And so loud

No feeling about the future

No recollection of the past

My love asks me with weary eyes

Is there any wrong

Or any right

To this question that we seek

Answers to tonight

Maybe Georgia

Or the Smokies in NC

That is where my heart will be

Perhaps in the desert with

Snakes and cactus

This conversation always seems to lose

Us

Somewhere in the US we will be

Tomorrow and the day after

Perhaps even a year from now

These moving words have no

Real ability to move me

And I am sure we will revisit this

In these late night car seats

The Smokies

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Amongst the Smokies
And the fog covered skies
We find rest
Time away from life
No sirens rolling by
The night sky
As dark as I have ever seen
The changing landscape
If the mountain scene
We feel called to rest and write
Under the peaceful
Carolina sky
Where the pace is set
By the coast of an evening sky
There is no sweeter rest then in these hills
Summers retreat
And falls chills
Set in in evening collapse
Dinner is made near the Cumberland gap
For now the air is intoxicating and luring
In the mountains embrace
We have felt
Such a touch so soothing

The Highways calls

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The highway calls again
With it’s sun blurred lines
Cigarette butts
Animal carcasses strewn
The highway calls again
The open road pulls me back
With blackened road signs
Tar filled cracks
Semi hustle
The highway calls me back
To wide open fields
Kentucky hills
And Tennessee curves
The road calls
Gas station bathrooms
Stale AC air
And windshield fluid
State lines
And cargo lines
The car sets out
The highways calls back
Answer with a shift to drive
Praying to stay alive
On the open road

Here we go

Jack at the Coffee shop

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I had just been thinking about him
Wondering if he was alright
So I was glad when I saw Jack today
Looked good, walking
In to get his coffee
He said he was not feeling alright
Woke up late with blood in his urine
Scared him half to death
Said he had to go see the doc
Might not make it past 13 from 100
He remarked with a grin
Doctor said he would be fine
But he could read the docs notes
Said it might be cancer
Can’t beat it anymore
He lost his wife about a dozen years ago
Enjoys eating out and drinking joes
So I patted him on the back
And said it was great seeing you
Held the door as he thanked me
Then walked on through

Take a Look

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Let’s take a look at the headlines

The twitter feeds

Handles and Hashtags

Feeling a bit out of line

What is coming through the feed line

The umbilical chord of information

Keeping me alive

As my eyes read over every line

Some clowns grab the main light

Stage set for them just right

No need to worry for talent or something new

Just get naked and run around for a few

Headlines running from each side of the States

Somehow I can no longer see straight

To the headlines falling off the page

From computers and newpapers

Wasted on the futile

Infertile information trying to impregnate my mind

With nothing more than wasted time

And energy

Just trying to read head news line

 

Wishing for Paris

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I miss the French way of life

Living simple

Pinch of salt

Fresh morning air

And just right

We made our way through

The streets of Paris

On foot we passed

The Louvre

To coffee shops

and small bakery

Learning of French culture

Talking to the people

Sharing in a laugh

Maybe a smoke

Nothing moved to fast

Not quite to slow

We made friends wherever we would go

On the train

We learned about history

Controversy

And coffee

Shared meals so splendid and simple

On rivers bustling and broad

I miss France

Paris

Is on my mind

The bread was fresh

The pastries delicate

And new

This was new to me

I had never loved these foods

As I did then

And do now

The Grand Piano

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Touching these keys

Learning the ropes

Can never quite know

If I will ever own a Grand Piano

No complaints

Simple observations

Over one late night practice

A good evening of contemplation

The keyboard is the working mans way

Not sure why

I thought about all the notes I have known

How they come and go

They are the only notes I hold

Hold them close

As the time rolls

And the money shrinks and grows

Falling in and out of my life

But the piano is a constant for me

Beckoning just a simple practice

Rehearsal for the future

But I will never own

One of those

Grand Pianos

Was not my life choice

Money was never my motivation

The crazy life of a musician

That full of life sensation

Wondering around our great nation

Playing for an ear that will listen

And notice

All the notes that flow out of my soul

Unnoticed

While content minds sip on sodas

At the bar where the piano sits

No one gives a shit about it

The grand piano

That I can play

But never own

A musician

On call waiting

Sitting on their phone

No I will never own that Grand Piano

Or a suit to go with it

I will own my songs and my life

And all that is in it

For a short time

A stint some say

Then in time it is all taken away

So in the end I need no Grand Piano

Its not mine to own

I will learn and learn from it

It will become a true friend

But in the end

When the lights are off

Both the piano and I know

I will never own

This Grand Piano

Back at the Wheel

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So life has been pretty crazy for me over the past couple of weeks. Took some time off to get married and throw one of the most amazing receptions I have ever been a part of. The day was just simply amazing and it taught me a lot about myself, life, and my purpose. I am very thankful to be back trying to resume my poetry blog and discovery. I hope that I am able to give some new insights into where I am at currently in my life and continue to grow in my exploration of words, meanings, rhymes, and rhythms.  Cheers -Nate