Only in New York
Can you meet a legend on the street
Step inside and share bagels
And eat
From the Upper West side
To the East Village
It shatters any image
You have in your head
Straight talking fellas
On the Avenue
Just another normal day
For me and you
But legends shake hands
With people sipping their
Daily brew
Unusual but true
This could only truly happen
Out on the streets
Of Manhattan
White floors
In Brooklyn
Don’t stand even the slightest
Chance
Against feet
That have trod all day
Night
Evening
Through to morning light
Imperfections will be made
As one foot
The next is laid
White floors in Brooklyn
Are a high price to be paid
Big heaping pile of coldness
Plastics elastics fantastic
Illuminated grand bombastic
Yet my eyes seem rather deflated
Upon laying them to rest on fakeness
From real trees
To the ultimate regress
Plastic toppled on top of fanciness
I understand the symbol
But not the true beauty
Of a real tree
Uneven symmetry
Built by the land eternally
Circumvent then these fake trees
Pristine ever to be
From plastic bottles to from of room
Our plastic addictions seems to bloom
From these tupperware we create
A tree to elate
–
Get after it late
Get after it early
Life is good
And you are worthy
The mantra begin
Then repeats
Repeats
Repeats
Until I am so driven
Driven out of my seat
Around the room
Hope of accomplishment
Seeing the fruits of hard work
Embark
Upward
Forward
And Out
Time for reflection
Stray away in all directions
Hold true
True to let go
On Sunday I owe this ode to you
Sweet coffee
How it has joined great minds
Connecting people in common time
Real time
The fruit of the coffee tree
In Brooklyn connecting lives
Is what it can be
But thank you coffee for today
Somehow you link people up
In a mysterious way
But it is all the same
On a Sunday
What can I ask
That has never been asked
What can be done
That I would never want undone
Hope, love, joy
Can not be disposed
Thrown out like toys
What can I give
That can never be taken away
Savored everyday
Let go
But not be forgotten
To let grow
Instead of going rotten
My hope is on the first
Letting go of the second
In a moment
I may stand corrected
But for now I hope
I dream
I give
I let go
The light passes through glass
Rigid at the top
Distorted unequal wobble
Of light through the bottle
Incandescent lit up flutter
Transparent empty
Filled and dashed away
Sips of cold water saved
Into the hot wash
Cracked plastic dry
On the table coop
In this coffee shop
–
The Brooklyn Cafe
Seven up hot drinks
Laughter
Tunes
Common swoons
While the coffee machine croons
To stiff business collars
And relaxed jackets
Soft sips
Furrowed brows
White tables decorated with coffe stain
Constant drone of the roaster
Light bean roasted
In the Brooklyn Cafe
–
The passage of time
Unearths the only healing
Sometimes
Maybe I thought I needed
Support when I needed growth
I needed to see less of me
At home
It just exposed some uneasy moments
Anger long since tucked away
I have it good
I’ll be the first to say
But when you give
Only to see love given away
Rejection some would say
Is less than understandable
I feel uncomfortable
In a space that is constricting
Binding and holding in place
Glued my feet in a fast race
Outpaced
What I realized
Of life’s lessons to learn
I could not have both
And what I needed
Was true growth
A Cup of Songwriting 