Inconvenient actions
Created by unstable minds
Lost my own time
Caught up in the winds
Created from ones whims
I get lost in anger and regret
Why is it that I should have to be set
On these feelings when I have stay quiet
My lips fall silent while my mind riots
I flow like water
Not held back by anything
Rolling and flowing
Taking life to the next scene
Poetry and go
Brings up
The hardest working man I know
The wee morning he closes his shop
Into the night he goes
No fancy clothes
No high rise
Lifting him high
Into the New York sky
He finds his labor in a pizza shop
Day in day out
Nothing too fancy
Nothing much to talk about
Just late nights and early mornings
Into his 80 he will be working
A true inspiration
Of the American work ethic
Thoughts floating indistinct
Finding ears receiving
While some short lived
Fall extinct
Sweet carmel swift
Fall on noses
Scent drift
Bitters produce taste
Lingering strong
Keeping minds wake
Moving
All night long
Greenpoint and Williamsburg
Making friends among strangers
While coffee drips
Testing the hot draw
With tender lips
Small sips we grow
Ideas bloom
From the cold ground
With the melting snow
Tucked in a borough of NYC
They will find us
Locked eyes
You and me
Scholastic Skies
Stare over Brooklyn
Built with math and arithmatic
Particular attention
To each inch and yard
Stretched in the air
So pretty
Built with human hands
This is
New York City
–
Until cooler heads prevail
Under mild winds
Set sail
No good will come of this
No anger will resolve
Will new problems evolve
Cutting new wounds
Deeper than the original
So until cooler heads prevail
The boat sits in the harbor still
Waiting until
The patterns change
Sending this craft back
On its way
Luck
Is the intersection
Of preparation
And opportunity
To live to be 116
How could you describe
What that means
Secrets owned and guarded
Good life lived
The strong hearted
No poem could do justice
To how much this
Human has witnessed
But here is to you
May you live to be
122
Reckless texting
Walking talking
Ignoring the morning
No meaning in evening
The mental metal
Push fingers racing
Waited and wasted
No time spent elated
Eye’s ignore the skies
The beauty they hold
Lies
600 photos
Stacked 6 inches deep
Priced at 69 cents each
Can teach
Much about the relatively of life
Rather or a lifetime
How little I cared for any of these
Vintage photos
Who were these people were staring back
At me
Fishing, world landmarks, time spent vigoursly
Yet they have no value to me
They are just old photos
Of lives gone by
A single moment trapped in time
So I tossed one back on the pile
Old man with a big smile
Someday that will be me on that photo
Unknown and growing old
Passed down until someone gives up
And I’ll end up
In the 69 cent photo bin
Contrast and compare
Leaving the soul in despair
Defining moments come through
Preparation and function
Losing all thoughts in deliberate motion
When all is lost
The path seems insurmountable
Breathtaking and long
There will be only one chance left
Of one lone singer
One lone song
A Cup of Songwriting 