When a light goes off
In a cold and distant sky
I look up
With wipe dried eyes
The world needs good people
Full of life and vibrancy
Courteous and full of decency
Does the world become darker
Or does it balance with new light
Finding new ones
The giving kind
For all of mankind
I hope that the lives of new souls
Bless the world
Wherever we go
For when we loose light
We now are the light
We must aspire to be bright
In a world that goes a little dimmer
When we loose a beautiful light
The bells gently toll along Brooklyn Streets
Reminding us
That this city celebrates and grieves
Lives and breathes
From my studio
You hear the city life come to light
Lighting the sky
Filling the rooms
Walking down Manhattan Avenue
The fog wears heavy on the Manhattan Skyline
Tucked away from view
A sleepy afternoon
The memories of my life
Will be created here
Not in Paris or Tokyo
Rather just east of the Hudson
Learning to go from walking to runnin’
All under the ringing bells
of Brooklyn
Once a wonderer
Now forever lost
Is possible to go far
And near
Yet never be settled
Running from love
Hope
Fear
It’s a game of chess
With no pieces
Or what is there
Must be interpreted
No meaning
No beginning
No end
I don’t understand
I can’t
When one lusts for every moment
Every fleeting thought
Nothing becomes concrete
No desire
Objectifying
Denying any sense of self worth
For what its worth
To claim ignorance
Fleeting thoughts from ones conscience
Delay rather than develop
Bringing all but hell up
With the loved ones around
It seems low
The life keeps swirling down
I ask
Futile in my attempts
So sometimes I just wonder
What is once a wanderer
Can be now
Forever lost
Eyes slap open
With the crack of the jackhammer
It’s 9 AM
Monday in the City
I rush over to close the small gap
In the window
The loud crash of shovels
Iron cast on asphalt
Giant machines with splendid
Saws, jacks, and hammers
Traffic held back
While the men hit the ground
With cement hammers
The window to the city
Has shown so much to me
It is a true story
Yet an untold anomaly
Of jackhammers
I grew up in the soft quiet fields on Indiana
Acquaint myself
To the new sounds
Of my surroundings
The purpose behind
The green outside
In a winter morning
Simple prose upon warming
Keep inspiration flowing
The more you make
It’s yields keep growing
So at 9:20 AM
Hoping for a new set
Of inspiration
Looking for new adventures of writing
Looking low
Hoping the ideas are not hiding
I let my fingers and mind go
And this is what it has to behold
I don’t wish for much this year
Just good luck to take for next year
Going to need it as I look down the line
Can see a lot atop the mountain in Christmastime
I have peaked from a valley
Not to be underwhelmed with what lays ahead
Sometimes I see more mountains
That lay out over the riverbed
But one foot in front of the other keeps me going
Keeps us going
I try to make sense of this journey sometimes
Is it a worthless novel ride
With no beginning and no finish
Peoples salacious appetites
To consume what is finished
No care for time, matter, or commitment
So crude and raw
Yet the creative process draws on this all
Creation with no expectation
Give in hopes of smiles in exchange
So this year I ask not for riches or gifts
Rather that one of these songs we wrote
Can lie amongst the greatest hits
I have had this car for years
Made it through many laughs
Hard fought tears
Somehow these metal and plastic walls
Have converted into more of a hollowed hall
Celebration of years worked
Half worked
Double time
But when it starts to go south
Off the linear path
It’s hard to decide
When to let go
To let the old vessel
Stroll alone
Down the final road
No more strategy
No more money
It’s the end of the road
When can I decide
These hollowed halls
Have lived through thin truths
Thick lies
But in the end
Life goes on
It’s the memories not the material
That I will take from this world
No one will sing my song
Others create
Borrow or steal
But my voice sings my life story
It must be from my own lips
Sung
Creating context for understanding this mess
Owning these words whether they be of beauty
Or of restlessness
It is my mission to create my story
No other hands have created
This life of simple strands
Woven around complex webs
Of inner circle steps
So no one will push my pen
My life’s commitment to the end
To be committed and honest
So I can be fully created
Life, lived, created lines
Easy or frustrated
Hands back on the wheel
Teeth grit
Bones of steel
Resilient to temptations
Demands
Creative hold
On ready hands
No expectations
Of solving problems
From other worlds or nations
Commitment from within brings me back in
Hoping that words fabricating words can strike
Even the most tender of nerves
Excited to give back
Drawn back into the simple
Relentless fragile pursuit
A Cup of Songwriting 