The desperate times
Desperate measures
Come up with something good
A productive measure
In times worn thin
As the veil of light
Through the morning curtains
We have to continue to
Rely on food decisions
To set us right
The coming days to be
Letting go of what was familiar to
You and me
A city
A life
For bigger and better
Discoveries and journeys
Letting go
While others hold so tight
That they squeeze the life
Out of the joy
Thy love
And love left
It will be
11:57 The clock reads
Momentary and sedentary
I return to the road
We travel so often
Yet so unfamiliar
Unusual
The hope of unity
A collection of ideas
Almost perfect
But perfect in its imperfections
It has beauty despite moments
Of Lack of direction
Proceed on our journey
To find people
To share moments and peace
This is my idea to bring
Bradley is a happy man
He falls asleep on the island
To the sound of a bellowing fog horn
Cutting through the air as rich as worn leather
He awakes to coffee that envelops him
With a hug
Rather than a mere raspy handshake
He is content on the coast
Billowing up steam from a morning roast
Falling asleep as the fog crosshatches the eve sky
Across the bay
Happy till the day he may day
Rent control his eternal protection
Umbrella’s held in rather polite distinction
Humanity’s bustle he has no strict participation
Watching the sunrise
Heightened by windy anticipation
However the wind blows
On the edge of the sleepy little beach town
Bradley has it right
Bradley is a happy man
Just on the outskirts of San Fran
A mind scattered
Pulled apart and tattered
Will make not one noise when shattered
Yet others will wonder and chatter
With him there is something wrong
Something must be the matter
But no words will be used to flatter
My uneasy life matters
The painstaking rearranging of change
Unfolds like a cold flow of blood
To the brain
The tightness urges a little saying
Bursting out from my grasped lips
I can not think of tomorrows end
Or uncertainty certain bend
I just focus on the moment in front
Not two behind
What lies ahead is what I will find
The constant ebb and flow of the tide
Makes me feel uneasy sometimes
So it is in change that I find solace
Even though the certain I will miss
Upon the altering sunsets
I will rest my eyes
Upon a new state line
A think for a time
How constant flow around me
Can help me see the true bounty
Of life
Surely the uncertainty
Will certainly
Wear perfectly on
The real worthy
Feelings
Confirming me
Consciously
Putting me feet in front of me
Supposedly
There is a 1 out of 3
Chance
That whether we sing
Or dance
We will not have enough
Cash
To stash away
For the future
So we must take utmost precaution
With scalpel and suture
Sow our future
To know it can grow
And go where we hope it goes
Our future together
Must be stronger
Then when the wind blows
But truly
Who knows
The unknown path of success
Teeters as much in my hands
As it does at rest
It balances not with my abilities
Talents or goodwill
It will find a line curved
Sloped sideways
And up a hill
The great challenge is to wait
Undisturbed
Knowing that I am
Unacquainted with the ways of success
It must pass from my hands
Through the eyes of onlookers
Into ears and slowly through hearts
Then it must make it way
Back out through the mouth
To adhere to other ears
Drumming to the sound of what is new success
These ears must then determine if my notes
Pass their discernment test
For which at this point
I have no possession of fluent success
It is now in the air we breathe
The sights we see
It is out there tucked away
Against the mess
Somehow
I can not define
What is success
How is the brain
Wired in such a way
That even simple tasks
Under great pressure
Can seem so unachievable
So distant
Out of control
How is it that ideas
Thoughts and motions
Can move my head
In evening rest
To stay awake all night
To turn left and right
So irritable the mind can be
When the pressure is turned high
On me
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
A Cup of Songwriting 