11:57 The clock reads

Momentary and sedentary

I return to the road

We travel so often

Yet so unfamiliar


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

Return to the Pages

Return to the pages

Settled in and getting away

Too long

Can get contagious

I don’t write

Due to lack of inspiration

Rather I am not writing

Because it has become

A lack of motivation

Unfamiliar sensation

But it is a coal covered jewel

Untouched as the days continue

First the idea sprouts

From mind to fingers

Scatters across the keys and onto the page

I resurrect the beast  laying dormant

Back to writing and enjoyment

With rest comes ideas

Ideas with time

And now it is time to return

To the pages

To the writing burn



Just on the Outskirts

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


Second Crack Sound

IMG_2001 2.JPG

The fleet of beans

From all over the world it brings

A cup to hand

An arithmetic of modern invention

Shipped all over with modest intention

From the solid green

To a hollow black and brown

The second crack sound

A record taste of tremendous body

Not to be deceived or forgotton

With authority flavors delivered

A coffee from Burundi has me completely




The Mass Expanse

Oh the mass expanse

Leaving with more questions

Than response

More wonder

Than commonness

Untapped full potential

Sky lark 

Singing confusing poems

In the limitless above

I take for granted 

The monstrosity 

Of eternal


Can be distracting

When I look above me 

I can not imagine that to be


Eternally confused

This massive expanse can only provide

More questions and confuse

So universe I must ask you

How infinite can you be

Without anyone understanding thee 

Balance of the Night

Radiant blue on crisp white


Bridges at night

City comforts on the side

This time

This night

My wife and I hold tight

Clean cement under warm winter skies

Our feet tap the pavement

Like full bellied 



We balance love work and 



On Sunday

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