4 Minutes

In 4 minutes I will attempt

To write words

Strung together with

Some meaning

My eyes are stuck to the screen

Gleaming

Written in an attempt to say

What I have postponed along the way

Returning to ritual

Feels good

Yet not unusual

Advertisements

Humanities Weary Seam

Where do lost dreams go

From the heads of dreamers

To the world outflow

Do dreams dry up and fall away

Do dreams pack up on a rainy day

Is there a collection of dreams

On the other side of time

Or gently recycled

What was once yours

Is now mine

Do dreams rest well below the sand

Never to be unearthed or seen again

Fall like autumn leaves on a cold day

Raked together and thrown away

Or do they linger around

Like the smell of smoke in an old town car

Can you see them trying to survive

Like summer grass planted late in July

Do they hold any hope of reimurging

Like dreams floating up and resurging

Or do dreams walk away quietly

Not disrupting the feelings inside me

Or do they burn out bright and wildly

Dreams exist

Dreams must not die

It gives me hope

To run fast or fly

Some are real

Some uncertain

Take the time

Pull back the curtain

In each of us I am certain

Behind humanities weary seam

We will find

Each one of us has a dream

One, Two, Three

‘Up, one, two, three…”

Rest

I wonder how long I can do this

Just maintain

Sustain a healthy life

What about my career

Am I headed in the right direction

Ah f*ck directions

‘Up, one, two, three…”

Rest

I wonder if we will make rent this week

Can we afford to get some food tonight

I am sure we will be alright

Last time I checked we were

‘Up, one, two, three…”

Rest

I can’t believe how sore I am today

Walking over 5 miles a day

It’s a little much

To work and play

But I am tough

I am a New Yorker

‘Up, one, two, three”

Rest

4 workouts in a weeks

Trying to keep my body in peak shape

Just for the strength I need

To carry on life

To make progess where I thought

I could make none

Back

‘Up, one, two, three…”

guitar_Fotor hazy

Anomoly of Jackhammers

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 Commodity of Space

Thank God for public transportation

This revelation

Is one of the finest gems

The beauty of the capital of the nation

We are able to move swiftly

Through station

Feet connected to floors

Cold and eternally soaked

To the floorboards of the railcars

A collective quiet continuum

Running from face to face

Some disinterested

Wearing discontent well on their face

Underneath the city

There is a currency of space

Being given and taken

Awarded and mistaken

The sole private goal

Of a seat on a reasonable Subway

Some would just rather pay

Because there is always the lingering

Unreasonable chance

That the cart is filled in advance

But we stagger on

With the commidty of space low

Take it slow

Get on the train

Pull away,

Go

Welcoming Arm

Never seen nothing like this before

Everyone running around

A man lays lifeless on the ground

Not sure who he was

Or where he was from

On the streets of South Bend

Under a cool autumn sun

The cops came up

Looking to keep him breathing

Not much was happening

I could see then

I was in my car

They were on the street

I have no skills to save lives

A subtle feeling of defeat

A man on the street laid out

Long grey hair

Khaki trousers

I could see what was happening

In a few days loved one will bring flowers

To put to rest this loved soul

I do not know him

And never will

But I am sure he has a great story to tell

He may have been a wanderer

Or a businessman

A plumber

Or a musician

His shoes worn in and worker brown

The paramedics rushed in

While others gathered around

I was struck with emotion

As the scene unfolded

No wife with him

Or a hand for holdin’

There he lay lifeless

All I do is ask the good lord to bless

This man and either deliver him safely

Back into this world unharmed

Or greet him at the doors of heaven

With a welcoming arm

God speed dear friend

Satisfaction Guaranteed

Satisfaction Guaranteed

2 minus a fraction may disagree

But when they do it is fun to see

That not all can be made happy

Some look for reasons to drag

The anger out in life

To take the butter knife

Make it a weapon of bitter strife

Looking for something to complain about

Dreading the look of the new round about

The feelings build in their soul

Calling from the depths of the cold

To push anger out of their teeth

Lips clenched tight

Holding on to every breath

Taking time to announce and renounce

Passing the baton for the test

To other people infected with this anger

They inflict on others

Knowing no stranger

There is nothing stranger

Then the subtle complaint

Of what was good

Must be forced upon bad

The cashier checks me out with both hands

Asking if I would like cash in hand

I respond with a whimper

Not quite sure she could hear

But I count my change and remember

That life is much easier

If you can control that temper

The Daily Routine

Ah the challenge of keeping creativity alive in my life. As I am pulled to try and sell the art and the creations that have already occurred. It is hard sometimes to step back and try and let the creative juices be heard. So I sat down to try and document my daily routine of keeping creativity alive in my life. So here it is – enjoy!

The daily routine

Wake up in the morning

Make sure to exercise

Work out the arms and the thighs

Get back and get cleaned up

Got to write and practice

Keep the routine up

3 or four hours later

I now sit at the compu-tater

Life’s lines complex yet defined

I make this no place to wine

Letting go on paper what must be done

Seemed like a good idea

Challenging and fun

Poems must be constructed daily

This challenges what I have to say

About beauty, art, and the progress of today

The challenge is not to conform

But to set a new aggressive norm

Creativity must be engaged often

Or else the course muscles will soften

Decay and leave your soul

Looking for someone else to enroll

The creative spirit can be fleeting and gone

So I must capture these spirits in songs

Poems, writings, and other means

Or else I will be left with nothing

Creativity gone and no job to boot

I look pretty bad now in a business suit

Full of aspirations are these writings

Even though my mind is rattled with distractions

I must be real and stay ahead

Better off here trying

Than creativity dead