Sky Above

We work hard to keep the dirt out
Hands black from wiping
Our hearts exhausted from working
The place had to be clean
It was oh so concerning
This foreign place is now our home
A year we will commit
To making out here
Alone
It starts with clean sheets
A soft pillow and a bed
Find a place to rest your head
We clean it into a home
A place of rest and peace
To be quiet and alone
In a city that values it’s silence
More than money or time
Working hard and toeing the line
We will pass through good seasons
And bad
Happy and sad
Me and my love
Alone under the sky above

A Winter Dawn

There is a particular Steely Dan song

That reminds me

Of when I was young

Being in the car with my father

Driving to school

I can’t make out the details

Something about Green Earrings

I remember these times fondly

The fatherly bond

Created through music and experience

I am not even sure that we talked

We just drove listening to the keyboard

Funk

Something happened in that moment

I can not tell you what

Or how

But I will remember it

50 years from now

Me and my dad

Listening to Steely Dan

On a drive to school

In a green Nissan

As the sun was cracking

From underneath

A winter dawn

 

Karaoke Warfare

Between me and you

I want to know

Who can sing the blues

No care for stories or background

Just the way your voice sounds

So sweet is the irony

For

Back when the blues were constructed

Even now as the legends are being inducted

To the halls of fame

There story was never boring

Never quite lame

The story of these greats

Could make you pause

Even wait

To hear the next lyric

The next verse

To know what adverse

Conditions these men and women faced

We can not reduce this music

To technicalities and perfection

It has been hard born

Since the moment of its inception

I see the value in entertainment

But its straining my understanding

Of what music is

So I fall back to some classic blues

Stories from long ago

And I remember

That music is the sound

That makes life

Enjoyable

Life of Stone

There is light at the end of the tunnel

A reason to push through

There is hope you can make out

When you given it your all

Ready to fall down

Whether it is the truth

Or fiction

Belief in this

Is a religion

What you manifest

Comes true

To give up

Or to follow through

When the darkest hour is upon you

Close your eyes and imagine

There are millions of grains of sand

Laying on beaches throughout the land

Who have been broken

Destroyed

Yet live on

The life of the stone

From a huge boulder

To the smallest pebble on the beach

The lesson these stones teach

To carry on

Live on

Believe there is something better

You will find your beach

Your place in life

Stay true

Be you

Homeless on My Birthday

I just don’t want to be homeless

Not on my birthday

Anyday

But that day

The world can kick you when your down

But I must find a way around

Being without a place to live

This home can not come to late

Or else I will be homeless

When I turn 28

Two Steps from the Crazies

Two steps from the crazies

It is truly quite amazing

No matter how I go about it

I find it

Running on the street

Talking to themselves on the sidewalks

Conversations blown up

With only one person who talks

Moving in fluid motion

Among the peace and quite

Among the commotion

Embedded in every situation

Creating abundant amounts of frustrations

Steer clear for a time

I have discovered no

Protective line

Now I watch out for the crazies

Watch what I do

What I say

Mind my own business

Try enjoy my day

Poetry and Go

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

Scholastic Skies

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

The 69 Cent Photo Bin

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

 

 

 

Lifecuts

Life is full of dead end shortcuts

Trying to make it easy

And willing to give up

Long term success

Will find you working hard on Sunday

Meeting your friends for drinks

Monday

And listen to them complain

About life