Eye on a coat
Like the rye
In a loaf
From across the room
A classic look
Fish bound
Hook
These coats
Don’t come here often
Not in these parts
Never quite common
Eye on a Coat
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Tag Archives: nathaniel hoff
Peasant Desk
My work desk
A kitchen table
A desk
A side bar
A coffee table
Day to day
Each different in it’s
Own way
Sensitivity Dividend
For every emotion
A penny
Every feeling a dime
Every thought
A dollar
Could this solve
Theft and crime
For hope and dignity
Prosperity
We must grow as individuals
Before we know what
The dividend will pay
Congress Organize Royalty
Congress organizes for royalty
Slowly
Uniformity
What if we could arrange
Our own destiny
In the hands of the many
In the words of a century old
Penny
Precedent in Presence
What comes next
What pillar to fall
While the justices
Disrupt
Peace for all
What can be attacked
And won
When mere human will
Is running thin
We set our own fate
Etched in stone
Now as the gavel falls
One by one
It’s each man and woman
For their own
Wealth Jacket
Wealth jacket
A fine look
Even without context
Or a hook
Standing out in a crowd
Subway bound
In a roundabout
I saw the girl across the platform
In his uniform
Morning looks
Can be beautiful
Even Beg
An even beg
On an odd day
Walk fast
Try to stay away
Politely move
Directive stray
Or hold empathy
And give away
Time Back in NYC
Time back in the old neighborhood
Where it feels right
So good
Parking late night journeys
Leading to a morning early
Seeing the skyline
With a dusty cloud sitting
Just above the tall buildings proud
Good to be back in the city
Ceasefire
If we can’t work together
Then there is no path forward
Nothing for us to look
Forward to
Seeing each other through
In a day
When all the words seem
To melt away
Into the deep grey unknown
Looking for the world
Seeking a home
With each other
One as one
Each our sister
Each our brother
Confusing Musings
Confusing musings
Of the art
Of distraction
Artificial attraction
The powerful few
Direct their efforts
To distract
The main crew
Abstractions of actions
And intent
No actions made
No messages sent
So how to tell the truth
Of the few
When lying is a standard
Act of the new forces
A Cup of Songwriting 