Harp played in
Dim lit rooms
Small crowd
Gathered close
To swoon
Over notes and
Melodies
Strummed lightly
And full
Distractions castaways
On the oceans of gold
Harp Room
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Tag Archives: The New Yorker
Push Ocean
The ocean
Pushes
Left and right
Up and down
All around
On the sea
Moving streams
And flows
So the days and nights
Go
On the ocean
Mess Hall
In the mess hall
The food gurgles down
A sludge filled drain
The water hammers the
Sides
Constant as rain
Forks scrape plates
All made the same
The mess halls up late on
The ocean
Advancements Made
Advancements made
Return to grenadine
On a late night
On the ocean wide
Up on the side
We advance we retreat
It comes with the territory
I mean
White Caps
The white caps
Reveal
Rocky roads
Ahead
What’s around the corner
Where the path has lead
Wind at sea
A churning ocean
Caribbean
Motion
I Don’t Think
I am not certain
Or not clear of mind
To know
When is the right time
To ask
Whether I can continue
On a narrow path
Wander of in embarrassment
All the while
I now refuse
To just think
We Think
We think
We are happy
We think
We are free
We think
Of opportunity
We think
Thoughtfully
In truth
Or consequence
Are we perceiving reality
Or just contemplating
Insanity
Are we free
Are we full
Of opportunity
Maybe
At best
Not at all
At worst
Deep Blue
Deep blue
And purple
The ocean runs
Smooth
As fertile
Life gives
And ebbs away
The depths of waterways
On the ocean clear
And sky above
A subtle passing of
Both fear and love
Boil it Down
Boil it down
To the simple
Undeterred truth
How uncouth
To lie and deceive
Achieve the goals
That were rolled up
Your sleeve
Boiled down
To simple
Reduction
One stolen
To get wheee you are going
Impound Personality
Impound personality
Strong and observed
Held me up
With a steel nerve
Hoping up
But mostly let down
Impounded personality
Takes my own desires
Just beyond the ground
A Cup of Songwriting 