Rapid Scores

The leather cold from a chilly morning
Sand from clothes the night before
One grain less
One grain more
The birds chirp rapid scores
Pushing me out the door
The radio belts out last nights memories
Sent me off for the night
Making the ways
For new
Broken in
Days

Discount Advice

Discount advice

Should not weight more than

A grain of rice

Be thought over

More than

The passing thoughts in flight

We do not subscribe

To your tele-vibe

Confide in your free laced advice

We create our own paths

From present to past

And we

Will live on

Fatal Direction

Enter fear and dismay

Enter the feelings of dissarray

Collapsing feeling of connection

Pushing me back in my fatal direction

I ask questions for circumstance

Happenstance of my direction

I fall on flat notes of musical indecision

Lacking a true rhythm section

We select naturally

What happens supernaturally

And exit stronger men

 

Burning Winds

The Santa Ana winds have picked up

On the east coast we have the

West in mind

Fires burning bright

Brightest in a long time

Broken spirits and hopes

Go out with our thoughts

Protecting homes

Thinking on LA in NY

A terrible fire season ahead

The winds picking up in every direction

It is our thoughts and prayers

We are a sendin’

 

Constant Race

The constant race

Of the human race

Coming face to face

With realities

Of what will Be

What will not be

Committed to a community

Of people breathing and sleeping

Communicating all sensations

Of creations

Temptations

Frustrations

Sharing with each other

The ideas of lovers

People hate

Other continue to love

We work well

On a Wednesday swell

Of the city

On the ground

In the NYC Town

Intermitten the Skies

The clock hands read the time

I search for subtleties and easy rhyme

Ideas created, lost, and forgotten

Are on my mind

Streets filled with afternoon light

Thoughts flow intermittent the skies

Rhetorical questions

Repetitious in their nature

Some thought will find me

Grab me

Then forgotten it has become

It is in my lazy procedure

I wrap my mind around signs

Posts, lamps, and lights

However I try to find

The original thought of mine

With no luck I proceed

To write new poems

Of unsung ideas

And forgotten seeds

 

 

I always seem to forget great ideas before I write them down. I seem to think that I can commit them to my failing memory – content with my attempts, then move on. Only to find out the next day, that those thoughts and inspirations have all but vanished. Leaving me at my desk looking for inspiration, so on some days my inspiration is the ideas lost among the other things in my life. Cheers and have a great day. ~N

 

 

I Fear the Mold

I fear the mold

The uniformity theory

Of stripping conscious dignity

Of the you

Me

Pushing us forward

Never to look back

A pack of wolves

Now breathing down

My back

I fear the mass productions

Facilities

Consistency is key

Holding the soul back

From being free

I understand

Accommodating the masses

But with accommodation

Comes subtle backlashes

Loss of autonomy

Fostering dependancy

I look up

See arrows pointing ahead

I can’t help but wonder

If I’d be

Better off

Dead

 

2 Stairs

2 flights of stairs

2 more stairs

Who cares

I am counting

Legs burning

From constant churning

Click and trip

Hold myself on the

Red stick

That makes a railing

The no smoking sign above my head

Make it to the second floor

Then off to bed

NYC Delay

The coffee is decent

The lights are bright

A bit over roasted

But tastes alright

Trying to delay

A return to NYC

No need for me

To sit in traffic

On the BQE

Rain outside

Makes me further delay

Getting anything of substance

Done today

The tolls will wait

The taxis will still be there

Just trying to delay

My return

To the city

Today

Crazy Donna

You must go to Joey’s and get the clams

With her short hair and her deep eyes

Italian blood

But you know that story about Joey

She sighs

If he gets cheap and doesn’t give you the fresh

Flour bread

Let him know

Crazy Donna from Cookie Box

Said

“He’s dead!”

We spent the morning chatting

In the gym

On the stationary bike

She was straight out of

The godfather

Or Sopranos

I was so much intrigued

Her stories had my mind fatigued

These stories that loom on these streets

You must take time to listen

To stories of the pre-madonna

and the truely gritty

All float above the belts

Of mouths

In New York City