poet, interviewer, musician, traveler
morning meditation
letting the idea of you rise
from my stomach into my chest
like the memory of fields
carried on the steam
from a cup of tea
Buddha dances on the wall
to the beat of the candle flame
until he’s stopped for a moment
by a frozen flash of lightning
this morning I awoke!
with a desperate need to poop
had to wait for two other people
to use the bathroom
hopping from foot to foot
such is life
21 May 2012
Brooklyn NY
we were mountains
the hailstones fell
we didn’t feel them
we gave a home to eagles
who nested on our peaks
offered refuge to shaggy goats
who butted horns as
they leapt across our crags
we made the dawn a wonder
gave shape to twilight
and passed into memory
in our time
17 May 2012
Brooklyn NY
/ / /
The title of this poem comes from a tune by Daryl Shawn, pictured at left in the photo above during a performance with Todd Reynolds on 17 May 2012 at The Firehouse Space in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. More photos from the show.
2 Commentsthe common room
for LGD
the mountain was deserted
that’s why he’d come here
to this trail he loved to hike
letting the dog run on ahead
when they found his body
the dog was beside him
waiting for him to awaken
so they could both go home
the common room lies empty
his friends won’t go in it
because it reminds them
of what they have in common
14 May 2012
Brooklyn NY
sense of humor
long parade of strollers
no child has the same
hair color as the woman
pushing the stroller
(all of the latter are texting
or listening with earbuds)
a boy has a rock in his shoe
then in the other shoe
one bench later, his twin sister
develops the same ailment
there’s an uneaten bagel
in a brown paper bag
on the time-worn bench
just when the sun gets too hot
to comfortably bear
a long, thick layer of clouds
passes between it and the
bench-sitters below
then, with a timing
that seems intentional
the warmth returns right when
the bench-sitters put on
their sweatshirts and jackets
funny
10 May 2012
Brooklyn NY
earthquake
in the morning, butterflies
using your white sweatshirt
as landing pad and launch site
while all the good dogs
pulled their owners through the park
then it was Coney Island
empire of the perfectly janky
you’re barefoot in the icy water
dressed like a color-blind superhero
BROOKLYN announced on your ass
by the time we reached Thai Tony’s
the ground had begun to tremble
shaking our glasses of iced tea
but it passed before it was even a story
leaving nothing but the feeling
that we might not be welcome
on this earth after all
6 May 2012
Brooklyn, NY
Click the image for a larger version.
Mayday
oh to be
in love
on a rock
in a pond
in Central Park
on a foggy
first of May
1 May 2012
Central Park
New York City
a Brooklyn fable
every short sharp shock is a gunshot in Brooklyn
even though it’s more likely, here in Windsor Terrace
to be a workman putting the finishing touches
on the new back deck of a banker’s brownstone
or two bloggers fencing their organic garden
but the back-of-the-brain memory of urban sounds
learned through a lifetime of movies and rumors
defeats the more recent research of the eyes
isn’t it dangerous there, ask the wide-eyed Ohioans
and we want to say yes to them, confirm their belief
because we came here for the danger, the adventure
not for fresh tofu and chai tea and strollers in the park
you’re more likely to be struck by a $5,000 bicycle
than by the steel-jacketed bullet with your name on it
but don’t worry, you can make up a scary story in the ER
and all your friends will believe it, because they need to
30 April 2012
Brooklyn NY
/ / /
It’s National Poetry Writing Month! A poem a day, each day in April. This is the final poem. I missed a few days, but I came up with some keepers, too. A fun month.
practice apocalypse
little boy
camo pants
Spidey socks
feathery hair
dirty nails
red cheeks
mixed teeth
front gap
deer shirt
legs crossed
on bed
killing zombies
27 April 2012
State College PA
/ / /
It’s National Poetry Writing Month! A poem a day, each day in April.
this is why
(for C)
a
do-
zen
tur-
tles
lined
up
on
a
fall-
en
log
of course
you’d stop
to count them
26 April 2012
on a bus
from NYC to PA
hand movements / end of the universe
them, yesterday afternoon. You hadn’t exactly gone out of your
hand movements
end of the universe
hand movements
It was to be called “The Ends of the Earth.”
them, yesterday afternoon. You hadn’t exactly gone out of your
Carwardine
hand movements
hand movements
It was to be called “The Ends of the Earth.”
known
end of the universe
remembered being angry, angry about something that
said, “You can’t win, you know. You
guide to the guide
usually claimed
It was to be called “The Ends of the Earth.”
dressed
end of the universe
them, yesterday afternoon. You hadn’t exactly gone out of your
out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the
them, yesterday afternoon. You hadn’t exactly gone out of your
hand movements
end of the universe
guide to the guide
a trilogy in four parts
Life, the
a trilogy in four parts
Janx Spirit, for my head will fly, my
you?
25 April 2012
Brooklyn NY
/ / /
It’s National Poetry Writing Month! A poem a day, each day in April. This poem was made using one of Charles Bernstein’s experiments: Acrostic chance: Pick a book at random and use title as acrostic key phrase. For each letter of key phrase go to page number in book that corresponds (a=1, z=26) and copy as first line of poem from the first word that begins with that letter to end of line or sentence. Continue through all key letters, leaving stanza breaks to mark each new key word.
Brooklyn cowboy (based on a true story)
he saunters in to the bagel shop
leather duster nearly reaching the floor
sunglasses on despite the overcast day
boot heels clocking along the tiles
satchel slung across his chest
sunken mouth looking short on teeth
no six-shooter, which is just as well
the cops in this bagel shop don’t know
how lines work and they don’t have
senses of humor, either
he moves like a mountain
counts out his change like he’s looking
for a coin to give the ferryman
one cup of black coffee later
he gathers his things to leave
there’s a yellowed sheet of paper
poking out the top of his satchel
as the door closes behind him
everyone in the cafe sighs in relief
glad to not be the name or the face
on the cowboy’s tattered poster
23 April 2012
Brooklyn NY
/ / /
It’s National Poetry Writing Month! A poem a day, each day in April.
waiting for it to rain
Saturday night / we’re listening to Romain Collin / waiting for it to rain / after a day in the sunshine / from which we returned different colors / one surprisingly tan / the other lobster red / but just on the front of the thighs and inside of the calves / as if by design
now it’s nighttime / knitting time / stitching it together into something we can slip into / a comfortable garment / one that will last / the air smells like an oncoming storm / we were promised thunder / we’re holding / Mother Nature / to her word /
laughter in the courtyard below / the warm spring-summer night brings out / neighbors I had imagined lost / stacks of unclaimed mail in the foyer / like a message in a bottle / spat out by the angry ocean / the one we can just glimpse from our roof
someone is grilling / someone is smoking a cigarette / lingering incense from morning meditation / Mr. Parke said / when you smell something / tiny particles of it enter your nose / enter you / you are what you smell / though / has never become a popular axiom / not like Carl’s star stuff
it smells like rain / but it’s not just the air out there that is pregnant / tense / the air in the house is also heavy with unspoken meaning / we’ve barricaded the door with pillows / and stuffed animals from our childhoods / to keep out the bogeyman / to keep us safe
21 April 2012
Brooklyn
/ / /
It’s National Poetry Writing Month! A poem a day, each day in April.
15th Street
for ________
every time I see you
I have to write a poem
about the sound
of your uncertain accent
or the look
in your classic
mascaraed eyes
like an It Girl
from a silent movie
you’re wobbling
slightly
on silly shoes
shoes you wore
just for this occasion
(but not for me)
we overtipped the server
whispered
snarky stories
you told me your
guilty truths
so I told you mine
you gave me dried
mango and chocolate
and as we walked
to the train
a crazy moon stared
down at us
from the end
of 15th Street
7 April 2012
Manhattan
/ / /
It’s National Poetry Writing Month! A poem a day, each day in April. I missed yesterday, so this is my second poem for today. I wrote it earlier this month but didn’t post it.
where I’m loving Brooklyn
“I’m having one of those days
where I’m loving Brooklyn so much”
we were walking down 5th Ave
when she said it, bellies full of sushi
noses full of blooming magnolias
(we thought the plant on our
window sill was a lilac but it wasn’t)
“and you” she added, holding my arm
the way you see in picture books
of the early 1900s, when the women
carried parasols & the men wore boaters
& white shoes & striped jackets
(it turned out to be a hyacinth)
these days Brooklyn feels like an ocean
our room an island floating in it
the bed our lean-to under the palm trees
where we write messages on the pages of books
slip them into bottles / cast them into the sea
(it didn’t matter to us at all)
20 April 2012
Brooklyn NY
/ / /
It’s National Poetry Writing Month! A poem a day, each day in April.