So this month after my birthday i realized how much my friends matter to me and that i matter to them. They were always a true friend, i am thankful to have such great and wonderful people in my life. Always laughing through the fun and happy times together, making the best memories i have. I'm so grateful to be able to call these people my friends. Thank you life for blessing me with these people. I will forever be thankful i got a chance to meet and know them.
I’ve been burned
by fires of men
who got carried away
throwing words and
deep like flesh.
I have cried
these full cheeks,
the blaze. But
it won’t go out.
it smolders on,
and too hot to touch.
and I am left with that:
a lingering reminder
too hot to touch,
too much to take.
I saw you for the first time
That's all it took
You didn't even know me
But I had fallen
And I was waiting for you
To catch me
But you didn't
And you left
Disappeared for awhile
So I waited
And waited some more
Until the day I got to fall into your arms
And whisper in your ear
I love you
"He was an all right kind of guy.
He said what was on his mind.
Often times it was simple hyperbole
But I understood him well enough.
He seemed to always be in love.
I am just not sure he understood it.
I loved him a lot and he loved me.
He could think of a million reason not to
but he also loved the misery in his life.
He often looked at it as an opportunity to be strong.
He once told me,
'Dad, God wants be to be the strongest thing on the planet'
He was happy a lot, but he seemed to truly shine when
He got to make another just as happy.
I love my son."
Much too late
of what her father
Fay went with you
to the Globe cinema
in Camberwell Green
a right fleapit of a place
but the film
you wanted to see
was on there
all about the Old West
and after it was over
and you came out
into the bright sunlight
your eyes felt
after the darkness
of the cinema
what did you think?
yes it was good
not the sort of film
Daddy would have let me see
well he won't know
you've seen it
unless he asks me
then I'll have to
tell him the truth
why would he ask?
you looked at her
with her fair hair
and lovely blue eyes
he might ask me
what I have done today
her eyes beginning
to show signs of fear
maybe he won't
just tell him
you've been studying
she looked at her hands
he doesn't like America
well you don't have to
like something to study it
I have to do it all week
maybe he won't ask
she said softly
looking at you
fiddling with her fingers
tell him something else
talk about a butterfly
you saw on the bombsite
she looked at you
you don't know him
he'll ask me
what sort of butterfly
and I won't know
and he'll know
I've been lying
and that will mean
she looked up the street
toward the bus stop
we had better be getting back
he'll be home soon
and took her hand
and walked toward
the bus stop and waited
for the bus
if I told my mother
the truth all the time
she'd have a nervous breakdown
it's more kinder
to keep her happy
in innocent bliss
of what I get up to
Fay looked haunted
and was silent
she still held your hand
a fading bruise just visible
on her upper arm
where her dresses sleeve
how about some ice-cream
when we get back
I've got a Shilling
given to me
by my old man yesterday?
ok I’d like that
and when the bus
you both got on
and sat next
to each other
watching the scenes
of passing people
and traffic go by
but a special place
in your mind and heart
next to you
quiet and shy.
I told you.
I told you over ten times.
I am not to be trusted.
I told you I would only anger you more.
I told you I was a monster.
I cannot truly love.
For I have no heart.
I am a could soul.
My spirit is dead.
My body runs on pain.
Hatred, anger, depression.
They all make me.
I will never hurt you anymore.
I know I have said this in the past.
This time I will make sure of it.
I will wipe myself off this earth.
I will have never existed.
You will never have to see me.
You will never have to be hurt by me.
So this is my last goodbye.
"You got my heart don't know how you did it."
You know who you are...
Are you my enemy?
Is that the best you can do?
Why are you hitting me all the time?
Is that all you got?
Come on life!
Show me your best punch
Maybe it will hurt
But I will still find
Reasons to smile
You won't see me cry
We are not done yet
You and I
They Sold My Name!
No big deal, your name, your email, bought n' sold daily,
Like a baseball card, your picture and vital stats are on the internet,
Your credit card in the fine print tells you they love you much,
But the data they collect, might get credited to such and such.
You're fair game if your sign up for anything.
Now I know I am getting on in years,
Tho spry rhymes with die, I flatly deny
Any notion that
My great beyond is just around the corner!
But Holy Crap,
They Sold My Name!
Got a color brochure
Suggesting that when my travels are over,
A nice place to rest my head might be
St. Michael's Cemetery.
St. Michael's Cemetery
7202 Astoria Blvd, East Elmhurst
Friday hours 7:00 am–5:00 pm
In case you want to check it out too...
Tho I live not in the Borough of Queens County,
My zip code but a hop, skip and jump away,
The cemetery adjacent to the Grand Central Parkway
Which is actually quite thoughtful of
The mass marketer who dreamed up this scheme
(And got paid a plentiful amount of bounty).
My kids could wave as they drive by,
On the way to LaGuardia or JFK, (airports)
And say, guilt free, they visit me regularly!
Sadly, their plot foiled,
I will be buried in
New Jersey soil,
Near to my pop, who liked the
Wide open spaces of suburbia
And shopping on Route 4,
Where the selection is great
And there is no sales tax.
But Holy Crap,
They Sold My Name,
And I am now target marketed,
Niched, pretty soon the boys from AARP
Will come calling, reminding me of the gap
Tween Medicare and the poor house!
Ok ok, grow up you say, tho your hair is full,
And not even a hint of baldness shines forth,
Nonetheless, its color is zebra striped gray,
And when someone says they got my back,
I think, please, please take it and keep it....
Dear St. Mikes
You might ask for some of your money back,
Cause this sily scribe is a member of the tribe,
Some call "those dirty (hint: it rhymes with Mikes),"
It starts with K and ends in yikes!
But thanks for thinking of me anyway.
In Orange County
In Orange County, Californiyay,
When you arrive at John Wayne Airport,
No need to show driver license or passport,
But be prepared for inspection to gain entry.
Are your teeth white enough to light the roads?
Is your navel hairless and clean enough to be licked?
Do you have two tats, if not, get going back
If your not blonde, produce pictures of your parents,
In any event, law demands, go directly to the colorist!
At the John Wayne Airport,
Religion is everywhere,
Who says God is illegal
In the great state of California-yay?
A flimsy dress, no room to guess,
Sashays slowly before the lines of the waiting,
If you are a believer, all is revealed,
A thong is the path to the Promised Land,
All you do is silent pray, Good God,
Mine eyes have seen the coming of The Lord!
A middle aged woman with many large bags
Dances a pas de deux with the luggage carousel,
Wrestling those black devils to the ground,
Her less than flat physique is displayed,
All you do is silent pray, Good God,
Please tell me she is pregnant!
Everybody smiles and says hello, so friendly,
But having mastered the technique of doing so
While looking over and past you, rest assured,
Your New York sensibilities of ignoring the movie star
Sitting next to you on the subway feels like the ultimate,
In this place the sun never sets, which is why the citizens
Have sunglasses surgically attached to their heads.
Have not seen a big nose 'cept mine
Being looked down on from people who by law
Must be a minimum of six feet tall.
Need my gritty, need my cabbies giving me the finger,
Need the senior citizens fighting tooth and elbow for anything on sale,
Need my rivers, need to bleed orange and blue,
Need my ballet, my museums, my rude compatriots,
Who rush to your side when you sidewalk stumble,
Who never judge a book by its cover,
Cause the jerk next to you is likely the author.
Who open their pockets and hearts to every needy person,
Hand extended, give 'em a buck, genuinely wish 'em God Bless,
They who let us share the fabric, woof and weave of our
City streets, their homes...
I got beach, I got mountains,
So maybe they're not visible from my living room,
But I got more living in the hearts of my fellow Yorkers,
Than there are grains of sands on the beaches of
Somewhere within the levels of the conscious
between the bowels of the deep and
the deepness of my thought
I am caught
in the secrets that I keep
in the darkness of my sleep where
I cry in waterfalls of tears and joy
the unhappiness of fears
employ and use me
or so it seems.
These dreams see fit to haunt me
and sleeping draughts have no effect.
This dissatisfaction that I feel
peels away and when the day has come
wonder why the sun still lights the sky
and wonder why it does not light my heart.
Do I need to look upon the charted stars up there
to understand myself and know just where and when
I go to then
will that make me a better man
if I learn to understand the master plan
and is there such a map.
'I need a slap to wake me up' but I think that's a fallacy
dreamers like me need no such thing.
Each morning I bring a bucket to the well with wishes in my head
and these are fed up through the day
into my conscious thought
and once again I find I'm caught
my thoughts should pay attention to what is going on
before I even know it
the fleeting hours have run away
The night would say,
'it serves you right you've got what you deserve,
I reserve the right to kick against the night
and rest my case.