-

This is my spot, just outside these green coffee house doors,
my piece of sidewalk, my place in this world
A small square of concrete where I try to bring smiles
to those in a hurry, hustling past, chasing their lives

Opening the case, I bring out my constant companion
I love her feel, smooth and perfect, she fits so nicely in my hands
Her neck like soft butter against my calloused fingers
A black Takemine cutaway, my favorite guitar, my best friend

There was a time when I would make eye contact,
cast a smile and a thank you at those who would stop and listen
But times have changed, people aren’t as friendly, smiles aren’t
what they used to be and the frowns just bring me down

Now from beneath my hat all I see are legs and shoes, it amazes me
all the different shoes, what they say about a person. Shiny shoes,
maybe a quarter, nice high heels a dollar or two, sneakers,
worn and tattered, my best customers, a five may fall when they pass

It’s not much, but it is a living at least for me and it’s not really a job
I don’t have to be here, I want to…playing music for strangers, for me
It’s kind of like writing poetry, only you listen instead of reading
and the coins and bills finding my case…comments, but better

I start today the same as every other day, with our song,
the one we sang together in school, the song we related too…funny
She was my heart, the one that got away…so what, I never got over her
It’s my deal not yours…I press the strings, fingers preparing to play

She was the love of my life, we were meant to be, at least I thought so
but after school we went in different directions, it happens I guess,
that was so many years back…I lost track of her long ago,
but my mind never did and I suppose my heart didn’t either…I play

A few coins trickle in…shiny shoes, wingtips…feeling sorry money,
but that’s okay with me, it’s food or few beers eventually
Then a ten spot hits the felt, gorgeous high heels, those with a red sole
I know my smile is growing as I arrive at the chorus

“And you fly away today, and you fly away tomorrow”    
When I hear a melodic voice singing along with me, it is the high heels,
the harmony is perfect and beautiful and…sounds so **** familiar…
I lift my head up to see…it is her, after all of these years...it is her

Undress you with my smile
Uncovering all of your secrets
Giving you more definition than ever
I ease inside your mind
to find the poetry
That you've been longing to pour out
Your mouth is wired shut
At a loss for words
But baby our brains feed together
Electric volts revive one another.

Your image burns
eternal in my mind
Luscious lustful flame
melting through my rhyme
You illuminate my pages
and heat my quill
The passion for my muse
rages hotter, still.

031010~6.21a

The ultimate poet
GOD.......

The impervious nature
of humankind littering the beaches,
painting a repugnant scene
upon a breathtaking canvas.
Paper wins again.

We will leave you in the midst
of a poetic truce, as you spill
experiences into our open palms.

Writing to make sense of what
has happened, nestling your
deepest secrets in our fingertips.

Our roots so deep in our poetry,
if you tried to unearth us, we would
shriek louder than banshee's.

Unravel our words, enter the
labyrinth of our minds, there are
sunsets in our stomachs, and
December runs through our veins.

We are the stars to your blank skies,
the pause between each ragged breath,
the tragedy suffocating the air.

We are the pause before the applause,
we are rarity's like Haley's comet,
making you scramble for a telescope.

Only crows writhing with broken
necks are more twisted than the life
stories resting under our tongues.

We are poets, engraved in history,
fluent in all that is artistic and worldly.

Poetry is a warm blanket we remain
hidden in on a cold winter morning.
Reality is a cold floor that our
bare feet are too scared to touch.

*By Rapunzel and JannaLee Perry

There he sits.
The moon is in the sky,
like clockwork.
His personality changed
from yesterday,
along with his clothes.
Tonight, he's draped in stars
and showing only a quarter
of his wonderful personality.
How humble he can be.
He's playing off the light
of the fireflies
like a violinist from a conductor.
Look at that...he's higher
than the shadow connected trees.
My old friend,
you have a flare for the dramatic.

I grew up in a time of gold.
14 ct. gold jewelry was desired.
Brass fixtures were shiny and popular.
We reached for door handles that were golden.

Then design began to darken.
The bright reflection was antiqued away.
Eventually aged to bronze,
Until darkening to a wise old black.

Working with my daughter,
I have found she grew up in silver.
Silver jewelry, picture frames and faucets.
Her world is white, nickel and gray.

The perspective is hard for me to grasp.
How does one immersed in gold begin to see silver?
And how do I share with her the value of
14 ct. gold as it has aged?

when torn clouds bared blue holes
the river brimmed with ecstasy.

it had rained the whole day
and she was bursting in seams
to tell her side of the story
from the many
upon her shore's mangrove.

how the tiger guards her treasures,
prawns and ***** and honeys and woods,

pounces from the saline thickness of the mist
when dream of life is heavy on the gatherer
and smell of death far gone forgotten

rips the flesh cracks the skull open
flows the blood as silent night
carries the trophy for a bony rest
till devoured by her floodwater.

the river knows it too well

the tiger is her lover and loyal sentinel.

Dear New York,
          I think of you often.

Dear New York,
          In a parallel universe,
                  I am holding you tightly,
but in this one
       I am only grasping
                                        at empty air.

Dear New York,
          Do you read
the love letters I write you
          in my sleep?
                                     Do you sleep at all?

Dear New York,
          I hope you enjoyed your coffee today,
and that it was not bitter,
                                            if it tasted like me.

Dear New York,
          I hope it tasted like me.

-

Why can’t I see past the buildings,
skylines obstructing my view,
collecting on the curb
with doorways and steps
inviting to someone else I suppose

Still I push past,
hugging the shoulder
of a rush hour highway
Staring into windows
as they pass, staring back

Exits signs point at me
but I can’t listen
Their warnings make no difference
in cloverleaf grumblings
and exhaust fume skywriting

One foot in front of the other,
worn converse high tops
gray, the greens are lost
with the sunset that breathes down my neck
reaching for one more moon rise

No rest, still creeping alongside
sleeping 18 wheelers purring
on their asphalt mattresses,
straddling yellow lines
leading to the bathrooms…not a chance

27 miles the sign reads
in reflective lettering calling out to me
It seems like nothing,
compared to what is behind me now…
My life or what it was

But that is no longer my concern,
my future is now 22 miles away
Where your arms are waiting,
holding my future…open, warm
and I begin running faster

Another 10 to go, down main streets
with coffee shops and beauty parlours,
one traffic light and a train station
a kid on a bike delivering newspapers offers me a ride
No need, it’s just around this corner…

On the lawn is a flamingo,
plastic and pink behind a white picket fence
with a gate that creaks and a porch light comes on…
illuminating my dream…as I see you,
it has finally come true