Old man….
bent but not broken
forgetful yet wise
the fire burns brightly
in your rheumy blue eyes

Old maid….
bent but still standing
alone yet longing to care
with gnarled palsied hands
she desires to share

Old age….
a curse and a blessing
relentless but gentle
its light slowly fades
like a flickering candle

Old folks….*
Living but dying
feeble yet strong
like hot glowing embers
they can’t last for too long

I looked deeply into my lover’s eyes
and it was so beautiful to me
….not for the sight but for the passion

I heard the laughter of my little ones
and it was so beautiful to me
….not for the sound but for the joy

I consumed life’s offerings
and they were so beautiful to me
….not for the taste but for the wisdom

I breathed the heady scent of honeysuckle
and it was so beautiful to me
….not for the smell but for the serenity

I caressed the softness of my dying mother’s face
and it was so very beautiful to me
….not for the touch but for the wonder of life

God’s Beauty is but a weak reflection
of the heart in the mirror of the soul
….*and not just the senses’ perception

Evil
like a virus
cannot survive outside the living

It does not dwell
in the dark places of legend
but in the dark spaces of the mind
And when the opportune moment arises…
it rushes into the soul.

While it waits for that moment….
the mind feeds it with obsessive thoughts and delusions
until it has grown strong enough
to leave this nourishing womb
and take stronghold
in places where Love dwells.

And if Love
has not been sustained
Evil exerts its dominance
as it takes up
permanent residence in the heart.

You are a brilliant patchwork of people
wearing their imperfections with pride
not ashamed to be different

Like a jagged concrete and glass tiara
surrounding an emerald heart
you are both lush and cold in synch

At once soothing and stimulating
is the rhythmic rocking of your subways
punctuated by the occasional discordant screech of metal on metal.

You are an assault of sight, smell, and sound on the senses,
each vying to be noticed by indifferent passers-by
artful store windows
pungent aromas from curb-side kiosks
and rap, rock, or classical
as performed by wandering minstrels

Where else can individuality be noticed
among the teeming masses
or the lofty and lowly stand side by side
without thought of social status?

Where else can one get lost in the crowd
yet still be an integral part of the whole
or be down
then uplifted by the energy of the streets?

New York City
you are where the impossible becomes inevitable
and incongruent parts
come together in a symphony of humanity and culture.

New York City
you inspire both love and hate
but never indifference!

Remember your First Dance?
    the Anticipation and Uncertainty
       the Painstaking Preparation of clothes and coif
          wanting to Stand-out but Afraid of Rejection
             Hoping your favorite song might be played
                Praying that your Secret Love will dance with you.

And when all these Desires have been Fulfilled
    the First Touch of hand on hand is Electric
       body Pressed on body
          Rocking to music more Felt than heard
             with Every Sense Inflamed and Longing.

……but then the Spell Breaks
  with the Last note,
    Leaving each Wanting More.

Your First Dance has ended....
    but the Dance that is Youth has just begun.

Down the day
and down my mood
Time passed away
but not to good
I walked
and wandered
No where to go
I sought
and searched
No one to know
When for
No reason
a child smiled at me
Her face alight
with some hidden glee
That’s all it took
to cease my moping
Sweet smile,
Precious look,
Restored my hoping!