Here, of course, is New York CIty,
soon enough, my innate 4000 year old
internalized migratory patterns signal,
remind, now be time need to flee to mine
own Walden Pond, no pond, but a wide
bay upon a small river that feeds the
Great Atlantic, and silence & solitude
with assists from animals, the trees,
lovely breezes, the overlord, overloved
sun, will restoreth my soul, when I walk
beside green pastures and forests on country
unpaved rounds, and the poems hang from
the breezes, ripe for the love of a grasping~plucking:

A great reveal though, currently:

Though my soulful body be over 100 miles as the
crow flies from there, here, where I
was/born/bred/educated/nativized/citified/raised/lowered/ be buried/
and yet reside,
the mayhem vibrant+indigenous+unique
to Isle of Manhattan, where the streets cannot never be
clean enough, always, my eyes cloud over at the 10,000
acts of knindness, rudeness, unimagiable beauty, and sadly,
random violence on every street corner, surrounded by broad
ways, temples of arrogant prideful structures of Tower of Babel
ginormity, all pointing up at Him, asking pointlessly, patiently
for an answer that never comes, to
Why Here, Dearest God?

on this Algonquin island, with Indian trails *still extant,
trapped tween two diatomic, fast flowing rivers, do we masses
yearning to be free, live here, a man writes (see below) about
the walks he takes upon it paved banks for soul restoration
and new infusions and certification of the answers you've always, |already have known:

every walkabout
in its own way, is a
gray, grayed, concretized
green pasture unique,
topped off with a combinatory
poem and symphony,
that 90% restoreth my soul,
each art, conducted uniquely,
each in its
own particular,  
genetic birth sac,
nourished by the
atmospheric placenta

in the B.C. (Before Covid)
there was a joy at a city's
restoration, excitation,
after many decades of
wilful neglect; Covid
made many flee to
verified green pastures
hundreds of milkes away;
most have now returned,
like the Hudson and the East River,
their/these tides reverse, what goes North,
changes direction, naked to eye visible

So the population too, two way >flowing<
returnees and departees, always churning
the city's populace; here is a story of a man
who escapes but always returns, whose spirits
tidal wave flow from the sheltered sanctuary
to the madcap foment of a city in perpetuity,
revising its demeanor; from both flows do I
draw the water that feeds my words, and each
poem, differentiated, by the accent of my local

this is a city poem, born and bred, from my very
old head, which was birthed in a hospital by its
central park, and will see my ashes scattered within
its con~fines

(see notes for the story of another New Yorker who walks)

intrguing, this global web site,
when you post at your "odd" hours,
somewhere it is early morn, or the
dreading deading of night,
late afternoon, lunchtime, and the,
this poem slow falls to the bottom of
the front page, into a Found, but Lost,
maybe, some die almost, totally untouched,
some shockingly reveberate, some holy revered,
others, break & brate, forlornly, of unlimited loneliness

this mystery I have studied, and freely admit,
after 15 years, under-the-ladder-stand, and
wisdom goes from zero to less and lesser;
it is time for spring cleaning, amidst the chaos,
in/of a turmoiled world, soiled, cleansing the
palate this year, is harder than ever, and the more
I ponder our exploding litany, I swallow acceptance
whole, pre~forgive most sins, and submit to the burden
and know this:
of time and poetry, the poetry of time,
now, more than ever, is the time for poetry

and the time is:
5:44AM
Tue 22 2025
nyc, usa
and the poem is now!

~for S. Y.~

You, Sir,
are your own armed forces,

Your inner navy army air force
and coast guard,
that guard, defend
the outer boundaries of
your inner self from
the outward shock troops,
and the internal fifth column,
that will betray

You must,
mass personal personnel,
assemble all!

We
are the first
and the last
line of defense

Take Care!
so casually uttered, and yet the most profound command we give
and are given

Yes, we have allies, but we must recognize and admit
that threats exist,
both great and invisible,
minor and insidious,
and it is our own early warning systems,
that need constant recognition!

Yes, you,
take care,
first and foremost
your all eyes,
are your true allies
trust them,

Guard against letting your guard down,
Minor incursions no longer exist!
Every ache and pain is a probe,
and the night watch
must be ever vigilant

April 13,2025

a little

r,

that's all I have,
a hook upon to hang my spirits,
hoping these pre~sleep morbidiities
be by gravity,  
sleep drained, and my
heart restored to wholeness

<>

a tiny single letter separating,
us from them,
it is a handhold, a lifeline,
grasping something for all of us
to hold onto for balance,,
when thinking bout the
hurt we exert,
rendering me near inert:

what we do,
what we let happen,
permit, allow 
 the world to afflict our
children

gasp at the horrors, inflicted,
grasp the enormity of all of it,
curse my brain for this self inflicted pain,
the most vulnerable exposed
to our failures to protect
them from infections
inward and outward<
desirous of infecting

and you claim
"did your best"
with reddened gilded~guilt edged letters
a  illegitimized excuse.
knowing you cannot protect them from the
evils already contained
within,
and the without,
so well hidden,
the bullying torturers,
who are their parents
who go unpunished!

who cares
whose the guit moreover,
all needy for a No, no, No!
the visiuons implanted in my brain,
beg sleep to banish them
from under my drooping eyelids,
but the lightning screams overheard,
infect my eyes,
and the sleep slowed
from
my hopeless prayers of remorse, restitution,
laying bed flat, supplicating
anyone who hears this total body cri,
and no one answers
for the guilt is widespread, broadly shared,
anyone who is parenting,
knows,
the answer will not be forthcoming
and forgiveness will not be granted
by yourself
to yourself
from yourself
for forgiveness
for this
one on the list of multicipity of sins
committed,
is not attainable...

and to sleep,
bit by an asp.
who delivers a certain kind of respite,
perchance, not to dream,
is my only hope...

Saturday,
2/19/25
10:00PM