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Cold beer,
a long necked bottle held to my forehead
and in my throat,
to my lips,
so relief comes both ways,
glad for it,
the double of the cool,
helps the day of troubled nothingness,
and the long necked bottle makes it
worth the extra second of anticipated tasty wait

can't drink in the river park,
don't cotton to brown paper bags,
do it anyway cause the East River
tides me over on its way
thru the Verrazano Narrows,
bound for the Atlantic with me low rider spirit in tow,
a devil may care attitude en contrôle

this troubadour opened the store at 700am
but not a one came looking for a song,
but the mail came reliable,
with dues due,
promises that need keeping,
and other items,
what the grownups call responsibilities

June Monday early eve and the Moran tugboats
ply their trade like reliable ****** to the sailors,
and their larger than bathtub size toys,
turning containers, freighters, into docile boys
who do as they are told on their way to ports far

there are stick figures outlined on the hexagon
paving stones that are so nyc for me,
here pedestrian! follow your designated path
here pedestrian, you must walk to be safe arrived

but I take to the railing,
where  Isaac-bound and mesmerized,
I imagine surfing the churning wakes on the surface
of the riveting tides and wonderous wanderlust for
where we are bound...

no voice heard from the heavens,
saying Abraham put down that knife,
because I have not passed the test of true belief,
perhaps the river's invitation is my test,
if I should sing another song here,
perhaps it will tale the end of this tell...
The Walls of Jericho came down tumbling,
they fell onto the ground,
they heaped up dust and rubble
all happened with a sound.
Standing, wrecked, solitaryobserving
as the ruins lay bare forlorn,
I felt my heart like old ways
irretrievably torn,
A new foundation is needed,
pile carefully brick on brick,
building firm on this foundation
because the old walls made me sick.
thank you path humble for sending me your poem You have taken my voice, it hurt me deep, it made me sad, and inspired me to write the above, I have been holding onto trauma a long time, I only realised it was there a year and a half ago, once I saw it I couldn't unsee, now to build a newer me, thanks I think I healed something today.
Path Humble Jul 18
from where does inspiration come from?

from
intimacy with the inanimate,
the population of objects,
coarse, beauteous that provoke,
the museums, the gutter, the worn,
the just unrealized, imagined,
from
learning to speak hearts
to speak the heart language

from
from animated blood, eyes, taste buds,
when you pass thru the molecules of me,
by contact real or imagined,
desperation, satisfaction organic,

from
where do these questions arise,
the answers as well,
they are tangible, yet intangible,
even

from,
a notion indistinct,
an untraceable path,
hidden routers,
deflecting reflecting,
even a current direct,
invisible to the naked

from where?

a fair question,
answers, unreliable,
for in the forming,
the froming
is always
transfigured,
distorted

June 2014
What does this life desire of me,
that it granted and
then removed,
the knowledge of perfection?
leaving me striving,
writhing,
shivering unceasingly,
in my saddened, bursting,
hacking and hackneyed chest
Path Humble Jul 8
“you have taken my voice, no longer can I...”

~ for Rachel of Ireland, who asks and is granted endless words~


oh my lord, oh my lord, oh my lord,
you have taken my voice,
no longer can I thread these words

oh my lord, oh my lord, oh my lord,
you have taken my insight,
no longer can I hear my eyes visions

oh my lord, oh my lord, oh my lord,
you have taken my mobility,
no longer can I shake to music of sky

oh my lord, oh my lord, oh my lord,
you have taken my strength,
no longer can I bend knees in praise

oh my lord, oh my lord, oh my lord,
you have taken my taste,
no longer can I sing a greater part of me

these first words, my sacrifice of morning,
no more to follow, for I am speechless,
the eveningtide will find me bow-broken

you have taken my all that you have given,
tender it well to another, for we are temporary,
your gifts are everlasting, and together, we say

selah, amen.
my first words of this day
  Dec 2019 Path Humble
Poetoftheway
“the simplest definition of our learning to count to infinity”

wrote those words
to a stranger in pain, awful pain,
asking him to count his blessings


now awful pain
no stranger to me

a pain four decades long,
that the surgeon promised was fully excised.

but today was triggered,
chest pain dagger ingredient emergency room

so I am counting for,
but not to,
counting on

infinity

when the wounding cannot be recalled,
only a minor scar to struggle from wonder whence
came it from

which is the definition of reaching the
infinity place,

where finite comes to rest
dec 10 2019
Path Humble Dec 2019
for she who loved me vainly

vainly
in a way that produced the result she undesired,
my response harsh and swift,
her fan-tasy has no place on serious battlefields

those poem are battlefronts mine,
that are the numbered chapters in
My Revelations

still, she still reads my poetry

think on it, it’s confusing,
my unkind cut that came from deep anger,
it was outed but not for her, because of her
but for me

for to love
permission must be asked and both
given

and the line is wavy but 100% solid.

but reading my poetry, is that a violation as well?

my poems are me inside out.


but if you look in me deepest,
forgiveness is there,
not seeking contact,
but hate
is inconsistent
with walking a
path humble
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