Lying* in my bed
--reading ...

It is November, I am in NYC
--25 pages later ...

I am standing on a street corner in Istanbul
Outside the Kybele Cafe, near Sultanahmet tram station
Two British men, Ethan and Dylan, are talking ...

Senses engaged.
Drinking in sights, sounds, smells of Istanbul.
As I can feel the excitement of this city.
Anticipating the story that is unfolding before me.
I am immersed, no longer in NYC.

Just then, a door slams, I am jolted back from Istanbul.
Back to my bedroom in NYC ...

How long have I been lost in this book?

Feeling sluggish as I go
Not enough energy for the day, you know?
Winter months pass by so slow
Lack of sunshine takes its toll
If I want to survive, I must take control

On doctors orders, I pack my bag and head to the beach
Hours later the cure for my mood is within reach
Where I will sink my feet in the sand
And fill my lungs with warm salt air, you understand?

The sun begins to bake my skin
Happiness rises within
What better drug to boost my energy
Than a healthy dose of vitamin SEA.

Oh my sweet misery,
No point in fighting you,
You will start again
I'm human indeed
Still feeling her skin on my fingertips
She is only in the wind
Scent of punk rock, grunge and cigarettes remain
I wander alone on the subway, to forget her
Trying to forget her intoxicating scent
I want to get away, everything to start again,
Oh my sweet misery

I tasted a bit of love ... with her,
Like a drop of honey, thick and sweet.
Do not ask me to dance again,
Never without her.
In this vast city, I'm invisible
And then ... here you come again, sweet misery!

I have a Friend
And he has Me
We met right here on HP
He is noble and strong
A good man, through and through
Humble, insightful and gentle too

Complex stories he does tell
From experience and diaries
kept so well
Extraordinary accounts, he shares
Creating poetic stories
that shows he cares
He's witty and charming
He is oh so brave
Many a life has he saved

He came to Hp
wondering if this
was a place for him
Safe to share his heart
and tender skin
At first, shy and tenuous
to learn his skill
Now he commands his work,
Weaving words at will
Our fascination he does hold
With gritty stories so well told
Epic adventures, first hand accounts
Alway a moral, insight abounds

Yes, I chose him
And he chose Me
Mark Cleavenger,
My Poetic Friend here on HP

        In resonse to Elliot's #HPfriend Challenge
                        (please read his latest Blog)
Mark Cleavenger was my very first friend here at HP.
Hello Poetry has opened my world to many fascinating
Poets, from all around the Globe. (How cool is that?)
I appreciate all of my Friends here at HP. I love being
a member of this amazing, supportive community.
                    ThankYou  to all my HP friends
                                ▪○●☆●♡♢♡●☆●○▪

when we remember
what the times have been
that made us into what
    and who
    we are today
we travel deep into our past
to hear our mother’s voice
our father’s not so friendly gripes
when we fouled up a task he gave to  us

our friends, our teachers, our loves
whose interactions shaped
who we eventually have become  
while we believe that we have always been
     so independent and  autonomous

it may be worth a moment to reflect
     upon the influences
     we are inclined to casually neglect
and recognize the fact
     that we are always part
     of that great whole
     which we so desperately try
     to disavow for individuality

only to recognize a few years later
the minimal common denominator

life is a wonderful excursion into space and time
always surprising, turning on a dime,
leaving us puzzled well unto the end
always intent to look beyond
the next bend of the river …….

(For any family gathering during the holiday season)

My father had two brothers and four sisters, which meant  there were numerous cousins. At least once a year, sometimes more, we would gather at our grandparents house in Joshua, Texas.

Come Sunday morning, the ritual of preparing the Sunday dinner would begin. Now, back then, in the 40's and 50's, it was "old school." The women went to the kitchen(led by grandmom), and the men would go outside, brace themselves against the fenders and hoods of their vehicles, conveniently parked beneath a large Texas Pecan Tree; lightup their cigars, cigarettes, or pipes, and start telling lies and yarns(much the same thing), each trying to outdo the other. The children running around the open yard, or going a hundred yards to the railroad tracks to place coins, mostly pennies, dimes, nickles(maybe a quarter,if you got an allowance), on the track rails, then wait for the afternoon/evening train. A lot of coins got flattened on those tracks.

And while the men waited.......a manisfestation began to occur........................

Aromas that would make a king cry.....

"Salivating"
Becoming impatient

Fried chicken
Baked chicken

Becoming more impatient
Laughter....
Coming from the kitchen

Roast Beef
Mashed potatoes
Lord, don't let'em forget the gravy!

Lightly braised stringbeans w/buttersauce
Fresh baked Acorn Squash
Okra
All prepared with, the 'secret ingredient'.......


" Love! "

copyright: January 16, 2016