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Joey Zimmerman  Mar 2011
Three
Joey Zimmerman Mar 2011
I appreciate the way things fall together. However, most times I ignore the simple beauty of things and always look for a purpose.

Ken and I were driving the afternoon streets of Lincoln. Contemplating how prefect things would be if a chauffeur got behind the wheel and we wouldn’t have to balance a lighter fumbling between finger tips. We got a road filled with daily routines and places people need to go. Where do you need to go?

We were burning our way east down Vine street when girls turning from 33rd decided it would be nice to look our way and wave, “hey”. Now you know me…The woman driving the car was obviously paying her attention on the road (as she should be), but she wasn’t very attractive so things worked out. However, passenger and backseat were occupied by pretty girls looking eighteen with wide eyes and hands waving.

We tried passing phone numbers by illuminating fingers to clarify digits. This is where a chauffeur would come in handy because I can’t drive a car without any usable hands. But, like most things, it didn’t work out and they needed to leave left on 48th while I knew my car needed to keep going. They turned. And it was poignant. I went straight.

About five blocks later I turned around. Often times in life these good things linger for a while but then eventually pass. I’m part of the later party who recognizes its existence far after the time has been spent like most of my money on material moments. So don’t look me over while I’m trying to look for you. This is so like me. I turned on 48th street looking for something that I knew was well and gone. I couldn’t find a purpose…I’m not obsessed and this shouldn’t be looked upon as creepy, but I couldn’t understand the reason for these girls so, if you’re looking for me I’m on 48th street seeking a reason. There’s a tragic flaw for ya.
Nicholle Justine Jun 2013
The friendships made on 48th Street
Are ones that cannot be beat.
Us four girls
We owned the world.
We rode our  bikes as fast as we could
Achieving great, instead of plain ol' good.
Our faces smeared with dirt,
Our hearts unaware of any hurt
With smiles on our face.
How I miss that place.
The innocence was in my heart
Now my world is torn apart.
I wish I could return
To my life without concern
When my world was a block wide
And dreams could never die.
Joey Zimmerman  Mar 2011
Three
Joey Zimmerman Mar 2011
I appreciate the way things fall together, however most times I ignore the simple beauty of things and always look for a purpose.

Ken and I were driving the afternoon streets of Lincoln. Contemplating how prefect things would be if a chauffeur got behind the wheel and we wouldn’t have to balance a lighter fumbling between finger tips. We got a road filled with daily routines and places people need to go. Where do you need to go?

We were burning our way east down Vine street when girls turning from 33rd decided it would be nice to look our way and wave, “hey”. Now you know me…The woman driving the car was obviously paying her attention on the road (as she should be), but she wasn’t very attractive so things worked out. However, passenger and backseat were occupied by pretty girls looking eighteen with wide eyes and hands waving.

We tried passing phone numbers by illuminating fingers to clarify digits. This is where a chauffeur would come in handy because I can’t drive a car without any usable hands. But, like most things it didn’t work out and they needed to head left on 48th while I knew my car needed to keep going. They turned. And it was poignant. But I needed to keep going.

About five blocks later I turned around. Often times in life these good things linger for a while but then eventually pass. I’m part of the later party who recognizes its existence far after the time has been spent like most of my money on material moments. So don’t look me over while I’m trying to look for you. This is so like me. I turned on 48th street looking for something that I knew was well and gone. I couldn’t find a purpose…I’m not obsessed and this shouldn’t be looked upon as creepy, but I couldn’t understand the reason for these girls so, if you’re looking for me I’m on 48th street seeking a reason. There’s a tragic flaw for ya.
Joey Zimmerman  Mar 2011
Three
Joey Zimmerman Mar 2011
I appreciate the way things fall together, however most times I ignore the simple beauty of things and always look for a purpose.

Ken and I were driving the afternoon streets of Lincoln. Contemplating how prefect things would be if a chauffeur got behind the wheel and we wouldn’t have to balance a lighter fumbling between finger tips. We got a road filled with daily routines and places people need to go. Where do you need to go?

We were burning our way east down Vine street when girls turning from 33rd decided it would be nice to look our way and wave, “hey”. Now you know me…The woman driving the car was obviously paying her attention on the road (as she should be), but she wasn’t very attractive so things worked out. However, passenger and backseat were occupied by pretty girls looking eighteen with wide eyes and hands waving.

We tried passing phone numbers by illuminating fingers to clarify digits. This is where a chauffeur would come in handy because I can’t drive a car without any usable hands. But, like most things it didn’t work out and they needed to head left on 48th while I knew my car needed to keep going. They turned. And it was poignant. But I needed to keep going.

About five blocks later I turned around. Often times in life these good things linger for a while but then eventually pass. I’m part of the later party who recognizes its existence far after the time has been spent like most of my money on material moments. So don’t look me over while I’m trying to look for you. This is so like me. I turned on 48th street looking for something that I knew was well and gone. I couldn’t find a purpose…I’m not obsessed and this shouldn’t be looked upon as creepy, but I couldn’t understand the reason for these girls so, if you’re looking for me I’m on 48th street seeking a reason. There’s a tragic flaw for ya.
Randy Johnson Aug 2019
Mom carried me for ten months, I was one month late.
Tomorrow will be my birthday and I'll be turning forty-eight.
In just two years from now, I will have lived for half a century.
It was 576 months ago when my mom gave birth to me.
Growing up, as a ten year old, was nothing new to me, for that’s all I felt I did at the time. I was, and still am, the oldest, but now of 5 and the two after me are now twelve turning thirteen within the next six months. Man, really makes me feel like an old hag… no offense to any elder I don’t literally think you and or any other elder is a so called “hag” its like the saying “old farts” your older but not really old and you don’t… really… well, you know… never mind, anyways, as a child or when I was ten or eleven years old to be exact, I use to have the same dream or more like nightmare every night, for years. It wasn’t something that happened spontaneously, it was every **** night for three maybe four years. And uh, it had its effects on me, for as young as I was I didn’t quite know how to take it other than horrific and again at the time didn’t know how to interpret the dream either. Well, it might sound a little goofy but if you read into it, it’s pretty dark. I remember lying in bed most nights contemplating whether or not to close my eyes, fearful of what came after once the dark curtain fell. On nights that I’d lose my endless battles I’d fall into a world, much like the one you and I live in, but with a twist… go figure. It was kind of trippy, like it was one of those dreams where like you don’t exactly know how and or why you got to the place your at or how and or why things got as bad as they did, you just sort of jumped into it. Which ***** may I add? I remember it was nice and sunny out and at the time my mother and I, along with my little brother David, baby sister Deanna, my step dad, my grandparents and my tia and tio all lived together in the same house… ha don’t hate, us ethnic people… well I don’t know why but that’s just how we do. Anyways the house we lived in was huge and actually really nice for a home being in the area that it was in… 48th and Southern, yup good old border line Tempe and Phoenix. We were all just chilling like on a normal Saturday at the house when we’re all home, some adults sleeping their hangovers away and some of us children playing in the Arizona room and my tio trying to, simultaneously, watch all of the ESPN programs all at once, you know normal stuff. There I am having a grand old time, when I suddenly get this off, cold, abnormal feeling of just somebody watching me with eyes that are filled with just pure evil. I sit frozen on the floor waiting for what’s to come next; everything around me is bright and sunny, warm and cozy then all of a sudden it warps and I see it before me just leaving… everything then feels dark and hopeless, cold and frightening. My brother is no longer sitting next to me on the floor and I no longer hear the TV screaming penalties on the previous play, the once simmering rice now smells burnt to a crisp and all curtains are now closed. I try to get up in a hurry to run to the door to see where everyone has gone, but time and space is not of existence, as I am now slowly running through the archway of the kitchen I find that I have again jumped but to another part of the house. I’m now standing at the very end of the hallway in front of the door to my room, I can now see the sunlight again and this time everybody is in their rooms, just sitting there waiting… for something. Suddenly, **** gets weird. All of the pirates from the Disney movie Peter Pan came barging through the front door, making their way down the hall, retrieving my family members as they walked past each room. My mind was quick to react, but again almost paralyzed, I couldn’t move a muscle. I could have sworn I screamed or said something, it just didn’t come out clearly or loud enough or maybe even at all. Before my little eyes I watched as these large, animated men took my family away from me, once they turned their backs to walk out the house, then was I able to run after them, but by the time I reached the door, they were already outside and the door was closing before me. I reached out as far as I could in hopes of maybe opening the door to pull all of them back in or going along with them, but instead helped slam the door shut as I was suddenly ****** or pushed forward by an angry force, with my fists pounding into the door I watched as they chained up my house and mocked me. It was weird, the house was then floating I was just chilling in the sky, the closest thing I could think of relating it to is when Dorothy is caught in a storm. The next few moments are kind of a blur, it slowly goes dark again and as tears roll down my cheeks, leaving a burning trail of confusion and a sense of abandonment, I am pushed back to the end of the hallway, curled up into a ball, with arms wrapped, hugging my knees closer to my chest, feeling helpless. I let out the most painful, gut wrenching sob that turned into a scream releasing every ounce of oxygen my body was capable of holding and back into a whimper once I was able to catch my breath. I then wake up to my mother standing over me shaking me profusely tears ran down my face and as my whimper turned into heavy breathing, I realize I’ve woken up everybody in the house and to see all of their faces, in one room… the same room I myself occupied, turned tears of absolute terror and confusion into immediate tears or relief and happiness.
I didn't really know what to name this one... so that was the first thing that came to mind (:
were you a 50's
godchild in the city,
wing-tipped feet
running the streets
all week, ketchin hell...
then you gots that check
come friday
and needed a taste of heaven...

you and the dog pound
swung mid-town
to broadway & 47th
after 9,
and joined the line spilling
from the royal roost round 48th...

by 10, the joint was jammed
with gents well-coifed,
matching honeys, and the sounds
of money being made:

chime of silverware ~ cling,
and the cash register's ~ swish cha-ching,
and the chatter of guests,
servers and bartenders
doing their thing ~ wah da bing

then the lights dimmed
leaving a semi-dark haze
of gray smoke swirling
over the crowd,
and mc symphony sid
grabbed the mike:

"...welcome to the friday nite jam session
at the metropolitan bopera house
ladies and gentlemen...."


hysterical hoots and applause
followed
as  the circular spotlight paused
center stage,
unveiling:

~ the miles davis nonet ~

featuring,
max on drums,
john on keys,
gerry and lee on sax
and a genius
on trumpet

'twas the birth of cool
and soon the rhapsody
of modern jazz
waxed hypnotic,
casting a spell
over god's children
when budo chased lady bird
down allen's alley,
spittin'...
          riffin'....
boppin'...,
          po­ppin'.....
superfluidity
like acid through
varicosed veins

the earth stood still
it seemed
for 4 thrilling hours
as heaven rained a rifftide
onto the lucky crowd...

and dewey's sublime trumpet
exorcised the devil
from the week that was...

~ P (Pablo)
(7/24/2013)
- for Miles Dewey Davis III
AR  Nov 2014
Happy Birthday Dad
AR Nov 2014
Dad today its your 48th birthday so im sending you this rhyme,
I wanted to come and visit but it seems we both dont have the time!
Just because we have little time to speak and we live 100 miles apart,
Doesnt mean your not in my thoughts dad, your forever in my heart.
And so I wish you happy birthday and I thank you for being you!
You're the strongest, wisest most affectionate man, you being my dad is a dream come true!  
And i know we're not perfect,  but we've never claimed to be.
But if a father and daughter could come close? It would definitely be you and me.
Happy birthday to my wonderful dad (20th November). Lots of love and hugs!
Geno Cattouse  Nov 2012
R.F.K.
Geno Cattouse Nov 2012
If memory serves, we were let out that day
So all the kids had fun that day.
The details blur with time.

What above all is crystal was the motorcade.
The kids streaming west as if a pipers note was struck.
Throngs of people old and new stood curbside .

My friends and I ran breathlessly to the corner.
Stood there in the moment. I could feel the moment.
but who could know the  tally.

We were let out of school that day.
We  wanted to get a good look.
I saw kids pop in and out of the crowd
Just running alongside. so I figured. me too.

I stepped from the sidewalk and ran up to the car
leisurely rolling north on Central avenue.
He turned as I ran up and looked down. That window to window
moment stays  with me. Still to this day.

I stuck out my right hand he reached with his
just for an instant we crossed over. Then done.
I ran back to the crowd and out to 48th street back to my
game off football. That was all.

The news announced he was shot the next day
That was the end of hope when he killed R.F.K.
This actually happened and I was so stunned at the suddenness and surreal feeling after, that
I buried portions of the memory for years. Looking back I am amazed that people had that kind of access after JFK.
Nicholle Justine Jul 2014
When I was a kid we had a rosebud tree in my front yard
It bloomed pink in the spring
Sprouting new leaves,
Each leaf was in the shape of a heart
I used to pluck the leaves from the tree,
because I liked the way they looked.
They looked like love.
Love for the whole neighborhood.
Love for the neighbors who I stole flowers from.
A few for the garter snakes we’d torture on the lawn.
Love for Sydney across the street
Knocking on my door every day at 10
Asking to come and play.
Love for Mrs. Moore who loved the sound of our laughter
But wished we’d stay off of her ******* lawn.
Love for Keanna with the fastest bike.
Love for Paige with a pool in her backyard.
Love for Jim,
Call him Mr. Jim, my mother used to say
With a plow on his four wheeler
So our winter chores were simplified.
Love for the steep driveway two doors down
To launch our bikes into the street.
Love for hide and seek.
For freeze tag
For lightning bugs in mayonnaise jars.
For mud pies
For trees that didn’t have pretty leaves.  
Love for the stop signs at the end of the block
That told us when to stop pedaling.
Love for my brother
Love for my dad
Love for my mom.
And love for 3023 N 48th Street.
Alexander Coy Apr 2016
So before I start this poem I'd like to acknowledge some helpful folks in my life.

First off, I want to thank my literary agent, Richard Shelby for suggesting I take my current frustrations out through poetry (He's a big fan of Whitman). I, however, was never much of a fan of poetry; although in High School I was taught Horace, Wordsworth, Milton. Yeah, they actually had us blokes memorize poems!;

What slender youth, bedew’d with liquid odors,
Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave,
             Pyrrha? For whom bind’st thou
             In wreaths thy golden hair...


Secondly, I'd like to give a big thanks to lawyer Dawn Young for pointing me to this particular website, Hellopoetry. I haven't read much of anyone's work, but I doubt I'll have any difficult time fitting in.

Lastly, and most importantly, a big shout to for my jezebel of a wife, Courtney for inflicting upon me all this unnecessary pain by means of a quarter million dollar divorce. We were High School sweethearts up until my 48th birthday. She thought it would be the best time to drop the bomb that she was in love with my old Rugby ally, and Rutgers roommate, Henry O' Shay.

I have to admit life has been ***** ever since then.

Well, here's to new beginnings.

My poem starts now.

— The End —