.
                   Concrete
              Concrete  Conc
             Concrete Concre
              Concrete Concr
                Concrete Co
                ncrete Concr
                ete Concrete
                ncrete Concr
                 ete Concrete
                 Concrete Co
          Concrete      Concrete
      Concrete Con  cret e Concre
     teConcreteCon crete Concrete
       Concrete Con   crete Concre
            Concrete        Concrete

The concrete jungle.
Home of the dreaded concrete beasts
Who lie in plain sight for the world to see

Crouched in marble ledges, twisted in metal beams
Wrapped around handrails, perched in their cemented trees
They laugh at those who cannot perceive
Because they don’t believe.

And who am I,
Yes possibly me
To find my identity
In removing my wooden sword from its sheath

Placing it beneath my two shuffled feet
To answer the alluring call of the beasts beckoning
To my hero’s heart, for my eyes to blink
To suddenly see them as they were meant to be.

In a world between
Real and imaginary.

For it is I,
Yes I believe it to be
Chosen to find my destiny
In a single push

That propels me
Into the path of the snarling beasts
Approaching their stairs and rails, ledges and beams
Gaps and bumps and ramps with speed

And as they stare at me hungrily
Opening their mouths expecting me
I will stand strong on my wooden sword
As the wheels of fire erupt beneath

And the scenery blurs in the flash of the rapidity
I bend my knees and grit my teeth
My eyes narrow and the drum in my chest crescendos its beat
A shout explodes from my chest, a primal scream

As I press on
In the concrete jungle.

Home of the dreaded concrete beasts
Who quiver in plain sight for the world to see
And whimper at the sight of who they now perceive
Because I do believe.

And it is I,
Yes undoubtedly me
Who will find my destiny
Conquering the concrete jungles of the world unseen

Surfing the concrete waves of the world between
With my loyal vessel being the wooden sword from the sheath,
That remains steady in the face of danger beneath my feet.

I am alive
In the concrete jungle.

As we await the arrival of our concrete truck,
jovial, trivial, almost painful small talk is being made.

But then we hear and can visually see our concrete
truck largely coming down the road.

The uncomfortable, insignificant chatter has ceased.

A more serious tone has overcome the crew.
I point to my bottom (my ****) to signal to the driver that I want him to back in.

Truck has been backed in..

  
Now the driver steps from his cab with the loud roar of the mixer mixing, almost similar to the sound of a jet preparing to take off.

The driver asks, "how many chutes" ?
I reply, "all of them please, and then lets look at your slump".

My crew now begin an almost involuntary impatient pacing.

Its what we do when concrete arrives.

Some light cigarettes.

Some tap their floats or brick trowels on steel pins to clean them.
Some like me begin to stretch.

As I see the concrete come out of the back of the mixer I say to the driver " 9 gallons of water please ".

As the mixer mixes the pacing almost becomes an annoyance but has to be done to expend the nervous energy.

The driver now back in the cab of his truck,
I say to him "okay, back her up".

We begin our pour.

The concrete slides down its 4 chutes.
I say to my crew "pull up that wire mesh,
raise that expansion joint,
knock that concrete down, please".

The crew,
although friends always talk about me,
the foreman,
its part of concrete life.

They utter to each other "why is he dumping so fast,
why is he dumping so high" ?

"I'll make him shovel this concrete back if he keeps dumping this way".

Mind you, they all think they know more than you apparently,
but they don't have,
want,
nor can they do
your job.

Organized,
respected,
money making foreman
do not grow on trees.
They are unique and
hard to find.

Half way done with our pour I gesture to the driver in a drinking motion ,
"more water please driver, 4 more gallons please".

The mixer roars once again.

My crew catches their breath during this final chance of doing so.

I say to the driver, "okay, lets go, pull up and begin discharging".

We finally get to the end of our pour.

Sweat pouring off of every brow...
every chin.

T-shirts saturated in sweat, we gather ourselves to now provide the finish product, "the finishing process".

After the finishing is done we all stand in the street at the foot of the driveway and commend one another on a job well done.

I say "looks good men , a job well done" !

That uncomfortable trivial painful chatter begins once again till we depart for home.

Till tomorrow when we do it all ,
all over again but only this time with a new ...story for
annoying chatter,
a few more aches and pains....
a few pounds lighter....
and a few more blisters and callouses.



written by yours and everyone's "concrete poet"

I lit a candle in an empty concrete room

the floor is concrete
the walls are concrete
the ceiling is concrete

the candle is wax and wick
and I am skin and blood and cartilage and bone and hair and nail and water and guts and sad

I lit a candle in an empty concrete room
the yellow light of the fire makes things look tenebrous and cryptic
there are tiny cracks in the skin on my hand like a million piece puzzle of the ocean
tiny cracks between tiny triangles and diamonds
they make my hand
my hand holds a match
the match lights a candle
the candle burns
in an empty concrete room

concrete reminds me of falling off my bicycle and scraping my knees
and dungeons
and the weeds that grow in the cracks of every sidewalk

candles remind me of Christmas
and yoga in the dark
and my step-mother hoping her house smells like home
and calming down

I lit a candle in an empty concrete room,
crying bitterly at seclusion
my heart pounded to the flame’s flicker and a heavy thought tumbled into mud,
thickening it
it dried and I couldn’t cry

I don’t mean anything to this candle or this concrete
but there is something about a fire in a room built so rough and quiet
that makes me feel like
my voice is heard

The cultural filters are all in place
And truth, some say, is past its sell-by date
Weak hymns embalmed by hippies, and lost in space
Where time is always 1968

A poison-green tattoo on a fleshy back
No incense, but the Purell’s pretty strong
A ten-year-old gobbles his comfort snack
During Communion and a three-chord song

Our bishops quack and honk in flocks and herds -
We need a starets
                                           but all we get are words:


Intensify the Dallas Charter accountability focus accountability exclusively accountability collegial collective accountability responsibility address theme encounter dialectic collegiality variety universality unity flock dealing topic difficult reasons unexplored differences crisis difficult for bishops enable abusers gravely irreparably failures governance responsibility question engage conversation point brother problematic behavior cultivate culture correctio fraterna enables offending other recognize criticism opportunity to tasks related willingness personally mistakes to each other feeling maintain fraternal relationship cases we damaging weakness anecdotal parenthesis to his speech encounters course ministry recollection forgive counseling for healing discussing matter rationally headway realized psyche of the person measure semblance justice inability forgive his  apparently perplexing consternating remarked noting changed personality of person realize humility mistakes learn mistakes better question unanswered unaddressed mistakes allowed consequences mishandling cases gathering conferences participants and journalists effective concrete measures combat scourge scandal technical theological sense term list reflection points adjunct secretary special portfolio combatting meeting chief architects roadmap for our discussion very, very concrete understatement seriously utter understatement things discussed follow-up meeting continued model of reform the so-called intensify the Dallas Charter metropolitan model metropolitan investigating disciplining wayward ecclesiastical provinces briefing responded you have to read the footnote disgrace investigations systemic coverup dismissed briefing expressed hope report position power prominence leadership structure report findings influence broader jurisdictions Accountability focus accountability exclusively accountability collegial collective accountability responsibility address theme encounter dialectic collegiality variety universality unity flock dealing topic difficult reasons unexplored differences crisis difficult for bishops enable abusers gravely irreparably failures governance responsibility question engage conversation point brother problematic behavior cultivate culture correctio fraterna enables offending other recognize criticism opportunity to tasks related willingness personally mistakes to each other feeling maintain fraternal relationship cases we damaging weakness anecdotal parenthesis to his speech encounters course ministry recollection forgive counseling for healing discussing matter rationally headway realized psyche of the person measure semblance justice inability forgive his  apparently perplexing consternating remarked noting changed personality of person realize humility mistakes learn mistakes better question unanswered unaddressed mistakes allowed consequences mishandling cases gathering conferences participants and journalists effective concrete measures combat scourge scandal technical theological sense term list reflection points adjunct secretary special portfolio combatting meeting chief architects roadmap for our discussion very, very concrete understatement seriously utter understatement things discussed follow-up meeting continued model of reform the so-called Metropolitan model metropolitan investigating disciplining wayward ecclesiastical provinces briefing responded you have to read the footnote disgrace investigations systemic coverup dismissed briefing expressed hope report position power prominence leadership structure report findings influence broader jurisdictions accountable faithful promises episodes  accountability supportive talking collegiality obligation misbehavior failures circumstances reputation representative discreet inquiries interview expression concern geographically confronted reported matter subject investigating disciplining malfeasance proposal wrongdoing explained carefully considered matter alternatives remarks paragraph  rehearsed alternatives footnote 6 of text speeches delivered sessions briefing spoke involvement laity lay involvement transparency transparent offending other recognize criticism opportunity to tasks related willingness personally mistakes to each other feeling maintain fraternal relationship cases we damaging weakness anecdotal parenthesis to his speech encounters course ministry recollection forgive counseling for healing discussing matter rationally headway realized psyche of the person measure semblance justice inability forgive his  apparently perplexing consternating remarked noting changed personality of person realize humility mistakes learn mistakes better question unanswered unaddressed mistakes allowed consequences mishandling cases gathering conferences participants and journalists effective concrete measures combat scourge scandal technical theological sense term list reflection points adjunct secretary special portfolio combatting meeting chief architects roadmap for our discussion very, very concrete understatement seriously utter understatement things discussed follow-up meeting continued model of reform the so-called Metropolitan model metropolitan investigating disciplining wayward ecclesiastical provinces briefing responded you have to read the footnote disgrace investigations systemic coverup dismissed briefing expressed hope report position power prominence leadership structure report findings influence broader jurisdictions accountable faithful promises episodes  accountability supportive talking collegiality obligation misbehavior failures circumstances reputation representative discreet inquiries interview expression concern geographically confronted reported matter subject investigating disciplining malfeasance proposal wrongdoing explained carefully considered matter alternatives remarks paragraph  rehearsed alternatives footnote 6 of text speeches delivered sessions briefing spoke involvement laity lay involvement transparency transparent intensify the Dallas Charter…

2 Pac:
"...and I feel like if you walk by a street and you was walkin' on concrete and you saw a rose, growing outta concrete
Even if it had messed up petals and it was a little to the side you would marvel at just seeing a rose grow through concrete.."


As a yougin' all I had was a dream
Rappin' to myself as my mama used to scream
Papa getting violent and he beatin' her again
They just feeling stressed cause they tryna pay the rent

Papa, you a G though you did wrong
Mama, you an angel cause you stayed strong
Papa, it's alright, we have weak moments
Mama, you a soldier cause you keep holdin'

Uh
But some days, we ain't have ****
And some nights, I was askin'
"Why we so poor, but my friends not?"
Just jealous of what my friends got

Uh
I was hungry and you fed me love
****, you gave me yours, it wasn't enough
Yet, I took it all and without a praise
You made it feel like home and without a place
Workin' like slaves, and I'm so sorry
Ungrateful for the things you done did for me
Comin' home from school, disrespecting
Acting like I ain't have blessings
Dear, Mama the council won't get you
If you try to go, I won't let you
A careless *** kid, but I'm tryna change it
I just need to tell you I appreciate it

2Pac:
"...and I feel like if you walk by a street and you was walkin' on concrete and you saw a rose, growing outta concrete
Even if it had messed up petals and it was a little.. you know, to the side you would marvel at just seeing a rose grow through concrete.."


As a youngin' all I had was a dream
You was my brother, my hero, my team
I was down for you, all you did was sell
I was growin' up while you was in and out of jail
Waitin' at the court room, all of us silent
You was never home, you was always so violent
How you think I felt when I visited the prison
Of where my brother at while my partner gone missin'
I was gone dissin', but I was just hurt
From all those nights, those fights, those words
****, we used to argue all the time, I hated you
And witnessing your drug dealin' and I hated, too
It was my birthday and then some next ****
All them times, you just got your *** arrested
Family stressin', I'm surprised you ain't dead
From a life of a crime, and that war with the FEDS
Have you thought 'bout what you put me through? HUH?
And all the things I had to do for you
Like deal with the people who spoke your name
Like this ***** who disrespected you, I broke her frame
But it's okay, I'm your baby sis
And some day I just may be rich
And I got you, I ain't gotta say it
I just wanted you to tell me you appreciate it

2Pac:
"...and I feel like if you walk by a street and you was walkin' on concrete and you saw a rose, growing outta concrete
Even if it had messed up petals and it was a little.. you know, to the side you would marvel at just seeing a rose grow through concrete.."

An upright abutment in the mouth
of the Willis Avenue bridge
a beige Honda leaps the divider
like a steel gazelle inescapable
sleek leather boots on the pavement
rat-a-tat-tat best intentions
going down for the third time
stuck in the particular

You cannot make love to concrete
if you care about being
non-essential wrong or worn thin
if you fear ever becoming
diamonds or lard
you cannot make love to concrete
if you cannot pretend
concrete needs your loving

To make love to concrete
you need an indelible feather
white dresses before you are ten
a confirmation lace veil milk-large bones
and air raid drills in your nightmares
no stars till you go to the country
and one summer when you are twelve
Con Edison pulls the plug
on the street-corner moons     Walpurgisnacht
and there are sudden new lights in the sky
stone chips that forget you need
to become a light rope a hammer
a repeatable bridge
garden-fresh broccoli two dozen dropped eggs
and a hint of you
caught up between my fingers
the lesson of a wooden beam
propped up on barrels
across a mined terrain

between forgiving too easily
and never giving at all.

I’m upset,

there is much I want to say,
want to explain.
But I can’t explain

anything with words,
I can’t explain
Anything

with thoughts
or beautifully stitched sentences,
twisting and turning and etching
until they become something recognizable,
something special.

But words are just dressed up;
at the core they are interchangeable.

Nothing is concrete about words,
nothing unless you count the
tic tic-tic-tic
of the key board,
lulling my frantic mind to rest.

Nothing concrete,
words are never concrete.

But actions,
you can’t dismember them into something else.

What you do,
you did,
and you can’t undo it.

So no matter how many words you write to me,
no mater how much I reply,
no matter how much your silence bears down on me,
I just recall actions.

Because words mean nothing,
truly they don’t,

                                       except my words did.

I know everyone can say this,
for again these are only words,
except they are at the core,
concrete in some way.

Although words never are,
believe that mine,
and only mine,
are.

Because maybe in this world,
this world where everyone
manipulates and twists words,
maybe for every person,
there is one person in the world who,
for all their misleading words,
will never mislead you.

They will never twist,
or dismember their words;
they will show you with actions and smiles,
and with their eyes,
that they mean everything.
And it
will turn all their words into concrete,
into fact,
into not only words
but actions
in themselves.

Promises in every word,

untold promises,

but there none the less.

I promise you I mean it all,
for I can’t fake sleepless nights
and the way that my heart shatters,
almost literally by the feel,
when I wake up to me,

                                                               ­        only me.

I can’t explain how it feels,
to wonder if it ever occurs to you too,
knowing that it has and still does,
it must.
Because maybe if you believe in my words enough,
and if I bear through silence,
heavy and mind numbing,
then maybe we can prove our words concrete one day.

I honestly wish for that day,
every first star I see in the sky,
every dandelion,
every 11:11 strike of the clock,

is thrown out into whatever is out there,
whatever ocean of wishes.

Maybe even the ocean we were on,
maybe we even sailed right over it.

Maybe it’s so big,
that only a lucky few get picked from it,
an ocean so vast and full of hope. ..
I’m almost sure that’s where we sailed.

Or maybe not.
But we were lucky once,
I believe it can happen again.
I believe I can see you again.
I believe.

Waking among the concrete structures
Starting the day running around in earnest
For chores are plenty and time is handful
To begin a new one-hundred-meter-dash
Trying to outdo each other, in an imaginary race
Every stride we take, the concrete takes away our zeal
There is no cushion for the hectic lifestyle
Taking a toll on our mind and body
We seem to have reached somewhere
But end up at the same station, to catch the train
Inadvertently, packing every coach
Few faces we know from our daily commute
Lots of new faces add up to the crowd
We are an individual, but interspersed in the crowd
Waiting to get-off at the daily destination
The concrete pavements and the concrete buildings
Greets us gloomily, although modern architecture
Facades of glass reflecting off the chaos of life outside
Immediately, we are in a grind of the job
Lost in numerous presentations and graphical projections
The pie charts take the sweetness out of our life
Savoring only percentages, with sprinkling of peppery talks
Targets are set and client’s meet are arranged
To strike out a deal and sign-off the nuptials
It’s a marriage of client and service providers
Where brands are hogging the limelight
For us it’s the race to maintain our saneness
As it’s a daily commute through the concrete jungle