He meekly approaches, saying
Hey, I hope this is cool
But I'm pretty sure we went
To the same school

I cut him short, said
What has that got to do with me?
That ship sailed long ago
Now we're all at sea

He laughs, saying
You're as spiky as back then
It's a kind of comfort to know you haven't changed
And to know we're still
not friends

I drop my basket and leave

A Professor who is 77 Years old
Teaching still in the heart with motivation of behold
The Old Professor who teaches at NYU
His subject concentration is “HISTORY”
The past with essence in present
The Professor is the Historian and goes beyond what the encyclopedia represents
Lecturing on the mystery of history
The Old Professor sharing many stories and glories
How Races should relate
History milestones by date
Wars that were started with lives loss
The story of a cruise ship maneuvering through stormy waters being a mighty wavy toss
History having the time of when
What happened then?
Doomsday loomed over the world
Uncertainty being the world’s swirl
Civil Rights having a justice cry
Opposition was busy wondering why
Afro-Americans gave their every try
Strength being the multitudes
Eventually things did soothe
But there was a purpose with a mission to prove
History went to some degree just like that
The pioneers who achieved
Yet some pioneers who were deceived
However, the Old Professor simplified his lessons to help the students understand
The Male Old Professor was wise and stressed adapt
Concepts were always clear and understanding being a snap
I offer the Old Professor my honor while dipping my cap
Historian in deed
Keep on teaching on Old Professor as knowledge is what students need
Your wisdom has the continued green light to proceed
It’s all about teaching and getting the understanding creed.

like your cigarette, baby
hold me between your lips,
love me longer than it burns out,
keep me lingering
in your thoughts
the same way
you're stuck on your bad habits.
we're all addicted to what kills us,
and your poison tastes just like whiskey cola to my soul.

RAIN            HEARTS           DESERT                EYES
            wants                 in the                perhaps           gives

Slowly, I slipped it in.
The letter fell softly to the bottom of the letter box;
This is my only chance
To break these cursed locks.
So that maybe one day I can get her glance.

the sun radiates,
the waves crash,
the gulls sound
and I lie bedridden.

the white in the room floods the scene,
the blueness of the sky fails to show,
the glass on the table lands on the ground.

red droplets stain the tiled floor,
my gaze is fixated on the ruins,
the fragments from the collision.

my head hurts,
I can't speak,
I can't move my legs.
my hands merely twitch.

Is this what it feels like to be crashed upon?

Doubled over Stella cans

crawling from last night's 10p home.

Late brunches for the new majority

waking within a block who's characters are now alone.



Previously untouched by the new,

the heavily worn and stained wooden

chair now longing for stories of the few.

The old exacerbated, they couldn't



see it coming. Their home.

Now a haven for the new.

A new Mecca for creativity with no retreat

For those left behind.



Doubled over Stella cans.

This used to be free the old fuss.

Now there's no home for them.

Their 10p shelters gone with a gust.