Another Sabbath day, another sinful neighbor and her husband
Trying to keep it holy: over there at number 1 Sea view Road
For so many years those two folks kept on trying:
faith works with patience

He kept on asking this the same old question
wasn't it time for me to make some changes in my life
When are you going to church"?

Mandela frequently deflected accolades by saying,
“I’m no saint—that is, unless you think a saint is a sinner who keeps on trying. “Quote

While the sounds of the siren, startles the restless babies
A full Breakfast consists of fried eggs and crackers
A pitcher filled with coffee……and this poem
Anxiously waits to submit…

The sounds of the sirens, breakfast consist of eggs and dry *******
Dangerous heat wave is reported in this part of the country
The loud music of the selfish neighbor, boom box
It’s time for carnival. It’s time for the carnival.
And added plus to the sound of the loud siren
Wakes us up in the morning to NYPD  helicopter circling

Its Brooklyn, it’s the ghetto,
Its Ludacris, it is selfish, it's the Sabbath

Alone in the jasmine scented balcony,
letting oily darkness rub all over me
( sensual ointment to subdue my ****** unease)
my heart was full of echoes of  beloved moon
(which one of them would appear soon
to wash me in the copious shower of love)

In a moment she appears in a resplendent gown
making darkness melt and dissolve,
clambering up the stairs to get near me,
one moment earlier, she can

As she, my woman, like a new moon
was about to wield  her spell on me,
with wonder I see the full moon herself
clad in her diaphanous gown of fluffy clouds.

She comes up on the stairs of a mountain,
one by one, spilling the brilliance of her heady spell,
all over my lovelorn tantalized being.

Between the spells of two beloved moons
tell me , how could I not lose gravity
I swim  in the sweet sea of an ecstatic swoon

It is important to write really bad pieces of poetry and prose.
Keep them in a journal somewhere.
Don't share them.
Just get them out there and tuck them away.
We must purge the cliche and mundane,
so that we may begin the work of creating art that moves.
We must press beyond the idiocy of our immediate thought and
find the inner wellspring of power.
Just beneath the petty complaints,
and regurgitated phrases,
inches deep beyond our projections and fears.
If we can sit long enough with our demons,
inner child,
and god-like spirits we will find something truly worth saying.
Worth giving.
Worth making.
Our legacy is planted only as deep as our honesty.

I saw a girl sitting by a grave
There were tears running down her face
This kind of thing, you see it every day
Laughing masks smiling through the pain
I met a boy who said he killed his dreams
Told me life is never what it seems
He missed a girl who left this world too soon
She took her life under the light of the moon
All these people seem alone
Empty hearts that have no home
One day, the child in you will die
And you will know it’s ok to cry
A little girl asked me what is pain
Give it time, you will see one day
She took my hand and looked me in the eyes
You’ll be alright, my dad said it’s ok to cry
All these people seem alone
Empty hearts that have no home
One day, the child in you will die
And you will know it’s ok to cry
We’re all the girl sitting by the grave
At some point, we all have lost our way
Don’t be the boy who killed his dreams away
Try not to remember yesterday
Put on your mask and smile through the pain
And know tomorrow brings another day
Not everyone we see is alone
Some hearts, they do have a home
Some people’s inner child never died
And they’ll tell you it’s ok to cry

freeze like that self assured fool London gave us
in "To Build a Fire"

so do I avoid the wild Yukon, or learn to ignite kindling
before I succumb to the deep sleep?

maybe I just write a different tale

Looking for comfort
Tears in my eyes
Like rain pouring down
From the steel grey skies
I've had a lot of time to think
Since you've been gone
I haven't had a shave in three days now
I can't seem to face the mirror
Breathe deep they say
It will help you heal
What do they know anyway
I'll just lay here in bed
Waiting for it to pass
It my take weeks
Maybe months...
Who knows it could be years
Cloudy skies cloudy judgement
I'm impaired and I haven't had a drop
I could wish the pain away
But what would that help

I'm just going to stay in bed
until these clouds roll by
I look out my window
And what do I see
A steel grey sky following me