"busks" poems
NEW YORK STATE OF MIND
Walt Whitman
walks by me
somewhere in 1891
I nod to him...he nods to me
lost in himself
Clinton is being inaugurated
Brooklyn Bridge
saunters by
dressed in the summer of '67
the subway
wears its best graffiti
the music of trains and Coltrane
the Flatiron Building is jaywalking
the Empire State
chats him up
a child's hopscotch
almost washed away
a moment's masterpiece
Robert Moses
looks across Long Island
longs to build the city only he sees
he gazes into my future
I look into his past
I pass Robert Mapplethorpe
a man in a white suit
nailed to the darkness
by so many stars
an old saxophone player
busks Rogers and Hart in Central Park
"...I didn't know what time it was..."
two obese Chinese
take up most of the sidewalk
both speaking fluent - Irish
Leaves of Grass
lies scattered across the road
read now by the wind
a car caught in traffic
blares out Joel's
"New York State of Mind"
I laugh at such
a happenstance
a walk-on-part in my own movie
escaping the borders
of the body
I walk through times
I am all the times
of the world
they intersect in self
Walt and I
sitting on a park bench
waiting to go somewhere else
an 1990's rain
falls on an 1870's NY
they are beginning Brooklyn Bridge
I meet my self
coming and going
an older and a younger me
time held prisoner on the wrist
I turn and walk away
into this the newest of centuries
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 3:23 AM UTC
The rocking chair
a paradise for termites
front porch pictures portraying
love are nebulous within her eyes
she busks in the moment
the delightful smell
of the efflorescent
garden being the front-row
sit to memories of young
lovers, a vestige of ecstacy
lost with time
Frazzled by years of affairs
She still yearns for that
kiss that cares not for
time and space that
leaves a mark of falicity
on her visage.
a birth mark for when love is
born as lady nature sings her songs
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 12:45 PM UTC