"lindsey" poems
The keeper of illumination
Aye, the keeper of the light
Safety first, his fascination
Dusk to evening through the night.
Aye, the keeper of the light,
Every season, every day
Dusk to evening, through the night
He tends the beacon, shows the way.
Every season, every day
Climbs thirteen flights of thirteen stairs
He tends the beacon, shows the way
The Fresnel lantern he prepares.
Climbs thirteen flights of thirteen stairs
Skyward, toward the landing high
The Fresnel lantern he prepares
Lighthouse beacon must not die.
Skyward, toward the landing high
Strike the match, produce the spark
Lighthouse beacon must not die.
Guides ships safely through the dark.
Strike the match, produce the spark
Safety first, his fascination
Guides ships safely through the dark
The keeper of illumination.
Phil Lindsey 6/25/15
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 9:29 AM UTC
You are the velvet to my lace, the freckles on your face, the rocket to outer space when i’m forgetting why my feet need to hit the ground.
You are three seconds away from a sunrise when I desperately need the light, you are a cup of tea and wisdom, and you are a giggle at just the right moment while the blood exchanges ideas between my wide-eyed fanatic manic panic mind and my static acrobatic heart.
You are love and a smile when everything around has fallen dark. We fall down the seasons, each leaf turned to green as the time is subjective as valued.
we fall down the winter of broken glass and torn kneecaps and into the summer of understanding and patched hearts.
We fall down the stairs of the boy who was the blank slate and into the arms of the boy who painted his stone happy.
You are the living room of my soul, where all the pictures make us smile just to look at them and the quilt on the couch is beautiful enough to make up for the small tear in the corner. Where the cups of tea sipped are innumerable as the curls on your head and the watercolor windows open past our souls and into our worlds.
Someday we’ll be able to keep track of our socks and get enough sleep but right now I’m still figuring it out. I’m still trying to connect the sky to the tree to the earth to the tesseracted interaction theatrical statement of who I am and what I will be. We will become.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 11:28 PM UTC
Soon, the masterpiece will come.
Shh, soon you’ll fall asleep,
And maybe in your dreams discover
Words and lines to keep.
For the darkness is a tunnel
Straight to Heaven’s door,
There a thousand poets wait for you -
A thousand gone before,
Before their works were finished,
Before their jobs were through
Now creation of the masterpiece
Is solely up to you.
Hear their spirit, poet!
Listen very close.
You’ve been chosen as the protégé
But do not brag or boast
For the masterpiece consumes you,
Like hell-fire, burns you up,
Leaves you thirsting for some water
And reaching for a cup,
That crumbles when you grab it.
While the water turns to dust,
But still you keep on reaching, reaching,
You must, you must, you must.
Feel their breath, oh poet!
Cool upon your skin,
Though sweat and perspiration
Reveal the torment trapped within.
For the masterpiece consumes you,
Like a pen that’s out of ink,
Leaves you reaching for a pencil,
And needing time to think,
But both ends are erasers
Now your passion turned to lust
So still you keep on reaching, reaching,
You must, you must, you must.
For the darkness is a tunnel
A tunnel straight to Hell
There a thousand poets wait for you -
At a long abandoned well,
Before their works were finished,
The waters all ran dry
There will be no masterpiece
If all the poets die.
Shh, soon the masterpiece will come.
Shh, soon you’ll fall asleep,
And a thousand poets after you
Will search for words and lines to keep.
Phil Lindsey 6/9/15
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
Laugh through the tears,
For life is short. Be
Quick to forgive, be
Slow to abort friendships built up
Through the years.
Be quick to forgive, and
Laugh through the tears.
Cry when you must,
For life isn’t fair. Be
Slow to give up, be
Quick to repair broken dreams built up
Through the years,
Cry when you must, but
Laugh through the tears.
Slow down, look around,
Life isn’t a race. Be
The best you can be,
Set your own pace, for life is a journey,
Which spans unknown years,
Slow down, look around, and
Laugh through the tears.
Trust in your faith,
Mortal life has an end. Be
Loving to family, always depend
On your friends; They’ll be with you,
When hope disappears.
Trust in your faith, and
Laugh through the tears.
Phil Lindsey, 3/7/17
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 5:22 AM UTC
All at once the music stopped;
The calliope stopped spinning.
Atop the stallions we held hands
Convinced that we were winning –
For we were in the prime of life,
We held the golden ring,
Though the music stopped, we knew
Forever we would sing.
All at once the music stopped;
The Ferris wheel stopped turning.
Atop the city looking down,
We saw that lights were burning –
For we were in the evening and,
Our lives had passed midway,
And when the music stopped we knew
That we had had our day.
All at once the music stopped;
The carnival had ended.
And we held each other tightly,
As if our lives could be suspended –
For without the music and the lights,
Past and Present blended,
Our future was but memories
That we had resurrected.
All at once the music stopped;
The night was deathly still.
Alone, and scared I trembled,
Without a prayer, without a will–
For my life had been a carnival,
With my lover at my side,
But all alone, without my lover
I knew that I had also died.
Phil Lindsey 3/29/16
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 4:51 PM UTC
With Lackey and Heyward both turning blue
The Chicago Cubs scored a mighty big coup
Kind of a payback for Brock, comma Lou?
What, oh what are the Cardinals to do?
We’re pretty sad, say the fans dressed in red,
That both of those guys chose Chicago instead
But a person would have to be daft in the head
To give up the St. Louis Cardinals for dead.
Yes, the Cubbies think that they have enough
But the whole NL Central is pretty **** tough,
Which team do you think will have the right stuff?
To win in September, when winning gets rough?
2016 will be pretty fun.
There’s quite a Division race to be run
When game 162 is finished and done
We will see which team, the most games, has won.
Yes, next year the race will be closely contended
During the season you might have me un-friended
But in winter time, our rivalry suspended
We can cheer for the Bears till their season is ended.
Phil Lindsey 12/12/15
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
It ain’t too bad to be from there
Just ask my family and friends
But it’s too flat, ain’t no way out
The roads are all dead ends.
Sometime soon I’ll find a place
Where the music I’ll enjoy
But for now I keep on tryin’
To escape from Illinois!
There’s a river on the border west
That moves a lot of dirt
Mighty Muddy Mississipp
Drowns the pain and covers hurt
Yeah, I’m movin’ south to New Orleans
Maybe I can find employ
In a blues bar down on Bourbon Street
Escape from Illinois!
Well I stopped a week along the way
When I saw the Gateway Arch.
But the folks out by the airport
Were stagin’ up a march.
Seems a white cop fired a shot that killed
An unarmed teenage boy
Oh yeah, the teenage boy was black,
Escape from Illinois.
Kept walkin’ to the Landing
(Named for Pierre Laclede)
It has most every thing you want
But nothing that you need
Some travelin’ folk told me some news
That made me jump for joy
Memphis maybe had some work
Escape from Illinois!
Found the haunted house called Graceland
And the grave where Elvis lay
Where half a million go each year
(Fifteen thousand every day)
They all want to pay respects
To the rockin’ – rollin’ boy
Put their finger in the bullet holes
Escape from Illinois.
Went downtown, knocked on some doors
Once or twice I went inside
But Beale Street was broken
The travelin’ folks had lied.
‘Cuz there ain’t no jobs in Memphis,
Or maybe I’m too coy
So I hitched a ride to Nashville
Escape from Illinois.
Nashville’s a big old meltin’ ***
Lots of great ones started here
But most end up as tourists
Getting’ ****** and drinkin’ beer
So money’s at a premium
And fame’s a fake decoy
End up workin’ in a record store
Escape from Illinois?
From Asheville to Atlanta
From Austin to LA
From Biloxi back to Baton Rouge
Need a place where I can play
I’ll follow all the buskers,
Form a musical convoy
Livin’ day by day and town by town
Escape from Illinois!
I’m a minstrel, like a rubber band
I keep on snappin’ back
I’m gonna make it somewhere
Singing somewhere, that’s a fact
Got my guitar and my music
Gotta do what I enjoy
Find a place to sing my songs for you,
Hell, it may be Illinois!
Phil Lindsey 6/4/15
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 1:46 PM UTC
I have read too many poems
From those of you who want to die.
I read the words, I hear your voice,
Yes, I hear your desperate cry,
I am torn and heart-sick at your plight;
Yet, I have to ask you why?
For when you close your eyes forever,
The hurt and pain won’t go away,
It crawls inside all those you love,
Where it kills them every day.
Were you jilted by a lover?
Are you an addict, beaten down?
Or is it that you don’t fit in
On the ‘right’ side of the town?
Does no one understand you?
Or “It doesn’t matter anyway”,
Because when you try to tell us,
We listen not to what you say?
No, I cannot feel the pain you bear
But I understand it’s real
Is there anything that I can do,
To try and help you heal?
Do you want someone to hold your hand?
Do you want a shoulder for your tears?
Do you want someone to scream at you?
Or hold you tight and calm your fears?
Do you need a teacher? Or a coach?
Or a banker for your debt?
Do you want a job that’s interesting,
Or any job that you can get?
Do you want to make somebody proud?
Or find someone to share your life?
Or do you only want a yes-man
To hand you the pills, give you the knife?
You may say, “Shut up old man! –
Don’t want to listen to your ****
You’ve always had it easy,
You always won, you never had to quit.
You don’t have a ******* clue.”
And you’re right I probably don’t
But if you keep it all inside,
No one will, and I sure won’t.
Please seek some help, I beg of you
You each have talents, and a heart
There’s a remedy or cure somewhere
For the pain that’s tearing you apart
I’m not a doctor, or a shrink
But I’ve seen suicide up close,
It hurts and devastates the ones
Who loved the victim most.
Phil Lindsey 6/8/15
**1-800-273-8255 **
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 8:14 PM UTC
When you find her love her
Hold her real tight
Get her coffee in the morning
Keep her warm at night
The last thing that you ever want
Is to drive that girl away
So when you find her love her and
She will always stay.
Might take lots of lookin’
Good woman’s hard to find
Admit it man,
You and me, we ain’t no prize of any kind.
We’re rough around the edges
Ain’t got no smooth lines
So when you find her love her
And she will treat you fine.
Yeah, when you find her love her
Hold her real tight
Get her coffee in the morning
Keep her warm at night
The last thing that you ever want
Is to drive that girl away
So when you find her love her and
She will always stay.
See women they are wary
Far as menfolk are concerned
Seems somewhere in their lifetime
Most all of them’s been burned.
She’s gonna look right through you
Deep into your soul,
So when you find her love her
And she will make you whole.
Yeah, when you find her love her
Hold her real tight
Get her coffee in the morning
Keep her warm at night
The last thing that you ever want
Is to drive that girl away
So when you find her love her and
She will always stay.
She might have some baggage
Made a wrong turn or two
Better look into the rearview mirror
King of baggage might be you!
Then both you go and pack those bags
In the trunk of that used car
And read the map together
So you both know where you are.
Yeah, when you find her love her
Hold her real tight
Get her coffee in the morning
Keep her warm at night
The last thing that you ever want
Is to drive that girl away
So when you find her love her and
She will always stay.
Last thing that you ever want
Is to drive that girl away
So when you find her love her
And she will always stay.
Yeah drive away together
Bags packed and stored away
When you find her love her
And she will always stay.
Phil Lindsey 4/24/15
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 5:01 PM UTC
I love you more than Holden loves Allie's glove
I love you more than the Doctor loved Rose
I love you more than Cosmo loved Wanda
I love you more than Squidward wanted to be alone
I love you more than Mr. Krabs loves money
I love you more than Gerard loves Lindsey
I could go on, but there's no point
Nothing can compare to how much you mean to me
You stupid twit.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 9:10 PM UTC
If someone says, “And time stood still,”
Consider him an imbecile.
Time creeps, it flies, it disappears,
It changes seconds into years,
Consumes our life,
Each passing day,
And woe the soul
That’s in its way.
Time marches on, as if to war
Countless battles fought before
Why do we refuse to yield?
Lay down our helmet, sword, and shield
Is it so hard
For us to see
That time will claim
The victory?
Time overpowers the strongest men,
And laughs at those who try in vain,
To conquer time, for they will die
Not knowing when, or how, or why
Yes, we will die
While time endures
Time mourns no life
Not mine, not yours.
Time humbles strong, and kills the weak,
It laughs at those who dare to speak,
As if they understand its goal,
Time will extract its rightful toll.
No money spent
Can slow time down.
Time will have
The rich King’s crown.
Phil Lindsey 4/23/15
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 12:19 AM UTC
The beginning of a story
Read with me, if you desire
At dawn a huge explosion
Filled the void with fire,
Cooled and hardened into rock,
Orbits now another star,
A life sustaining prison
Caterpillars in a jar.
A thousand, thousand, thousand years,
Then a thousand, thousand more
Passed as though an eye blink
Before a creature crawled to shore.
What miracle was engineered?
Creating ocean from a fire,
Creating algae in the ocean,
And life from muck and mire?
Was the engineer benevolent?
With a careful laid out plan?
Or is the earth a failed experiment
Where the byproduct is Man?
And if Man was unintended
What results were meant to be?
Would earth have been a better place
With just oceans, land and trees?
Maybe chemical reactions,
On this random, rolling stone
Were responsible for all its life
Chemicals alone.
Astronomic odds against it,
But the odds of Heaven are high as well.
I cannot comprehend it.
That story someone else must tell.
Phil Lindsey June, 2015
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 9:00 AM UTC
Is there a poem in a sidewalk?
Paths of cratered concrete, cracked
By morning frost and midnight freeze,
Wimpy weeds grow through the fissures.
Children fall and skin their knees.
Is there a poem in a sidewalk?
Canvas for a budding Rembrandt,
Using colored chalk as paint,
Drawing flow’rs, and stick-man family,
Curbing not her young restraint.
Is there a poem in a sidewalk?
Adults dare not let loose the leash,
As they exercise their dogs, and ease their own stress,
Must carry bags and tiny shovels,
To clear the concrete of the mess.
Is there a poem in a sidewalk?
Scooters, skateboards, wagons, bikes,
Off the path, then on again
While yielding the right-of-way
To lovers walking hand in hand.
Is there a poem in a sidewalk?
Collecting children at the corner,
A guard, with yellow vest and sign,
Moses parts the sea of traffic,
Cautiously keeps kids in line.
Through front yards, across drive-ways,
Toward bus stops, stores and schools,
Gathering mown grass, autumn leaves, and winter snow.
There are poems in small town sidewalks,
Imagination on the go.
Phil Lindsey 1/11/17
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 3:21 PM UTC
The first look the first blow
you never expect it you never know
The look in your eyes the grip of your hands
The pain of the blast, the falls and the lands
In a room on my own but feeling so trapped
Holding my knees all warm and wrapped
So many thoughts running round my head
So many nights laying awake in bed
No one to tell no one to share
Frightened of finding no one is there
The feeling of freedom so far away
Praying for happiness every second of the day
Never prepared for what he might do
When you see the angels guiding you through
The panic and shock of coming around
Echoes of voices, noises are drowned
The hardest decision is walking away
Being alone, the heartache each day
But nothing can beat the feeling of breaking free
Looking forward to good times and just being me ;)
Lindsey Clayton
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 10:22 AM UTC
Rock step, trip-le, trip-le
Rock step, trip-le, trip-le
Judah bids us "Good morning!" at nine at night,
He's like Fred Astaire,
Big moves and big ears.
Dylan is late coming in,
Sliding out of his leather jacket with a sour expression -
He's too cool for this game.
Lindsey drags in the speaker system,
All goofy grins and ugly sweaters,
And she's so happy to see us.
Rock step, trip-le, trip-le
Andy with his slick moves
and slicker hair.
Matt who always smelled strange
but lost to Kevin.
Susan with her tight, swinging hips
and constant critiques.
Pete thinks he can do this,
and then breaks your arm.
Caleb concentrates too hard,
and tries not to look you in the eyes.
Josh gets bored with the basics,
deciding to breakdance instead.
Rock step, trip-le, trip-le
Rock step, trip-le, trip-le
And after an hour of being passed from one lead to the next
Like a hot potato,
And then standing with your back against the basement wall
During the free-for-all,
You decide you rather be studying algebra
and leave.
Lindsey waves goodbye.
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 2:05 AM UTC
On the Lake’s North Shore
The leaves are quickly turning
Green and brown ignited. Brilliant, blazing, burning
Yellow, orange and fiery red,
An eagle soars high overhead,
Circling the steel blue sky,
While waxwings sing, and
Sea gulls cry, and
Loons laugh at yesterday’s mistakes, and
Whitecaps dance on the ancient lake.
The cliffs and rocks still pounding waves, and
Waterfalls spring from unseen caves.
Cloudy mornings, frosty, still,
The sunrise warms the early chill.
Squirrels hoard their winter store
An autumn day
On the Lake’s North Shore
Phil Lindsey- October 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 1:56 AM UTC
*Cossack Cowboys
Riding Llamas
That they dress
In pink pajamas
Teeny boppers
Blowing bubbles
Biker chicks
Causing trouble
Nuns in Habits
Punks in chains
One or two
Of the deranged
Rubbing Buddha belly
Cravers
And the band
Harvey Danger
David Bowie
Elton John
Both of them
With Spacesuits on
Vegetarians
Eating chicken
Love it fried
Finger licking
In a line to
Meet and greet Obama
Now I wish
I'd brought my Mama
On the T.V.
Slicing, Dicing
Infomercials
Are enlightening
Lindsey Lohan
There's more trouble
Send the Police
On the double
Michael Jackson
With his monkey
Chandelier
Swinging junkies
Bottle Rocket
Ridding crickets
Dolly Parton
Doing dishes
Tubs of Crisco
Set for wrestling
Bee Gees do be
Disco dancing
With Bruce Jenner
Wearing makeup
Dolly's kitchen
Filled with soap suds
Rubber band
Bumper babies
Call me odd
Don't call me crazy
Shooting stars
Carry Uzis
Washed up stars
Drink beer in Koozies
Donnie Osmond
Singing show tunes
As Marie blows
Animal balloons
Circus Barkers
And their Minions
Waylon left us
Shooter Jennings
Heidi Klum
Without makeup
To say the least
She looks a bit rough
American flags
As rainbow banners
Peal, scratch, and sniff
Talking bananas
Hookha smoking
Manatees
Oh yea...
and then there's me
These are just a few of the things that lean
On the lamp post of my dreams*
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 1:50 PM UTC
there are people i've forgotten
some for better, some for worse
in places i have been along the way
some were good and some were rotten
some sow's ears and some silk purse
there are many that i think of every day
Take the time, give everyone a chance
Take a stranger, and treat them like a friend
Life is nothing more than a big dance
And you just don't know when the music's gonna end
i've had meals with lowly beggars
I've sat down with queens and kings
Life's funny ...if i really had to say
that the people i remember
of all my time here on this earth
are the sow's ears,
and the beggars come what may
Take the time, give everyone a chance
Take a stranger, and treat them like a friend
Life is nothing more than a big dance
And you just don't know when the music's gonna end
some have angels on their shoulders
some have devil's in their heart
but, you will not know, until you let them in
but of the people i've forgotten
and those kept close in my heart
the best ones never care what might have been
Take the time, give everyone a chance
Take a stranger, and treat them like a friend
Life is nothing more than a big dance
And you just don't know when the music's gonna end
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 8:43 PM UTC
Disgrace
About face
Try it all again.
Steinbeck really
Killed it when he
Wrote ‘Of Mice and Men.’
George protected Lenny when
He shot him in the head. Lenny
Tended to the rabbits; In the end
They all were dead. Did you read it,
Back in high school, when you were
The baseball star? Was your girlfriend
Still a ****** when she left the backseat
Of your car? Did you divorce before you
Married? Did the rabbit really die? Did your
Girlfriend raise the baby, listen to the baby cry?
Will you ever say “I’m sorry?” Will you cry when
She is gone? Or will you write a story ‘bout your life,
Called, “Hobo Carry On.”
Phil Lindsey 6/4/15
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 12:53 AM UTC
once a collage
hung on a wide white wall
with monochrome photos of
all creatures great and small
Dali juxtaposed with Doris Day,
LBJ atop JFK, and Joe DiMaggio,
grinning Frankenstein and frowning
Frank Sinatra, not far below
Hemingway, Groucho Marx, Marlon Brando
occupying three of four corners, the bottom right
a curious cat, in stretched repose
dead center, a cracked crucifix
and four Beatles all, Paul the biggest
with the cross crowning his frame
a Corvette,
and Stalin in his tomb
were also given ample room,
on this black and white piece of art
as were ****** Cleaver, with cap,
Jimi Hendrix with axe
another three score
and a couple more, completed
this cacophony of sight, but absent
were J. Bieber, Beyonce, any of the Simpsons
of Fox fame, revealing the artist of this gray masterpiece
was blissfully blind to cyber sacrilege,
Steve Job’s toys, and the lost soul
of Lindsey Lohan
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 5:21 PM UTC
Today’s leaders are busy
turning yesterday’s dreams
into tomorrow’s history.
Phil Lindsey 1/12/17
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 1:45 AM UTC
In 1492,
Columbus had a few
Things to do
Before he sailed the ocean blue.
He needed some green,
If you know what I mean,
So he went to see the King and Queen
Of Portugal, England, and France:
They laughed, shook their heads and said, “No chance.”
While his Homies back in Italy
Said, “Christabo, you gotta be kiddin’ me.
You want to do WHAT!? And you want US to pay?
We think you're a nut, now go on, go away."
But he didn’t give up and he didn’t complain,
He shook it off and took off for Spain
Where Ferdinand and Isabella,
Thinking him a righteous fella,
Told him they would float his boat,
If their country he’d promote,
Plant their flag on lands discovered, and
Bring them riches he uncovered, so
They all signed on the dotted line, and
Columbus said, “The pleasure’s mine!”
Then he smiled and bowed and said, “I’ll see’ya!”
And hopped aboard the Santa Maria.
See Christopher knew the Greek Geeks found,
That instead of flat, the earth was round,
So he thought he knew, or at least he guessed,
That it might be best
To get Far East by sailing west.
He pulled up anchor, set the sail
Told ninety men, success or fail,
West, they’d go, and west they went
Seventy days, provisions spent,
When land was spotted, dead ahead,
Columbus planted the flag and said,
“I claim this land for the King of Spain,
In doing so increase his reign,
And underneath this flag, unfurled,
Declare New Spain, a brand new world!”
What Columbus didn’t anticipate
He was 500 years or so too late,
For Eric the Red, and Leif, his son,
Long ago discovered Newfoundland.
Now when history tells North America’s story,
There’s room for both to share the glory.
But another fact, it’s become quite clear,
There were thousands of people already here,
See life in Asia wasn’t so great,
Some folks decided not to wait,
They just walked across the Bering Strait,
So Chris and Leif both got here late!
Phil Lindsey 1/27/17
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 11:47 PM UTC
Is it true that opposites attract?
She liked fantasy, he liked fact,
She liked green beans, he liked peas,
She liked chicken, he liked cheese,
She liked champagne, he liked port,
She liked lazy, he liked sport.
She liked new cars, he liked wrecks,
She liked cuddling, he liked ***
She liked cookies, he liked cake,
She liked real and he liked fake.
She liked daytime, he liked night,
She liked to make up, he liked to fight.
She liked sweaters, he liked coats,
She liked airplanes, he liked boats,
She liked poetry, he liked prose,
She liked tulips, but he gave her a rose.
She said, “Stay.”, and he said, “Go.”
He proposed and she said, “NO!"
He left with dignity still in tact -
So much for opposites attract!
Phil Lindsey 1/7/16
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 9:13 PM UTC
Paris is so beautiful, that it’s emotional,
like the red tile roofs of Rome,
or the Kenroku-en gardens of Japan.
It’s a relatively large world.
Whenever you can fly over an ocean
you feel limitless, and godly,
like the world is there for you, on demand.
Speaking of God-like views, I’m headed
to Lisa’s (parents) Manhattan highrise again
this year for Thanksgiving—six, very-long days
from today—and I have to wait—but I can’t wait.
I’m starting to stuff things into my bag, like a turkey.
There are so many holiday things to do in Manhattan.
Things that invariably whip you up for a sparkly Christmas.
But these are only commercial attractions—planned distractions.
One frosty November-break morning, two years ago,
a tide of clouds had rolled in, like a trillion tons of cotton
candy had been dumped on New York city, overnight,
filling it up to the 42nd floor. It glistened there, below us,
in the klieg-bright sun, like Tiffany diamonds on cotton.
So, imagine that, then add a flock of geese, in military-like
v-formation flying just at the crest of the glitter, like dolphins
hopping in and out of the waves, as they passed above the
insignificant works of man. It took my breath away.
So, naturally I grabbed for my fancy phone with its super-duper,
high-res camera. The snaps did the glorious scene poor justice—
the majestic, wild geese came out as dots on glare.
I’m watching things carefully this year, not just the multicolor, cachet, window displays on Fifth Avenue and the decorations at the Chelsea Market (where Oreos were invented). I’m going to capture this year
—every intense, emotional second—with that most unreliable, 3D
gadget of all—Memory.
.
.
A song for this:
Holiday Road by Lindsey Buckingham
Nov 15, 2024
Nov 15, 2024 at 11:45 AM UTC