I’m in New Hope
At a table
On the large veranda
Of the Starbucks
At the corner of Bridge and Main.
It’s a balmy day out.
The first one after a heatwave
And I thought I’d write something.
But there’s legs out today.
Lots of them.
And most of them are beautiful.
I want them all
But they don’t want me.
Some of them are too young.
Others are just passing through.
They walk by
This way and that.
They can smell trouble.
Some are looking for trouble
And they smile at me.
Keep walking.
Those legs have got me writing the most imaginative poems
I’ve ever written...
In my head.
When I look at the page
Or the screen
In front of me
They are blank.
I’ve written nothing.
I’m easily distracted today.
By the weather.
By the legs.
Even my coffee just sits.
Like me.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Sunday, July 17, 2011
The Moth (Saturniidae)
She was being sweet.
I announced that I needed to take a piss
And headed over to the shoulder
Of the path
That we were walking on.
She came up behind me
In secret
And took hold of my prick
In her hand
And gently grasped it
While we stood at the wood’s edge
In the torchiere of the full moon.
She emitted low soft words into
The warm inner canal of my ear
And nibbled my neck
As water began to flow.
She could feel the tempo
Of the piss
Travelling through
The deep channels in my flesh
As I wetted grass and leaves
And fallen sticks.
As I was finishing
She looked up
To see
A giant moth
Flying up into the trees.
We watched as the moth ascended and attached itself
To a cluster of leaves directly in front of us.
It had both of our attention.
There
In the clandestine of night
The moth became one with the leaves
And we would’ve lost him
If we didn’t stay focused.
I told her that it could be a luna moth.
She thought otherwise
Stating that as far as she could tell
The moth did not have the long
Tapering hind wings.
We stood there
Quietly
For moments
Marvelling
At barely moving wings.
I shook off the last remaining drops
And tucked myself away.
I turned towards her
Zippering
And from the look in her eyes
I knew that we just shared something
Very important.
I announced that I needed to take a piss
And headed over to the shoulder
Of the path
That we were walking on.
She came up behind me
In secret
And took hold of my prick
In her hand
And gently grasped it
While we stood at the wood’s edge
In the torchiere of the full moon.
She emitted low soft words into
The warm inner canal of my ear
And nibbled my neck
As water began to flow.
She could feel the tempo
Of the piss
Travelling through
The deep channels in my flesh
As I wetted grass and leaves
And fallen sticks.
As I was finishing
She looked up
To see
A giant moth
Flying up into the trees.
We watched as the moth ascended and attached itself
To a cluster of leaves directly in front of us.
It had both of our attention.
There
In the clandestine of night
The moth became one with the leaves
And we would’ve lost him
If we didn’t stay focused.
I told her that it could be a luna moth.
She thought otherwise
Stating that as far as she could tell
The moth did not have the long
Tapering hind wings.
We stood there
Quietly
For moments
Marvelling
At barely moving wings.
I shook off the last remaining drops
And tucked myself away.
I turned towards her
Zippering
And from the look in her eyes
I knew that we just shared something
Very important.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
The Third Eye
He had a third eye.
It was a dead eye...
It didn’t work.
He couldn’t see with it.
But it was a third eye nonetheless.
Perhaps a bit smaller
Set a bit off center
Inbetween his wirey black eyebrows
Just above the bridge of his nose
A half of an inch above
His ‘good’ eyes.
The Ajna Chakra.
He made a habit
Of wearing his inky oily hair over it
Low upon his forehead in bangs
To avoid the appearance of staring
Or being stared at.
Every once in a while
If you were paying attention
You could catch a glimpse of it...
If the avenue breeze pushed at his hair
Or he was bent over picking something up.
Even though he couldn’t see out of it
The eye had normal reflexes
And would blink
Wetting the frosty pupil.
It would turn about
Moving in tandem
With his two ‘good’ eyes.
Ironically
He was Indian
And in his culture
The Ajna Chakra
Was a symbol of enlightenment
Often marked with a red dot
Or bindi.
But
He had the real deal.
He operated the newspaper stand
On Sixth Avenue
And West 3rd
Across from the basketball courts
Where they played streetball
All day long
Well into the night.
The players were very competitive
And took as much pride in their trash talking
As their skills on the court.
This would draw large crowds
Which was good for business.
That
And there were two entrances to the West 4th St. subway station.
One on the corner across the avenue
As well as the one directly behind him
Inbetween his kiosk and the Waverly Diner
Which was owned by Greeks.
The diner had great breakfast specials
Which he took advantage of before setting up
Early in the morning.
“Yep” he thought, “I have myself a prime location”.
Business was good
For a 4’x8’.
The mornings were busiest
All the way up until lunchtime.
He would have his wife come in to help
For several hours
Even though she barely spoke English.
She knew the prices of everything
And was good on the register.
It was during this time
He would work the outside
Stocking
Taking change
And keeping his eyes on things.
It was rare
But once in awhile
Someone would try to steal something.
It was in the afternoon
That it got quiet.
He would ask his wife to leave
And he would go inside.
He’d sit at his stool
And pull one of the porno mags
From it’s protective plastic sleeve
And set it on the shelf in front of him
Just out of view
Of potential customers.
On this golden afternoon
With pigeons at the curb picking crumbs
That missed the trash
With the cheers and screams coming from the crowds
Surrounding the chain link
Of the basketball courts
During the pauses of the steady city traffic
As it stopped for the light just in front of him
He was scanning the pages of
‘Bangkok Lady Boys’.
He was halfway through the magazine
When he shut it
Announcing to himself
“Freaks!”
Shaking his head.
He put the magazine back into the plastic
Returning it to the shelf behind him
And turned his eyes
Focusing on the action
Across the street.
“There’s certainly some good looking women”
He thought.
“Wonder if any of them are lady boys?”
“Freaks!”
He repeated.
He decided it was a good time
To step outside
And have a cigarette.
It was a dead eye...
It didn’t work.
He couldn’t see with it.
But it was a third eye nonetheless.
Perhaps a bit smaller
Set a bit off center
Inbetween his wirey black eyebrows
Just above the bridge of his nose
A half of an inch above
His ‘good’ eyes.
The Ajna Chakra.
He made a habit
Of wearing his inky oily hair over it
Low upon his forehead in bangs
To avoid the appearance of staring
Or being stared at.
Every once in a while
If you were paying attention
You could catch a glimpse of it...
If the avenue breeze pushed at his hair
Or he was bent over picking something up.
Even though he couldn’t see out of it
The eye had normal reflexes
And would blink
Wetting the frosty pupil.
It would turn about
Moving in tandem
With his two ‘good’ eyes.
Ironically
He was Indian
And in his culture
The Ajna Chakra
Was a symbol of enlightenment
Often marked with a red dot
Or bindi.
But
He had the real deal.
He operated the newspaper stand
On Sixth Avenue
And West 3rd
Across from the basketball courts
Where they played streetball
All day long
Well into the night.
The players were very competitive
And took as much pride in their trash talking
As their skills on the court.
This would draw large crowds
Which was good for business.
That
And there were two entrances to the West 4th St. subway station.
One on the corner across the avenue
As well as the one directly behind him
Inbetween his kiosk and the Waverly Diner
Which was owned by Greeks.
The diner had great breakfast specials
Which he took advantage of before setting up
Early in the morning.
“Yep” he thought, “I have myself a prime location”.
Business was good
For a 4’x8’.
The mornings were busiest
All the way up until lunchtime.
He would have his wife come in to help
For several hours
Even though she barely spoke English.
She knew the prices of everything
And was good on the register.
It was during this time
He would work the outside
Stocking
Taking change
And keeping his eyes on things.
It was rare
But once in awhile
Someone would try to steal something.
It was in the afternoon
That it got quiet.
He would ask his wife to leave
And he would go inside.
He’d sit at his stool
And pull one of the porno mags
From it’s protective plastic sleeve
And set it on the shelf in front of him
Just out of view
Of potential customers.
On this golden afternoon
With pigeons at the curb picking crumbs
That missed the trash
With the cheers and screams coming from the crowds
Surrounding the chain link
Of the basketball courts
During the pauses of the steady city traffic
As it stopped for the light just in front of him
He was scanning the pages of
‘Bangkok Lady Boys’.
He was halfway through the magazine
When he shut it
Announcing to himself
“Freaks!”
Shaking his head.
He put the magazine back into the plastic
Returning it to the shelf behind him
And turned his eyes
Focusing on the action
Across the street.
“There’s certainly some good looking women”
He thought.
“Wonder if any of them are lady boys?”
“Freaks!”
He repeated.
He decided it was a good time
To step outside
And have a cigarette.
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