In Death, There Are Bones, No Fish
In death, there are bones, No fish
Up the long stairs of heaven Of white floor boards And perfect, uncontaminated nails
No water No rivers that lead to the oceans No soap dish
In death there are bones No fish
Down the short stairs of hell Of ash floor boards And dull, rusty nails
Lovers into gold coins Gold coins Into lovers on a side dish
In death, there are bones, No fish
Through cemeteries In life As silent as the dead weep
No water No rivers that lead to the oceans No soap dish
In death there are bones No fish
Heaven Is Awaiting Your Arrival
Heaven is awaiting your arrival with the book of life Wrapped under a soft cloth close to your heart
The angelic authors of nirvana Will also be the editors you hand over your book of life to
In hopes that you may be published into Paradise
Crowded Streets
I remember walking crowded streets Where the homeless played bucket beats Id give a dollar And Bless you theyd holler
The poverty called me a poet in need My want wasnt in greed Every mans philosophy changes in time The empire state is mine The smog caused the moon to shine dim On nights Id weep in prayer to him I picked and chose the snowflakes I needed to stop the shakes
I passed the building I danced in as a child Roaches gathered and then scattered wild The train screamed by during the night Mother was without father in fright Her tears fell upon a dusty window pane What could she possibly gain?
I took the subway to Queens To caress my love in tight jeans Summertime I touched the sky Intoxicated the mind high The neighborhood was so alive We all tried to survive
Those crowded streets still stretch long Where men feel they belong I can still hear the homeless playing those bucket beats Id give a dollar And Bless you theyd holler
Pieces of Paper
Pieces of the unexplainable I try to remember last nights dream
Words, lines, Trees, phrases
I suppose it was this poem I was dreaming to write
Trees into pieces of paper
Memories onto pieces of paper
We are all pieces of paper
Perfectly bound together into the book of life
I Think About
I think about Not being able to get away Hours of operation In a worldly day
I think about Grammar and style Words to understand Poems to file
I think about The God who loves unconditional The devil that burns Indefinite
I think about Todays time What will become of Tomorrows mind?
I think about Love spread across a sky blue Pictures come to mind, beautiful You
Here and gone
As strong as the icicle freezes As weak as the icicle melts
As snow descends upon a starry night As starry nights drink in delight
As the end of the world as yesterday As forgotten as tomorrow
As quick as a dying man dies As lively as a live man cries
As an angel spreads her wings As vibrant as the sea sings
As aroused as love walks As mindless as the worldly talk
As sure as silence speaks to the free As loved as the soul within thee
As I pretend in imagination As she anticipates sensation
As broken as a dysfunctional home As lost as I am for alone
As lovely as the white rose sways As the youth inside my heart always
As strong as the icicle freezes As weak as the icicle melt
Poetry Is My Drug (Starbucks, New Paltz, New York)
A swarm of intelligent lectures Sweep through Starbucks on a country street Paintings of an abstract mind Hang on its orange walls And through a window Through an attic window Sweet melodies erupt Warming a frigid town
Table tops remain without honor As a young woman smiles Cute, but Im left on mute Poetry is my drug Im addicted to the English language Like cocaine and its swift high The fiend requires more Will sell his soul for another hit
I come to think that I am a poem Written by God For the world to read My fathers free verse And my mother is a sonnet
As Im writing this I can feel sensuous eyes scrolling around To meet mine I look up to find some girls soft eyes, But thats it Poetry is my love I become intimate with the English language Like lovers in passion throughout the night They sleep Will rise with the morning sun to indulge in each other again
Lonely souls occupy empty seats In a Starbucks on a country street Paintings of an abstract mind Are highlighted on its orange walls And through a window Through a car window Sweet melodies erupt Warming a frigid parking lot Table tops remain without thought A young woman smiles Cute, but Im left on mute Poetry is my drug
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