Poem: When the Day Is Over

I really like this one. Enjoy.

When the day is over
And the crowds thin out
And all the white walls look purple,
I'll be out, kicking around,
My mind running 'round in circles.

When the wood doves take
Their places in
The trees where they've built nests,
I'll embrace the world as is
And hope just for the best.

And I'll walk and walk and walk and walk:
I'll walk without an aim
'Neath skies that good and bad men walked
Before I had a name.

And I'll dream of days when those I love
Felt no hurt or pain,
Their eyes a sparkle when I would
Disembark a train.

I'll dream of days
And walk on by
And thank God I'm alive
To see these skies of amethyst,
To live the gift of life.

Thanks For...

Thanks for saying that, that we lightened up the mood, that’s really sweet of you, but you guys just focus on getting better and doing your thing. Obviously, that’s what’s the most important thing, and then we’ll figure it out from there. It’s no worries, man; it’s just some flowers, but obviously we wish you the best, wish the baby the best, and I’m sure it’s gonna turn out great. Just let’s get passed this sort of rough patch. 

All right, I hope you have a good day. It's fucking hot as hell, so stay cool. 

Poem: A Butterfly From the Night

A butterfly from the night
That’s one way to call it.
Others might a moth
But let’s go with it.
A butterfly from the night
Flitting around the room
Attracted by the light
Attracted to my room.
A butterfly’s a butterfly
By any other name
A butterfly of the night
A moth, it’s all the same.

Villanelle

When I write poetry, I usually don't follow any form. I mean, I want my poems to rhyme; in fact, I think the best poetry is that which rhymes. But other than that, I just usually let it rip. However, form is, or at least can be, important. One form of poem is the villanelle. Basically, a villanelle is a poem with two rhyming refrains, which appear over and over again as the poem progresses.

So in one of the most famous villanelle's, Dylan Thomas' "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night," the lines, "Do not go gentle into that good night" and "Rage, rage against the dying of the light" serve as the villanelle's two alternating refrains.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

I mention all of this because recently I thought I would try my hand at writing a villanelle. My composition is below. I hope you enjoy it.

"Now I Know I Laid Wreaths at Your Feet" 

Now I know I laid wreaths at your feet
Though there were a few times I was out of my mind 
Now I know I was not incomplete. 

Now I know that you were the heat 
Though there were a few times I believed in your lies
Now I know I laid wreaths at your feet. 

Now I know the word "hurt" and "mistreat."
"Unfair," "denied," "unfair" and "unkind." 
Now I know I am not incomplete. 

Now I know how I was in deep 
Though I felt with my heart and saw with my eyes 
Now I know I laid wreaths at your feet. 

The heat, the heat, the heat, the heat 
You were the one from fire who cried. 
Now I know I was not incomplete. 

Now, alone, the rustling leaves 
I hear and see, past clouds to the sky
Now I know I laid wreaths at your feet 
Now I know I am not incomplete. 

Poem: "My Last Impression of You"

My last impression of you

Was a masterpiece

A form of mimicry so good

You had yourself to laugh

At 

The timing that I had

And the screwed up face I made

And the place I took it to

Even though I'd been betrayed

The last impression that I had

Of you, the one I made

A masterpiece of mimicry

So good I felt ashamed.

Poem: "Always Filled with Happiness"

Always filled with happiness
After I see you.
Before we meet, however
You're not a person who
I want to see, I dread the thought
In fact of meeting you.
Always filled with happiness
After I see you.

"One True Sentence"

Do not worry. You have always written before and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know. 

Recently, I have been rereading Ernest Hemingway's "A Moveable Feast," a memoire about the author's life and times in Paris during the interwar period.

Among the many things talked about in the book, Hemingway gives us insight into what his writing process was like when he was living in the City of Light.

The quote above refers to a mantra Hemingway would say to himself whenever he was trying to write but was stuck. He would tell himself, essentially, not to get caught up in the thought of how daunting writing a novel, or writing in general, could be, but instead to focus, at least initially, on writing that "one true sentence."

So finally, I would write one true sentence, and then go from there.

I've always been fascinated by Hemingway's idea of "one true sentence," and the small piece below, which is biographical, is inspired by it. Enjoy.


***


I remember one time fighting this kid Craig for what he did with my hat.

I was on the middle school bus after school and one of my friends had snatched my red Philadelphia Phillies hat off my head and had tossed it to another friend of mine. The two were playing keep-away, which was fine until the hat landed in the hands of some kids I didn’t know. When these kids refused to give my hat back to me, the mood changed.

After all, the hat they were tossing around wasn’t any normal hat. That hat was the hat that kid Bo wore. Bo was a kid who used to ride his bike around my old neighborhood, Forest Hills, bullying people. He was a tough kid and he always wore this red Philadelphia Phillies cap. When I moved away from Forest Hills to a place called Great Neck, in Long Island, I decided I was going to reinvent myself as a tough guy -- I was going to be like Bo. So during the summer before middle school, I bought a red Philadelphia Phillies hat, the same one Bo had.

And now here that hat was, being tossed around the school bus by people I didn’t know. The cap flew back and forth over the rows of seats until it landed in the hands of Craig.

Craig was someone I only knew by name. He was scrawny and very innocent looking, the type of kid that still wore sweatpants to school, which was totally not cool back then. I didn’t know Craig, which was why the tension became palpable when he became the next recipient of my flung-around hat.

“Give it to me,” I said, looking Craig in the eye. He was sitting in the seat right behind mine. He returned my gaze, but threw the hat to someone else, nevertheless.

“You’re dead,” I said before turning my attention to the person who had just caught my hat. “When we get off this bus, you’re fucking dead.”

I don’t know if Craig knew I was serious on the bus, but he certainly did when I got off at his stop and started to push him. “Come on, you little shit,” I said. “You’re cool enough to throw my hat around, come on...” But he didn’t want to fight me.

I remember feeling tough as I pushed Craig, with a few schoolmates looking on. I felt like I was Bo now, and I was going to make a name for myself. I remember yelling at Craig and him just walking on, walking on toward his house, not wanting any problems. At one point, I pushed him very hard from behind, the way some people had done to me in Forest Hills when they had been giving me problems.

Eventually, I grabbed Craig in a headlock and we wrestled on someone’s lawn. I landed a punch on his head and it probably hurt my hand more than it had hurt him. But, in my opinion, I had proved myself. I was still too young to know that such behavior was not cool. I was 11 years old and I was  showing that I wouldn’t be fucked with, which was much more important at the time than any possible repercussions that might have come from my behavior.

Poem: "On Her Trajectory Through the Universe"

On her trajectory through the universe
On or off course
Of course we'll have a laugh, and laugh
About this shining star
This meteor, this asteroid
This creature born on Mars
Flying through the universe
Light, on fairy wings
Picking up that astral dust 
Killing all the things 
She made and things that made her up
She pulls like gravity
A whirlpool down, round, to the floor 
The dark bed of the sea
A place where all the energy 
Shrinks neatly to a size 
Smaller than a nickel, larger than a dime 
And in that spot, round and dry 
(a miracle, it's dry) 
Lie the answers of her birth 
Lie the reasons why. 

Poem: "I Think It's Pretty Clear"

I think it's pretty clear
I think you would agree 
I think it's pretty clear by now 
You, me. 
I think it's pretty special and 
I think it's pretty sweet.
I think it's pretty clear by now
I think we can agree.   

Poem: "The Advice"

Oh. She wanted the advice.
I didn't think 
She wanted the advice. 
Ok, I'll think. 
OK, I got it, right 
This is what I'd do 
If I were nine and nine again 
If I were you.
I'd play it as it goes, but I'd
Protect myself as well 
'Cause good things don't come back around 
Once they've gone to hell. 
So take these words, I do impart 
These chestnuts, wisdom, gold: 
To you yourself be true, besides 
You're old but not that old. 

Poem: "When I Looked Into Her Eyes"

When I looked into her eyes
I felt a wave of electricity go through me
Sitting there on the bench, sunset time it was
Her eyes were like the mystery 
Painted on the walls
Of pyramids or grottos
Sometime before the fall
Of ancient governing bodies
Her eyes were like the sun
Shining on a silver lake
When the day is done
When the light is right and one
Feels a sense of peace
Something like serenity, something like release
A thing that’s sharp and buzzing and
Electric in its way
Alive and right and lively and
Thankful all the same.

Poem: "Coincided"

Coincided, the heart divided
St. Germain. 
There goes that train. 
Coincided 
The heart united
Tuileries, the pain subsided 
Growing pains and hearts divided, coincided
Crack-cocaine. 
Derided, chided, denied and righted 
Gustav Eiffel, I. M. Pei
The boulevards, wide, bright and lighted 
Bridges, walkways, alleys, trains

Coincided with it all.
So let the chips where they may fall.
And let the pain, besides, subside like rain
On paving stones of St. Germain. 

Poem: "Moratorium"

Moratorium

 Legit.

 Keep it hard and real.

 A man of fucking mystery

 A man of steel.

 Moratorium, "genau"

 Exactly as they say

 Moratorium, unbudging:

 I've tried the other ways.

 Moratorium, mirage;  chimera, keep away

 Moratorium, in blood

 An oath to healthy stay.

Poem: "Cross Me Off Your List"

Cross me off your list, your list
Cross me off your list.
Whatever list you had, you can
Cross me off your list.

Doubt I don't you, benefit
Of the doubt, I don't
Doubt the things you doubt and doubt
I
Doubt the things you won't. 

Break it hard, hark!, break it fast and 
Smash it, crash it, crash.
Just wipe me off that list of yours
Fast. 

Hard Times Are Over

I love the staccato pacing of the lyrics to this song. Enjoy.

It’s been
Very hard
It’s getting
Easier now

Hard times
Are over
Over
For a while

The leaves are
Shining in the sun
And I’m smiling
Inside

You and I
Watching each other
On the street
Corner

Cars and buses
And planes and people
Go by
But we don’t care
We want to know
Want to know
In each others’
Eyes
That hard times
Are over
Over
For some time…

Poem: "Child's Play"

He was a reflection of our evil
Not Evel Knievel 
A reflection of our people 
And the cruel ways we can be. 

A reflection of the sea, he
Reflected back the sky
In the manner sharks exist
And birds of prey dive. 

He was a reflection of what’s there
We know
Yet, also know that we
Have the human touch 
--It's love--
Unlike he. 

Poem: "Others Couldn't Take It, No"

Others couldn't take it, no
Ready, no, they couldn't 
Wouldn't, couldn't, I'm not sure
All I know they didn't. 

Strains of plain the others had
Couwagulated to
Bands of inhibitions
Uninhibited with you.

Relax, relax, it's something new
Relax, you've earned this right
Relax, it's only natural like
Day goes down to night.

Don't tip your hat or show your hand
Others couldn't know
What goes on when light inside
Is like chiaroscuro.

Poem: "Insofar"

I love you insofar as I can use you.
I love you insofar as I can abuse you. 
I love you insofar as I can cruise to
A better station, place or point
A better standing in 
The institution of my choice
A better place within. 
I love you insofar as I
Loved the others, sure.
Whatever you would like to hear
Nameless here forevermore. 

Poem: "Whatever Luck I Get It's Not"

Whatever luck I get it's not 
That luck evades me
Whatever luck I get it's not
That luck escapes me 
I had it once that luck I got
One Friday afternoon
I got a call from one who made
Her mind up way too soon
Or so she said on Friday when
She called me back again 
Whatever luck I’ve got it’s not
The luck I’d like and when.

Poem: "Watching You"

Watching you flower

Bloom

Has been a joy

Like the view

From a beautiful room

Expanses opened

Breaths anew

Rosy cheeks

Yes can do

Watching you bloom

Colors so true

Watching you smile

Watching you.