inspiration is the key
you can want to put every
emotion on paper
until you realize there are
a million words to describe it all.
inspiration is needed
for unlocking that exact
tone of feeling
a line that eludes
the mind to a different place.
inspiration brings out
inner most thoughts
the feelings from your soul
and carves them to writing.
inspiration can be anything
the death
the life
the song
the rush of morning air
through the window after a
full breakfast
nothing good can be
created without it.
one must wait for
inspiration to find him.
only then does the
magic of poetry
exist.
Monday, September 8, 2008
The Big Band
gone are the times of man
the cigars and brandy
pin stripped suits and slicked back hair
the classy bar gatherings with the bartender
in his white shirt and drying cloth.
gone are the days of money sports and business
talk of war victories
the success of the Yankees
the cobblestone sidewalks and the ever familiar
black brimmed hats and freshly polished
Italian leather shoes.
gone are the days of greeting Johnny
after he came home
from the war to meet his wife
holding his new born son
the people waiting out by the train station
waiving tiny American flags and cheering as the
engineer blows the horn in excitement.
gone are the times of gayety
when the only worry of walking alone in the streets
was an unfair price on the fresh
fish in the market stand.
when passing the rhythmic shoeshine stand
gave a joyful kick in your step
then out on the corner came the sweet
harmonic rag time blues from an old
saxophone.
gone are the days of the good time
when the drug store had all you wanted
the hand mixed soda pops that came with a wink
its red spinning seats and all the candy
you could want was there for the taking.
the crisp brass music flowed from the
recorder in the corner
where a few old men were
playing cards.
gone are the days of men
the home cooked meal
after a hard days work
a kiss from the wife and the
laughter from the children.
the times are long forgotten
they are only
memories to be cherished
gone are the times
gone
forever into the black and white
from which they came.
the cigars and brandy
pin stripped suits and slicked back hair
the classy bar gatherings with the bartender
in his white shirt and drying cloth.
gone are the days of money sports and business
talk of war victories
the success of the Yankees
the cobblestone sidewalks and the ever familiar
black brimmed hats and freshly polished
Italian leather shoes.
gone are the days of greeting Johnny
after he came home
from the war to meet his wife
holding his new born son
the people waiting out by the train station
waiving tiny American flags and cheering as the
engineer blows the horn in excitement.
gone are the times of gayety
when the only worry of walking alone in the streets
was an unfair price on the fresh
fish in the market stand.
when passing the rhythmic shoeshine stand
gave a joyful kick in your step
then out on the corner came the sweet
harmonic rag time blues from an old
saxophone.
gone are the days of the good time
when the drug store had all you wanted
the hand mixed soda pops that came with a wink
its red spinning seats and all the candy
you could want was there for the taking.
the crisp brass music flowed from the
recorder in the corner
where a few old men were
playing cards.
gone are the days of men
the home cooked meal
after a hard days work
a kiss from the wife and the
laughter from the children.
the times are long forgotten
they are only
memories to be cherished
gone are the times
gone
forever into the black and white
from which they came.
Friendly's
the first thing to be noticed
after swinging open the
squeaky door that shuts
hard behind you
is the constant mutter of the
latest gossip
how shitty the rain has been to the crop
what Bob did after his wife left him.
in the background you can hear the
clinging and clinking sounds
metal spoons
stirring cream into a thick mug
of hot coffee
glass salt shakers taken out of their
hole on the side of the table
the plates being clacked down onto
the old table with an order of fresh
biscuits and gravy with eggs.
as the waitress
whose images looks fitting to the place
stops by and asks what you’d like to drink
a simple look up to order a cup of coffee
in a split comes an
inch thick cup of
better than Star-bucks
coffee.
sweet-n-low does the trick
the waitress pulls out her
ordering pad because
nobody uses a
menu
except for the people from
outa town.
after jotting down the specifics
taking the first sip of coffee
you can look around and take a
step back in
time.
the old smoky smell even
adds to the flavor and excitement
only thing that changes are
the faces inside and maybe
the prices.
sometimes I think everybody needs something like that
unchanging
steady
you can wake up in the morning and know it will still
be there.
its comforting
a sort of home-like feeling
and you’ll always find someone
you know.
the caffeine is starting to kick in
that last bit of egg is too cold now
all is telling you its time to go
but
you don’t want to.
you find peace in the
sounds and smells
never the less you grab the
greased stained check
pay and leave a few bucks
always trying to be
inconspicuous about the tip
after giving a fare-well salute
to the old grease mop
a fuddle for the keys and
a few more steps
takes you away
back to reality
back to a job
a house payment and
kids.
but you look forward to
tomorrow morning to
find the smoky tranquility of
yesterday.
after swinging open the
squeaky door that shuts
hard behind you
is the constant mutter of the
latest gossip
how shitty the rain has been to the crop
what Bob did after his wife left him.
in the background you can hear the
clinging and clinking sounds
metal spoons
stirring cream into a thick mug
of hot coffee
glass salt shakers taken out of their
hole on the side of the table
the plates being clacked down onto
the old table with an order of fresh
biscuits and gravy with eggs.
as the waitress
whose images looks fitting to the place
stops by and asks what you’d like to drink
a simple look up to order a cup of coffee
in a split comes an
inch thick cup of
better than Star-bucks
coffee.
sweet-n-low does the trick
the waitress pulls out her
ordering pad because
nobody uses a
menu
except for the people from
outa town.
after jotting down the specifics
taking the first sip of coffee
you can look around and take a
step back in
time.
the old smoky smell even
adds to the flavor and excitement
only thing that changes are
the faces inside and maybe
the prices.
sometimes I think everybody needs something like that
unchanging
steady
you can wake up in the morning and know it will still
be there.
its comforting
a sort of home-like feeling
and you’ll always find someone
you know.
the caffeine is starting to kick in
that last bit of egg is too cold now
all is telling you its time to go
but
you don’t want to.
you find peace in the
sounds and smells
never the less you grab the
greased stained check
pay and leave a few bucks
always trying to be
inconspicuous about the tip
after giving a fare-well salute
to the old grease mop
a fuddle for the keys and
a few more steps
takes you away
back to reality
back to a job
a house payment and
kids.
but you look forward to
tomorrow morning to
find the smoky tranquility of
yesterday.
With Life Comes Death
they come in
for a temporary fix but the doors
close
behind them like
iron gates guarded
by the
angel of death.
the only way to leave
is through him.
the bitter smell of
death
decay
is in the air.
their solemn souls
sold to medicine
that chains them
to this earth.
some of their kind
hold hope
of a safe exit
but the sirens
roll
by fast now.
the angel of death
lowers his sword
the weary heart
comes to a
stop.
empty are the faces
that remain
because they know
no body
gets out
alive.
for a temporary fix but the doors
close
behind them like
iron gates guarded
by the
angel of death.
the only way to leave
is through him.
the bitter smell of
death
decay
is in the air.
their solemn souls
sold to medicine
that chains them
to this earth.
some of their kind
hold hope
of a safe exit
but the sirens
roll
by fast now.
the angel of death
lowers his sword
the weary heart
comes to a
stop.
empty are the faces
that remain
because they know
no body
gets out
alive.
Elation
jasmine
daises
purple honey dew
and the sweet smell of
tall grass on the hills
glisten in the summer sun
as a cool wind blows
that makes waves in
the grass and ruffles
the old oak
tree sitting in the distance
fresh rain fell in the night before
its wet salty smell lingers
into the day
the old man comes out to open
the rusty and squeaky gate
the chickens squawk
as he shuffles out their
morning seed
the sun wraps its
glowing
rays round the earth
a single breath of
life
brings comfort to the soul
all is at peace
daises
purple honey dew
and the sweet smell of
tall grass on the hills
glisten in the summer sun
as a cool wind blows
that makes waves in
the grass and ruffles
the old oak
tree sitting in the distance
fresh rain fell in the night before
its wet salty smell lingers
into the day
the old man comes out to open
the rusty and squeaky gate
the chickens squawk
as he shuffles out their
morning seed
the sun wraps its
glowing
rays round the earth
a single breath of
life
brings comfort to the soul
all is at peace
Cherries From Above
screw Newton and his damn apple.
a cherry thing from this tree
scared the crap out of me
as it fell from its branches
onto my stomach.
I picked it up from the stem
as if to examine it like some
UFO specimen.
nature has a funny way to
make life interesting.
screw Newton and his damn apple.
a cherry thing from this tree
scared the crap out of me
as it fell from its branches
onto my stomach.
I picked it up from the stem
as if to examine it like some
UFO specimen.
nature has a funny way to
make life interesting.
screw Newton and his damn apple.
Go Away
a word
a line
a thought to summarize it all.
wait, hang on a second
ok where was I
my mind rolls back
glistening memories of
hello? call back later.
oh here’s the good part
right where they’re about to, wait
I’ve already read this
I hate getting
interrup
a line
a thought to summarize it all.
wait, hang on a second
ok where was I
my mind rolls back
glistening memories of
hello? call back later.
oh here’s the good part
right where they’re about to, wait
I’ve already read this
I hate getting
interrup
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