Pennsylvania Snacks

this is just to say
I have eaten
pretzels
that were on
the counter

and which
you were probably
saving
for dessert.

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so salty.

when i lie down, and when i rise up

when i lie down, and when i rise up

disbelief.

Waking up November 9th, 2008

Waking up November 9th, 2008

Now what?

tears four years in the making

Y
e
s.
W
e.
D
i
d.

what's in a measure?

what's in a measure?

riff, chord,
just rest.

1 comments

sheepish tired poet
tries anew.

victory

victory

another word
for
new battle tomorrow.

resiliance

don quixote stands,
looks for bigger windmill.

early elul

early elul

don't forsake me, or us,
especially now, forever.

whirling dervish

colors fabrics flying
arms legs transcending
circles bring back

untitled

Words
cannot say
everything I yearn
to express to you.

speechless

naysayers blather,
but what's more beautiful
than two brides
like you?

i'll tell you what's in a name.

crazed liars make believers without
opposing voices. from afar,
words hurt plenty.

granite realities

Weekend with loved ones, friends.
hotel pool, technology at work.
maybe this ain't bad.

14 words about cuyahoga

city ravaged by economic crises,
your fate should not be
decided by petty fools.

postponing the Eikha

i'm working to stop destruction,
half my words are hello.
i'll lament later if necessary.

expectations

you better be so good
that they make
you wear a cape.

that's why i'm here.

17 words about the Bronx

favorite spots of childhood days,
addeo's bread, vegetable and fresh mozzarella trays,
but You i miss most.

solace

solace

some things cannot be
expressed with words.

awful tears shouts unable
to capture.

numb, then sadness.
solace will come.

Question for the Texas Roadhouse in Brooklyn, OH

If, as you advertise,
you are expert provider
of all critical things Texas,

where is the most important
Texas product?

Sunday in Cleveland

Sunday in Cleveland

Cars zoom solo
across pavement
made for more.

my coffeepot yawns
as dreams barely beat
the sunshine
into my room.

speak for myself

speak for myself

others may be wiser
felt this before,
missed hudson sunsets
from other waters' shores.

yearning heart implores
i

speak for myself.

untitled

new socks
and farmers markets

go a small way

in easing the (late) start
of a coffeeless, cloudy,

without you day.

creature comforts

the challah doughy
and unfamiliar,

a gift rejected outright.

yet,
warm souls
on a cool shabbos night,

makes everything
a little better.

audacity

you lost your right
to use words like this
long before today

literary license long lifted,
sayeth I, how dare you.

untitled

pushing its way through
curtains unfit,
over street lights,
six lanes of cars
hurtling towards days,

i wake with sunshine
rushing into my hands.

untitled

always feeling the fate of
worlds bearing down
kilotons of importance
whiring towards me; some
answers are not easy or
ready, feeling full my
deficiencies.

i know what Langston would say

If, lacking soul,
your feet are constrained,
perhaps for culture
you feel disdain.

but if you don't like rhythm,
simple and plain,

DON'T MOVE TO HARLEM!


(dedicated to the drummers in Marcus Garvey Park. And the gentrifiers who hate on African drumming therein.)

perfection

the reliable rhythm
of deliver ball,
catch and return.

eyes untrained may
glance, then look
away, not learn

what amazing feats
are contained in
moments of constance.

Beset

Beset

FOUNTAINS
We hold SPARKLER
these truths IED
to be AK47
self evident ROMAN CANDLE
that all men LAND MINE
are created ROCKETS
equal PINWHEEL
and are CLUSTER
BOMB

What Maxwell Smart taught me

Sometimes, the old ways are
the best ways, but measuring
past to present constantly
could suck the joy out of it.
don't forget your
shoe phone.
and keep trying.

parking

parking

exhilaration rushes through limbs
as i carefully weave through avenues
hydrants, from overeager traffic cops.
find sacred secret place
meant for resting.
slide, turn wheel
car locks with pavement.
perfection.

why?

Sammy Ellie Lucy Unnamed Son
Sarah Bryan the Boys Skylar
Laree Captain Squishy Elie Michal
smiling elevator david the ones
at shul, the ones in need,
ones everywhere, and especially
you.

first rays

I stay up,

eyes straining towards the sky.

the light purple announces your nearing presence,

your heat curving around the contours of the planet

to begin to warm the day.

if only i could greet you this way every morning.

chlorofil

My favorite time
each day

hitting the sidewalks
for

a closer look

at leaves

I've poured over

like dead sea scrolls

discovered beneath my doorstep.

I stare in amazement,

wondering what makes them
today's color green,

and shade
will they be
tomorrow?

No method to their beauty yet.

I just hope to be along for the ride
a little longer.

galut

galut

i have tasted promised lands

danced on the shores of rivers
rolled back
for the continuation of life.

i have seen before
and after.

I have eyes opened
to contradictions,

to beauty
that comes with a price,

i have danced to funeral songs
on second lines
i didn't think existed,

enjoyed the views
created by madmen.

i have seen the fruits
of occupation

felt the sting as they slipped
down my throat

i have danced instead of marched
i have followed the curves
of roads that terrified me.

i have eaten fried chicken
next to destroyed schools.

and yet,

i yearn for that beauty

i burn for those songs,
those smells,

i want to drive those roads again.

to dance.
to return.

to taste promise once more.

plunge

plunge

after a weariness
that seemed to

s
t
r
e
t
c
h

for years,

i'm excited
to dive into dreams

swim
under blankets
of night
to destinations
i never thought
i'd be lucky enough to reach.

and see
what treasures
i can bring back
from the insides
of my eyelids.

revolving

revolving

days like today
make me wonder
if copernicus
and gallileo
were actually wrong
about which celestial body
revolves around which.

questions that keep me up at night

questions that keep me up at night

the man basking
in a
treasure
beyond compare:
too dumb to know
how lucky they are?
or
too spoiled
to care?

sensory overload

sensory overload

may my worst sins
be
straining eyes to see
craning ears to hear
opening my brain to know

as much as i can.

so when i am forced into inaction,
i have someplace i can go.

word search

word search

what's the term

for finding hope in

a seminar

on

stopping procrastination,

only to discover

it ended three hours

before

you saw the ad?

untitled

untitled

inside of my eyelid
is covered in cocoadots.
yearn to drink them all.

canvass

canvass

the page
already talks to me.
don't let ideas
of
blank
or
empty
enter your mind.

the page has
interests,
ideas,
things to express.

this is conversation.

this is not monologue.

so you may think
you can throw whatever
scratches you want
upon her,
bathe her in emotions
you believe are only your own,

but you can't.

because without her,
you've got no way
to say
anything at all.

waiting up

waiting up

as 10 becomes 2,
soldier seconds passing me
on the review stand,

as my eye lids pass
the weight limit prescribed
by my face muscles,

as dreams rudely run
before me without waiting
for pillow returns,

as laundry slowly
tumbles towards static cling
conclusions mounted

to the inside of
my head, besides calender
magnet shopping lists,

songs wait patiently
in my chest for the perfect
moment to arrive.

more

more

you do
more than hold
your own.
you cradle stars
in your strides,
whole worlds
with single steps,
oceans in the sweat
that collects
in the small of your back.
you match army
drill manuevers
with a bend of your arm,
outshining red giants
with a gentle tug
upwards of your lips
defying gravity.

hold your own?

galaxies pray
to hold their own
with you.

Monster

(with regret. and maybe a little hope)
4/4/2008

Monster

On this
day of days,
I feel I've failed you.

I've stared your words
in the face
until
(I hoped) they somehow
fused themselves to my body,
filling in gaps between neurons,
delivering depression free
chemical recipes
to my skull sanctuary
before sending me
to follow past your footsteps
past your markers
to where they did not
give you the chance to tread.

And I failed you.

I have obeyed
unjust laws.

I have done less
than I could do.

I do not
love
my enemy.

and I'm unsure
I ever will.

Love my enemy?
I want to defeat my enemy.
I want to make him pay
for every heartbreak he has caused.

I want him to fail.
I want him to suffer.
I want to rain down
kamikaze pretzels
until one catches his throat.

I don't just want justice.

I want vengeance.

Want to stand over him
defeated, bloodied, and say
I did this to you, remember me,
Sonny style,

so he knows never to fuck
with the people
ever again.

i want him
to feel the brunt
of my wrath.
to pay for everything
that's ever happened to me,
even the shit that's not his fault
just because i'm so pissed.

I want to make him
feel the excruciating pain
he's given to me,
no,
the pain he's given to others
in his lifetime,
no, fuck that,
even that's not enough.

the torment
of every life
he's affected
including the ones to come.

drenching him
in agony
repeatedly
increasing
his suffering
exponentially

while he begged
for the mercy
he never gave me.

all this
on this day, of all days,
on the day
you were taken away from us

Your ability to love your enemy
in the face of such torment
leaves me feeling
worse than a failure.

love my enemy?

he's the only person
i hate more
than me.

and maybe that's why
I think

I'm a monster.

letter parade

letter parade

rarely
do i have the
chance to see letters
march, but I dream of S's
that strut.

April flowers

April flowers

April
the month of
unmitigated possibility.
when clocks
move in frames
impervious to time.
when my favorite jewel
celebrates her new re
birth into limitless opportunity.
when blossoms herald
exit of lion and lamb
and entrance of regality.
when months of waiting
of hoping working wishing
lead to these moments
when brilliance pauses suddenly
hot blades sear them permanently
in the cold of time.
April,
the
days
when i remember
i was there, so i
unlock the chains
around my broom closet
display the contents
to you
hidden taskmasters
still asking for brick without straw
waters waiting to uncover dry land
napkin postcards where the i's
are dotted with cocoa stains

you whisper
its okay.
we're free now.
it's april.

iris

iris

Alone
Needing no crown
No Adornments, but her
Regal blue surrounds majestic
Yellow.

Named
For favorite
Part of body, quickly
besting other blossoms to top
my list.

Two most
Loved colors,
Entwined in stem to
Emerge: separate. Together.
Bloom.

Red, white
Roses, lilies,
Sunflowers and daisies.
All should raise petals in tribute
To you.

apologes, again

dear readers,

another great weekend away without email/internet. will post some of it post haste.

much love,
mgt.

anniversary

anniversary

there are some days
who's passing you mark,
not because you want to,

but because they've
burned themselves
permanently
into the calender
of your life.

because they've
picked up brands
and seared themselves
into your flesh
for you to see

and while the afterburn
of those days
still lingers,

while i still
live in a world
constantly shaped
renamed
transformed,
i pray for the day
when this day
will only stir
slowly
scabbing-over memories,

not the bombs
of last week,
or
the deaths of yesterday.


(dedicated in part to all who have lost their lives, in whole or in part, in Iraq)

st. michael's day

Ides
forever changed
Janus would be proud,
the way you smile back
and look ahead.

earnestly plotting course
across deserts
and dinner tables
through mountains frosted
with the ghosts
of bb gun fights passed,
and yards guarded
by rattlesnakes,
home games on East 161st
and family beamed by satelite.

earnest,
like the six inch deep river
still somehow
winding its way through
land so thirsty
it would grab a straw
and slurp it dry.

earnest,
like a
moviewildwest
lawman
honestly going about
the business
of doing right.

earnest,
like a cactus
defying odds and saying,
yeah, i'll grow here.
what's it to ya?

painstakingly
cutting a path,
laying roots,
making your play
and seeing it through.

you're the one, Mike.

sunday's poem: straight to video

straight to video

Different trip home
On a different airline
Same shitty movie.

saturday's poem: desolation

desolation

yowling, broken wolf.
my eardrums shattered by cry,
alone in desert.

friday's poem: understanding you

understanding you

the wind runs gentle
fingers through my wet hair.
hills roll into
horizon crowning mountains.
No car horns. No yelling, save for
birds animatedly discussing the day
like afterschool teens
gossiping on the subway.

so this is why you moved here.

thursday's poem: tucson bound

(note from mgt: was in Arizona for my brother's wedding. did a ton of writing, but not so much posting. time to catch up)

Tuscon Bound

longing to land as we
approach desert night.
only launched moments ago.
my legs already
very sore, feels like
years before they’ll
escape to sandy pastures.

nycrostic 4

nycrostic 4

bathed in an
already set sun's
teasing exit,
traversing the
edge of ms liberty's
regally outstreched
youthful arm with well

placed pink fingers,
arranging her curls,
rubbing her shoulders,
kissing her goodnight.

Flashback! Young and Depressionable

hey all,

since the General made me think of an old favorite of mine, Young and Depressionable, I've posted it to the Riot Act. Take a peek. One of my favorites, and one of my favorite performance pieces.

Enjoy!
-mgt.

nycrostic 3

nycrostic 3

calling all
old school,
real, down home
new yorkers, the
earlier you
revisit is

better for all;
insist on
sauteed onions,
try extra pickles, and
oh, the jukebox!

back on the horse

back on the horse

before I used words like blankets
and bullets, i heard trumpets
cracking fragile walls i had
erected hastily, truly bad
excuses for protection crumble
with every whisper, shout, mumble,
laugh, snappy comebacks stumble
between synapses and vocal chords
not yet my friends, these words.
before i carried a second person
on my back, my position worsened
beneath the weight of my own
appetite for destruction sown
in the seeds of my guts.

now i fight to open doors nailed shut,
making good on promises made
during the pain of fifth grade.

earth drums

earth drums

the earth drums upon the wood
rhythms that I won't forget,
i wouldn't choose to if i could,
the earth drums upon the wood
it matters that I fought and stood
and saw my favorite sunset.
the earth drums upon the wood
rhythms that I won't forget.

the day after

the day after

you are the reason
i get up each morning, how
i got up today.


(thanks for all the love, y'all. this haiku's for you)

untitled

untitled

still numb, I
hang receiver on cradle
myself in oversized arms
still not big enough
to catch the enormity,
not small enough
to keep sand
from slipping away
from me.

it happens, you say,
it could have happened
when she was 25,
but it didn't.

i see her,
fighting her way
through transliteration,
i hear her voice,
shushing my shock
at her kindness
as if to say
everyone deserves this,
but you get it
because i love you.

as i clutch at roots,
the tree reminds me
that someday,
i'll be those roots,
and I need to build
a strong trunk, good
branches,
and be prepared
for the fact that,

no matter how hard
I want to stop it,
leaves still fall.

a health plan i could live with.

a health plan i could live with.

rip shirt,
dip in gas tank.
use as fuse. blow up car.
take meds from store. self surgery,
friendo.

starting hand

starting hand

sometimes maligned,
I will take AA in my
pocket every time.

nycrostic 2

nycrostic 2

My, your
ambrosia offerings
go down so well,
no need for milk;
only dilemma,
lick frosting
initially, cake first, or
advance on both immediately.

breakfast for grownups

breakfast for grownups

no bread
in the house, so
maybe i will drizzle some
honey on my finger, then lick
the spoon.

not in stockholm...

not in stockholm

just because you're
on another continent,
away from us you are not.
not oceans,
not hours time difference
apart.

singing love,
awaiting
rapidly updated blog
and reminding you that
home is simply where you take us.

(for the best woman ever)

on arrival

on arrival

it is cold in bed
when you are not preheating
blankets to perfect.



(welcome home, knucklehead)

injury time: parker place

parker place

this thoroughfare
may seem like another
street
to you,
but my heart sings
impossible riffs
over gershwin tunes
every time i'm on it.
a street
where even parking here
get me dizzy,
blessed by truck driver monks
and birds
that never stop singing,
never fly south for the winter,
never stop spectacles
that leave my body clamoring for more,
never stop making new songs
of things you think you've heard before,
or
creating original moments
in places you've just arrived.

This is Bird's street.
and I'm going to make music
every time I'm there.

surefire signs I just played my saxophone

surefire signs I just played my saxophone

1
ears, rapt attention,
yearn for hot breath to linger,
melody's return

2
happy
blood metronome
playing tight beats through veins
and arteries, so my body
can dance.

3
my fingers tingle,
jittery, moving like they
do not want to stop.

4
songs are
fighting with one
another to remain
inside my head for a little
longer.

5
i replay riffs in
my mind, recall best moments
and reside in them.

6
the ridge
on my bottom
lip is my favorite
reminder. my tongue lingers.
i smile.

injury time: nycrostic 1

New feature. Combining my loves of acrostic and my favorite spots in the city.

true, the
hot chocolate is
ecstasy,
clinging to every
individual
taste bud for
years, it seems
Bliss is
available,
kissing its way through
esophagus,
rolling, ever slowly, though
your soul.

(hey new york: you've got 6 days of their hot chocolate festival left. check it out!)

anticipation: 5

anticipation: 5

the windows
become tvs
without bunny ears.
i'm smaller,
and the world
is huge,
carpeted in white,
and just waiting
for me
to leave
footprints.

so eager
to find
angels
on the ground
and candy
falling from the sky.

i remember
knocking on the door
to pull you out to play.
I wonder
how different it is from before
but hope to see it someday.

tv windows
are on the fritz.
i smile
and already
feel red cheeks
and
taste
hot cocoa.

injury time: haiku for backbeat

haiku for backbeat

hey, what time is it?
strange, because, you know, i
always know the time.

aural triolet

aural triolet

music expresses things words cannot say
filling diction's enormous gaps
that materialize over years, weeks, a day,
music expresses things words cannot say
it can kiss, laugh, shock and play,
spread ideas and redraw maps
music expresses things words cannot say
filling diction's enormous gaps

shadows

shadows

i watch for shadows
like i wait for light. sun sets,
night illuminates

eclipse

eclipse

I thought
you are not to
look at eclipses, they
will blind; but i love to see your
shadow.

Mama Africa

Mama Africa

Crade of Life,
Your features were not
meant to be
discerned
by manmade borders,

but we have stained you.

you nourished us,
and we thanked you
by trying to fertilize your sand
with too much iron.

we've taken so much from you,
and we can never pay it back.

spit-take in the kitchen

spit-take in the kitchen

it's hard
to cleanse your
palate when laughing so
much and wanting to drink it all
right now.

injury time: Tanka for Tempura

Tanka for Tempura

normally, i crave
barbeque. now, no veggie
kindness necessary.
yet i find myself yearning
for maki, tempura. Odd.

hope springs eternal

Hope Springs Eternal

i could make a believer
out of any cynic,
make them forget stories
shouted from newspapers

with whispers
of true greatness.

Forgetting everything
when you step through the gate

and see that gem too gorgeous
to be called
a diamond
before you.

treebranch basepaths framing
leavesofgrass infield enveloping
pupil pitchersmound.

her beauty lies both within
and without the lines,

and every time you see her,
you may well see perfection.

in bourbonum veritas

in bourbonum veritas

Admiring you from afar,
noticing your sleek curvature,
clothed in labels not too ostentacious
but complimentary.

a closer look, and the hues inside
call out to me.

we go home, communicate

you warm to my touch
as we breathe together

i begin to drink you in.

you explode into my mouth.

all the burn
the bitterness
the warmth
and the sweetness

I hold you there, right there.
i hold that instant

I let it all wash over me.

I submerge myself in you,

your depth, your flavor, your soul.

I can almost taste how you aged,
where you came from
in this sweet embrace.

I can feel the journey
from youth to maturity,
before you were poured into
this lovely vessel you inhabit now.

I take you in. All of you.

burn and warmth.
bitter and sweet
the wisdom of your years.

I take you all the way in,
and my body from hair to toes
rejoices that you're here.

injury time: Cinquain for Valentine

Cinquain for Valentine

I wish
St. Valentine
could see how his day is
being celebrated right now.
He'd plotz.

deprivation

deprivation

stringing together
nine sleep hours is no reason
to wake me up now.

and now, a note from mgt: st valentine's revenge...

hey all, so while I don't want to post it here (because, well, it's not a new poem), I've decided I'm going to put an ole fav of mine for this time of year over at The Riot Act. Ecce, the 2005 version of St. Valentine's Revenge. Unfortunately, the spacing/line breaks don't really seem to translate into blogger, but that's okay. a few thoughts on love for you to enjoy.

updated: the punkasaurus asks, and she receives. An even older classic, "Neighbors Make Great Lovers"

enjoy!
RtothaK

sweet tooth

sweet tooth

dreams
like honey on
my lips, waiting to be
licked away but refusing
to budge.

injury time: water and stone

water and stone

Not made of stone, so
water will not whittle me
down. I will flow on.

the sinus stomp.

the sinus stomp

ailing while i sleep
ailing while awake
my coughing isn't bad
but it's far worse than fake

you listen really hard
and you'll hear it late at night
kindred spirits throw down advils
to stage a tougher fight,

although i prefer tylenol
my tummy likes it better
resigned to a night of
reading tissues by the letter

end? what end?
this will stretch beyond my days
now the only task before me:
change my sinuses weakened ways.

new day haiku

new day haiku

stubby, transvestite
skeleton, wisely notes that
no dream is simple.

(thanks in part to the students of New Day Academy!)

injury time: Flash Blizzard

Flash Blizzard

They will call it
a storm
out of nowhere.
the intensity, the
power,
the beauty, why,
it was sunny with

nary

a spot in the sky.

but they forget
that the clouds were
set in motion
ages ago,

low and high pressure systems
brought on by reactions
to gulf stream and sun
made these moments
inevitable,

and as the clouds
reach out
to blanket the city in soft white,

I didn't see it coming

but I rush to envelop myself
all the same.

injury time: moxie

Moxie

Wish I
had in eighth grade
what I have now. Never
moved like that, danced so
joyfully.

anticipation: 4

anticipation: 4

fitting hand in glove
flexing together
becoming one single minded entity
awaiting the arrival
and pop in the pocket
that remind us
Opening Day
is coming soon.

anticipation: 3

anticipation: 3

winter's hellogoodbye
leaves me imagining buds
already on trees,

bulbs peeking,
inching out, wondering if the
the coast is clear,

sneaking up behind
before tapping on shoulder and
exploding into blossom

the leaves of my etrog tree
stare out the window longingly,
wondering how long it will be
before they have company.

Cyclone

Cyclone

Others may tower over you,
may think they have the newest
twists and turns.

they may feature
popular cartoon characters
or impressive names

but you, Queen of New York,
from Flatbush to Riverside,
from the Concourse to Astoria Boulevard,

all of the boroughs
whispers legends of your greatness
patiently yearning for April
and another season with you.

sun kissed

sun kissed

radiating the color of the star
that fed it,
so many physical aspects
of its exterior to explore,
rough meets smooth meets
extra fruit,
the perfect combination of eye drawing
and
protection.

but don't get caught up.
as radiant and tactile
as the outside may be
the real sweetness is
beyond skin and pulp.

Injury Time: Grant's Tomb

Grant's Tomb

Overlooking the
Hudson, bathed in sunsets
and Riverside bells,
I would gladly take it as
a place for eternity

in petulans, veritas

child sees opulence
shouts at poor parents NOT FAIR!
you know what? he's right.

Sidelines

Sidelines

super
battles of today
are hard to watch when
i have rushed to fight them for so
long


(author's note: hey New York, you still have an hour to vote in the primary!)

ticker tape

Ticker Tape

"the city, she loves me"

I wake up in love
with the city.

she has the sparkle
of victory
in her eye.

i rise to greet her
and feel happiness radiating.
her heart beats contendly,
warming me beyond any february rain.

as I walk her streets,
her canyons,
her buildings envelop me
in loving embrace,

and she rains gentle kisses on my head.

every one of her cells sings out joyously
as she runs to meet me.

so this is what immortality feels like.

i believe

I believe

"she holds a goblet in her right hand
and makes a blessing over the entire land"

Daughter of David,
come to me.

i believe with perfect intention
that you are already waiting.

you've been here,
and when you reveal yourself,

the world will have no choice
but to

fall into place.

guns will rip themselves to pieces,
bullets expectorating their gunpowder
and becoming nails
for houses.

high fructose corn syrup
will rearrange into
spinach,

seedless grapes
will plant themselves and
become vineyards.

a flash of your eyes
will turn CO2
into oxygen,

the breeze that passes through
your hair
will cool tempers
and warm hearts.

your smile
will wipe injustice
from our lands.

I believe
you are already here,
Daughter of David,

but I'm willing to wait
willing to tarry outside these gates
as long as it takes

to properly greet your arrival.

anticipation: 2

anticipation: 2

sky resists, at first
clutching blue and white
flowing blankets

but sweetly, unflinchingly
the grey inches
forward
to envelop.

sky surrenders and joins
grey in embrace

my face
longs for first drops to fall.

anticipation: 1

anticipation: 1

alarm clocks
that aren't mine
go off hours before
I'm supposed to
start my day.

but i predate them
already staring out the window
watching sky from black to purple
waiting for streaks of yellow
to wrap my morning
in smiles brilliant
and unfathomable

until now

And now, some notes from the Author....

me.

Thanks for coming through. I wanted to give special knowledge to the person who's idea this really was in the first place. I saw this person for the first time in months, and the person told me of the plan to write 365 poems in a year. I, buffoonishly, said, "that sounds great! can I do it with you?" and my friend replied, "uh... yeah... suuuuuuuuure," and would've slowly edged away if I hadn't handed out some bourbon.

Anyway, this person is incredibly talented poet, and has a head start on me (and the actual distinction of, you know, not missing a day, never mind 21 days). You should
check out his blog.

Also, i thrive on personal compliments, and on feedback. A lot of these poems I'm not even going to take an editing pen to, or it may be a long while before it happens. but you dig something? you don't like something? say something.

enjoy!
Ruby K

injury time: 2F sendoff

the same paint
clinging to ceiling
for dear life,

bachelor has always been
the motiff
of your comfy halls,
even when co-helmed by a
non-bachelorette.

but past the boxes of
who knows who's
and underneath the empty shells
of fried chicken conveyances,

we were still making new memories
there,
leaving a little bit of ourselves
on the wall
and in the air

somehow marking this place
as always belonging to us,
even as we leave the keys behind.

yellow pages

best part of being
a pack rat? getting
to continually excavate

monuments

every time i open a book
or empty a box.

triolet; the view from my window

the view from my window

The barren branches frame the sky
A prettier shade of brown have I never seen
while bluejays southward pass them by
the barren branches frame the sky
windswept, they know they catch the eye
when surrounded by perfect green
The barren branches frame the sky
A prettier shade of brown have I never seen

injury time: almost snow

a few scant degrees
make all the difference between
gentle and splash

Sonnet for the Greyboy reunion

It had been years since they last made music
Separate lives had treated them fine
but something inside always would click
concert creations still make music shine
they would embark on adventures renewed
laying melodies over awesome beats
greatly raising the music lover's mood
showering their ears with affectionate treats
trembling organ meets sinewy sax
drum, guitar and bass snap right into place
how well they fit, irrefutable fact
their creation grows to fit every space.
of all the returns in my life, oh damn,
if only you knew just how glad I am

(author's note: dedicated in part to the Greyboy Allstars, who've come back together to make beautiful music and are on the road supporting themselves.)

Morning Coffee

Sometimes,

the anticipation is enough to get me going.

dreaming of that hot blend of sweet power
jumping into my mouth to whisper backwards
through my throat
that it's time to begin

consideration of how I'll taste it this morning

will it be head on, powerful, unrestrained
uncut by lightness or sweetness, but emerging passionately
from pot to mug to mouth?

will it be blessed by sugar and cocoa
a dulcet concoction of
dreamy deliciousness?

should I add milk,
watching the storm brew
between clashing liquids
before (with a little bit of stirring)
they give over and
become one?

should I go for piping hot and take little sips,
or let just a little heat escape
so I can enjoy more per mouthful?

will one cup be enough, or should
I make a whole pot today?

I've already dreamed of endless possibilities
before I start grinding the beans.

injury time: goodnight

Only thing sadder
than having to say good night:
being unable

Injury time: ode to cell phones

Cellular phones
are great inventions, unless
you need them to work.


(author's note: you may have noticed I didn't do so well in the beginning of the month keeping on this every day. In soccer, when playing stops due to tending to injured players, they figure out roughly how much time is lost and add it back on as "injury time" to ensure the full minutes of the match are played. hence, the title of the extra poems I need to make up in addition to my daily offerings. Enjoy!)

in your name

At the same time, smallest and biggest,
carrying forth the spirits of our people
is no easy task, especially when considering

an eight day old.

but I put my faith in you, Binyamin Moshe,
faith that you will be strong
where those of us before you have faltered

returning thirsty cups to waters parted
long before you were born.

Confessions of a Carob Planter

Suprised to find moonshine in these parts,
I sat down and bought him a drink.

He was weary, and the whiskey
hit his veins like a match to a trail of gasoline.

He smiled and lifted his glass in appreciation.

To tell you the truth, he said,
I believe those things I said to Honi,
but it wasn't only about those future generations.

Go on, I said, fingers encircling glass,
swirling the contents

Well, I got so famous from the story, I
couldn't tell people, because the point
wouldn't come across.

I didn't just plant that tree
for my future family.
I also planted it for me.

But why?

I wanted them to remember I love them.

I wanted to leave an indellible mark on the world.

And mostly, I love carob trees.

Tending to them, caring for them,
finding their roots and helping them
stretch themselves out

Their smell.

How the bark feels against my fingers,

and the curve of the trunk against my body.

How their branches flow in the breeze,

and the beauty of the green of their leaves set against a late summer sunset sky.

Because I cannot taste her fruit right now, does that make this tree
any less worthy of my love?

does that diminish her glory?

So, sure, I did it for future generations.

but I wish Honi understood

-he downed the last drops of whiskey-

that patiently tilling that which you love

is as important a lesson to learn

as passing that love to the future.

Walking Poem

Too strong to be bound
to the pulpy chains of my notebook,

a poem climbed out of the pages
and sauntered away into the streets
of new york city.

And you couldn't miss her even if you tried.

the rhythm of her gait is perfect meter,
altering the tempo of songs tumbling out of
car stereos when she walks by.

her imagery could put your eyes out,
and her rhymes never fully unfurl, instead curl
around burly figures and envelop them
in whirling dervish embraces.

her metaphors are green brown eyes
that pierce the hearts of composition books,
and stop newspapers, research papers, flypaper,
music paper, passport papers and money papers
cold, clutching their lungs and gasping for air.

who knew such a poem could walk around new york
and get a way with it!

and I miss her. I miss the way she danced across my page,
she now replaces lineless paper with crosswalks
and sidewalk cracks. I miss her musky inkpaper smell.
I miss the way her voice would kiss its way into and out of my mouth.

This poet just ain't the same without her.

So if you see my walking poem, send her home to me.

PCH 1

The automobile
was invented
for you.

draped over blue green waters
that beckon, no beg
for you to lose your concentration
just for a moment.

the car created
for the purpose of traversing
your curves,

walking your creases like
fingers tracing cotton hems and satin blouses
tires scratching your back like fingernails
left rough for this very occasion

Weaving through the top of your curly locked
branches at McKerricker,
following the follicles as they trail down past
your shoulders and below at Muir,

taking a step away from the edge
to run down the small of your back
between your shoulder blades in
San Francisco,

then rejoining the festivities
south of your bra straps in
Monterrey

before slipping around the front
to the heights and valleys
of Big Sur and lingering around
your thighs at
Cambria, where road and sea are
separated by

sand and opportunity.

If I could, I would drive you forever,
spending my time doing nothing but
retracing your sunny curves
with my fingertips
cradling the wheel,

spending money only on
burgers at Nepenthe,

chocolate cake at the Bait Shack,

and gas.

day 1

notes tumble past eardrums,
rise up the stairs,
kick open the doors
and hit the street.

crumpled papers
plastic hats
dance together
in 2am winds
before being hauled away

you can still get arrested
in this town
for dancing,

but cabaret laws cannot stop my
rebirth.