Poetry?

Tempest

Look into the maelstrom eye
Anger wrought by nature's mouth.
spinning core, see it cry
hammer-blow from the south.
 
In this tempest you see me
held aloft as if by truss.
Not in control, the storm moves free
Unwitting passengers, both of us.

- 9/18/97

Misty Street

An extemporaneous composition

Walking down a misty street
a tunnel without end
in New York City  (It just rained)
everything is shiny
new, steamy, bright, loud
The world is a metal and concrete embrace

See the world in monochrome,
blue and black, like a jeans commercial
keep hearing that tune.
No stars (the city is too bright)
but the moon is there
cold, magnetic, heavy, silent
perpetually falling towards you

Watch the crenellations flow
trying to leap to the next building
what is that song?
windows shining like jewels (poor insomniacs)
how would it feel to be inside looking out
warm, quiet, soft, relieved
knowing your world is just behind you

The silence is deafening
strange after all those clubs and bars
just the echos of a beat in the air
avoid the taxi on 96th and Wall (don't go NEAR the park)
who would be standing here during the day
hot, smelly, crowded, loud, stress
like a desert, the city exhales at night

Watch the contrast
in the arc light, everything is so well defined
ah, it's your gait that's making you think of that song!
all the parking meters (eternal bastions of city government)
what if you could fly
windy, vertigo, rushing, sweeping, rapture
you are home.

Sleep well.

Grey Dawn

So early it feels like low-grade film, underexposed and grainy.

Through this experimental art piece you move, automatically following
patterns that have established themselves over hundreds of repetitions.

It's light but so weak you can only tell it's coming from the general
direction of the window.  But a high contrast color.. you can tell your
socks from the carpet even though both are white.

You know there are road noises and people noises and house noises, but
like a heavy snowfall the morning makes them still.  You can see the air
vibrate with the pressure of being still.

You brush your hair.  You peer at your reflection while thinking about
something else, your face going completely unnoticed.  You decided you are
decent without really thinking.

You make it outside, to your porch.  The grass has not found its color
yet.  They look like thousands of glass blades, hard and brittle.  It is
colder than is comfortable, but not cold enough to make you shiver.  There
is no wind.  It is dead and silent.

A man walks by, taking no notice of you, making no sound, vanishing.

You walk slowly away from your house, into the street.  The sun is still
asleep over the horizon.  You think about how much meterologically is in the
world, and none of it is here.

You suddenly realize you are breathing.  You become entranced at your own
breath.  It's quiet and regular.  You cannot feel your skin or hands, but
they haven't moved in a while.

The dots are getting smaller, turning into shades.  Colors start leeching
into surfaces, quietly and gently.   You don't want the grey dawn to end.

You feel that if you took this moment to will yourself into the sky you
could, looking down at your house with a feeling of stillness, knowing
that you would not fall.

You think about how it would feel if walls could not stop you and you were
moving very quickly forward, in some direction, through walls and trees
and yards, moving so fast the world would be a still life, frozen in grey
and morning.

The sun looks over the edge of the sky and anoints you on the forehead. 
You are released.

Reflections

stand in front of the mirror..
you see yourself.
but is it you?
are you seeing what makes you unique?
no.
you could be hundreds of different things..

there is a psychic mirror..
but most people don't know how to find it,
don't want to look,
run away run
it's silence.
silence forces you to face yourself,
know your mind
accept your resisting witness
examine what makes you unique.

do people try to change what they see?
no.
it is hard..
not rewarding..
pushing me out of my groove.

why is it hard?
habit..inclination..situation..environment
change is sometimes easy
too easy.. like smoking.
its the productive change that is a muscle
develops like a muscle..slowly
but there when you need it.

why are promises so hard to keep..
so easy to break..
because i will forgive myself
you will forgive yourself
otherwise you will see it
in the silent mirror.

noise distraction anger obliteration
why can people say things they don't mean later
when they are angry..
because the silence is gone
the center is gone
the balance is gone
the self is hidden in noise.

block out the noise.
let out the anger
let in the silence
feel the equilibrium
and push distraction from your mind

think of yourself
see yourself yelling
is it healthy
are you changing yourself
or changing what is around you
no

knowing something
doesn't necessarily make it so

learn plan implement act

Ocean

powerful waves of erosion
crashing agains the ancient breakwater
wearing it down with its dark tide
soon, it will be submersed.

so cold, nothing can retain warmth
life is sapped quickly by the hungry vacuum
but the barriers are there to keep it out
but they barrier will not last forever

feeling it, not as a metaphor
as a physical force, stealing your ability to move
to love, to create, to live
sometimes the wall is pitifully thin

when the wall is gone,
so are the feelings
so is the humanity, the respect
what is left but pity, anger, depression

the coldness closes in
nothing is spared
starting at the extremities
leaving the rational for last

is there a way out?
is there a rescuer?
is the only way out to drown?
surrender...

Candle

Take this candle, from my hands,
feel its angry heat.
This candle is a lighthouse,
the flame its mighty beam.

Hold that candle close to you,
closer to your heart.
Trap the wind that through you blew,
and make another start.