Wednesday, July 1, 2015

Mechanical Perturbation

Mechanical Perturbation

From three thousand miles away
a heartbeat is difficult to detect.
The insulation of distance mutes
the sound of sinus rhythms as they fade.

My first car had a bad fuel pump,
the diaphragm membrane developed
a hole and the car began to lose power.
As the hole grew, the engine got weaker
until one day it just stopped.

The day you gave me my first “A”
I think my heart skipped a beat.
The wall of doubt had its first crack
and you’d handed me the hammer.

A new fuel pump for a 1963 VW Bus
is not a stock item so I had to wait
almost a week for the part to arrive.
I used the extra time to change
the oil and adjust the valves.

The first heart transplant took place
in 1964. For lack of a suitable donor
they used a chimpanzee heart;
the patient lived for a little over an hour.

If they can't find a donor, your heart
may stop before I hear it beat again.
Cedars-Sinai is apparently out of stock,
and chimp hearts are no longer used.
I’m not sure how to fill the wait time.

I got rid of the VW bus years ago,
replacement fuel pump and all.
The wall is mostly rubble now;
all I’m left with is your hammer,
and three thousand miles of silence.

(Re-posted from Notes & Grace Notes)

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Times Square Lament

Times Square Lament

The heavy days of New York summer
sit and wait with me on the train platform
and remind me how far I am from you.

Here at the confluence of Broadway,
Seventh Avenue and 42nd Street;
the eastern terminus of the Lincoln Highway,
I stand and strain my eyes westward in vain.

My picture memory has expired
with time -- with distance,
and you continue to fall away;
another sun below my horizon.

You said my dalliances were unforgiveable,
and you never understood my need for time
apart, though I always came back to you.

I tried to call and confess my love
but the buskers drum and taxi traffic beat
made it near impossible for me to hear.

I don’t belong here amongst the bad clichés,
Bubba Gump and “I Love NY” t-shirts.
I haven’t slept in almost two years
and neon lights can’t replace the sun.

This city is a cheap whore
and Times Square is where she tricks
the gullible as they climb off the bus.

Moriarty’s ghost haunts me
and beckons me back to the road;
back to your long golden embrace.

Please forgive me my love
and help me find my way back
across the broken heartland between us
and back home to you.


SMG

Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Label Whore

Label Whore



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Please feel free to leave comments as feedback is always welcome; good and bad.


Thank you


SMG

Wednesday, February 4, 2015

Knowing

Knowing

You are not a choreographer but you make eyes dance across pages; draw beautiful pictures with your words. They sing to their readers and perform amazing verbal plays. You don’t fold papers but you bend phrases into magical birds of flight. Your whisper is soft assonance, your cry, crafted consonance. You twist steel metaphors into wild animals and weave words like a Panama hat maker. You don’t cook but you tantalize the pallets of those starving for creativity and culture. You remove dead literary appendages with buzz saw tenacity and sew disparate pieces into a fine tapestry. You don’t carve ice; you chip away bits of frozen heart and color the leaves of fall with artisan adjectives. You are languid and lithe in a gown of Longfellow with Langston Hu(gh)es. You do not make wine or brew beer but we drink in your elixir of verse and become intoxicated on the bouquet and effervescence. You create images that stick and emotions that dissolve sweet and savory on the tongue. You are a poet!

SMG

Monday, January 5, 2015

From the Brooklyn Side


From the Brooklyn Side

The dusk climbed behind me
as motorists and pedestrians
moved steadily west and east
across the Williamsburg Bridge.
They traversed the grey steel,
above the flood and ebb-tides,
in a ritual as old as the city.

Below, the East River roiled;
a rough mix from the tail waters
of Harlem and the Bronx Kill.

From the apex of the bridge
I watched the sun burn down
the Manhattan skyline and
slowly drown in the Hudson.
I recalled the Whitman poem
and felt the ties between us.  

In the distance, the gray walls
of granite and glass loomed;
today and a hundred years hence


SMG

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

Lost Forever


Lost Forever

At sunrise
God breathes
fire and smoke
into azure mourning,
as the demiurge groans
back into motion.

Last night
the world stopped,
dreams and motivations
became paper icons
engulfed in pyre flashes;
Ashes to ashes

As light slowly
pries loose the last
fingers of night
clinging to the landscape,
the shine of innocence
appears tarnished and tired.

Last night
a hero became mortal
human, uncoiled,
glint of his armor
dulled with rust;
dust to dust

The midday sun
hangs, half mast
in the horizon,
weakly illuminating
yet another void,
a diminished world.

Last night
God blinked,
in that omnisecond,
The words fell silent
inspiration stolen;
Amen

(Excerpt from "Another Hotel Room")

Monday, September 29, 2014

Monday Music Break ~ In Color by Jamey Johnson


In Color

I said, grandpa what’s this picture here
Its all black and white, it ain’t real clear
Is that you there? He said yeah, I was 11

Times were tough back in '35
That’s me and uncle Joe just tryin’ to survive
A cotton farm in a great depression

If it looks like we were scared to death
Like a couple of kids just tryin to save each other
You should've seen it in color

Oh, and this one here was taken over seas
In the middle of hell in 1943
In the winter time you can almost see my breath

That was my tail gunner ole Johnny Magee
He was a high school teacher from New Orleans
And he had my back right through the day we left

If it looks like we were scared to death
Like a couple of kids just tryin to save each other
You should've seen it in color

A picture's worth a thousand words
But you cant see what those shades of gray keep covered
You should've seen it in color

This one is my favorite one
This is me and grandma in the summer sun
All dressed up, the day we said our vows

You can't tell it here but it was hot that June
And that rose was red and her eyes were blue
And just look at that smile, I was so proud
That’s the story of my life right there in black and white

And if it looks like we were scared to death
Like a couple of kids just tryin to save each other
You should've seen it in color

A pictures worth a thousand words
But you can’t see what those shades of gray keep covered
You should have seen it in color
You should have seen it in color

Yeah, a pictures worth a thousand words
But you can’t see what those shades of gray keep covered

You should have seen it in color

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Monday Music Break ~ Arctic Monkeys ~ Do I Wanna Know?


Do I Wanna Know

Have you got color in your cheeks'?
Do you ever get the fear that you can't shift
the type that sticks around like summat in your teeth?
Are there some aces up your sleeve?
Had you no idea that you're in deep?
I dreamt about you nearly every night this week
How many secrets can you keep?
'Cause there's this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow
and I play it on repeat
Until I fall asleep
Spilling drinks on my settee

(Do I wanna know?)
If this feeling flows both ways
(Sad to see you go)
Was sorta hoping that you'd stay
(Baby we both know)
That the nights were mainly made for saying
things that you can't say tomorrow day

Crawlin' back to you.

Ever thought of calling when you've had a few?
'Cause I always do
Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new
Now I've thought it through

Crawling back to you

So have you got the guts?
Been wondering if your heart's still open and
if so I wanna know what time it shuts
Simmer down and pucker up
I'm sorry to interrupt it's just I'm constantly on the cusp of try-
ing to kiss you
I don't know if you feel the same as I do
But we could be together
if you wanted to

(Do I wanna know?)
If this feeling flows both ways
(Sad to see you go)
Was sorta hoping that you'd stay
(Baby we both know)
That the nights were mainly made for saying
things that you can't say tomorrow day

Crawling back to you

Ever thought of calling when you've had a few? (calling when you've had a few)
'Cause I always do ('cause I always do)
Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new
Now I've thought it through

Crawling back to you, (do I wanna know?)
If this feeling flows both ways
(Sad to see you go)
Was sorta hoping that you'd stay
(Baby we both know)
That the nights were mainly made for saying
things that you can't say tomorrow day

(Do I wanna know?)
Too busy being yours to fall
(Sad to see you go)
Ever thought of calling darling?
(Do I wanna know)

Do you want me crawling back to you?

Fall of New York

Fall of New York

Fifth Avenue:
Umbrellas bob
down the sidewalk
like drunken
Chinese lanterns
and a cool wind
has invaded in
from the north.

Summer’s anger
still seethes
below street level
but today refused
to bare its teeth,
opting to stay dry
in the warm refuge
of the train tunnels.

A week ago,
I was a stick of butter
greasing 23rd Street
on my walk to work,
and this morning
I was treated to a
coming-attractions reel
for Fall of New York.

Friday, July 11, 2014

Doldrums

July rains
baptize garbage piles
on 26th street
then evaporate
to twilight steam.

September’s still
beyond the horizon,
the soft shores of Spring
a distant dream
in my wake.

The Doldrums
of Gotham Summer
have becalmed my ship
and I am adrift
on this graffiti sea.

Adorned in albatross,
I will navigate
august Manhattan’s
burning quiescence
and trade for Fall.

(Excerpt from "Another Hotel Room")