Its hard to write a poem
though its all i want to do sometimes
just sit and write
write all day
write through stormy, cloudy, chilly,
warm, and snowy
fast and slow
short and long
summer winter days.
Sometimes I try to capture a dude on the train
sometimes I try to word a couple frolicking in the park
I look for the simple ironies in day to day life
I look at the stereotypes and try to dissect them
as if they were a frog in bio class..
Most people, I have little doubt see this as a fruitless task..
I mean who hasn’t tried to capture something as obvious as that..
I want to personalize the world
I want to..
I want to “Carpe diem”
I want to step outside, and inhale the rich Brooklyn air
A mixture of cold pavement
A unidentifiable home cooked meal..
breath it in to the core of my sometimes broken self..
I want to self medicate off the city that never sleeps.
I once asked a a shoeless philosopher on the corner of Bleecker Street
between Sullivan St & Thompson St,
I asked this man in his large tattered jacket
a felt hat at his feet
what is your secret?
by what rules do you live your life?
He looked at me with what i could swore was a twinkle in his eye
flashed a toothless grin
as if mocking the preppy white kid asking his advice
the ultimate full circle, no doubt a reason to laugh ..
Then he spoke and said;
my advice to you;
never give up.
never stop fighting.
never ever give up.
you have a dream?
you go out there and fight for it.
It was an answer i expected
the privileged snob that I am
I robbed him even of that.
Encounter with a shoeless philosopher.