Saturday, October 7, 2017

Ode to the Time Stalkers

our secret way
to glimpse the world
cocooned in our own zone
fearless, anonymous, and alone

steal these precious minutes
from the workday masters
rambling soundless odes
to sooth frustrated souls

stalk this fleeting heaven
of a jazz-touched park
like a secret agent
at a drop

mind reeling
at the deft machinery
of life
its well-oiled gears
laid bare

just in time
to meet our retreat
on well-heeled feet
past the fumes and noise
with all manner
of proper corporate poise

we, sun-starved lunatics
of our own design
forever tethered
and counting time

Saturday, September 30, 2017

Poetic Secret Soul Patrol

pastel skies preside
over the migration
through the dusty-dusk streets

a few spare souls
pace the same sidewalks
in a different zone,
seeing the life of everything

auto-gauging at every turn
they tap our hive-buzz
for answers and power

hear and see it all
in mad, bounteous cascade
the Corlear’s Hookers
plying their trade
the scattershot art
the homeless made

the ghostly cat calls
of time zones past
the sonic rat messages
at half mast

the daytime drinkers
in the hoppy-dark bars
and the yearning teenagers
squinting for stars

in the angelic language
of pigeon wings
under cross-examination
of the setting sun
we all tread home
to brighter dreams
and the day is won

Saturday, September 23, 2017

Time-ripe Ninja Commuter Disguise

the time-ripe ninja
stealth assassin
sent to dispatch
legions of false faces
makes her way
through the metropolis

shrouded in the skin
of the slouched commuter
on the train
to the homeless man
seeking alms in vain

all the while
in stolen moments
scribbling the puzzle pieces
to let loose
the hounds of greatness

they march triumphant
clenched jaws trailing blood
into immortality

Saturday, September 2, 2017

Chicken Bucket Brigade

this rowdy assemblage
like bleacher creatures of old
serves to warm our hearts
out in the rain and cold

the chants, the jokes,
the joy of being here
our tribes trump cheap talk
fueled by beer

our colors are proud
and we know where we stand
singing our songs loud
across the fractured land

the chicken bucket
is a fairly good deal
amid this bogus playground
our spirits stay real

Saturday, August 19, 2017

Madison & Vine

the literary life
is cast in bronze
on the sidewalks
of our great city
for the dead

the living sweat it out
feet to the pavement
scrapping day by day
with albatross dreams
and stolen lunches

then stumble
on the crutches
of park strolls
breathing in
life’s poetry
before spilling it
imperfectly (always)
back on the pilfered page

Monday, August 14, 2017

Night at the Carnival

shoveling fried food
into my mouth
while surveying
the passers by

 —a young parade
of summer delight
to test the men
of Friday night—

but such is this disguise,
ourselves unwell
but artfully wise

and somewhere
dark beneath
a silent warrior’s
sword unsheathed

showing no mercy
the verse unleashed 

Sunday, July 30, 2017

For the Werewolves

I sweat each day
To earn my hide
To burn off this shell
And reveal the wolf inside

By work and desire
Embrace trial by fire
And make ourselves worthy
Of the life of blood and iron