Rogue Avenging Hockey Dad

 

Double-fisted hand holding
through dark Newark streets
for a women’s hockey game
 
strong girls
growing stronger
in the burgeoning stands
to be ice-cool
and sharp as blades
 
beyond the stadium horns
and the flash and lights,
crying from pure exhaustion
 
Dad’s pocket money depleted
evaporated like so much cotton candy
 
worth every blood-earned penny
to escape the cultural poison
and raise
warrior women

King Monster Undercover

 

freedom
is being alive
like mental fluoride
 
bold and sharp
quiet
like a razor rock
 
action remedy
secret medicine
the balm of the doing
saving souls
one day at a time
 
let it burn on
infinitely
in flesh and poetry

The Gates of Bellevue

 

sad derelicts
add a somber note
to the skyscraper shadows
obtuse in their stillness
among the city-bustle chorus:
the traffic, the youth on their way to excitement
deliveries and commutes in droves
 
the old gates stand guard
behind a bus stop now
vying for attention
among the gaudy glass
and the traffic islands
 
but old New York
lives here still
for those that know,
and who wander far from work
to gaze upon the green bronze
and dream of what terror
once dwelt here

Ocean Thunder

a call to arms

in the crash cascades

through the salty air

and among the moving clouds,

streaking across the horizon sky

the siren song

of night

drawing us to sharp moonlight

that dances across the dark ripples,

that pastes our shadow to the cool sand

this music is endless,

sacred like a Gregorian chant

with never the same note

cleansing despite the sand everywhere,

a dream-forging cauldron of strength

a roiling punch

to knock us down

when we need it

Rockville, Maryland

This night

is too still

even for a corporate park,

squat hotel

among slapped-together homes

The ground

holds secrets

of times past,

musket balls and tomahawks,

relics

of pioneers and war.

Brick facsimile

stands sentry now,

faux elegance

tacked on to a green Earth

screaming to be free.

The Sinequa ghosts

shake their bloody heads

at our lives,

ticked away in board rooms

with catered lunches

eyes glazed

simple slaves

to numbers on a screen.

  

Escape notes

staying stoic

among the caterwauls,

the legions of false faces,

the theatrics – like trained animals we jump

 for hard-earned pay

let others plunder their wayward souls;

we’ll form a secret resistance,

paint glitter onto bank notes

as we plot our escapes

we’ll leave them to it,

be cleansed by sun and shade

and accept hunger

as pay

for the better world we’ve made

Regal powers of the living room floor

my throne

is cereal-strewn carpet

my subjects

are building blocks

for a supersandwich

piled giggling

upon one another

after saving our world

I reign

in final judgement

of sharing

while minding the choking hazards

I am Dragon King

and riding workhorse

conquering fear,

hauling my sacred blood kin

for tickles and napping

this brood makes me stronger

though I drag my feet

and fall asleep

before my appointed hour