Saturday, March 20, 2021

Times Square At Night


good in small doses;
a rose
to decades gone,  
everywhere still a hustle
but now more staged
than uncaged
pastel pixels
light the stage
where a thousand characters
ply their trade
as police horses
clack past
a pause
to be a tourist
in our own city,
to bask in the false light
and gawk at the nightlife
we snap a photo,
a million souls
anonymous, yet immortalized
in an instant

Saturday, February 27, 2021

Night drive


red moon presides
over a harvest-cold sky,
a right light
for the night drivers
fortress trucks
scream speed
from behind their running lights,
knowing they will never
run out of road
and the car drivers,
gunning hard to steam past,
rejoice in the easy swoosh
of smooth blacktop,
the lull of the radio,
and the sweet nirvana
of just going

Saturday, November 28, 2020

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

Saturday, October 24, 2020

King Monster Undercover


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

Saturday, September 5, 2020

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

Monday, August 10, 2020

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

Saturday, April 18, 2020

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,
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.