December Night in New York

Still glows

with blue-black embers
smolders its whiplash twilight
 
sidewalks are a slush minefield
poorly navigated
in the chaos of the
unofficial winter night
 
the glow of joy is all around—
some plastic,
some triumphant hubris,
and we forge our own
North Stars
and assemble them
for decorations
 
we journey
through these throngs
like wise men
we will never be,
to welcome the birth
of unseen miracles
in our sparkling city

First Spring Day of Winter

flush-faced

in a winter coat

awkwardly cloaked

among the joyful strollers

ready for the rains,

the torrent streams

to build again

and make green

calendars and numbers

tell stale tales

while the sky

maps a better afternoon

dreaming in real time

of new, verdant days

ahead

Invisible Flame of Misfit Workers

sublime

if we can creep

past the wear-down

rage

past thoughts

too hateful

to darken a page

past misery heedless

near needless

for pay

past the clock-worn

routines

we repeat every day

somewhere

some spark

flints away

in the dark

with plans

nearly hatched

for some progress

to mark

this waking dream

of guiding flame

powers us through

a poisoned mind frame

it is our own darkness

ourselves

that we fight

in the hellfire struggle

to create

our own light

Nightlight Over Long Beach Island

our devices

glow like fireflies

and the night sky

pays no mind

it steers the ocean

to pound these shores

not knowing we’re alive

there is no magic formula

waiting to be revealed

no untapped powers

to absorb

only beauty

to let all heal

the secret

is to enjoy this sight,

to let this glory

be your light

so stop searching

for your soul to feed

this truth through beauty

is all you need

Bleary Epiphany

spy the clock to find

the hours burned by fast

distraction waves

abound

like knowing knaves

bringing head-slump slumber

at the desk

the quiet dark

is false calm

a rude pause

to the world’s rage

churning somewhere

always

but the blue night

filled with child of dawn

sparks the need

to fly awake

and burn brighter than magnesium sun

while the rest of the world

slumbers

Lightning Bolt

a pulse of power

forged from sky,

a black flame candle,

a rallying cry

the might,

the knowledge

amidst the dark;

the light reveals

and burns its mark

Rebellion of the Cluttered Mind Warp

submission grows slowly

without time to think

numbed with the circus

our gossip

and drink

rancid workthink

bleeds into leisure time

these precious hours

somehow no longer mine

and thus

the chase for daily bread

cascades the worry

in a dreamer’s head

but lo and behold

with such lust to lash out

and take hold of that lightening

to bring real life about

Kings at the Half King

surly adversaries

after hardly a pint

proud of our heady resolve

and might

making our plans

over soggy-soft coasters

the loud happy babble

of still-youthful boasters

let decades slip past

and revisit these scenes

as hardscrabble years

claim the hardest of dreams

true resolve doesn’t die

but grinds away

and lives on

as the quest will consume us

in our own haggard song

North Queens

The quiet streets of Whitestone

keep calling me their way,

bidding me to trod alone

to the outlands

of College Point.

And ghosts

of long-ago movie starts

draw us

to feel the breeze

of Little Neck Bay

and skip stones

from the shady woods

of Crocheron Park.

We dip into some alien feast

with our worked hands

at all hours,

as the night life

of a thousand people

babbles around us

and the dreams of millions

chatter by.

Alley Walk

strange light

from spring rain twilight

guiding odd characters

seeking refuge from the sun

spreading ethereal glow

across quiet rooftops,

and empty street corners

where wood-tar telephone poles

stand silent sentry

this light

brings the muses

to Earth,

it dances away

before we can give it voice

inspiring, torturing

the youthful heart

that burns to spark life

from all of it 

On the Peter Pan Bus

Peter Pan tosses us,

an early Friday escape

from the choking rush hour

Peter Pan implores, begs us

to claw our current selves

away

and be children again

but we decline,

eyeing sideways

the awkward smattering

of humanity

slicing down the American highway

in these two, too-slow hours.

Bring us, save us

oh Tower of Babel on wheels!

Somewhere among our cramped ranks

is a warrior poet

hurtling head-first

into glory.

Nightlight

There is a giant nightlight in the sky.

It is the opener of possibility,

It is guide and guardian

To young boys skinny-dipping,

night-swimming in an off-limits beach;

To mischievous teens lighting up

in Vermont graveyards where weeds

grow in depressions left

by collapsed coffins and reading

tombstones wondrously on their way

back to where the women are;

To children playing flashlight tag

in odorful, green fields at night,

unproctored;

To drivers who say to themselves:

“Why isn’t anyone else slowing down

to take a look at this?  This is

justified rubbernecking!”;

To campers who urinate on trees

and must wrestle with thirsty mosquitoes

and the danger of hungry bears sniffing

out their plump hot-dogs

and inexpensive beer;

To partygoers who stare out

across the Hudson River toward New Jersey

-- Yes even New Jersey can bask in its light --

and see the George Washington Bridge lit up;

To people wandering outside

to escape indoor life.

Those stars; they move from dwarf

to giant without complaint

and at their own sweet pace.

They may be dead already.

But Earth’s nightlight is

awake every night.

It changes its appearance

to fit the changing seasons.

It has its moments of brilliance.

It is like you.  

Distant Lightning

a shock-white message

flashes soundless

in the distance

beauty electric

powered abundant

sears through softness

without burning

and brands

in our mind’s eye

the promise

of enormity and legend

pigment

for soul survival,

divine jump-start for art

fused from

primal power

that binds

even the most modern

to the ways

of the caves

sit in the dark

and watch the coming storm

let it draw strength

and blaze endlessly

delight in seeing it

char off

the soft false shell

to let truth in beauty be reborn