POEMS :: Observations (train)

train

Ladies and gentlemen
I’m hungry
A dollar
A nickel, a penny, anything would help
Maybe a piece of fruit
And if you are feeling up to a hug

Heads shift up out of habit
But then retire back to their book
Anywhere to avert their eyes

Same ol' song and dance
For some, this F train
has been their performance space, platform , and sounding board
for years

No woman, no cry no woman no cry
I remember whenna we used to it…

In between, fade outs of public speeches and entertainment
we sit unfazed or at least sport a mask of sub-emotion
fade back in, and become the clinking, the clattering of the train amid a fog of conversations

“Delancy, East Broadway next stop”

train escorts us along
paranoia sets in, of my fellow, intimately situated stranger
reading my most private of thoughts
I look up to determine that he is quite submerged in his own reading
My narcissism, such self-importance to assume this stranger is just aching to share in even just a glimpse of my material
My profanity on paper

Any concern for privacy
Material for my own consumption

look around and take in all of the people in my wide-angle view, my telephoto
outcry of averting eyes
towards public ads: CUNY
Legal assistance, en espanol

Glasses, sans glasses, headphones, black, white, ipods, iphones, blackberries, songs seeping tinny through cheap phones, muffled crap music through others

A palette of fluorescent light and mundane hues, not too foreign from the office I just escaped

We ride in this familiar interior for 20 minutes and more a day strangers to one another we are the pole holders, or the lucky few who are the seat dwellers
We are strangers we are each other, we are new Yorkers.

POEtry

train

Ladies and gentlemen
I’m hungry
A dollar
A nickel, a penny, anything would help
Maybe a piece of fruit
And if you are feeling up to a hug

Heads shift up out of habit
But then retire back to their book
Anywhere to avert their eyes

Same ol' song and dance
For some, this F train
has been their performance space, platform , and sounding board
for years

No woman, no cry no woman no cry
I remember whenna we used to it…

In between, fade outs of public speeches and entertainment
we sit unfazed or at least sport a mask of sub-emotion
fade back in, and become the clinking, the clattering of the train amid a fog of conversations

“Delancy, East Broadway next stop”

train escorts us along
paranoia sets in, of my fellow, intimately situated stranger
reading my most private of thoughts
I look up to determine that he is quite submerged in his own reading
My narcissism, such self-importance to assume this stranger is just aching to share in even just a glimpse of my material
My profanity on paper

Any concern for privacy
Material for my own consumption

look around and take in all of the people in my wide-angle view, my telephoto
outcry of averting eyes
towards public ads: CUNY
Legal assistance, en espanol


Glasses, sans glasses, headphones, black, white, ipods, iphones, blackberries, songs seeping tinny through cheap phones, muffled crap music through others

A palette of fluorescent light and mundane hues, not too foreign from the office I just escaped

We ride in this familiar interior for 20 minutes and more a day strangers to one another we are the pole holders, or the lucky few who are the seat dwellers
We are strangers we are each other, we are new Yorkers.



transport me, transfer me

Transport me, transfer me
Serrendipously, lovingly
In this vessel, this silver submarine
Sleepy and serene
With out an exterior scene
We are forced to look with in
With those we share this 60 feet tin
A temporary place with our urban kin

United we stand
United we claim our place in this 20 minute space

Us lucky ones sit

Unyielding
Colors in dream
redeem
a seat or
a lean

Conversations in Yiddish, Russian ,Spanish
Brooklynish

We ride along in a daze, day dreaming to be someone else, somewhere else








love

A grab from around the waist
As she does the dishes
A stern, ‘not now Joe’
To follow

‘to my beautiful wife’
‘to my loving husband’
this is how they address one another
on paper during holidays

she wears the pants
he provides them

she dictates
he educates

she reads circulars
he cuts the grass
she leans into the dishwasher
he smacks her ass

they argue, they fight
they bitch and they yell
they dwell
in safety and support
in love
a communion only they can know

kids they come and go
they come and go

pets they live and die
they live and die
a couple , they grow and grow
fore ever they grow

he calls her Bell
she calls him Joe,

The Moth at the Bitter End 11/30/2009

Here is my first story at The Moth at The Bitter End in New York, NY on November 30th, 2009. The theme of the evening was "Nerve" in which I told a story about my tryst with a New York fireman. (Because the video is 104 megs I cant link directly to You Tube, so please copy, cut, paste)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wWCZECLJQcs

First person arts

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6tO2rj-4Q6o