The Train

This poem was written within a span of 2 days while commuting to and from work. Isn't it amazing how the immersion in a seemingly ordinary real life experience can spawn creative beads of verse that blend to give life to a pretty acceptable poem?
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Drab gray train snaking thru derelict tenements
And brownstone buildings shedding ancient blocks
As would a snake renews and molts.
Slithering tracks, polished by
Wheels' intense embrace,
Union of inanimate with dynamic
One bound to the Earth's bosom
Sacrifice -- to propel the other's
Dreams to race like the wind.

Drab gray train nourished
By electricity it draws hungrily.
Does motion now make it seem
Like a silver god warping through
The space-time continuum?
Leave the desperate reality
To a blur - relegate to oblivion.
In its obscurity the world
Seems a better place to be.

Wood and steel - by man's ingenuity
Create a universal microcosm
Of dynamic state reflecting life's
Subtle details and nuances.
Within the train's womb
A carriage of humanity suspended
In a time frame propelled to their
Appointed futures, distant destinies
And, perhaps, different realities.

Telephone poles in steadfast sentry
Shepherding a hurtling mass of steel and flesh.
Imprisoned within a track of complacency
With no freedom but that designated
By the morass of rails and gates.
Diminish a mighty god-like hunk
To a state of pathetic mediocrity . . .
A slave to its own awesome velocity
Confined in a vicious circle of servitude.

Steel frames, granite tenements
Tower mightily upon this miracle
Of dynamic pseudo-life that shakes
Their foundations as it punishes its tracks.
In its grand entrance to the sea of life
That populate the floors above -
Tremble and shake, grind and wheeze
Breezing above the cacophony of snarled traffic below
In its wake the bestial inhuman rusty engine growls.

Drab gray train stirring the placid night
With eddies of mournful yearnings
From a thousand metal wheels, axles, and bolts,
Grease and oil and soot in infernal heat;
Consigned to either an eternal marriage
With the unfeeling metallic surfaces or -
Expulsion to the freedoms of the embrace
Of a patiently waiting ozone
That ultimately suffers man's senseless follies.

Drab gray train traversing a lonely stretch
Of tracks that extend to infinity.
From a present vantage prepare
Join the union of the Sky,
The Earth and Man's mechanical offspring
Where all will consequently join in harmony --
Manifest proof of an omnipresent singularity.
And from afar the drab gray train now a pinpoint
Ceases to be, but a part of the Whole.

Lullaby For Amy

This was written to cheer up one of the most bawdacious friends I've met (so far!). And would you know -- I married her!


Soft shafts of light in pastel hues
Turn pale and dim as the night ensues.
I gaze, thru the blinds, at the starry sky
As I welcome sleep grant He try . . .
Bless me with dazzling dreams
Of castles and princes and crystal streams,
That flow past forests of choc'late trees
Vanilla fudge flowers in a scented breeze.

Soothe the aches that grip my heart
Dispel the loneliness, O pain depart.
Arrest my raging troubled storms
Infuse my soul with soothing balms.

My eyelids grow heavy, now is the time
Settle and slither to planes sublime . . .
Ah, sleep -- the world seems to cease
As I finally get my share of zzzz's.

Mondays

Mondays
Isn't it obvious that I wrote this on a Monday (duh)? Try listening to the song "I Don't Like Mondays" by the Boomtown Rats after you're done reading this. It'll really rub it in further! :-P

Monday ...
What if it were moved to the middle of the week?
Then we would have two days after weekend to prepare for it . . .
But the day after Sunday would still be like Monday
It best to legislate --
No heavy work after Sunday
And the day thereafter.
Then when the mind and body is ready
Just let it all go on Wednesday
Which is our pseudo-Monday
Or should I say ersatz Monday!

Reverie

The poem below is a collaboration between my good friend Cyndi and I. She once sent me a freestyle poem and to amuse her, I decided to put some rhyme into the work by inserting my own lines. The first line of the poem, and alternately, are hers. We hope you like the overall effect . . .
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Pitter patter . . . pitter patter,
Pearly drops make senseless chatter.
The rain gently taps the windows
With countless beads only God knows.
The whir of the overhead buzzing in the background
Propagates the ennui all around.

Synthetic warmth flowing through the vents
Bearing down on me in stiffling torrents.
Blank stares . . . bored glances
Heavy eyelids perform languid dances
Focused on the presentation ahead
Gravity rules, down goes the head.

Mind wandering . . . drifting . . . floating
Amid subliminal seas, swimming, sailing
The words of the lecture come in yet aren't processed
They sit idly on my mental doorstep - dispossessed.
Out the window the trees sway to and fro
Captivating my senses though my eyes say "no".

This way . . . now that
Arboreal hypnosis in two seconds flat!
Lulling me to another dimension
Hyperspace, neverland, mental fields elysian
Sleep caresses my eyes, leaning onto my hand
Drool escapes my lips as thoughts pour out of my mind.

Words still buzzing but not making sense
Subconsciously I say "yes" in agreeable pretense
Forgotten or maybe unleashed dreams
Amusing my senses to coquettish extremes.
. . . play over and over in my mind
. . . till I hear nary a sound . . .

How I long for the touch of the sun upon my face
To dispel the coldness, give amazing grace
Yet the dream of you holding me close feels even better
In my reverie we drift to heights even higher.

Pitter patter . . . pitter patter
Pearly drops make senseless chatter
The rain gently taps on the windows
In countless beads only God knows
The whir of the overhead buzzing in the background
My mentor calls me but I'm not around!

The Quadratic Equation of Love

A desperate attempt to quantify love. It runs along a theme that I once chanced upon. One of my friends noted the similarity but believe me . . . this is my original work!

Given a general emotional equation of the second degree,
'Tis required the roots of the love - to be or not to be.
Assume the equation ax^2+bx+c=0,
Where x is the unknown - a "yes" or a "no".

The problem seems to be the constants a,b, and c,
For they directly affect x's determinacy.
In any case, though, the results may be generalized,
To 3 possible roots which can be quickly summarized:

If x is positive, then let love be -
The numeric integer being love's intensity.
If x is negative, obviously love cannot be,
The numeric integer corresponding to the repellancy!

Should the root contain a term imaginary,
It's all in the mind, no need to worry.
For love is in the heart to be nurtured tenderly,
Not in the brain where it is treated academically!

Thus, is love's quadratic equation,
A quick way to asses a romantic decision.
Now if the values for a, b, and c,
Could only be defined with great accuracy . . . !

The Phoenix

After my earlier poem "The Hurt" this next work seems quite fitting to describe my renewed feelings about love. Eeeeewww . . . doesn't that suck?

Adrift amid clouds of despair,
From my aerie of exile I seek to repair
My heart in emotional suspension
Now arises from its hibernation.
As would a Phoenix from its ashes resurrect
So does my heart from limbo now elect -
In all its majesty and renewed vigor
Sing to the heavens in joyous splendour.

A million colors scintillate
And glow with a warmth they generate
A love denied now comes to rise
Partake of a romantic exercise . . .

Your presence and laughter in me ignite
Joys forgotten, lost in the night
You flood my senses with delight
Celebrate life in a whole new light!

And as love now inundates
My heart afire in frenzied waves
I pray the gods make me less sedate,
And drunk with this joyous Fate!

Fastfood ... To Go

Here's a really kewl poem that gives me visions of NuYowk 42nd St. Read along and you'll understand what I mean! :-)

From a tree in total concentration,
An arachnid deftly checks the tension -
Silken network of grand construction,
That subtly masks an eerie intention.

Comes a fly a-buzzin' and hip-hoppin'
The world to him's one big trash of eatin'.
Circles merrily the busy spider,
Sez to himself, "'Tis a good day to jive with her!"

"Hey, big mama, wuz happ'nin'?"
Queried fly to suspended denizen.
"Sun's a-shinin' and I'm a-waitin'
But yo'z jez mopin', we should be jazzin'!"

"Shake those eight legs, show me those thighs,
Move yer big butt now, and exercise!"
But big black mama just looked at him,
With an eyeful so compoundly grim!

"Mama, yo'z cold, I'd better split,
Somewhere down there is a sure hit . . ."
But the fly just got a bit too careless,
Snagged himself on web's stickiness!

Big mama comes down hip-hoppin'
With utensils in tow ready for feastin'.
Gobbled the fly and swallowed him whole,
Smacked, burped and just said, " . . . Cool!"