just before slumber
there’s a moment between
dream & wakefulness
a hazy realm
eyes closed
your smelly dog
at the foot of the bed, growling
the moment happens
in milliseconds
you fall into dreamland
shifting sands
awake to sunlight
peering through heavy curtains
a new day – but
are you still in dream?
this whole thing may not
be what it seems
(Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash)
when day becomes night
people tuck into beds
drop their heads
on puffy pillows & blankets
back from coal mines & factories
of fear, soaked in mud
smeared with oil of
dire times –
they were once in their primes
these working men & women
but now bones hurt
spines shatter
blood splatters
when day becomes night
we talk about serenity
but I’m not sure what we mean
there have been times
I was serene
but it’s few and far between
I want it to be a permanent state
of being
an emotion that stretches into
the future, forever
but that’s impossible
like asking to control the weather
so, as days go by
& I grow older
I hope I grow wiser, too
settle for serene moments
instead of reaching for something
that’s beyond my feeble grip
(Photo by Eric Muhr on Unsplash)
If there was ever a Parallel Parking Olympics
it’d be in South Philly
cars jam into microscopic spots
enough to cause anxiety
but you, with your back-up camera
squeeze in like it’s no big deal
this shit is real!
parking spots are like gold
circle the block like a vulture
starving, on the prowl
maybe you’ll get lucky
find a spot front-and-center
(Photo by Cali Riffee on Unsplash)
The river meanders
dividing line of Philly & Jersey
fog drifts off blue-black water
on the way to the concert
you can hear music reverberate
feel chilly breeze on your skin
men & women pulsing with
sexual energy
some of them tipsy
touch my hand
tell me you understand
let me know I’m alive –
the warmth of your body
the coldness of steel handlebars
ready for a night of euphoria
(Photo by Matt Power on Unsplash)
There are ghosts in my family –
I realize this as my mother tells tales
of a biological grandfather I never knew
who blew smoke in my face
when I was two
of years my father spent in jail
of anxiety that permeates
the family tree, which is
diseased & hollowed
about to crumple & topple
into grayish dirt
(Photo by Dikaseva on Unsplash)
The internet is a dangerous place
you can’t see my face
just a still photo
from long ago –
we fall down rabbit holes
into spacious cyberness
it must affect us
but we’re not sure how
we always want more
time in front of these screens –
we screamed when the internet
was unleashed into this world
did we really know
it would be like this?
(Photo by Dhaval Parmar on Unsplash)
I heard those seductive voices in darkness
not the ones you think
they weren’t from lipsticked-maidens
call girls nestled in hotel sheets
the voices were calls of
violence, conspiracy
they called not from red-light districts
but corners of the online world
they promised secrets of
the way the world worked –
I said no thank you, sir
your secrets are safe with me
but I won’t agree
to be part & parcel
to your devious proposals.
The saints wanted perfection
so do some of us
but chasing this goal is like
walking over burning coals
what about progress?
self-acceptance?
what about turning away from Never Enough?
resting in the realization that
this life is absurd
that all this effort can
crash & burn
in the blink of an eye
(Photo by Aron Van de Pol on Unsplash)
Writer of children's literature, short stories and poetry
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