#125
Back on the rock
in the middle of Central Park,
same as the last time,
we were alone chasing the dark
between breathtaking babble,
and slow, special silences,
by the lake, beyond the creek
while cycles, taxis, pathetic machismos
blured passed unnoticed as we
share stories, and secrets everything
save the feelings unsaid, all over again,
oh i beg you, this time,
unveil our path forward.
#126
She explained how simple happiness
could be, even if we’re just but drops
in the oceans, from the seas to our eyes
in joy or sorrow, we are the salty water,
still part of the same old stories,
whose drops carve rocks,
splash, and clean wounds,
oh the depths hide mysteries, and inspire poets,
scientists, and lovers the like,
it makes sense that the oceans are origins
bodies of water, like us all.
#127
Here he watched Sinatra,
his childhood with Rockets,
Nat King Cole,
and now as his son,
strides for his degree,
i watch him squeeze his wife’s hand
from the corner of my eye,
while they sit beside me.
#128
From the cold off the concrete
i watch ominous clouds
hover, howling threats
of freezing, soaking, torrents,
i surrender to patience, and
pray for luck. Looking to distractions
between faith and doubt,
reliving regrets and nativities, victories
from burning legs and goose-bumped arms,
memories reminding to stay active, to participate,
that you can float freely down the river
so long as you keep yourself buoyant,
that a little paddle will guide you
to the shores you wish to go.
#129
Is it my brain thats broken
or just my heart.
Beyond the curtain,
is a deeper shade of dark.
Thanks for joining! Find poems through out the week on my instagram @monsieurwrite
Don’t forget to check out the poems being recited on The Write Stuff podcast!
Take care, call your family, tell them you love them.
wazoo!
-Mr. Write