Thoughts

What is needed to make an impression? Thoughts to follow soon. And now, an excerpt from the short story entitled "Conversations After Dark":

It had been two weeks since I had last seen Johnny. He shipped out before I had a chance to say goodbye, so the I found myself apologizing to a phantom.

"Sorry, for that baby, I should have never doubted you. I was drunk, and I didn't mean it. Godspeed and good luck. No, I don't want anything. Just come back home. Baby, please..."

And then two weeks after that, I realized my pleas had fallen on deaf ears. Once again, I am left all alone in the world without sunshine on the horizon.

Haiku

Little droplets fall,

Ink turned to art on paper,

The weary poet rests.

Biking and Summer Reads

BIKED THE AMTRAK CENTURY!!!! YEAH!!!

Finished:

"Octopussy and the Living Daylights" by Ian Fleming

"Live and Let Die" by Ian Fleming

"Thunderball" by Ian Fleming

In Progress:

"Kim" by Rudyard Kipling

"Heart of Darkness" by Joseph Conrad

"The World of Nagaraj" by R.K. Narayan

Upcoming:

"American Pastoral" by Philip Roth

"Fountainhead" by Ayn Rand

Journey

Walking in a cloud,
Painted by the rain,
Wishing for tears of sunshine,
To wash away the pain.

Tearing through the mist,
On a mountain by the sea,
Skating on beads of purple,
Hoping to be free.

Gliding through the fog,
Without a soul in sight,
Then spotting double rainbows,
Under the golden light.

Swimming in the ocean,
And swirling in the sand,
Catching falling Helios,
Finally feeling grand.

Embers

Embers

Two courtesans stand watch over the room,

First, a graceful dancer lithe like a loon,

And then a tin stranger, her stoic groom.

Silently he stares at his true love's face,

Thinking wondrous things of that little waif.

Again, his shy smiles grace her rose blush,

While he stands at his post, flush!

But an errant wind gives flight to her feet,

"Help!" she screams, removed from her seat.

Winter's capricious gust, leads her astray,

Into the hearth where embers play.

Paper crinkles and rose blush smears,

As the soldier exclaims. "I come, my dear."

So the tin man falls, sealing his fate,

Meeting his love, in the fire's grate.

Now wood is burning, as is tin,

Tears and sadness, masked in Inferno's kiln.

This was a final goodbye, but also a first hello,

Breaking the fury's sorrow with a warming glow.

Outside no one watches these melting hearts,

That shall nevermore, be kept apart.

Raps by the N.B.F.M.

One:

Pretend for moment That I'm really legit,

Reppin' I-hood and giving rappers fits.

Dropping sick rhymes and groovin' to the beat,

People saying that the kid is ridicuosly street.

Never had to scuffle to make it to the top,

Never had to struggle to make my rhymes pop.

Then memberin' the things going so bad,

Praises come and went, left feelin' like a fad.

I'm all alone, wihout a single friend,

Joys ain't coming, so I gotta pretend.

Head hurtin' so I try a ball game swish,

Air ball, so thinkin' and waitin' for a wish.

and Two:

BFM, the name is what you gonna be feelin'

Don't dribble close cuz I be stealin',

Ball games, your girl, anything I seein'

You can't stop me, Cuz i'm in position,

To take over the world, one game at time,

Dude's be trippin', chick's sayin' im fine.

But they ain't frontin', they ain't lyin'

My sick rhymes got other rapper's cryin'.

Before you get on, stop and think for minute,

You'll get your chance, now juss lemme finish.

Came into the world, with 'Tucky on top,

Now running with The Wall, dimes on the drop,

Anything you can do, I can do better,

Like Em said in 8Mile, im runnin' with chedda.

So when they say they game me, I say let 'em

They'll try their best, and then get all fed up.

We'll see who stays on top of this lil rap mountian,

I'm the Niagara falls, baby you're just a fountain.

When you bridge falls down and you be drownin'

Come see me flyin high and start my clownin'.

Winds Blowin'

A Fall Frolic

Summer serenity comes to a halt in the cold November breeze,

As I careen from my concourse to the street corner kiln.

I see the flickers of my soul coaxing flying sparks,

As a destitute chases the ephemeral flames,

Hoping to preserve the charitiable calidity, if only for a moment.

Lazing past the blacksmith, I share his quotidian woes,

I stop and see his futility:

Clanging incorrigible iron with resignation.

I shed a tear for his trouble,

And despite his imprecations, stumble silently onwards.

I waft past the weekend paramour, reminiscing on a love's lost refrain,

Cradling the progeny of loneliness from the pestilence of frost.

I see a beacon of shadow--nay, a lantern--by her side,

Revealing effete porcelain against the backdrop of misery,

And a touch of rouge, which paints the sky blood.

Finding no swallows, I drift aimlessly into the night,

Nipping at the coattails of a furtive titmouse,

Despite my malicious malingering, I am craven,

For I dare not approach my nemesis, brother Boreas.

No Delphi is needed for this portent: my hourglass turns no more.

All is quiet as diaphanous snowflakes blanket the ground,

At last! A tenuous slumber, like a callow youth in his mother's clasp.

Recollecting past opulence, and present penury,

I glimpse my vestige in the frigid river bed and cry.

I am many.

I am one.

Broken voices, like broken glass strewn across the sand, whisper:

I am summer's waif, now old and weary,

Forgotten in the wake of this autumn dreary.