Meatloaf at the Airport

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i’m eating a late lunch at an airport,
at a restaurant named after a notable,
noted, well known chef
who deserves redundant adjectives
for the food is just that good.

maybe it’s not the healthiest choice,
turkey meatloaf wrapped
in a thin slice of bacon,
mashed potatoes smothered
in a layer of light brown, turkey flavored gravy.

the meat loaf looked like it was gently placed
by gentle hands on top of the potatoes
while thin cut, brown coat onion rings
were sprinkled over the layered stack,
topped with one last spoon of gravy,
just a dripping from top to bottom.

i have prime seating, facing main concourses,
it’s two o’clock in the afternoon, prime space,
prime time for people watching,
after a few minutes, i turn away from the flow
to peer at the large windows,
i gaze outside, i see several planes
parked at several gates and i think:

it’s gonna be a long ride.

 

It Pays to Behave Wisely


it pays to behave oneself wisely
in the halls of polity
where your reputation is in a scope

it pays to behave oneself wisely
on lonely corners of any metropolis
where possibilities of the con may exist

it pays to behave oneself wisely
in enclaves of good old boys
where they play with burning crosses

it pays to behave oneself wisely
in all realms, dwellings and journeys
where poison asps hatch
where rabid wolves roam

Warriors


keep on writing you writing warriors
write on you writing warriors write on
fight to the finish, finish the fight,
exemplify your strength, show your might
wage your war by the way of your force

your force, your weapons are pencils, pens
writing pads, keyboards and paper
some still use typewriters,
none use the gun

none use the gun
none use the cannon
none use the missile
none use the bomb

your fortresses, arsenals, armories
consists of libraries laid
in brick, blood, mortar, gut, grit, sweat and stone
electronic bookshelves also
made of digitized zeros and digitized ones

your eyes see and read
your minds absorb and assess
your hearts feel and embrace
you put your hands to the work
to lands marred by brutality,
you bring compassion and you bring calm

write on you writing warriors
write on you writing warriors write on

How Will I Fare When I Stand Before Goliath

How will I fare before a Goliath?

will discouragement from family, friends
invade my ears, my heart, make me stand down
will the terror of his girth, horror his sword
make me cower, fret, lose nerve, run and hide

who is this Goliath that makes me shrink
from following after my dreams?

the apprehension of taking a risk,
the fear of failure pursuing success,
the timidity of stepping on stage,
the avoidance having, achieving goals,

who is Goliath that makes me stand down?

The Lone Patron at the Tall Dark Brown Table

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–after Hemingway

one mile away from my apartment
after a Sunday afternoon one mile walk
i took a seat in the bar section
of a restaurant brick red painted
named after a well known
red breasted bird.

i wait and I write
while I wait for a late evening bus
that stops right in front of the eatery’s door
therefore, i could also have dinner
and get a ride when i am done.

i took a moment to reflect
on my surroundings and noted
the dark brown tall table stood tall before me.
music of all sorts and genre’s played around me.
not too soft, not too loud.

A tall glass of dark brown iced tea stood
tall on the tall dark brown table.
It was a glass half empty, my last for the day.
I was the lone patron in a compartment
cut off from diners in the dining hall.

as a enjoyed the solitude
of my comfortable calming space
I thought of a clean well-lighted place,
finished my writing, finished my dinner
then boarded the bus for home.

What A Wonderful Morning

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what a wonderful morning is
what a wonderful morning tis
to wake up alive feeling good

though i have aches, though i have stress
though i have gray, though i have pain
i know just my chronic ailments

i know it’s just my plain old age
after all considerations
just you know I still feel just great

what a wonderful morning is
what a wonderful morning tis
to wake up alive feeling good

Traffic Jam

on the highway today
riding up highway 95
heading towards junction
where paths split between
Philly and Delaware bridge
in a parking lot on the road

wife is driving, I’m typing
and playing navigator watching
the big GPS screen mounted
in the corner of my windshield
sipping on a sugar free
lukewarm energy drink chillin

looking north, looking east,
looking west for words to write
finding none in this desert
of asphalt and automobile fume
slowly we began to crawl
slowly we claw through the hoard

these are the days you question
your so-called love for the road
these are the days that test
your claim of being a roadie
if you’re riding, it’s more time
for conversation or writing

if you are the driver
it more time for conversation
or time to listen to that CD
that’s been sitting in the jacket
clipped to the visor collecting dust
you play it while your rider writes

before long the traffic jam dissolves
the songs are finished
the poems are written
the skies are cleared of fumes
our conversing continues
as we finally begin to move