InspirationI spend Sunday afternoons
in Greenwich Village
searching for Holden
and old Sal Paradise.
I want to connect
with the dissonance ,
embrace madness
and take On the Road.
I stutter step 42nd Street,
weave and eaves drop
on stolen conversations
and snap shot scenes.
Sublime brief glimpses,
of a television set to scan.
Seen through dim glass
a city viewed darkly
I’ve fucked my share
of whores and goddesses
but I still can’t write
a decent love poem.
Language fails compared
to the splendor and stench
of two becoming one,
then two, or maybe none.
I walk through Central Park
and wonder about the ducks,
I often take the time to ask
the junkies “where’s Dean?”
and every once in a while
they give me a knowing look
and say “he’s on the journey,
living it, where are you man?”
in Greenwich Village
searching for Holden
and old Sal Paradise.
I want to connect
with the dissonance ,
embrace madness
and take On the Road.
I stutter step 42nd Street,
weave and eaves drop
on stolen conversations
and snap shot scenes.
Sublime brief glimpses,
of a television set to scan.
Seen through dim glass
a city viewed darkly
I’ve fucked my share
of whores and goddesses
but I still can’t write
a decent love poem.
Language fails compared
to the splendor and stench
of two becoming one,
then two, or maybe none.
I walk through Central Park
and wonder about the ducks,
I often take the time to ask
the junkies “where’s Dean?”
and every once in a while
they give me a knowing look
and say “he’s on the journey,
living it, where are you man?”
Posts
12 comments:
I like your realness, your ability to say whatever. I went back and read several of your posts. I would love to be able to write this way. I have a lot to say but am always afraid of who will read it and discover the real me...
these poems are real, man. thank you... i resonate with them and love that you are writing and sharing them. i don't always like dean so much anymore, except his spirit and wildass commitment to following his heart. i hope i am doing that too, except maybe with a little more compassion. anyway, thanks: you made my day.
I'm glad I found your stuff man.
Vivid and realistic write. It's good when the reader can feel he's walking alongside the writer. Nicely done!
http://charleslmashburn.wordpress.com/2011/10/05/treasure/
i know this feeling. recently i can't seem to write a decent poem about love... like i've ran out of lines to write... nice write! well penned! please check my entry too: http://wp.me/TDjw
Yes, you have taken me back to 1965 when I lived in the Village and was looking for Kerouac. But it took another45 years to find him. Loved it ... thank you for what this did for me.
Very good work
A great write, no holds bared :)
What a great ending hope you do find Dean and that you take the journey too and live it wonderfully penned
http://gatelesspassage.com/2011/10/05/today%e2%80%99s-feelings/
Vivid and descriptive poem of New York.
Here is my entry:
http://jackedwardspoetry.blogspot.com/2011/10/everyone.html
I know it's been said, but I love how real this is. I wish I could say something different, but the reality is what struck me.
THANK YOU - this is gritty, real, down to earth, and still follows poetic conventions. The Beats would totally approve. Ginsberg loves you (even if you do prefer the ladies).
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