Change = Growth

Change Is Life
Growth Is Optional
Reads the poster
On the wall
Of my hotel room
With which I really
Feel need to take issue
Because nowadays it seems
Growth is not optional
In the least at least not
For those of us
With a mind and will
To survive

Monday Afternoon Weeding

This afternoon

In the backyard
Pulling at weeds
In more ways than one
I said to myself

In its perennial bounty 

This crabgrass is spreading
Like a gospel that  
Can't be overstated enough

As we partake of a story

Not fixated upon

Each individual’s demise

As an end in itself

But from the roots
A process unfolds

Continuous in its glory
Even if now I must
Address myself
To the annoyance
Of weeding 
On my hands and knees
Across the entire lawn

 

On the Tourist Bus Ride

"We are all here on this planet as tourists. None of us can live here forever." -- So says His Holiness the Dalai Lama. Here's a short poem I wrote that takes this tourist metaphor in a slightly different direction.

Wouldn't it be funny

If the business end

Of our journey

Through life and death

Really was arranged

Like a hop on hop off

Tourist bus for which

One ticket purchased would

Beget successive rides

Much the same way

We progress from

Dream to waking state

In similar fashion with

Each nap or lifetime

Providing further occasion

To disembark before

It's time to move on 

Lines Written on the Western Bank

Somehow we arrive

At the intersection

Of what we can afford

And what we dream

If we’re lucky that's where

We drive a spade

Deep into the loam

The Writer's Life

I wrote this poem this afternoon in response to an email I had received several months earlier from Shambhala Press.
 

The Writer's Life
 

It's just not enough
Being a writer today
To be blessed with
A distinctive voice
Because the way
This industry
Has been trending
For a couple years now
You also need
An identifiable brand
Like Tolstoy
or Jacquelyn Susann
In order to stand out
And be heard

And now comes
This entirely new notion
I recently heard
From Shambhala Press
In their response
To the submission of my
Monkey King verse
Which they claimed to admire
Oh so very much
Yet declined to publish
At this time due to my lack
Of a suitable platform
Whatever the hell
That means

And the more
I thought about it
The more it bothered me
I mean the platforms
I best know about
Were those ascended
By the Great Buddha himself
And surely that's not what
Those savants on Mass Avenue
Were suggesting I needed
In order for my title
To get added
To their front list --
An overly daunting
Requirement for authorship
So it seemed

Moreover
If I had
Any such platform
Why need I bother
With the likes of them
Or any other
Old school publisher
Indeed

And then
As I further
Pondered these things
I thought to myself
Fuck it
Who needs
Any of them
An author today
Must be the complete package
Just as the best man toasted
The bride at his friend's wedding
Wrap it up!

Now it's time to sell
As best you can 
How else make the most
Of the times that we live in
An era when everyone
Must not only create
But promote as we do

This Is the Main Event

I want to reassure you
Few loyal readers
Of my personal blog
And myself too
That this really is
The main event
In the three ring circus

And I promise to continue
Announcing all major breaking
News items here first
With respect to my own
Life and Times
No matter how much
It otherwise seems

Lullaby Composed on East 22nd

By an empty lot
On East 22nd Street
And Third Avenue
The jackhammers were
Pounding away well after
Nine o'clock tonight
As I walked by

And the sign proclaimed
It was a Toll Brothers
City Living concept
Not knowing exactly 
What that means

And I thought
To myself
Can there
Be anything
More preposterous
Than this bunch of
Idiot brothers
Who overbuilt the
Suburbs damn near
The point of extinction
Showing up here
In my own back yard
And setting up shop

God Bless you
Mayor Bloomberg
And a very good night indeed
Though quiet in the least
It very well may not be