Green Park Benches ~ A Poem by JP

Old bearded men drifting
in the alleys of night
have died with the sunset
and as I have overlooked
their bodies beneath
green park benches and bridges
they too have overlooked my feet
passing quietly by
as the waitress slips silently
into her second or third
miserable job.

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Gifts – A Poem by JP

If all I had were words,
and we were naked in the woods,
I’d give to you the fruit

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I Wanted the World

I wanted the world, and I found it,
I poked and I prodded with certain glee.

What I had found was youthful and free,
A boyish desire for wild
And wildernesses within me,
But the world was wicked and cheap
And myself so dumb and naïve
That I had found pills and gold drink.

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We all Fall Down

Around we go again,
around this ancient dance with plague,
and though we have no rose
blotches to mark our perfect skin

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Simply to Dance

You are not an arrow,
nor is your path
flowing like time itself
from birth to death.

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Today’s Wounds

Even as newborns
we are defeated
by our very own nerves

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The Word and the Blade

I have owned words,
owned them all,
owned them as a suit–
impenetrable.

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We Break

We break
as the newspaper
and anchorman read
teleprompter like,

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Easter Eggs

I want you to carry my eggs;
I trust you and the care that you take,
yet I know that you are afraid,

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Wooden Frowns

Nothing is more disappointing,
nothing so uncared-for
as one that knows let down,

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The Cave

The night comes,
whispering at the eaves,
as if to say,

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What if?

What if I made you change
your ideologies today?
there’s babies soft and strange
and hungry human hearts at play
where algorithms dare not go.

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On a Bad Marriage

Everyday was exactly the same,
and the night did nothing,
and staying weighed me like an elephant

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The Playground of Life

There is a gypsy in her hair;
a place where I slip off to breath,
a paradise of spring and new born things,
a playground made of laughter’s glee.

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Do not Fall For a Man Like Me

Do not fall for a man like me
I am not blind; I do not see.
I am the reason storms have names

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Hero

He’s nobody’s hero,
the man that wakes at dawn,
the bagger that packs bags
’till swole with groceries.

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Guidance Systems

Divisions unite us:
The righteous verses all
who dare to dream on false idol

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You Have To Do More Than Dream

We have engaged in a silence
so profound, it approaches stupidity;

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Dad’s Shadow

On workdays he’d get up,
worn as the mattress’s springs,
and put on his dad face.
I’d sometimes see him through the cracks

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Blacker Than Black

Reading the newspaper:
It said, new material blacker

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