Open Mic at Art6 Gallery

Open Mic at Art6 Gallery

Thursday, September 27, 2012

Old Friends

Age has
grayed their hair and
slowed their steps but
their bond of friendship
remains strong.  Years
of travel along the road
of life, from college boys,
to  young professional men,
to family men, and now here
walking together as the sun
begins to cast a smaller
shadow, still sharing thoughts,
ideas, memories.  And I
wonder, do they think
about the day when it’ll all
end, when the good Lord
decides to call one of them
home?  Will it be a sad day?
Do they already know
time is ticking down?

Tuesday, September 18, 2012


I did it all in fear.
Fear of not living up
to expectations set by
family and elders, to
not be that good little boy
that everyone wanted, to
not grow up to be that
good man that everyone
hoped for.  I did it all
because I was afraid
to get off the road.
But now, even with
where I stand, there
is a feeling that
gnaws at my soul
telling me I should’ve
done more, that I
gave away too much
time trying to be nice,
hoping each day that
no one would be mad at me.
Fear has left me alone
in my bed, feeling
tormented and emasculated,
forever less than the
man I dream about while
I sleep, the superhero that
donned his cape, flew
through the air, saved the
world, and swept the pretty
ladies off their feet.
But there are no capes
in my closet, nor do I
fly or even garner a
notice from any female.
Nothing about me is
considered extraordinary
and many days I do not
feel loved or liked  or
even here.  Maybe that’s
becomes my biggest fear,
Fear of becoming a faceless
being, just one of the
multitudes that go to and
fro like ants marching to
their colonies.  But no one
around can write my song,
so I keep trying to find
the right words before
facing my ultimate fear:
running out of time.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

A Suburban Mom Remembers

She’s always been
one mean bitch.
She was the one
who cackled amongst
the other mother hens
about my daughter,
said she dressed too
much like Gaga, said
she needed to be taught
how to look like a lady.
She said it, her daughters
repeated it, and now
I have to dry my
child’s tears, tell her
she is still special, to
ignore what that lady
had to say.  Ignore her
just the way I have
all these years.  I
remember her from my
high school days, trying
her hardest to be like
Madonna, wearing her
MTV outfits to school,
teasing the teen boys, even
saying she could be their
Boy Toy.  But I guess she
forgot the past, forgot that
those young boys became
grown men, forget how
she stopped being a
Lucky Star, switched to
plain clothes, let her hem line
down, and eventually
learned how to cross her legs.
My daughter will learn
those lessons, too. But not
now.  It’s time for dinner;
pizza and soda for the
family tonight.  Her Dad
doesn’t need to know about
our talk.  Tonight we’ll enjoy
time at the kitchen table,
then I’ll show her how I
used to dress like Boy George.



Early bird becomes
night owl, unable to
sleep.  Her words
tonight make me feel
like a child, a
child who wants playtime
but instead is directed to
the corner to put his head
down on his desk.
The last two words of
her letter said this,
You behave
two simple words with a
simple meaning, but tonight
they feel like the swat of
a ruler across my hands;
I didn’t do anything
wrong.  I paid attention,
did my homework, and
yet I still got scolded
anyway. Now I wonder
if I weren’t so nice,
maybe then I could
get to have recess.