default category?
Take the suburban train
Departing to the west
Through forests and meadows
Away from the city.
After an hour ride
Exit at the station
That is always empty
And fascinatingly silent.
Go up the hill,
Walk past the spring,
Cross the river
By the old bridge.
Then come to the glade
That has a small pond near it.
The house that you need
Is the first on the right.
In the Granite State is
a small town special
to me although, maybe not
to you. Up Route 3 then over
to I-89, where Vermont and
New Hampshire meet, just
south of the snowy White Mountains.
Sweltering summer days at Storrs Pond,
autumnal apple picking at Riverview
Farm, skiing down the frosty cold snow
at the Dartmouth Skiway, hiking up
Mount Cardigan in the blooming spring,
where each year, we returned.
The bustling main street
filled with the familiar bakeries,
restaurants, and shops.
Where I used to spend
so much time, and now,
hardly any.
A cat is how I perceive myself
I socialize with my friends
And exchange news and insights
I hear the rhythmic pounding of
The basketball dribbling back and forth
On the glossed hardwood of the court
I enjoy school and my studies
Yet I also enjoy relaxing
In my room or on the couch
I enjoy savoring the few
Peaceful and solitary moments in my day
With only my thoughts to accompany me
As the clamor of the outside world subsides
And a serene and tranquil feeling surrounds me.
As I settle into restful sleep
Ravaging to the bone;
Brain slowly encased
at the hands of
Dark smoke,
Forcibly forgetting
The birdsong at dawn
And the wolf howl at dusk
Leaving an incomplete shell
Keeping an imprisoned soul
Yearning to communicate,
Failing to feel
Entering the subway station, I have been used to such a scene, The crowds are like waves, one after another, pushing against each other. Complaints, shoutings, quarrels, rushing into my ears.
People collide with each other like bulls in a limited space.
Struggling to squeeze into the narrow subway, Surrounded by tight breathings.
The subway drove out of the dark tunnel, a ray of sunlight spilled through the window.
Everything is restored to its usual, The turmoil turns back to tranquil.
No matter how hasty the morning is, Our plans are not disrupted. We look forward to tomorrow, Just like yesterday.
This is Shanghai.
Deceptively calm scene, stage set for a fight
Rows of black, empty space, rows of white
A battlefield the grid will provide
Menacingly identical armies, either side
Soon to become an intricate collection
A network of threats, trades and protection
Every possibility worked out in advance
Pawns and knights inch across the blank expanse
Enemy’s strategy broken down to a science
Simple plastic statues united in an alliance
All the possibilities laid out and dissected
Vital intelligence compiled, collected
The scheme evolves: erased, and redrawn
A bishop for a rook, a knight for a pawn
Until finally the path is set for a win
Their queen is captured and the games begin
Their front line fails, only stragglers left
Valiant resurgence suppressed with deft
A pack of wild dogs, the pieces advance
Cornered, weakened, the enemy stands no chance
A flash of action, tactical genius at play
The king – besieged! Soon to be prey,
No mercy to be given, victory awaits
‘Click’ the piece is placed – checkmate!
No more street cars
Passing by going who knows how far
One way record spins r
& b sways in smooth echo
Rocking this deserted diner to sleep
Smooth enough for the ears of us Nighthawks
Bulbs buzz strung up
Above the counter hung up
On nothing, no thoughts
At this sleepy street corner
Soft red stop light energy flows through the windows Smooth enough to illuminate the eyes of us Nighthawks
Goodbye sweet football,
Oh how you’ll be missed,
The Friday night lights,
And the knockout hits,
Title: Yearning for a Football Autumn
It’s hard to project my feelings on the finishing of the fall,
One part of me is happy to be free,
But the other is not at all,
I have to come to terms that my favorite sport is over,
A longing feeling sinks to my shoulders,
I should be happy for it,
I can spend time with friends,
But here comes the thought, time and time again,
There will be no more jokes cracked at the team dinner table,
For those were the last days we were actually enabled,
To suit up after school and go to work,
With a sense of great pride, even though it may have hurt,
And some days we would question if it was worth,
The hours and the effort we put in with no immediate return,
Yet, on fridays that all changed,
We were silent and collected,
The stands were roaring, fan’s voices projected,
We would run out ready to try for a win,
Because we know we’d never all play together again
Only right two times a day,
That’s what all the world will say.
My arms lay broken at my side,
In broken glass my hands do hide.
A stray ball that came my way,
Broke my soul while kids did play.
Gears that used to fit so well,
Began to grind, that’s all I could tell.
I used to click so tried and true,
Now my state is oh so blue.
My way of life I could abide,
Now left with my tarnished pride.
At the entrance you enter a new and unexpected place
than what you were just on for hours
From miles upon miles of flat empty grasslands
To a world of tall trees and dirt roads.
Dirt road leads you to a beach
White fluffy sand
Kids and adults playing soccer
While listening to music on speakers
Ice cream and churro vendors attract
The attention of hundreds
At your house in Carilo
The scent of asados radiate into the night sky
Laughter fills the table for hours
Where stories are told
And never forgotten
At your house in Carilo
the scent of asados radiate
into the night sky.
Laughter fills the table
for hours where stories
are told and never
forgotten