On the Boardwalk

Sometimes, it is misery that brings me here.

I once a year declaration to a mirage so close…So near.

With further toil.

I know that is not the end result.

Turmoil…being the Utopian lack of doubt.

The salt that falls between the crack in the lines.

No requiem for heat.

No casket for pine.

Only a thirst in search of drunken kind.

Wheels humming to a string quartet.

Rhythm settling down to wheels on indifferent surface.

A beat lays waste to smells of words not met.

There is sweat, exhaust…

There is dread.

Nine months set to the surface of not digging too deep.

Ten months begin the tapping of my feet.

By the time a call has been sent out.

The fear is gone.

There is no doubt.

 

 

 

Flushing Fear

highly inappropriate 1
Whatever you do with your fear…Just don’t look down!

 

Scene:

Laconia Bike Week 2014.  Weir’s Beach, New Hampshire

Characters:

Moped Lady

Jamaican Pot O Potty worker named, Dejohn

 

Moped Lady:

I’m afraid.  All the years I’ve been coming here…these things have been like death!  I don’t want to catch anything!

 

Dejohn:

Whateva yuh du maa.

Just dont luk dung!

Just dont luk dung!

I heard it in the night Words that thoughtless speak...so cunning and complex, only the narrow minded can see
I heard it in the night
Words that thoughtless speak…so cunning and complex, only the narrow minded can see

 

Weir’s Beached

barren bone 3

 

Barren and bold

Stone cold bone

Alone soot from a sodden stove.

 

Shook the itch…

that conclusive bitch.

She felt like poison ivy with a nervous twitch.

 

Left by itself

it could have passed,

as a vacant father’s vacant past.

 

Some beaten Beatnik, however,

rode along.

Placing passion with an off beat song.

 

Smoked by grass and distant cat fights.

And liberally located ink-ed nights.

 

Don Quixote plus Don Juan plus a two-legged motored steed.

Rambling Rose meets Dirty Deeds.

 

Grasping at compassion everyday...
Grasping at compassion everyday…

 

Art as if Your Life Depended On It

There are no challenges out there not worth dying for.  The chances we take whether depth depriving, death defying or magical have hold of our psyche.  The art of Moped Balancing is no different than flying…you take your eye off the sky and the earth seems to be in the palm of your hands!