Suburban NJ Park

In night, when the ripples that water makes,
are pieces of silver,
that my eyes buy,

there,

I was walking around a small lake
with petals from planted trees moving in a slow breeze,
a slow jazz piece, playing to and for any and everyone,

there,

with the water ripples accenting the play on the petals in the breeze,
with some children walking near to me,
with their new hopes and future dreams,

there,
stopping or lurking, like some spy looking in upon a life that was not granted to me,
feral,
and wanting in
to the world
of which
I was
not.

there,

I saw an egret in a tree!
Odd white bird standing!
In a tree!
20 feet off the ground
and
staring at me!

Two strangers watching the mutual strangeness dance between us,
each,
saying to the other,
"Hey, man, do you belong here?"

And I smiled that quirky old man smile that you get when you are and when you know and your sandpaper thoughts and gravely voice meet the day the way the grandpas did, with their 1950's cigars and pot-bellies and rough-life-lived-eyes.

And the egret,
still staring at me,
perfectly innocent eyes staring,
wanting to know,
what I was doing there...

I had no answer as I walked on watching more silvered ripples play in the light on the suburban New Jersey pond, by the street lights, near the old movie theater, the fancy new ice cream shop and the town library where young mothers go, with life in their eyes and joy and hope and joy and hope for their children, precious diamond gems all, decorating the landscape with a forbidden beauty I watch from the distance of my staccato breath-halting lungs.



++++++++++


Hey dere...

here's a new one...

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Suburban NJ Park

In night, when the ripples that water makes,
are pieces of silver,
that my eyes buy,

there,

I was walking around a small lake
with petals from planted trees moving in a slow

breeze,
a slow jazz piece, playing to and for any and everyone,

there,

with the water ripples accenting the play on the

petals in the breeze,
with some children walking near to me,
with their new hopes and future dreams,

there,
stopping or lurking, like some spy looking in upon a life that was not granted to me,
feral,
and wanting in
to the world
of which
I was
not.

there,

I saw an egret in a tree!
Odd white bird standing!
In a tree!
20 feet off the ground
and
staring at me!

Two strangers watching the mutual strangeness dance between us,
each,
saying to the other,
"Hey, man, do you belong here?"

And I smiled that quirky old man smile that you get when you are and when you know and your sandpaper thoughts and gravely voice meet the day the way the
grandpas did, with their 1950's cigars and pot-bellies and rough-life-lived-eyes.

And the egret,
still staring at me,
perfectly innocent eyes staring,
wanting to know,
what I was doing there...

I had no answer as I walked on watching more silvered ripples play in the light on the suburban New Jersey pond, by the street lights, near the old movie

theater, the fancy new ice cream shop and the town library where young mothers go, with life in their eyes and joy and hope and joy and hope for their children, precious diamond gems all, decorating the landscape with a forbidden beauty I watch from the distance of my staccato breath-halting lungs.