Tag Archives: friends

the Story of the Parka


Amy is wearing my sweater
she pinched it on wednesday
but i wont say.

Amy is wearing my coat
she stole it on the weekend
but she’s my friend

i followed her to the end of the road where mud would splash in puddles and the rain left scar marks on earth and that street we would cross as kids and that old tractor nobody uses and the tree stump under the orange tree and the grove of trees where it gets thicker-

and the grove that suddenly has five types fruits and three types greens and lemons and apples and then turns corn fields grape vines pine trees oak ,burl, in a whirl, and there-

is the tallest tree in the world,
and five hundred coats are lying there,
and a hundred sweaters
and i swear
she kneels down and puts mine on the branch
and i see this head peep out
and then five hundred kids and a hundred adults
are waiting for their share
that amy’s going getting beds
and she can get them there.

and i run back home pass the whirl and the burl and the oak and pine and the grape vines corn fields apples lemons greens and fruits-

and i pass the trees and i pass the stump and the tractor, street and scars on earth to the end of the road where the mud splashes puddles and makes for chocolate rain

and i heaved and sighed and realized
ill never wear my clothes again
and i know the reason why.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry



the Newness of Experience


there were these gargoyles on the side of the avenue

butting thier heads at the start of each conversation

I’m part of this new nation, see

we like each other for being one another

and not somebody in the crowd

Daniels here, he has a 401k retirement and doesn’t give a damn about the present

he’s only 14.

Lilah is 25 but she smokes on the weekends

and Laurie likes to write.

The summer went fast enough

and the grass on the farms just keeps on growing

and the time keeps on slowing

and the car keeps on going

and the love all keeps showing

why, I think I was at the curb yesterday

Wishing you wouldn’t come around.

but when you did,

I just had to ask you and the rest of the town

“What am I supposed to say about you?

(or about most of us)

what do I say

about the way a head is held proudly,

supposed to be happy.

Why am i always filled with the boasts

the unusual cowards

the ones that are a mix of fascination

and repulsion?

can you tell me

what emotion am i expected to feel?

What the hell do you expect me to feel?!”

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry