cool

Clumsy

Folder: 
Simple Thoughts

"A visit at my table, 

a very welcome visitor,

has a cup of coffee

set down,

 

but not before

the friend has seated herself

does the surface 

of the brew spill over,

 

splashing quietly 

as as she bumps the table with her knee.

Such a detail,

the dark, dark liquid

 

spread across the light brown

wood of where I write,

threatening to soil

the art being drawn.

 

The spillings

of the latest happenings,

the earnest devouring

of each others stories

 

lead to reading,

of depicting the next best thing

in lives still be finished,

download in progress.

 

A spiral

from one image to the next

from the warm-lit coffee shop

to digital acquisition.

 

Like this poem,

the conversation goes,

topics spiraling.

Not out of control,

 

but wildly different

in varient,

from the new job

made of dreams

 

to the steaming progress

of artwork creativity.

Reading,

the visitor stirring

 

with silent smiles

and sparkling eyes,

asking how and why

my poetry winds

 

into art so quickly,

but my answer is clumsy,

the failing of conveying

a real reason

 

for words written.

Awkward in handling it,

and unable still

to write out the soul

 

in one sentence,

stanza,

poem,

book, even. 

 

So let's write three,

I tell her,

and glee is sounded,

rounding back to her departure,

 

bumping coffee again.

But it's wiped away,

no evidence

of the one who sat across.

 

Nothing lost.

Meaning, rather.

No theme,

but a underlying feeling." 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

When someone gets more excited about you're work than you do, you should:

- keep writing

- get more excited about your own writing

- question why you're not already.

 

Don't be scared to be hyped about your own art!

The big train ride to New York City (with an afterword by my underpants)

So I was drinking and all that and
Had enough of Chicago at the moment
So I hopped a train to that big Ol' Apple they call New York City 
Biggest Apple I've ever seen
Nothing but a guitar a half-smile ya know
But that's about enough to get you any damn where in this world if you can perfect it
 
I went straight to the drink car and spent most of my money
All that booze and adventure propelled me those 23 and a half hours
And the kid next to me
Can't recall his name but I know he was from Yemen
Didn't speak a lick of English but that was alright 
We got along just fine
It was nice to have a shadow for a little while
A woman told me she repairs guitars and that I remind her of Hank Garland
I got nice and lubricated the first train-night and passed out in another passengers seat
Woke up to flashlights and yelling
I opened my eyes and looked out the window 
Thought I was in Europe
Castles and water and all those old things
Pulled into Penn Station and stepped my first feet on that New York City concrete
Harder than Chinese arithmetic that stuff
Wandered out onto 40-something'th street
Hailing a cab is a hell of a chore
Stood by a hotel and after some time a sketchy letter hand- off between my cab driver and an 11 year-old Asian boy who disappears into alley 
 I was on my way
Or so I thought
This was no blueprint trip
Off- the -cuff the whole way
No place to stay
But I figured SOME hostel would take me in
Little did I know ever damned hostel in the city was booked through the weekend
No plans
No disappointment
 As the old wanderer says
I went to a diner on Bowery
Got a grill cheese and a beer
Asked everyone around if they knew a place to lay my head
Hot lead from a passing by nicotine fiend
$225 a night!
Shit, I'll take it at 3 in the morning at this point
Wandering, guitar subway playing, made some money at least, Central Park, ecstasy on a rooftop apartment with 3 strangers, stopping in at every bar in Manhattan to try at least one beer,
 
It's not true
Everybody in New York City sleeps
Except me
(To be continued)....
 
View hce's Full Portfolio

Summer's Wane

Those cool September nights
chilling us so.
Though we dressed in remembrance

of August

with her warm, welcoming ways
waving us in for a safe landing
upon a soft shore.

The chilly, early fall evenings
cool upon our skin,
but within we’re dripping sweat
in my backseat,
bent.

We hit some turbulence in these dimming skies,
highlighting our wanting eyes,
with all the typical tints
of yellow and pink,
purple and orange,
so awesome and grand
hanging over this
cold land.

-Ryan K. Fuller

Author's Notes/Comments: 

No comment

View rfuller's Full Portfolio