They said that I ain't too smart I tell you from the lowest reach of my heart This, is what I appreciate, in artContinue reading “New York City Cop”
Like someone coming out of a trance. Tie-dye pattern, white, blue and lime green hat. How I reached this seismic fashion statement, Known only to Gods and Prophets. Revelations they're not revealing. Noticed on the street. Pedestrians make way, doors held open, traffic stops. Café coffee refills, merely for a presence. 'Live' advertising, Eye-candy snagging passing trade. Little actual conversation so far, suspect due to shock. Mouths agape, inside empty car showroom caverns. Begging paws shaken, offered by upright sitting dogs. All this life I have felt desired, But now, I feel valued.
©Brinkinfield 2020 All Rights Reserved Part of the Ekphrasis Project (poem inspired by a picture)
My dearest Jemima Journal,
I am sure you will understand.
It’s time to review that top drawer,
Pull socks-and-pants from a dark hinterland.
Resembling a bloated melange,
Absent form, lacking pairing and folding,
A call for a cull I broadcast,
Cruel riddance applied, not withholding.
They must go! They must go! Go they must!
These relatively old worn-out saggy things.
Slung in the bin and out of my sight,
Before my judgement swings.
Wait, why do I ever feel sentimental,
Over losing cotton or woollen underclothes?
No! I want softness, newness and fresh colours,
To cover my bum, ankles and toes.
(British definition of Pants: men’s underwear – male styling/cut/shape)
I KNOW what they were thinking, seeing me
wear a leopard-print shirt.
That I was making some kind of statement,
What next, lipstick – a short plaid skirt?
Conservative society (with a lowercase “c”),
You’ve got to stand down, let people be free.
You validate thugs, to behave how they want.
My advice: mainstream-insiders, just be… nonchalant.
“Ah, but you’re a frilly attention-seeker!”
“You want us to stare and peek.
You’re an introverted wastrel,
An unnatural freak!”
What did I do, I ask, to generate such hate,
To so stick in your craw and exasperate?
I’m just wearing a shirt of a classic design,
No need to pray, for intervention divine.
“That’s an idea! Strike you down, strike you down!”
What response to an attitude such as this?
Since it’s they who free fall,
Into the infernal abyss.
This poem, inspired by a “Hate Crime” experience.
In UK Law, a hate crime definition includes a situation where the offender demonstrates hostility towards the victim based upon the sexual orientation – or the presumed sexual orientation, of the victim.
Heron, I saw you fly overhead,
To describe better I might say ‘glide’.
I’d overslept, got out late from my bed,
O’er rush hour traffic, your wings spread wide.
That long beak is a good identifying clue,
Then I saw those long legs dangle!
Seeing them, made me smile upwards to you,
From my static, earthbound angle.
*How many times must a writer revise and edit,
Before satisfaction is grasped?
How many times must the same thing be read,
Before an end can be named?
The answer is countless, infinite and forever,
The answer is insanity comes first.
*Ironically, this whole verse written in one single go.
But maybe it shows?
(Inspiration/explanation: The author is currently caught in a cycle consisting of around 600 words, which form the basis to ‘the beginning’ of a new short story – one completely unrelated to anything Dylanesque. Laid on the bed, dressed in T-shirt and underpants, one slipper on, one slipper off, laptop on lap, I just so happened to shout out the first line of this improvisation – in frustration, to the tune of “Blowin’ In The Wind”. The rest, followed promptly.)
People as strangers, I find generally rude.
That’s how I feel, as an average dude.
They live by a raging, self-entitled arrogance,
A template used, based on sheer ignorance.
I’ve witnessed this attitude, cut through social strata,
From London to Milan, New York and Bogota.
Not only these cities, but across the whole globe,
Offence found in all places, I’ve chosen to probe.
Whereas, I hold open doors, I do so without fail,
Say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, compose polite emails.
It’s not that I’m a sad-sack nor a needy maniac,
Doesn’t everybody benefit, from modest positive feedback?
When eaten by the rudeness, I appeal upward to Zeus.
Despite knowing well, it will serve little use.
Best thing to do, without a trace of sarcasm:
Smile earnestly, move on, with a revived enthusiasm.