Graffiti

Subways, taxis and trains are New York's tourists

Their windows noticing graffiti on concrete walls

Bricks are jigsaw puzzles scattered with spray paint

The art of "Taggers" seem thoughtless to eyes of the city

 abstract letters pass these hazel eyes at a fast tempo

leaving behind a growing wonder about graffiti ed names

"Misunderstood." they screamed dying to be heard.

Only the ghosts of the artists lost soul seemed to listen.

Eyes studied hard at the offense that dared be called art

listening for a whisper that shows stories of shattered pasts.

painted lines were drawn as directions on maps to the artists heart

modern day hieroglyphics from people with ancient and worn souls,

wishing to make a mark in the world

I guess we all try and find a way to be heard.

2 million people breathe the air of New York

day by day it passes through their lungs in rhythm 

No one could hear it's music over the heavy traffic

Yet someone in it's maze of crowds creates art

And is heard.

 

The Street Performers create graffiti with instruments

The New York Times graffiti with ink on fragile paper.

Models and Stars graffiti with pixels on Times Square

Tourists graffiti with footprints they leave as they tour 

The chefs of local cafes graffiti with rich sauces and taste

The business men graffiti with graphs and stock shares

Doctors graffiti with stitches in the lives they save

Soldiers graffiti with gunfire that rings with freedom

writers graffiti with their veins they pour into words

Yet these taggers all have something in common

Heartbeats and lungs that wonder what to live for

New york is a city easy to lose oneself in

between the narrow streets and skyscrapers.

But the city is small compared to this big world

It's no wonder we graffiti our names into it

At this moment 7,284,331,343 names are signed on birth certificates

a contract vowing "To Live." beyond what our lungs can expand.

Photos we take, hearts we give, hearts we break, and words we write

These are graffitied on every surface of what makes us human

Hoping one day someone with searching eyes will notice our artwork

Wanting to know the story behind the paint on our walls that are put up

to know of the heartbreak and the way the artist's heart beats and feels

To understand the "Misunderstood" soul behind the abstract shapes

I guess its about finding someone who appreciates art

That's when we know we've been heard.

To taggers everywhere, keep signing your name

You deserve to be heard.

Days and Reasons

We met on a Saturday so cold we could see our breath,

watching the steam rise through conversation we held.

Words came to wonder, hidden in my curious eyes

That night, you were the reason my heart decided to thaw.

We had our first date on a Monday so rhythmic with music.

We listened for hours as hearts beat through hands we held.

Amsterdam made us a playlist that night and formed hand written art

That night, you were the reason I believed in red painted canvases

You kissed me on a Wednesday so sweet it tasted like honey

Our lips collided, my veins felt and carried through my body.

Signals in my brain were miss firing and running wild in dance

That night, you were the reason I was forgetting how to breathe

We took a drive on a Thursday and toured each others hearts

Your hand strummed my knee like guitar strings you know well

lights blurred by and lit up your eyes that looked into mine

That night, you were the reason my eyes sparkled brighter

I left on a Friday filled with repeated songs of Angels and Airways

reminding me of you at every stop light and the passing street signs

The music stopped with my ringtone that lit up with your name

Last night, you were the reason I couldn't seem to stop smiling.

Its pouring rain on a Saturday as I drive to the beat of Amsterdam,

the anthem plays through speakers demanding me to write again.

hearts are traced against the clouded window that I have touched

Tonight, you're the reason for my fingers making art. 

Inspired by the Horizon Line.

Inspired by the Horizon Line

When someone searches for inspiration

They begin their search at the night sky.

Their eyes stare in mystery and wonder,

Gazing at the distant stars miles away.

They search for glowing comets and galaxies

And stars that race across the atmosphere.

Afraid they’ll blink and miss a shooting star.

That's why it’s magical when they happen to find one.

Their eyes search for impossible secrets

That the vast empty night might hold.

They breathe in the midnight breeze

Hoping the air that had just kissed the stars

Might actually kiss them back, inspiring them.

They always count on stars to share their secrets.

Because are constant, no matter where in the world.

Their loyalty to writers is what makes them intriguing.

It's what keeps someone coming back to be inspired.

Someone might hold their eyes to the sky for hours.

Waiting for words to come that captivates an audience.

Meanwhile lost eyes miss just below the horizon line,

The work of art that's been placed right in front of them,

It’s Waiting for them to bring their eyes down and search its beauty.

This work of art carries unknown variables.

Never constant like the stars and spaces held.

It changes based on where someone is watching from.

The variety of art on the horizon line is what’s alluring.

For some, they might see a distant city.

The life of the city glitters in the lights.

Busy cars rush by to a certain fast pace tempo,

While geometric buildings create striking patterns.

For others, they might see an infinite ocean.

The dark waves create a dance in harmony.

The reflection of the moon lies on the water

It looks distorted, making a Picasso masterpiece.

Someone might look down and see a young couple,

Fingers laced while stealing kisses as they walk.

It might not be an art work like the familiar sky,

But the couple has their own stars in their eyes

Everyone looks to the stars to write poems about.

Stars are unchangeable and as such predictable.

If someone were to look below at what holds the stars.

The risk of being inspired is greater.

What they end up writing about is uncertain.

But maybe, someone could write something equally as beautiful.

 

I looked at the endless Logan sky tonight.

The stars were loyal and sparkled through cold air.

Around me empty space stretched as far as I could see

And tonight, emptiness is what inspired me.

Rythmn of Rain

Hearts had new rhythms that started skipping

set to music of the rain that was slowly dripping

Grey and dark the sky fell slowly in a dance

Making the darkest of hearts desire romance.

Teardrops slide down the window making art

As a soul can only wait for a love that fell apart

Boots splash in reflected puddles that lay in streets,

forming a memory of a sudden last kiss that still repeats

Sounds of thunder collide into cracks of broken hearts

Waiting for lightning to revive the beat backwards into art.

Love floods the city in rivulets of someone’s veins

Until loss of unspoken words hits in a storm that rains.

Raindrops hit their skin and sink in with regret

Over mistakes made in shapes of silhouettes

 Clouds take cover and gathered above

Watching them drown in what was once love.

They held on for rainbows and clear skies

But were only embraced with hard goodbyes

The rhythm of the rain was set to a new pace

It’s too bad their love had to be replaced.