Inspiration can be contagious

Half decade

A stone cold frosty night
In a sporty yellow tiburon
Carried all my fright
Of a love story: 'Once upon'

A tepid kiss we connected
On high school love-hut stages
Our artistic was reflected
Acting through the summery phases

Of glory in the bright limelight
And learning from writings old
Of striving for 'getting it right'
Always being loved, never feeling sold

But at last we thought we lost
Our blushing pop connection
Yet still, even mirrors looked to us
to find their love reflection.

So know that in your soul,
what we had was more than gold
That someday we'll go out
and ride the rousting Roundabout
For that is what I treasure
Five years from our fifth of November.

The New Century.

For years they believed.
And finally, seeing was believing.
He couldn't time travel to see it
in its heyday. He wished he could.
But he took a mental picture.
Because, someday, someone like him or her
will look back — a century from now
and wonder what those nights
must have been like.
2012.
It was a different world back then.
They had cars on wheels.
And computers.
And the first black president.
And only men and women could marry.
And everyone thought the world
would end in December, because of
an ancient Mayan calendar.
But it was only the beginning.
The new century, the 2000s,
was still in its infancy.
For years before they feared how
art would survive through the
next decade.
But there were no more 'next decades'
It was a new century.
A glistening century.
A time a change.
There were still 88 years left.
Those nights were magic.
Many thought the era in which people
went to theaters died with the last century.
But it didn't.
It was alive.
And it was only the beginning.

Rifuto

Il rifiuto era la vita.
Sentendosi respinto era un altro sentimento.
Se non è stato lanciato nel ruolo che volevo, ho spostato in avanti.
Ma, come ci sviluppiamo più vecchi, perdiamo la nostra insensibilità.
Il rifiuto diventa più difficile.
E ci sentiamo più arrabbiato nei confronti delle persone che ci rifiutano.
Potrei gridare.
Potrei dire il mio pubblico a respingere le persone che mi hanno respinto.
Ho alcun talento?
Potrei essere così male?
Rifiuto indugia nel mio corpo come un veleno che si rifiuta di uccidere me.
Rifiuto fa solo arrabbiare.
Ma invece di combattere di nuovo, invece di far loro del male, farò quello che so solo come fare.
Riprodurre la musica sul mio giradischi.
Indossare gli occhiali da sole.
Scrivi.
Appaiono favoloso.

inspiration

so delicate
yet so used
so abundant
until it's gone
we take for granted
until we break it.
do we abuse it
or is it part of time?
it is suspended in a moment
like a ribbon spun around a spool?
that we latch onto
connected on our typewriter
and unraveled
punching out our ideas
using it as our ink; our fuel
completely undifferentiated
yet pulled, unraveled and matured
until it stops.

yet we move on through time
waiting for our next ribbon.

like the writer
waiting for his next character
to form in his mind
like the actress
who will play it.