Blurry Days & Nights In Los Angeles

top bloke

i met a boxer at a sports bar

he was talking shit

to the bartender

just had a fight last night

he’s 14-0 now

told him i’d make it 14 and 1

he came over

pretended to hit me

bought me a drink instead

puerto rican guy

top bloke

a construction guy came in after work

talking shit about his boss

and his car had broke down

was going to catch the train home

stopped to have a pint instead

top bloke

an old native indian with dreads down to his chest came in

talking shit

said he had the best weed in town,

“all these younguns don’t know jack all about weed”

“show us what you got,” i said

we went out to the alley had a smoke

fattest blunt i’ve ever held but it was just the nub

burned my fingers on it but his weathered fingers didn’t notice

top bloke

the boxer bought everyone drinks at the bar

a shot and a pint each

and then another round of pints

a few other mates came in

top blokes from around town

i had to get to a brewery across town

promised some friends

couldn’t drive

construction guy lived near the brewery across town

had the construction guy drive my car

i sobered up on the drive

made it to the brewery in time to buy a round of drinks

sat for the rest of the night with mates

had the energy of a boxer

flowing through me

rest of the night

top bloke

just trying to write

cars out of gas

just trying to write

traffics a mess

just trying to write

policeman’s giving me the eye

just trying to write

there’s a line for the coffee

one simple sentence

the caffeine has taken over

a chapter

people reading over my shoulder

one simple poem

girlfriends all mad on the phone

about you

must’ve done something bad

and me

trying to get out of my own head

on the mountainside

that one day in spring

i was a regular for a while

at a local cafe

i would go early sometimes

right at the crack of dawn when they opened

and the brunch chef and the barista

broke up after a few years of dating

but

on this one morning they had a shift together

and it started getting busy

so busy they didn’t have time to change the music

and “i’ll keep on loving you”

was humming out the speakers.

and wordplay was still the best foreplay

to this day

i wish you knew

we don’t talk anymore

we’re continents apart

she just stalks me from afar

but both of us know

the pillow talk we had

was something different

i hope she is well

you gotta be the worm that’s earlier than the bird

just a man pushed to the limit by loneliness, blues, folk songs, beer, old paintings, heavy books, scribbled notes, and a brain full of love but a heart that lost too many times, what a powerful man that was to me

she came into the cafe

and hugged me so familiarly

like we’d shared a past life together

it shocked my system

couldn’t write the rest of the time

just sat and looked at her

talk and laugh

and i think i cracked some jokes

and we read some poems

but my mind was trying to connect

back with our other life

and see how it had been

why did it feel so familiar

and easy

she was across the table from me now

hours had passed

since she’d come into the cafe

and hugged me so familiarly

Angeles in The Winter

L.A. in the winter was beautiful once you had lived there long enough and had learned to avoid the chaotic freeways, the car crashes when the rain caused the oil on the ill-suited roads to surface. when you had learned to ignore the selfishness of the citizens and you had hunted down authentic ones to surround yourself with. 

the beauty slowly arose with the slow growth of green appearing momentarily on the surrounding mountains. 

the snow lasted a little longer than the green. and if you made it into the mountains at a time of snowfall you truly felt the winter in its glorious cold haze.

when you let go of the digital tools never leaving your side and mind and started to create solely with the analog tools at your disposal in the unoccupied coffee shops during early mornings while the general public fought the roads and the madness. 

when the rain pounded on the sun awnings for hours and you managed to catch it in its torrential state. your heart lived in the space with the other coffee shop patrons passing off the rain’s energy through eachother’s molecules as you sank into a moment of time made possible only by the long droughts of summer.

the nostalgic feeling rain in L.A. gives to all its immigrants of another place, a temporary escape.

it’s the same feeling as if you stumbled upon a song with lyrics of home that caused minutes and time to mean nothing to you anymore.

when the chill in your bones doesn’t work opposing to acts of creation but causes the adrenaline created from the cold to push out into your art.

when the muse and your body’s shivers meet in a scribble of nostalgic love of remembrance of the places in the world where rain is commonplace and green is normalcy and you are happy and satisfied without a burning drive for success and wealth. and you know you are now creating something great and magic because success in L.A. doesn’t matter anymore. only creation and pursuit of dreams do. 

but it took you the chilling air of winter to truly understand.

and it only happens for two weeks a year.

and only in L.A.

- fin -

thanks for reading. now,

Back to Poetry Menu you go.