Poetry (when it’s successful)
 is a path to deep and high places,
 a way to connect with the sacred.
 That’s why it’s important.

 I live in Manhattan, and host Soul to Soul,
 which features contemporary poetry 
 from around the world. 

 

nostalgie de la boue, et puis...

neon, sweat and vinyl,
needles and broken bottles,
lying low before the next big thing 

scoring, snorting, hits
in dives and other dirty places,
wheeling in be-kool deals 

serving the greedy, cruel and arrogant
for dollars, pounds and shekels,
cowering before what we become 

we offer our wisdom now
hard won in the darkest of places
to the kinks of Hollywood 

we the prodigals, forgiven, consulted,
tell our stories of diving for treasure
now, of everyman's nostalgie de la boue


 
("nostalgie de la boue, et puis..." 
translates "nostalgia for the gutter, and then...")
 

 
The fallen angels
 
Words can freeze revealed truths
and transform meanings.
Following dogma
many grope towards the light
and fall or stumble,
warriors losing battle flags
sacrificed to profane causes.
 
Until they need to reach
far within and beyond
(sometimes called "suffering
and the last straw")
followers fail guidelines
they haven't sourced,
not unlike mothers bearing
children with malignant marks.