STILL SEARCHING by Anthony Frisina
I started this little book of poetry around 2002, inspired by my friend, Steve Landis, who published his own book of poetry at that time. » Read the rest of this entry «
January 14th, 2015 § 0 comments § permalink
STILL SEARCHING by Anthony Frisina
I started this little book of poetry around 2002, inspired by my friend, Steve Landis, who published his own book of poetry at that time. » Read the rest of this entry «
December 26th, 2014 § Poem #434 § 0 comments § permalink
You wanna talk to Z. He’s the guy who runs anything cookin’. Anything food…Hey, Z. Folks wanna talk with you about volunteering.
There was a smirk to his tone, as if he thought they were there simply to satisfy some guilt, like he knew they were going to be a One N Doner.
December 25th, 2014 § Poem #433 § 0 comments § permalink
It all feels like false interest
to give a reason to something
I feel simply and purposefully just exists, only…
“Were you influenced by the collusion of the
worlds of (eclectic artist) and (eclectic artist)?”
“No. Not really.”
“What about subconsciously. I am sure you were influenced without even knowing.”
“No.”
“Oh.”
December 24th, 2014 § Poem #432 § 0 comments § permalink
It all seems to just exist for me
I am inclined to do the positive thing
yet still I find more and more humor in
all of these people taking
purpose
far too seriously
Why the need for only one structure in the world?
I understand our species is drawn to order,
as all life is that lives under natural law
but
why so insistent on being original?
December 23rd, 2014 § Poem #431 § 0 comments § permalink
What is the obsession with spelling? Written grammar? What does it matter if I spell “youth” as “uth” or “yuth” or any which way. Would you not still understand what I mean? Does the misspelling of it make the point any less true?
(But that’s not how you spell it)
But what is the problem? You read it, understand it, and its intention is clear. What is really wrong? What is the consequence of bad spelling?
December 22nd, 2014 § Poem #430 § 0 comments § permalink
The tables are dirty. What is she thinking, wiping them? She is young, tall, every morning this week, here, so not a student…It’s summer, though. She might still be a student.
We are all older here, all white. They are all young, darker skinned giving the impression that they have heritage south of this country. They are always smiling whereas the customers are usually strung out, frantic, sometimes kids running and parents yelling…tidal waves of energy.
Why do we punish our kids with nominal work that exists to cater to us who are not working? Their weekends, their holidays are all here, in these coffee shops, everywhere, making sure our weekends and our holidays are enjoyable.
December 19th, 2014 § Poem #404 § 0 comments § permalink
on the street outside
store window is silent, still
a living snowglobe
the point is not to
understand what is to come.
just the path matters
Stare into your eyes
See the stranger become friend
Know yourself both ways
Try altruism,
she said as I gave her time,
then she asked for more
New Orleans, New York
Chicago, Colorado
Each day, a new home!
Bruce and lil’ Jesus
blast the night with Christmas joy
Die Hard…Die Hard Two
af
(written with pen on paper)