Early Reels

A little clarity/background on this.

• I am diabetic, I got the diagnosis when I was 4 years old, 1985 to be exact.
• My dad is one of those guys who catches the room’s attention with his magnificent stories…at least in my mind they are.
• I remember my dad taking me to an abandoned shipyard when I was young and all the shells left over brought up feelings of sadness
• One of my happiest memories was spending a day with my wife/ then girlfriend in central park, this was the first time we told each other I Love You
• The seat plaques are in reference to the benches in central park that bring joy and happiness when you see them. Messages such as “baby makes three,” or ” 40 years in Love,” adorn some of these benches
• The aisles and atrium are a reference to the first movie I ever saw in the theater. Transformers the Movie. It was amazing as a kid.
• These were some moments I recalled that were really special to me, even the negatives have shaped me into who I am today.

Early Reels…

Speak not of whispered sin,

it roots these armored chinks.

Perfection is the skin,

each layer at the brink

 

The epidermis peels,

and chamber lighting dims

Each layer fits the reel,

these long-term scripts need trim

 

The mind that suits the blade,

oh when these stratums talk

They brim with stories made,

daydreamers welcome walk.

 

The soul it flickers by,

in rich acts of the past

Dissect these memoirs, why?

I like my pondered cast

 

A scene of graveyard boats,

with steely rotting hulls

Deep heartache at the throat,

it chokes and makes us mull.

 

Papa’s fascination,

I miss that sweet old man.

His words made for nations,

though, I’m his only fan.

 

And past my memoir’s mist,

a day I shall unblock

yet snugged in sun rose kiss,

my heart adorns the shock

 

To paint an open canvas,

and help to speak my mind.

And just like driftwood, vanish,

in longing to unwind.

 

The shots they keep on rolling,

each memoir that I cut

Each one takes a toll and,

languishes in my gut

  

A bench in Central Park,

Manhattan, water-falls

One lovely message charts,

the greatest love of all

 

And passion’s mighty spring,

shall coil when it’s true

The shelter there while chatting,

is warmest when with you

 

Enjoy this rushing sea,

each day it makes me whole

How carven memories,

on seat plaques bloom the soul.

 

Childhood delusions,

some happy memories

days spent in confusion,

just learning to be me

 

In Nineteen Eighty-Five,

a happy moment plays

My infancy of life,

toward cheeks my smiles prey

 

The aisles lost direction,

the atrium’s a hush

Oak walls, introspection,

the scenery is lush

 

Glimmers of a story,

the first of memory

in view a hero’s glory,

the screen my reverie

 

My parents sitting close,

No way they gave me slack

I recall the popcorn most,

and soda with that snack.

 

That year was quite ugly,

diabetes raped my vim,

I wasn’t very comely,

my questions questioned Him.

  

This is my epidermis,

the layers of my life

Another boy imperfect,

my mind a sharpened knife.

 

These stories are my soul,

humanity enclosed

To ink a penmen’s scroll,

my entirety composed.