handed a ticket through blood

the circus is in town and I’m handed a ticket through blood.

a strong man melts to nothing at the sight of his sorrow not standing there.

the siamese twins don’t share much in common besides loose cloth.

the bearded lady holds on by a thread and smiles through to the strangers.

there are wrestling midgets who don’t fit anywhere from what they’re told, but they enjoy the company and they let the sweat roll.

the clowns all run around the field playing tricks on each other and you.

and a woman in a box who is soon to be sawed in half by a magician who’s lost his touch wonders how she got here.

i hear they have elephants under the tent held together by ego and loose chains, few people in the room for now.

and a lion locked in a cage he can’t see with a hurt paw from last weeks show.

the acrobatic brothers don’t know each other, and never have and haven’t tried and never will.

the cyclops is afraid to lose himself though he dreams as clear as you or i.

and no one likes the room of mirrors, so they reflect nothing in return.

the tunnel of love is a quick ride with a cyclical queue and charges the most per ticket compared to the others despite its tendency to break down and rumored to have killed a man before.

there’s a fortuneteller wearing bifocals in between the carousel going backwards and a snake charmer who can’t find his flute.

and that snake charmer just the night before couldn’t sleep because he misses a girl who’s never there.

and that snake is in the mood for familiar sounds and spits poison when he’s agitated.

a man who can guess your weight forgets his own with each lame guess.

the $2 kissing booth describes our existence well.

and there’s a three legged dog who trails behind the whole gypsy carny from town to town because he’s still able to and doesn’t have much else to do anyway.

the circus is in town and it may only pass thru once and things pass quicker these days.

and it’s just in your backyard.

and you’re passed along a ticket while standing in line with the others.

Once Again

By Justin Cude

I’ve been out 
there 
in the 
burning
wind
the ground 
roaring 
under
and 
I’ve seen 
it 
and felt 
it’s 
power
it’s 
rage
til it’s 
end 
and I don’t like 
new
to
begin 
when I can’t 
see
can’t see
back
over
where I’ve
over where 
I’ve 
been
who does?
who can?
who 
than?

But I’ll turn 
either 
way
so it goes
now 
to the wind
burning 
as it does
so it goes
Once again. 

Don’t you know, 
now, 
by 
now
you’re 
my 
friend, and 
always you
always you have
been
and
I’ll be there 
without, 
without 
all this,
we’ll see, 
seen,
seeing,
pretend 
and I’ll know 
you 
from back
when?
but we won’t feel 
like that,
no
not like that, no
not
like that
then
again. 

So I’ll turn now 
to the 
wind
burning with
and 
within,
against
until 
faced
with 
as it will
we’ve seen 
Once again. 

I won’t stop 
turning
and the wind
it 
wont stop 
we learned
burning
and I 
won’t stop 
trying
no,
I can’t stop 
it’s
trying
So I’ll keep 
turning
And I’ll keep 
trying
and
I’ll

Turn now 
again 
till the 
and its
end
to the 
still burning
and trying
wind 
once again 
friend. 

Moon of the Morning Sky

By Justin Cude

It’s a contradiction, but it happens.

It’s not supposed to be there, but it is.

It’s a symbol of the night, but I’m enjoying its presence this very morning,

amongst a sky bluer than the richest of ocean,

caught within the vastness of life made visible by the Sun’s provide,

sketched between the purest of white, wonderful clouds washed across the canvas of the scene.

My mind grateful for this. All of this. All beyond this, even.

But,

more so for the accident.

Grateful for what is, but wasn’t meant to be,

for the abstract nonconformity of it all.

A whole world to be grateful for,

beyond this world, even more.

But,

an accident reminds me.

It reminds me of the mystery which is life,

challenges any attempt of mine to be right,

brings to question things I may be unwilling to confront,

to be confronted by,

or to completely turn away from.

It reminds me its okay to be where you’re not suppose to.

It can be beautiful, even.

Where am I suppose to be, anyway?

Where is the moon suppose to be?

Not there, but it is.

Not here, but I am.

And it’s beautiful.

All of it.

The contradiction.

The misplaced.

The accident.

Moon of the morning sky,

thank you,

deeply,

for reminding me.

Nothing More

By Justin Cude

It isn’t lonely,

for I have been there before.

Its absence,

nothing more.

---

Pair this short read with ‘The Lonely City: Adventures in the Art of Being Alone‘, brought to you by Maria Popova’s brainpickings.

A Poem to Share: ‘Smile’ by Gloria Carter

Listening to Jay Z’s latest album released, 4:44 , I was moved by one song in particular, more specifically it’s ending passage. Given the beginning of a new week, I wanted to share with you all the beautiful words of Gloria Carter, Jay Z’s mother, and her reasoning for our choice to Smile:

Good morn or evening friends,

Living in the shadows, can you imagine what kind of life it is to live? In the shadows people see you as happy and free, because that’s what you want them to see.

Living two lives, happy but not free. You live in the shadows for fear of someone hurting your family or the person you love. The world is changing and they say it’s time to be free, but you live in the fear of just being me.

Living in the shadows feels like a safe place to be, no harm for them, no harm for me. But life is short and it’s time to be free. Love who you love, because life isn’t guaranteed.

Smile.

– Gloria Carter, ‘Smile’

A Poem to Share: Mary Oliver’s “Wild Geese”

Today while listening to Tim Ferriss’ most recent podcast episode, #223: Calming Philosophies for Chaotic Times with Krista Tippett, I was introduced to the beautifully crafted poem below by Mary Oliver, which can be found within her New and Selected Poems, Volume One. Enjoy…

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

If you enjoy posts of this type, let me know! It goes without saying, a poem every now and then is good for the soul!

Respectfully,

CityReads NYC

Subway Poetry…

If you live in New York or have traveled here in the past, then you have seen this before. If neither, enjoy…

“As you fly swiftly underground with a song in your ears or lost in the maze of a book, remember the ones who descended here into the mire of bedrock to bore a hole through this granite, to clear a passage for you where there was only darkness and stone. Remember as you come up into the light.”

Brought to you by MTA Poetry in Motion, the Poetry Society of America, and artist Sarah Sze.

– CityReads NYC