Park Bench Philosopher

Park Bench Philosopher 

Park bench philosopher/
Discoursing on life’s meaning/

His certainty binds him/
To the bench he sits on/

Long ago he chose “to know”/
Everything his own way/

Evicting human doubt/
Bound him to that park bench/

Curiosity’s doubt/
Would have long-ago freed him/

Instead (to impress some girl?)/
He chose “omnipotence”/

He sounds like a professor/
To those who will listen/

Those who know, however/
See a bug trapped in amber/

The sap is his creation/
Sticky discourse of self/

Importance eludes him/
In his fabrication/

From within sticky lies/
He builds isolation/

A fortress as concrete/
As the prison’s he describes/

As his butch bona-fides/
Riker’s Island Vacation/

Though he’s never traveled/
Far from the green park bench/

Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T

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4 responses to “Park Bench Philosopher

  1. You have taken my on a journey, to sit next to you, and the Park Bench Philosopher, you leave so much for the reader to wonder, brilliant, thank you, much appreciated , WS

  2. I have a preference for your longer poetry and prose, And even in my distracted state of mind i could appreciate your words. It really is like a story that sucks you in. I wonder if you have ever dabbled in story writing…

    I have to leave a comment of more substance when I’m not memorized by the picture! Snowwww : stares longingly: … It’s been in the high 90’s here in Texas with temps feeling after humidity in the 100’s. The sun is so bright and pressing here… i saw this picture and just want to face plant in the snow. Lol.

  3. Thanks Johnny and Confessions:
    This came back to me and there is a man I want to write about who always said, sagely, though in a misguided sense of victimhood, that it’s “the on-going story of whitey.” What he meant was as a critique of the fascination with the middle class Caucasian lifestyle that was the center of most movies, TV shows and stories he came across. He was also a park-bench raconteur par-excellence. This tale was about a version of him and an afternoon spend in Washington Square Park in 1981 waiting for the cop-man.
    The stories will come.

  4. Gorgeous photos and poems…Keep the good stuff coming!

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