Steven Fried

Steven Fried Aug 2013

I can't write a love poem
I'm missing a muse
I'm also afraid of cheapening the art,
of being generic.

I can't write a love poem,
but I'd love to…
why am I afraid to try?

Steven Fried Aug 2013

Brevity and the like

Brevity is suited for the ******.
Elocution can be twisted into a knot,
and used for courtly euthanasia.

Brevity is best used for condemnation.
Concordantly, circumlocution is perfect for the panegyrics,
of that same party.

So if your the ****** or damning keep it brief;
no one wants to hear a fool trip over his words,
or a liar sing praise of his foe.

Steven Fried Aug 2013

Lost in the Decadence

I wander
and question.

I may have been raised on the wrong language
or continent,
or culture…

The hubs of European culture
have me lost,
and fumbling with my own.

Lost in a park,
a canal,
a street,
architecture,
decadence and delicacy.

Steven Fried Aug 2013

Revolving Doors

Revolving doors are after me,
Brushes from a stranger are pickpockets,
Financiers are after the little man's money,
Bankers are all corrupt,
Politicians are all corrupt,
Everyone has an agenda...
or maybe I'm just paranoid.

Or maybe,
this is a delineation of the deplorable state humanity,
and the world,
has plunged to.
Maybe my paranoia is,
a byproduct
of years of justification and
rational motivation

Steven Fried Aug 2013

"Do you believe in God?"

On a chocolate tour through Paris,
after asking me which type of ice cream I would like,
My tour guide asked me if I believed in god...
I told her it was a loaded question,
and said "Plum and yes."

An odd question from my self-proclaimed,
atheist,
and godless tour guide.

She said she didn't believe in Adam and Eve because
she was studying Archeology,
hence she could not believe in god.

I felt bad for her.

Steven Fried Aug 2013

Poetry in Paris

I don't understand why I'm confined
this **** hotel room
I want to be out
only 24 hours in a day...
eight hours of sleep?
let's try four.
I've done it!
I need to break out
I've learned not to sleep.
To make the most of my time... I guess that means poetry
Poetry in Paris...
I'm sure I'm not the first one who has had this idea....

Steven Fried Aug 2013

Paris 1

The desolate feeling of being in a foreign country and having a case of the monolinguistics…is done to death.

The constant smell of burning cigarettes is
nothing new.

The pick pockets who give the city a bad name are
unfixable and unshakeable.

The attraction for the brightest minds in the world though…
that's impressive, inexpressible, and so utterly obvious.

The stunning structures,
warm atmosphere,
and beautiful architecture,
don't hurt.