email: dmbsoccr41@aol.com age: 19 school: university of new hampshire major: music education (fer now...) rocks: mint oreo ice cream, eating pretzels and watching the sox on the couch with my dawg ro snacks, when i come home from work and my mother's already made me a sandwich, 147 glasses of melonade, women being beautiful... important: converting times in my life into music worth time in other people's lives, being interested in the world, being there when im needed, the little details...

*Featured Artist November 2003*

Poems

between the sun and the tides

Song Lyrics

Whisper My Name mars

Fiction

George

Whisper My Name

i smile in the darkness at no one
when you wriggle your toes on my shins
you do it when you're cold at night, you press yourself against me tight
and pull the blanket up over our chins 

ive seen girls with faces you see on the stages
at movies, on billboards and such
with bodies and features of mythical creatures
but i've seen none i'd rather touch

i want you to hold me
until we fall asleep
with your arm across my chest
and your breath on my cheek

i dont mind
i dont mind 
i dont mind....

ive been surrounded by ideas unbounded
of wealth and success and of fame
they're there all the time but not worth a dime
to the nights when you'd whisper my name

i want you to hold me
until we fall asleep
with your arm across my chest
and your breath on my cheek

its two past eleven and you're off in sleep
i dont mind 
i dont mind
when you steal the sheets 

I was walking my Aunt's dog, Jo-Jo, beside the Charles River. It was the beginning of autumn last year, and I remember the breeze gliding through the streets and across my face, not summery but not yet carrying the crisp chill of fall. I wore a plaid shirt, open so the fresh air could whirl under my arms. It tickled the little hairs on my stomach, and made them stand on their ends.

We left the calm waterside and headed for the main streets which lead home. As I walked with Jo-Jo (always a few steps ahead) we passed attractive lipstick-wearing businesswomen in black jackets, many late to meetings and hobbling humorously down the street in their overpriced shoes. Bicyclists and skateboarders received kind words and gestures as they weaved in and out of the buses and taxis. Joggers zagged all around the sidewalk, some working off double tall lattes and company dinners, others working towards the body they would never attain. Jo-Jo and I stopped at the crossing of Central street and Storrow drive, as a moving van sat diagonally, blocking the crosswalk.

Having a second to soak in the city bustle, I looked at my surroundings, and noticed a bank at the corner, a Starbuck's across the street from another Starbuck's, and a man selling Italian Sausages for six dollars and fifty cents each. I noticed people in line, buying the sausages. On our section of sidewalk, Jo-Jo and I were flanked by Adele's Boutique and a fancy cafe. Behind us and about ten feet back, at a black metal table, businessmen took lunch, soup and sandwiches resting atop leather briefcases. They raised their voices at one another about bonds and company revenue, stabbing palm pilots and glancing at their watches and cell phones in between bites. I must have pushed the button at the crosswalk about 30 times.

We crossed the road and Jo-Jo decided to test the territory next to a stand selling Italian Ice. I yanked on his leash, lifting the front part of his body off the ground, but he was steadfast in his decision, and the back of his body was already busy.

A few feet from the side of the stand, an elderly man sat at the edge of a wooden bench and rotated his head to look down at the dog. He half-coughed half-chuckled, rustling a woman's head, seemingly his wife, as she laid her head on his shoulder under a pillow of wispy white hair. He slowly traced the leash with his eyes until it met my hand, followed my arm until it met my shoulder, and looked from the neck to my face. "The boy knows what he wants, eh?" he asked me.

"Oh, Jo-Jo?" I said, wiggling around the leash. "Sorry, I don't normally let him go here."

"Ah don't worry son," he motioned towards the mess, "it's not my business to deal with." He leaned his cane where the wooden part of the bench meets the metal frame, and reached his hand out to me. "I'm George."

I took his hand in mine, and was surprised by the firmness of his grasp. I must have shown my surprise because he smirked. "Not the grip you expected from an old man like me?"

"Well," I laughed uncomfortably, "I guess not, sorry. I'm Steve by the way."

"No apologies, I'm used to it." He looked down at his wife, who's eyes remained closed on her husband's worn overcoat. "I've gotten practice over the years with the grip, you know."

"How's that?"

"Shaken a lot of hands."

"You a politician, George?"

His lips rose at the ends. "Never had a thing for politics."

I nodded in understanding. "Man of my own heart. So why all the hand shakes?"

"Well," he said, "I try to meet at least one new person each day. Today it's you." He looked down at the Jo-Jo, who was lying comfortably on the ground, licking his privates.

"May not be the most sanitary thing now that I think of it, because of all the handshakes, you know? But I'm not looking too bad, I don't think. I guess the germs haven't gotten to me yet."

"Guess not, George. Good thing too. You seem like a nice enough man."

"Done it for the last 40 years or so, come and sit here," he said, glancing down the sidewalk. "I bring Helen." He patted the old lady on the head. "She usually falls asleep, like she is now, but she must have met quite a few people also."

I tied Jo-Jo's leash to the Italian Ice stand, and crouched next to the bench. "So you come here every single day?"

"Well I try. When either of us is sick, or when the weather is too bad, we don't come out, but otherwise, we try to. Usually two o'clock. I'm eighty-one, you know," he said, pointing at his chest.

I stood for a moment, trying to do the math in my head. George coughed. His wife's head bobbed, turned, and slid off his shoulder and onto his chest. "Sorry, dear," he whispered down to her. He looked back at me, staring at the sky in thought. "More than ten-thousand people, I think," he paused. "Steve, was it?"

I nodded.

"Steve," he said to himself. "Today, it's you," he repeated. "You're my guy."

I thought about it for a moment and looked at George. He was right. He looked pretty good for an eighty-year-old. Sure, his hair was translucent and he coughed like an old moped, but he could have passed for upper-sixties. "So," I said, "why do you do it, George, if you don't mind me asking?"

He stroked his wife's hair, and with the other hand, pointed at a group of tourists trying to make sense of a subway map. "There," he said.

He moved his finger towards a teenage couple holding hands and giggling down the road. "There."

A man sat down on the other side of the bench, and fed a piece of hot pretzel to his son, who jumped on his lap. George cocked his head towards the man and his son. "Look at the little guy," he said.

"Why do I do it?" he repeated.

"Yeah," I said, "why do you do it?"

He looked up and smiled, holding out his hand for me to shake. "I just told you, son. Ten thousand people."

between the sun and the tides

if you look near the swirls of flawlessly mixed colors
between the sun and the swelling tides
the blues and the purples and darker blues meet the orange and the 
reds yellow and greens

a seagull drifts in the wind

a seagull drifts in the wind
above where the water ripples and the boat bobs
and a sailor gazes through the fog at the upcoming shore

where children play with sandy feet and buy ice cream 

where people meet people and streets meet streets
and there are young lovers and old friends in the dark

a seagull drifts in the wind
above where the water ripples and the sailor's boat bobs
but beneath the dark sky 
in the distance 
is a crease

a crease brings down the bidding signs
takes the waves and the colors off the wall 
sending the swirls and the seagulls 
to a corner in an attic 

somewhere

where there are no salty breezes 

there are swirls
and flawlessly mixed colors
but between the sun
and the swelling tides

is a crease

mars

tonight i think i'll sleep out on the deck
because i can
because i can

tonight i think i'll be lulled by the breeze and the waves
because i can
because i can

and no one will tell me how to live my life
and i'll be just fine

tonight i think i'll call up my best friends
trade in my work shift just to see them
because i can
because i can

i'll watch the game with one
and sing with another
because i can 
because i can

or maybe i'll chat music 
with my brother
because i can
because i can

and no one will tell me how to live my life
and i'll be just fine

cause when the clouds thicken and seas turn rough 
i know im standing tall enough
to make my parents proud of their son...
and if they’re woken in the night
i hope they’ll fall asleep alright
thinking of the job that they have done

tonight i think i'll try my luck with her
or maybe i'll go visit my grandmother
or lie in bed till noon without a plan
because i can 
because i can