A Living Art


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The traces on the body are that of an architect
A walking amazement
Crowds cheer, though silently
Thus, the self proceeds, oblivious of such.

The outline of the body is that carved by nature
Fruits to the head
Sweetness for the belly
Feet move like trees breezing naturally.

Personality in the body is a sack, that of diamonds
Some seen as more prosperous than others,
Following it: an essence of pure heart
Yet, you don’t see that you are art.

Copyright © 2017 by, Charles Joseph Augustin



Sunday Morning (poetry)


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Church has multiple services:

As late of a bird as I am,
The earliest service is always my aim:
When on the path to Jesus Christ,
The majority is asleep.

(But the birds are awake!)

Lending harmonies and voices;
Making my inner smile,
As I ponder. On previous choices
They talk.
But to only those who mind,
Those with peace exploding in the mind

So find a comrade, in the air:
A wind
A mist
A spirit
That insists

Copyright © 2017 by, Charles Joseph Augustin

The Last Bite (Poetry)


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I live for Thursday afternoon dinner,
At the Crossroads Culinary Center.

Orange Ginger Chicken mopping my tongue,
Salivated between my molars.
Oh, if only my stomach could bare the vastness

Almost makes worth of
Pointless lectures;
Endless tortures.
I will look forward to full-fill-ment,
You, pursue accomplishment.

Sesame chicken, passion expression
Library sit-in.
Look to yours, and I’ll find mine

I’ll find mines of Gold in my soul
Hopefully, there’re treasures in your goal.

Copyright © 2017 by, Charles Joseph Augustin

Through The Storms


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Many men, have watched you walk Down into waters

Many less, have seen that you rise a goddess—

Rivers flowing down your face, As you progress through this desert

Chase sun,

Chase clouds,

Chase rain

But one day,

You won’t chase storms.

Copyright © 2017 by, Charles Joseph Augustin


Domino Pieces (Part 2)


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It reminds me of Home.

Where exclamations did not reach stopping points

Where grown men roared

With growls and excitement stretching for

Ears of neighborhoods behind where the sun sets.

Oh, these men moved mountains

Each time the reoccurring cheers and slams were


Enough to penetrate dreams.

And the women moved mountains, too.

Whenever whatever stops them

From seeing where the sun rise.

Domino Pieces (part one)


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On the corner of Troy and Eastern Parkway,

There’s a hive of Haitians.

Swarming an old wooden table

Skeleted with Domino Pieces

Summoning loud conversations about…

Who knows?
It attracts me Home
It attracts me Home.

Where these old tables are glistened to look new

With skinny metal legs twisting

“I need to pee”

Yet, it still withstood the exhilarating slams

Of Domino Pieces.

Reverberating magnificent melody behind mountains;

An echo that seizes attention,

Ask for respect–your temptation.
It reminds me of Home

One Swipe


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Legend has it:

When a New Yorker’s phone dies

And they seek to find

“My way back home”,
They kiss their ears with the sun-kissed pavement;

Concrete sidewalk,

And let their soul connect to the undergrounds:

The rushing, swivel


Fetch for distinct sounds of 

Rumbling; Tumbling


Belonging; Life.
Follow all that noise–

A screetch known to be cultural

To the nearest train station.
In NYC, every train points Home.

“Don’t Talk to Strangers”


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They told us shades are cool,

But now. we can’t see
They told us we’re too loud,

But now. we can’t speak
They told us these bracelets are a gift,

But now. we’re not free
They told us they wouldn’t shoot,

But now. we’re hashtags
They told us they panicked,

But now. we can’t breathe
Copyright © 2017 by, Charles Joseph Augustin