the world is kinder
people are happier
holidays have begun
welcome to ‘em, Kimosabe
now follow that star
stay light in the wind
and the loved ones you rode in with
happy holidays
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Holiday Meal
the extended family around a grand table
awaited the feast to begin
in joy, much drinking and laughter
a chorus of oohs and aahhs while grandma
placed the golden plattered turkey
in the center of our festive throng
fine spirit abounded, then all lights went out
there was a scrambling, some shouts,
until a cry of pain did command
when the lights came on,
grandpa had tears in his eyes, a turkey leg
and seven forks in his hand
(This poem appeared on Twelve Days of Poetry
on the site Poets Who Blog.)
awaited the feast to begin
in joy, much drinking and laughter
a chorus of oohs and aahhs while grandma
placed the golden plattered turkey
in the center of our festive throng
fine spirit abounded, then all lights went out
there was a scrambling, some shouts,
until a cry of pain did command
when the lights came on,
grandpa had tears in his eyes, a turkey leg
and seven forks in his hand
(This poem appeared on Twelve Days of Poetry
on the site Poets Who Blog.)
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
dream ride
the image of the name
flashed like a flame
now it’s a shame
not to recall
where, how, who it is,
what was happening and why,
I should have awakened and made a note
and written it upon the sky
debris on Wild Sleep River moved on,
floated tumbling, passed while I dreamed,
whatever so concerned me then
is not so important now, as it had seemed
flashed like a flame
now it’s a shame
not to recall
where, how, who it is,
what was happening and why,
I should have awakened and made a note
and written it upon the sky
debris on Wild Sleep River moved on,
floated tumbling, passed while I dreamed,
whatever so concerned me then
is not so important now, as it had seemed
Monday, December 22, 2008
festive weekend
in an old stone church one street over
an eighteen voice choir sang
hymns for the Holiday Season
from various countries, languages and centuries,
singers trained and well led
then to our local restaurant to get well fed,
pasta and wine amid crowded tables,
a final stop for a glass of wine at Juliano’s
the homey bar on our street
this was Saturday's evening treat
Sunday we went to Rome’s music auditorium
to hear the youth orchestra, near one hundred fifty in their unity
that played like the young masters they will be,
we applauded encouragement, they bowed joyful acceptance
an afternoon well spent for all
an eighteen voice choir sang
hymns for the Holiday Season
from various countries, languages and centuries,
singers trained and well led
then to our local restaurant to get well fed,
pasta and wine amid crowded tables,
a final stop for a glass of wine at Juliano’s
the homey bar on our street
this was Saturday's evening treat
Sunday we went to Rome’s music auditorium
to hear the youth orchestra, near one hundred fifty in their unity
that played like the young masters they will be,
we applauded encouragement, they bowed joyful acceptance
an afternoon well spent for all
Sunday, December 21, 2008
coffee to go
Juliano, I’ll have another Coffee Wombley, please
yeah, I don’t know either, just made it up
sounds Presidential, doesn’t it?
oh, and here's today's poem
after a night of solid slumber
roaming velvet treasure swirls
it’s a pleasure to emerge to exchange my
fogged over dream form
for this dogged down worn wrapping that I use everyday,
with substance enough to function,
to get another calendar page torn,
as back to the strife of life in this world I’m reborn
What’s that Juliano? Oh, thanks, you really think so?
but I didn’t spend hours on my hair,
it does it by itself,
I sleep spinning on my head
turn down the music
both hands on the wheel
take your time, remember to smile
you know that I know how you feel
if you want to know more
then buy the book
if you have to ask where
it's not worth the price,
one may question your judgment
and throw away twice
the dream cocoon you crawled out of
soggy, yet still crispy on the edges
have a nice day, Earthling
you too, Juliano
yeah, I don’t know either, just made it up
sounds Presidential, doesn’t it?
oh, and here's today's poem
after a night of solid slumber
roaming velvet treasure swirls
it’s a pleasure to emerge to exchange my
fogged over dream form
for this dogged down worn wrapping that I use everyday,
with substance enough to function,
to get another calendar page torn,
as back to the strife of life in this world I’m reborn
What’s that Juliano? Oh, thanks, you really think so?
but I didn’t spend hours on my hair,
it does it by itself,
I sleep spinning on my head
turn down the music
both hands on the wheel
take your time, remember to smile
you know that I know how you feel
if you want to know more
then buy the book
if you have to ask where
it's not worth the price,
one may question your judgment
and throw away twice
the dream cocoon you crawled out of
soggy, yet still crispy on the edges
have a nice day, Earthling
you too, Juliano
Saturday, December 20, 2008
old
now I know why
old guys wear suspenders
cause there comes a time in life
when a man has no ass,
and that’s about the time
you finally realize
that you see more old drunks
than you do
old doctors
old guys wear suspenders
cause there comes a time in life
when a man has no ass,
and that’s about the time
you finally realize
that you see more old drunks
than you do
old doctors
Friday, December 19, 2008
time to be wasting
awakened by the thunder boom
to start to another brutal rainy day,
below now, from the window i see
squatty dogs in sporty plaid slickers
out for a float and a crap
then home for a nap
while hard strung owners, with plastic bags,
chase down the street
before it gets away, faraway
before crap gets away,
a somber melody
in the key of life
for the eternal city
to start to another brutal rainy day,
below now, from the window i see
squatty dogs in sporty plaid slickers
out for a float and a crap
then home for a nap
while hard strung owners, with plastic bags,
chase down the street
before it gets away, faraway
before crap gets away,
a somber melody
in the key of life
for the eternal city
PWB Poetry for the Holidays
Happy I am to participate in Poets Who Blog Twelve Days of Poetry. Check them out, please. Say hello for me.
Happy Holidays,
Jack
Happy Holidays,
Jack
Thursday, December 18, 2008
the poor crazy lady
for her,
wherever she may be,
not like Heidi the locally known,
quite often drunken
homeless woman of Borgo Pio
who every week fell off the wagon
drank too much and then according to the news
finally died of complications relating to exposure
one extremely cold winter's night
in the doorway of Vatican Radio
this is another thing, something else
although she too was homeless
the poor crazy lady at Campo Dei Fiori,
gone now just a few months
I forget her name already,
stayed around the piazza for years,
maybe five, maybe six years,
moved from outside coffee bar table
to table to doorstep, with pen and paper
writing long notes, sewing, repairing her clothes
crocheted once in a while, or just sitting,
looking off, through and beyond
dressed inconspicuously, well enough,
sometimes had a crazy hat
didn’t drink to excess, an occasional beer
only once in a while she flipped out,
just a yell to hear herself,
for all to hear
a long wailing call, nothing more,
some said she yelled when she ran out of medicine
I don’t know if this is true, I think sometimes she yelled
because she felt like it
most always she was fine,
stayed around, a stray from another world,
observed others sometimes, but generally
didn’t see us, minded her own business
tourists didn’t notice her,
didn’t make a mess, kept to herself
when I inquired I heard they took her to hospital
I tried to find out more
no more of her story is known or spoken about
did she suddenly get worse in her behavior,
or did a chic store owner tire of her hanging around,
think it was bad for business?
they do come and they go
on the ever slow tide,
one day they appear,
stiff wooden ghost ships out of the mist,
greyed sails torn, half raised flag
from no discernable country
even in this aged piazza
of calls, vegetable stands, residents, and churches,
of restaurants, stores, shutters, cobblestone and old lamps
heat and damp, cold winds and early morning stillness
once in a while even fixtures are changed
a tear for what’s her name
wherever she may be,
not like Heidi the locally known,
quite often drunken
homeless woman of Borgo Pio
who every week fell off the wagon
drank too much and then according to the news
finally died of complications relating to exposure
one extremely cold winter's night
in the doorway of Vatican Radio
this is another thing, something else
although she too was homeless
the poor crazy lady at Campo Dei Fiori,
gone now just a few months
I forget her name already,
stayed around the piazza for years,
maybe five, maybe six years,
moved from outside coffee bar table
to table to doorstep, with pen and paper
writing long notes, sewing, repairing her clothes
crocheted once in a while, or just sitting,
looking off, through and beyond
dressed inconspicuously, well enough,
sometimes had a crazy hat
didn’t drink to excess, an occasional beer
only once in a while she flipped out,
just a yell to hear herself,
for all to hear
a long wailing call, nothing more,
some said she yelled when she ran out of medicine
I don’t know if this is true, I think sometimes she yelled
because she felt like it
most always she was fine,
stayed around, a stray from another world,
observed others sometimes, but generally
didn’t see us, minded her own business
tourists didn’t notice her,
didn’t make a mess, kept to herself
when I inquired I heard they took her to hospital
I tried to find out more
no more of her story is known or spoken about
did she suddenly get worse in her behavior,
or did a chic store owner tire of her hanging around,
think it was bad for business?
they do come and they go
on the ever slow tide,
one day they appear,
stiff wooden ghost ships out of the mist,
greyed sails torn, half raised flag
from no discernable country
even in this aged piazza
of calls, vegetable stands, residents, and churches,
of restaurants, stores, shutters, cobblestone and old lamps
heat and damp, cold winds and early morning stillness
once in a while even fixtures are changed
a tear for what’s her name
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
like flying
they’re still talking about it and well we should
i didn’t vote for a prisoner of war
who doesn’t know he owns seven houses,
a hero is something else,
and i didn’t vote for cute skirt, dim light,
i’m an independent, always have been
and voted for youth and intelligence
we could use some of each
by the way,
now at presidential news conferences
reporters will be required to remove their shoes
and leave them at the door
think of it like flying,
it’s like flying
i didn’t vote for a prisoner of war
who doesn’t know he owns seven houses,
a hero is something else,
and i didn’t vote for cute skirt, dim light,
i’m an independent, always have been
and voted for youth and intelligence
we could use some of each
by the way,
now at presidential news conferences
reporters will be required to remove their shoes
and leave them at the door
think of it like flying,
it’s like flying
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
how to do economy
economy is like break fast cereal
you need about a hundred of them
lined up in big boxes, the bigger the better
wild animated characters, some animals
in bright primary colors, drawn with thick, sloppy lines,
large eyes, big teeth and grins
out of control, fearless, taking a chance
if they dance and play an instrument - that’s good
then a dull leader you can make fun of
funny looking, one who tries to be serious
names like healthy, lean and natural are good
as a rule - bears are better than elephants
add money and stir
if speech is necessary “create terms”
now you’re doing economy,
then get out before you’re caught
you need about a hundred of them
lined up in big boxes, the bigger the better
wild animated characters, some animals
in bright primary colors, drawn with thick, sloppy lines,
large eyes, big teeth and grins
out of control, fearless, taking a chance
if they dance and play an instrument - that’s good
then a dull leader you can make fun of
funny looking, one who tries to be serious
names like healthy, lean and natural are good
as a rule - bears are better than elephants
add money and stir
if speech is necessary “create terms”
now you’re doing economy,
then get out before you’re caught
Monday, December 15, 2008
the old days
in the old days, say 1850,
when the barber shaved someone
did the local blacksmith make the razor
from the steel of wagon wheels?
Sheffield, England produced
straight steel razors, popular then,
they were often honed and stropped
you’ve seen it in the movies
here’s why it’s called the old days,
in 1850 the population of the
Unites States was 23 million
today urban Tokyo has 28 million
when the barber shaved someone
did the local blacksmith make the razor
from the steel of wagon wheels?
Sheffield, England produced
straight steel razors, popular then,
they were often honed and stropped
you’ve seen it in the movies
here’s why it’s called the old days,
in 1850 the population of the
Unites States was 23 million
today urban Tokyo has 28 million
Sunday, December 14, 2008
indians
indians lived where i lived
many years before
they taught their kids to hunt and fish
and painting passed their lore
when roads were only twigs bent
in winters severe
and fathers left for day, with sons,
to follow the wounded deer
indians lived where i lived
only many years before
when morning sun was sacred,
according to their lore
fires burned by the river in
cold nights, long and clear
strong in nature and in will
they stalked for food, the deer
i'd like to sleep under a tree
you and me
i'd like to sleep under a tree
just you and me
(yes my daughter, Catherine, when you were very young I wrote this song for your entertainment.)
many years before
they taught their kids to hunt and fish
and painting passed their lore
when roads were only twigs bent
in winters severe
and fathers left for day, with sons,
to follow the wounded deer
indians lived where i lived
only many years before
when morning sun was sacred,
according to their lore
fires burned by the river in
cold nights, long and clear
strong in nature and in will
they stalked for food, the deer
i'd like to sleep under a tree
you and me
i'd like to sleep under a tree
just you and me
(yes my daughter, Catherine, when you were very young I wrote this song for your entertainment.)
so many, so much
many web sites
much information
to read and digest,
i keep it quick so
you can look and nod
then get on
with life
go read a book
write a book
eat a cookie,
this time of year
a four syllable word i like is
hibernation - something constructive:
eat a lot then sleep all winter
much information
to read and digest,
i keep it quick so
you can look and nod
then get on
with life
go read a book
write a book
eat a cookie,
this time of year
a four syllable word i like is
hibernation - something constructive:
eat a lot then sleep all winter
Saturday, December 13, 2008
The RiverTevere
through many days of rain,
thousands watched from bridges,
disaster flooded many
along the long river Tevere
now, at last, blue sky,
cold waters will recede,
for those unscathed
normality returns
thousands watched from bridges,
disaster flooded many
along the long river Tevere
now, at last, blue sky,
cold waters will recede,
for those unscathed
normality returns
Friday, December 12, 2008
At the Corner of 63rd and Life
what i am doing
with this blog of poetry
is the best i can
at the corner of 63rd and life,
my objectives are too easily clouded by
hyperbole and dense intense delusion,
my favorite being that i need one
hundred thousand blog hits a week,
why? so I can go on Oprah? when?
will they pick me up? do I have to wear makeup?
the next day will Oprah invite me to lunch?
will she still know me? can she cook?
will she send me a holiday card via email?
tell her i don’t open any attachments
this afternoon i got a cell phone text message saying
for only 1.2 euro (that’s how they wrote it) i could get
a chance to win a new Fiat,
what kind of chance they didn’t say,
but if i don’t spend 1.2 euro
it implies my slim chance bypasses all at high speed
and zips directly to Hell’s Inferno
great. if you want to give a new Fiat away
do it, park it outside and leave the keys in the mailbox
i’d ask for a driver, but M. can do that, she likes to drive,
that’s settled then, i’ll wait to hear the keys drop in the box
until then i have stuff to read and things to write,
i’ll walk to the store when i have to,
to help M. carry the groceries,
and continue to do the best i can,
i know we won’t be going in a new Fiat
with this blog of poetry
is the best i can
at the corner of 63rd and life,
my objectives are too easily clouded by
hyperbole and dense intense delusion,
my favorite being that i need one
hundred thousand blog hits a week,
why? so I can go on Oprah? when?
will they pick me up? do I have to wear makeup?
the next day will Oprah invite me to lunch?
will she still know me? can she cook?
will she send me a holiday card via email?
tell her i don’t open any attachments
this afternoon i got a cell phone text message saying
for only 1.2 euro (that’s how they wrote it) i could get
a chance to win a new Fiat,
what kind of chance they didn’t say,
but if i don’t spend 1.2 euro
it implies my slim chance bypasses all at high speed
and zips directly to Hell’s Inferno
great. if you want to give a new Fiat away
do it, park it outside and leave the keys in the mailbox
i’d ask for a driver, but M. can do that, she likes to drive,
that’s settled then, i’ll wait to hear the keys drop in the box
until then i have stuff to read and things to write,
i’ll walk to the store when i have to,
to help M. carry the groceries,
and continue to do the best i can,
i know we won’t be going in a new Fiat
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Giacomo picked me up
coming out of Standa grocery store
walking in the sun toward the Tram Otto
I see a smiling face looking at me
It’s Mirella
there, at an outside coffee bar amid traffic on Vialle Trastevere,
we sat at a table and reunited with Mirella and Aldo
now four years retired from the outdoor market,
she’s had each leg operated on and is walking again,
I had painted her many times when they worked
in the Piazza Campo Dei Fiori
later Giacomo picked me up near the bar of the witch
at the corner of Lungo Tevere and Vittorio Emanualle
we went to Donetella’ restaurant for lunch,
she was in Copenhagen, but the staff was there
the lad from Romania called me by name,
the parmigiana di melanzane that looked like taquitos
and tasted like heaven
lucca looked older, walked with a crutch,
he had an accident on his motorino,
Sunday he goes to his sailboat in Barbados
to take tourists around for a month
heavy rain again this afternoon in Roma
after lunch Giacomo dropped me off
in front of Santo Spirito Hospital, one of the
oldest continuous running hospitals in the world,
I’ve spent some nights there before the renuvation,
when the church part was a large open ward for the men,
this afternoon I caught a bus from there
on the way home I stopped to inquire
about an old friend, a gentle man,
we used to see quite often dining at the Oassi,
he taught at catholic college, used to play piano duets
with Pope Ratzinger in private rooms at the Vatican,
last year he was doing better, his voice returned,
the lady at the coffee bar said
he became weak again this summer,
after forty years in Roma
Father Lawrence went home to London to die
the sky has darkened,
it’s only four p.m.,
the street lights are on already,
it's colder now,
how quickly days tumble by
as we reach December
walking in the sun toward the Tram Otto
I see a smiling face looking at me
It’s Mirella
there, at an outside coffee bar amid traffic on Vialle Trastevere,
we sat at a table and reunited with Mirella and Aldo
now four years retired from the outdoor market,
she’s had each leg operated on and is walking again,
I had painted her many times when they worked
in the Piazza Campo Dei Fiori
later Giacomo picked me up near the bar of the witch
at the corner of Lungo Tevere and Vittorio Emanualle
we went to Donetella’ restaurant for lunch,
she was in Copenhagen, but the staff was there
the lad from Romania called me by name,
the parmigiana di melanzane that looked like taquitos
and tasted like heaven
lucca looked older, walked with a crutch,
he had an accident on his motorino,
Sunday he goes to his sailboat in Barbados
to take tourists around for a month
heavy rain again this afternoon in Roma
after lunch Giacomo dropped me off
in front of Santo Spirito Hospital, one of the
oldest continuous running hospitals in the world,
I’ve spent some nights there before the renuvation,
when the church part was a large open ward for the men,
this afternoon I caught a bus from there
on the way home I stopped to inquire
about an old friend, a gentle man,
we used to see quite often dining at the Oassi,
he taught at catholic college, used to play piano duets
with Pope Ratzinger in private rooms at the Vatican,
last year he was doing better, his voice returned,
the lady at the coffee bar said
he became weak again this summer,
after forty years in Roma
Father Lawrence went home to London to die
the sky has darkened,
it’s only four p.m.,
the street lights are on already,
it's colder now,
how quickly days tumble by
as we reach December
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
laid felt ye same sanome
“laid felt ye same sanome”
i wrote these words,
for years they were on a piece of paper
on the side of my refrigerator
i don’t know what it means
the words sound like something to me
the sounds are the poetry
it’s a chant, a mantra
more words are for my hurt
when i put it out there where it won’t go
i gave to someone who couldn’t give back
saw it coming
knew it all along
fell again
hurt again
should have ducked
that’s enough, for now, for then
in a while i may do it again
that’s what we do
always the ones we can’t have that we go for
the ones that want us, we don’t want
it’s in the past now
yet I recall
this foolish way of youth
felt ye same?
i wrote these words,
for years they were on a piece of paper
on the side of my refrigerator
i don’t know what it means
the words sound like something to me
the sounds are the poetry
it’s a chant, a mantra
more words are for my hurt
when i put it out there where it won’t go
i gave to someone who couldn’t give back
saw it coming
knew it all along
fell again
hurt again
should have ducked
that’s enough, for now, for then
in a while i may do it again
that’s what we do
always the ones we can’t have that we go for
the ones that want us, we don’t want
it’s in the past now
yet I recall
this foolish way of youth
felt ye same?
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
the masterpiece of kin
the masterpiece of kin is cunning
in similarities quick to begin
at times they think the same
grip the same,
gripe the same
walk and talk, dress
and look the same
i remember a family of five brothers
all looked like their father
half again like their mother
a year parted each birth
a revolution of the sun
between each of their worth
enough to get another
one practically
same as the other
not in the name
but in the soul
lies cold truth told
deep somewhere in the whole
where a lonely star hovers
the person slips through
to be their own self
apart from the others
not in the name
but in the soul
lies the whole
deep somewhere
in similarities quick to begin
at times they think the same
grip the same,
gripe the same
walk and talk, dress
and look the same
i remember a family of five brothers
all looked like their father
half again like their mother
a year parted each birth
a revolution of the sun
between each of their worth
enough to get another
one practically
same as the other
not in the name
but in the soul
lies cold truth told
deep somewhere in the whole
where a lonely star hovers
the person slips through
to be their own self
apart from the others
not in the name
but in the soul
lies the whole
deep somewhere
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