I’d like to tell you this is a love story, something fuzzy, warm and cuddly. Instead I’m kicking myself for his misfortune. It wasn't my fault. I tried to help. I'm just asking why don’t they understand that 20 years in the city has taught me things an outsider doesn’t know?.
For sure I told him to be careful. I know I did. It’s a given. After all, he was a new guy to the city, coming in to the train station for the first time. But what good was my telling him? How can someone digest the importance of everything heard in a transatlantic phone conversation, when there is the excitement of the trip to think about.
When I gave him my phone number he wrote that down. But who is going to write down the warning “watch out for thieves”?
rome welcome
a friend arrived in Italy by boat
on a luxurious sixteen day cruise
with six ports of call
to the final port an hour away
wanted to help every way i could
hell, everyone likes special treatment
offered to meet at the train
to kind of ease him into the city
this experienced world traveler
said he could easily get one block to the hotel
he was going to handle it,
would call when he got in
about the time I expected
the phone rang, he called to
tell me yes, he was in Rome and
his wallet was stolen at the train station
credit cards and about five hundred dollars
gone with the quick hands,
this is not the end of the short story,
he still has three weeks to go
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
mediterranean see me
I may change this a bit, but here it is for now. I can critique my poem and say I should stay on target. See the objective, figure out what it is I want to say, and which way the words have to go to get me there. Today I prefer to do as the crew of explorers and let myself hop on board and ride willing to participate. Letting the caravan take me wherever.
mediterranean see me
free this morning
we could get in the car
and drive five hours to a corner of heaven
for sure we’d love it
we’ve been there
with the long blue of the med,
hearing it from our bed
and the morning fishermen
in little boats
sun hats and coats
so near on dawn
so clear over calm
in a sleepy town
with Filippo’s Pizza
the best dough out of Napoli
they say, I’d say
anyway
how far do we have to go
so I can hear the shore’s chill water?
rolling stones like breathing in and out
making them rounder
smaller in long eons
until they are tiny white grains
lesser than sand
blown away like dust
off the back of my hand
thrown up by the wind
lifted straight to the sky
soaring above birds
blown riding the blue
far off out to sea
over storms
circling the globe
above the Captain’s stout grey ship on the Atlantic
twisting back into time and Grandmother’s wagon
crossing dry Arizona in the late eighteen hundreds
over arrows and Indians
then sucked tumbling down
deep in the California desert
none too soon
by dull light of moon
it's stuck deep
where it will keep
in the bark of a Joshua tree
that lives a thousand years
mediterranean see me
free this morning
we could get in the car
and drive five hours to a corner of heaven
for sure we’d love it
we’ve been there
with the long blue of the med,
hearing it from our bed
and the morning fishermen
in little boats
sun hats and coats
so near on dawn
so clear over calm
in a sleepy town
with Filippo’s Pizza
the best dough out of Napoli
they say, I’d say
anyway
how far do we have to go
so I can hear the shore’s chill water?
rolling stones like breathing in and out
making them rounder
smaller in long eons
until they are tiny white grains
lesser than sand
blown away like dust
off the back of my hand
thrown up by the wind
lifted straight to the sky
soaring above birds
blown riding the blue
far off out to sea
over storms
circling the globe
above the Captain’s stout grey ship on the Atlantic
twisting back into time and Grandmother’s wagon
crossing dry Arizona in the late eighteen hundreds
over arrows and Indians
then sucked tumbling down
deep in the California desert
none too soon
by dull light of moon
it's stuck deep
where it will keep
in the bark of a Joshua tree
that lives a thousand years
Thursday, April 16, 2009
jungle fish
you and i
haven’t seen it all
don’t say you have
don’t think about it
no need to
not all the world caresses
some hurts
and dumps upon us
in papers and magazines
the news of course, they call it that
the video, the Internet that brings pieces
bam banging slapping sounds
pumping games flashing colors into children's heads
Marshall McLuhan was right the medium is the message
now i add, TV did more to destroy the world than educate
I have seen Guatemalan jungle natives in see-through straw huts
watching far away New York soap operas
on TV powered by a noisy gas generator
the soap opera had NYC folk
in nice clothes and makeup
drinks in hand and the natives,
ready to throw a spear through a monkey,
were sitting women breast naked in
a rag covering their crotches
and I’m walking by their hut and
can look right through it
and see them sitting glazed over stuck to the screen.
maybe they flashed me the peace sign
and maybe I gave them the finger
cause they were screwed
media chunks show how people dress and hold their heads
how they clothe their pet animals
while city buses so full
those at the door exit to let others on
dead fish are laid to rest in tins and wait consumption this way
passing by are the rich and famous in their rings and finery
with guards tagging alongside
lest reality get too close
best they remain cushioned
aloof from commoners and dirt poor
on the street notices are
handed by strangers to strangers
pasted across shop windows
stuffed in trash cans or
dropped they litter the streets
are stepped upon, pushed along
where the head count clashes with
the clean, pressed white shirts and latest ties
and we, hats on backwards
in over sized sacky things to cover how fat we are
that resemble sports team garments,
wrinkled sweat stained bags with a bright bold number on it
the number of a hero on the squad
named for a predatory animal
as a sweaty tourist screams at the counter waitress
give me a coke before I die
and I see them sun glassed now
all the while quick stepping alone
bumping into each other
unaware, as if stoned
talking on cell phones
while the senseless talk to themselves
and need no phone
who is changing the world?
for all the while
the sun goes up
the sun goes down
haven’t seen it all
don’t say you have
don’t think about it
no need to
not all the world caresses
some hurts
and dumps upon us
in papers and magazines
the news of course, they call it that
the video, the Internet that brings pieces
bam banging slapping sounds
pumping games flashing colors into children's heads
Marshall McLuhan was right the medium is the message
now i add, TV did more to destroy the world than educate
I have seen Guatemalan jungle natives in see-through straw huts
watching far away New York soap operas
on TV powered by a noisy gas generator
the soap opera had NYC folk
in nice clothes and makeup
drinks in hand and the natives,
ready to throw a spear through a monkey,
were sitting women breast naked in
a rag covering their crotches
and I’m walking by their hut and
can look right through it
and see them sitting glazed over stuck to the screen.
maybe they flashed me the peace sign
and maybe I gave them the finger
cause they were screwed
media chunks show how people dress and hold their heads
how they clothe their pet animals
while city buses so full
those at the door exit to let others on
dead fish are laid to rest in tins and wait consumption this way
passing by are the rich and famous in their rings and finery
with guards tagging alongside
lest reality get too close
best they remain cushioned
aloof from commoners and dirt poor
on the street notices are
handed by strangers to strangers
pasted across shop windows
stuffed in trash cans or
dropped they litter the streets
are stepped upon, pushed along
where the head count clashes with
the clean, pressed white shirts and latest ties
and we, hats on backwards
in over sized sacky things to cover how fat we are
that resemble sports team garments,
wrinkled sweat stained bags with a bright bold number on it
the number of a hero on the squad
named for a predatory animal
as a sweaty tourist screams at the counter waitress
give me a coke before I die
and I see them sun glassed now
all the while quick stepping alone
bumping into each other
unaware, as if stoned
talking on cell phones
while the senseless talk to themselves
and need no phone
who is changing the world?
for all the while
the sun goes up
the sun goes down
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
reflections
remember someone holding
a dandelion under your chin
seeing the reflection of yellow
to determine if you like butter?
kid stuff
be good though
the day on your face
is a reflection of what you carry
in your heart
how you slept
how you’re eating
who you love
which dog you’re beating
how well you are doing
how life’s going
you may forget, but all
is written on your face
a dandelion under your chin
seeing the reflection of yellow
to determine if you like butter?
kid stuff
be good though
the day on your face
is a reflection of what you carry
in your heart
how you slept
how you’re eating
who you love
which dog you’re beating
how well you are doing
how life’s going
you may forget, but all
is written on your face
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
hope
On Pasquetta, Little Easter, the day after Easter, also a holiday because Italians have to have a holiday after a holiday that falls on Sunday so they can have a day to recover. That is how it is every time.
the large crowd in the piazza
generated a buzz like
flies on week old fish
they were tourists, few Italians
it was Little Easter, Pasquetta
Italians go out of Rome
on the little holiday after the holiday
Franco who has no means
to get out for the day
and no family to visit if he did
was in the store next to me
getting two more
scratch-off-to-see-if-you-win gambling cards
what winners get most of the time
more cards
more opportunity to hope
we stood shoulder to shoulder
he didn’t see me,
i noticed that what i thought
was a plug in his ear lobe
injured the last time he fell
was only a scab
from the way he was weaving
I knew not to speak to him
he was holiday drunk enough
to still walk
and scratch cards
while i’ve learned
there is no hope
here it was
standing next to me
the large crowd in the piazza
generated a buzz like
flies on week old fish
they were tourists, few Italians
it was Little Easter, Pasquetta
Italians go out of Rome
on the little holiday after the holiday
Franco who has no means
to get out for the day
and no family to visit if he did
was in the store next to me
getting two more
scratch-off-to-see-if-you-win gambling cards
what winners get most of the time
more cards
more opportunity to hope
we stood shoulder to shoulder
he didn’t see me,
i noticed that what i thought
was a plug in his ear lobe
injured the last time he fell
was only a scab
from the way he was weaving
I knew not to speak to him
he was holiday drunk enough
to still walk
and scratch cards
while i’ve learned
there is no hope
here it was
standing next to me
Monday, April 13, 2009
linked
we are linked to life
whether cabled-in or wireless
red lining in the fast lane
all comes naturally
as weather is to nature
dressed in style we are
in cars shinier and larger
while lousy poor people
obviously don’t care as much
they never go to club dinners
to hear the speakers drone on
or eat cake at the benefits
they don’t know the meaning of
acid indigestion
whether cabled-in or wireless
red lining in the fast lane
all comes naturally
as weather is to nature
dressed in style we are
in cars shinier and larger
while lousy poor people
obviously don’t care as much
they never go to club dinners
to hear the speakers drone on
or eat cake at the benefits
they don’t know the meaning of
acid indigestion
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Saturday, April 11, 2009
round perhaps
when she was young
she saw
the sun and moon
as circles
then she saw the ocean
walked in up to her neck
and figured
because there is depth
to consider
perhaps the ocean was round
.
she saw
the sun and moon
as circles
then she saw the ocean
walked in up to her neck
and figured
because there is depth
to consider
perhaps the ocean was round
.
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
bed of nails
It is estimated there are thirty thousand suddenly homeless, clustered in many small villages near the epicenter that were destroyed by the recent powerful earthquake and aftershocks.
40 are dead of the 350 residents of Onna, Italy, one of a dozen villages completely destroyed.
another small family
a few more people
among many who feel fortunate
now living in their car that escaped disaster
near their fallen home, half collapsed,
the remainder in flames as they fled
near their neighbor’s blank faces
amid devastation and debris like bombs went off
dad does his best to cover the pain and terror
mother bursts into tears often, covers her face
wishes for her simple worn sweater left behind
she didn’t even have her favorite old sweater
close to what is left
of what they owned but can’t get to
protecting it, protecting themselves
with not much to go on
charity lines for food and water
the unknown is growing
encompassing
hugs and tears and hope
40 are dead of the 350 residents of Onna, Italy, one of a dozen villages completely destroyed.
another small family
a few more people
among many who feel fortunate
now living in their car that escaped disaster
near their fallen home, half collapsed,
the remainder in flames as they fled
near their neighbor’s blank faces
amid devastation and debris like bombs went off
dad does his best to cover the pain and terror
mother bursts into tears often, covers her face
wishes for her simple worn sweater left behind
she didn’t even have her favorite old sweater
close to what is left
of what they owned but can’t get to
protecting it, protecting themselves
with not much to go on
charity lines for food and water
the unknown is growing
encompassing
hugs and tears and hope
Monday, April 06, 2009
six point three
at 3:32 a.m. my dreams included
the bed moving
then noise
from above and the floor below
i opened my eyes to see
the hanging lamp swinging
and swinging
epicenter was
fifty miles away
having lived in California
we were experienced to know
a strong earthquake
follow up report, 9pm
30,000 are homeless.
light rain tonight.
150 dead. 250 missing.
1,500 injured.
all counts will rise.
water supplies have been cut.
the bed moving
then noise
from above and the floor below
i opened my eyes to see
the hanging lamp swinging
and swinging
epicenter was
fifty miles away
having lived in California
we were experienced to know
a strong earthquake
follow up report, 9pm
30,000 are homeless.
light rain tonight.
150 dead. 250 missing.
1,500 injured.
all counts will rise.
water supplies have been cut.
Saturday, April 04, 2009
by train to the sea
before leaving Monterosso Al Mare
i am already aching for the beauty
paining for what
i can not take with me
the voice of the sea
the breath of humidity
it is my life
my heart of hearts
II.
an hour later on the train
with five hours to go until Rome
i was beyond my longing
lost like yesterday
those far away days
over the water
over the Med
my sweet
resolved to get over
and get on with life
i let love slide
it was not coming back to me
III.
we clack the track
we’re in the first car
behind the great engine
powermeister of the rails
she asks if it is smoother in the last car
the one way behind
or do they get whip lash?
i don’t know
i think the ride is all in the
suspension of the car we’re in
something hanging over the steel wheels
kept us floating above sparks
IV.
some time later we stopped
still not there
i did nothing
for many minutes
then it occurred to me we weren’t moving
i thought to go out
for a smoke
i made it as far as outside our compartment
a know–it-all looking guy with dark darting eyes
who obviously thought well of himself
looked as if he worked there
was standing in the isle
he had the time
he had the exact time
said we had five minutes before the train started again
five minutes
he spoke with authority
i asked if he worked for the train
i went out, down three steps,
and began to lite a cig
the doors closed before i puffed
the train was moving
i barely got back on the train
my shirt caught in the closing doors
good thing it had a rubber seal
or i would have lost a piece of it
i put the cig out on the step
saved it for later
the know-it-all guy
was nowhere to be seen
.
i am already aching for the beauty
paining for what
i can not take with me
the voice of the sea
the breath of humidity
it is my life
my heart of hearts
II.
an hour later on the train
with five hours to go until Rome
i was beyond my longing
lost like yesterday
those far away days
over the water
over the Med
my sweet
resolved to get over
and get on with life
i let love slide
it was not coming back to me
III.
we clack the track
we’re in the first car
behind the great engine
powermeister of the rails
she asks if it is smoother in the last car
the one way behind
or do they get whip lash?
i don’t know
i think the ride is all in the
suspension of the car we’re in
something hanging over the steel wheels
kept us floating above sparks
IV.
some time later we stopped
still not there
i did nothing
for many minutes
then it occurred to me we weren’t moving
i thought to go out
for a smoke
i made it as far as outside our compartment
a know–it-all looking guy with dark darting eyes
who obviously thought well of himself
looked as if he worked there
was standing in the isle
he had the time
he had the exact time
said we had five minutes before the train started again
five minutes
he spoke with authority
i asked if he worked for the train
i went out, down three steps,
and began to lite a cig
the doors closed before i puffed
the train was moving
i barely got back on the train
my shirt caught in the closing doors
good thing it had a rubber seal
or i would have lost a piece of it
i put the cig out on the step
saved it for later
the know-it-all guy
was nowhere to be seen
.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
a pause
My wife’s sister is here in Rome for a visit. I will pause in this daily writing as we journey north to spend a few days near the sea.
.
.
wind chime
varied length tubes
left over plumbing copper
thumb flop strung in the wind
rolling drum bongs
ding songs bling
or mum sometime
that’s fine, until the line
they are hung on zings tight
bouncing in the wind
the string goes ting
unfolding hollow tones
chime resounding clings
so light clinging rings
follow plings and gongs
the song sung sounds long
.
left over plumbing copper
thumb flop strung in the wind
rolling drum bongs
ding songs bling
or mum sometime
that’s fine, until the line
they are hung on zings tight
bouncing in the wind
the string goes ting
unfolding hollow tones
chime resounding clings
so light clinging rings
follow plings and gongs
the song sung sounds long
.
wood chimes
above walkway bricks
wooden chime sticks
bound with cord
dangle and click
as they nick
neatly tick
or tock when blunt ends
meet slick wind flicks
trick track nicks
crick sticks in the wind
.
wooden chime sticks
bound with cord
dangle and click
as they nick
neatly tick
or tock when blunt ends
meet slick wind flicks
trick track nicks
crick sticks in the wind
.
Monday, March 30, 2009
perspective
if you gave someone
one dollar every second
in twelve days you can give
a million bills
at the rate of placing a dollar
in someone's hand every second
to give a billion dollars
would take you thirty years
.............................
one dollar every second
in twelve days you can give
a million bills
at the rate of placing a dollar
in someone's hand every second
to give a billion dollars
would take you thirty years
.............................
Sunday, March 29, 2009
here's to all
here is to all
the uncles and aunts
cousins, sisters and brothers
fathers and mothers
men and women of strength
and pride and layers of familial love
never worn tired of happiness
who burst into the day
dressed so well
all in their Sunday best
scarves, bright colors, hats and ties
with a handshake, warm embrace
old jokes and nicknames
to stand side by side, so tall
smiling proud laughing
we gathered together
seeing which children were taller
which old folks were slower
gave gifts for the occasion
and undying love
as dogs barked skipped in circles, nipping
while the children chased each other
all played coats off games outside until it rained
or became too dark to see
so we kept losing the ball
then inside to sit at a well set table with candles
share a fragrant delicious meal
the mothers had prepared in love
grandma made her special desert
then all partied and drank with my folks
the old friends who stopped by
and laughed together
my God how they laughed
there’d be music
dad played his violin
and they sang a well known favorite song of old times
in harmonies, how they tried
always some little cousin kid ran through,
tripped, fell, again and again until he cried
then at the end
when day was complete
in cool dark as
outside lights were turned on
and tiredness moaned
everyone frantic to gather their things
went outside for hugs and kisses again
to warm up the cars
already in anticipation of the next holiday
already longing for the next time
when we would do it all over again
and to wave goodbye
the uncles and aunts
cousins, sisters and brothers
fathers and mothers
men and women of strength
and pride and layers of familial love
never worn tired of happiness
who burst into the day
dressed so well
all in their Sunday best
scarves, bright colors, hats and ties
with a handshake, warm embrace
old jokes and nicknames
to stand side by side, so tall
smiling proud laughing
we gathered together
seeing which children were taller
which old folks were slower
gave gifts for the occasion
and undying love
as dogs barked skipped in circles, nipping
while the children chased each other
all played coats off games outside until it rained
or became too dark to see
so we kept losing the ball
then inside to sit at a well set table with candles
share a fragrant delicious meal
the mothers had prepared in love
grandma made her special desert
then all partied and drank with my folks
the old friends who stopped by
and laughed together
my God how they laughed
there’d be music
dad played his violin
and they sang a well known favorite song of old times
in harmonies, how they tried
always some little cousin kid ran through,
tripped, fell, again and again until he cried
then at the end
when day was complete
in cool dark as
outside lights were turned on
and tiredness moaned
everyone frantic to gather their things
went outside for hugs and kisses again
to warm up the cars
already in anticipation of the next holiday
already longing for the next time
when we would do it all over again
and to wave goodbye
Saturday, March 28, 2009
a bank worth a lot of jingo poem
the 1893 Villa Banca Italia on Via Nationale
opened its doors to the public
for the first time,
one day only, today
must have been a thousand in line
not lira just patient people
maybe nuthouse patient candidates
way too quiet and orderly
didn’t throw a fit after
an hour and a half in line
before we took a step
ninety-eight point six per cent Italians
unreasonably orderly and quiet if you ask me
especially because one at a time,
two line jumpers got in by us
both short guys over sixty
one started with the ploy of talking to M.,
saying he had to use the bathroom,
remember and use that as an icebreaker
at your next social gathering
of course i chimed in and had to tell him
where he could go to find one
after five minutes i realized he
had established to those behind us
that he was talking with us, must be with us
the second line jumper,
another pro with a ploy
slipped in and began
peering ahead intently,
like he'd been doing it for a week,
and stayed that way,
not looking around, hardy breathing,
an infractor actor playing statue,
after ten minutes he was in
we strategically stayed ahead of both of them
and let the people behind deal with them
those people acted like they didn’t notice
Italians being polite? no way!
they were being non confrontational
okay, okay, so we went into the villa
walked around a while and saw
where the rich people had
a fine bank palace, a lot of marble, big stairs
and held meetings over a
table maybe fifteen steps long
the longest table i have ever seen in my life
what did i do on the second floor?
i had to peek through some front window curtains
and look down on the street
we came from
then we left,
end of poem
Friday, March 27, 2009
spring to chaos
spring to chaos
stuffed with energy
here to the brim, back again
carried by people
in sighing light wind
laughing bright colors
leaping over piazzas
honking from buses
blue shadow and makeup
wine served with pizza
the short-skirted on mini-stilts
tap-tap clicking down old alleys in heels
checkered cloth and waiters
bells chime the hour
to the cobblestone sun
coffee at outside tables
amid smiling faces
talk a lot
stuffed with energy
here to the brim, back again
carried by people
in sighing light wind
laughing bright colors
leaping over piazzas
honking from buses
blue shadow and makeup
wine served with pizza
the short-skirted on mini-stilts
tap-tap clicking down old alleys in heels
checkered cloth and waiters
bells chime the hour
to the cobblestone sun
coffee at outside tables
amid smiling faces
talk a lot
Thursday, March 26, 2009
off line
off line and fried
am always tied
to the black machine
packed with electrodes
that touch me together
with the world, it’s my life
like a fish on a string
i feel the sting
of that flash‘n’glow stop and go
bring me to life, Herr Frankenstein
been down maybe an hour
no way to tell
didn’t lose power
it’s a looking glass black hole
with road signs to hell
i really can’t wait
for now i am toast
am always tied
to the black machine
packed with electrodes
that touch me together
with the world, it’s my life
like a fish on a string
i feel the sting
of that flash‘n’glow stop and go
bring me to life, Herr Frankenstein
been down maybe an hour
no way to tell
didn’t lose power
it’s a looking glass black hole
with road signs to hell
i really can’t wait
for now i am toast
Aces Wild
Okay, Annie, Julie, Tom, Sweet Talking Guy, you’re all in the game, aces wild. Now before we look at our cards I want to tell you thanks for the comments. You have all been helpful and I’ll try to mend my ways.
This is a highly personalized note to each and every one of you. Let’s do dinner! That’s a private joke I’ll let you in on.
One time M. and I had to vacate an apartment after only a few months tenancy because I got fired for the first and only time in my life from the last regular job I ever had. The owners of our apartment were being gracious and had us over for a glass of wine. As we were leaving they said that they’d invite us over for dinner sometime and asked if we liked fish. That was the capper, asking if we liked fish.
Of course that was the last time we ever saw or heard from them. To this day, every now and then, after someone makes a promise or invitation they are not likely to keep, M. privately says to me, “You like fish, don’t you?”
Okay, you can look at your cards now, and I’ll try to do better in my responding to your comments, but don’t bet on it. Now, one question, who dealt this mess?
This is a highly personalized note to each and every one of you. Let’s do dinner! That’s a private joke I’ll let you in on.
One time M. and I had to vacate an apartment after only a few months tenancy because I got fired for the first and only time in my life from the last regular job I ever had. The owners of our apartment were being gracious and had us over for a glass of wine. As we were leaving they said that they’d invite us over for dinner sometime and asked if we liked fish. That was the capper, asking if we liked fish.
Of course that was the last time we ever saw or heard from them. To this day, every now and then, after someone makes a promise or invitation they are not likely to keep, M. privately says to me, “You like fish, don’t you?”
Okay, you can look at your cards now, and I’ll try to do better in my responding to your comments, but don’t bet on it. Now, one question, who dealt this mess?
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