These are the facts, nothing here but the facts. I was on the road to Damascus via a street in the West Village in New York City, when, in an instant, barometric pressure had dropped 100 MB. Darkness enveloped an eleven-o’clock-morning sun. It may have been a trick of the mind, or some kind of serious panic disorder. Although I could no longer see, I pictured myself a child on a visit to my great grandmother's house in La Salle, Illinois. In my head I felt as though a tornado was approaching...
An impossibly large bed stretched out across the room. Between its feet and a long chest of drawers A narrow aisle traveled the length. It ran from the front door to the back of the room.
And you, there, in your underwear, in an alcove, It was an enclosure directly opposite the bathroom, And it occupied the suite’s entire width by half.
You were standing up against a cantilever table. It was a wall-to-wall vanity with a mirror, A mirror, which was as long as the table’s surface, And it covered the back wall up to the ceiling. Recessed lamps provided light from overhead.
You brushed your hair, and With each stroke I saw How your shoulder blades flexed.
I rose up from the bed, Took a few steps, And then, still from behind you, I bent my torso forward at the waist, And extended my arms, My hands reached both your legs at the ankles.
Head-down, I pulled myself close to you. My left shoulder found the center, It rested right between your buttocks and legs. The left side of my chin found a niche, It touched the right back of your knee.
I was squatting and each of my hands Was wrapped around one of your respective ankles,
When I told you, I had never personally encountered a woman Who looked so much the better naked than clothed.
'Wow!' Burst out. And you said, ‘You sure knew how to compliment a girl.’
Woman! Trust my veracity. For though dumb struck, In my heart I recited the poet's immortal words,
'Beauty is truth, truth beauty -- that is all You know on earth, and all you need to know'.
It’s almost June now in NYC, But the weather remains unseasonably cold and rainy.
A lot is happening in the world.
A 4.4 magnitude earth quake hit southern California. Ten strong, aftershocks followed it!
A commuter turbo jet crashed into a suburb Outside Buffalo, New York, killing all on board, Another person died on the ground. The FAA pointed to human error as the cause, Seems insufficient training was a root, Besides both pilot and his co, they were probably Too tired to handle effectively the emergency, It was fast icing, which overcame the aircraft.
A new premier in India insures the sub Continent’s Economic stability, a moderate, his landslide, Commentators claim, has had a grand effect for It holds left-wing experimentalists in check.
Of course, the trouble in Pakistan continues; The army now attacks the local citizenry, as national Government attempts to wrest control from Taliban.
The Sri Lankan majority has defeated its Tamil foes.
Hard to believe a place like North Korea has A-Bombs, And it threatens with far-reaching, missile delivery to boot.
The world faces nuclear \?nü-kl?-?r disaster from many fronts.
Hold it! Here’s a happy news brief: The Space Shuttle’s crew spent five days repairing the Hubble telescope and has now safely returned to earth.
Another pleasant thought or two, from the society pages, Brad and Angelina have worked out differences, And media report she is pregnant, again!
And Marc and Jenny ‘from the block’ they appear happy!
Women are my weak point, a mortal failing. When I kiss one, I start to think of another, Then begin to wonder about a third.
Sure women are my chief weakness, But what is a man to do?
I can not help myself, and even Were I go broke chasing women, I would write ‘sold out’ on the door to my heart.
The other day, I was behind ‘A…’ in queue. We were at the supermarket, I looked down along her leg from the back, Saw the way her sneakers embraced her feet, Saw the way her blue jeans cuffed her ankles, And realized how desperately with her I remain in love.
Back in the days when I enjoyed the drinking life, A woman at the bar, and here I note, She claimed that she would tear out an eyelash. ‘And stab you with it dead,’ she said.
‘Then I’ll take my lipstick and paint you all red.
‘And if you are still mean to me Why I know what I’ll do.
‘I’ll order fried eggs, and throw spinach on you!
‘You, you, you!
‘I’ll order fried eggs and throw spinach on you!’
For this week and weekend the “L” subway line Announces repairs between 12:00 and 5:00AM, No service between Myrtle Ave. and Canarsie stations.
The MTA plans new experimental doors To avoid costly repairs, which occur when customers Force normal openings and closings to fit their hurry.
‘Attention. Caution. Don’t board the train. Stand Back!’
A new set of warnings to add to the ubiquitous alerts, Advising passengers to report all suspicious packages, And that no individual should attempt their removal, For disposal being the sphere proper to authorities.
‘Do not walk between cars at any time!’ A voice warns riders of another possible offense.
Children see me run through the streets, And wonder, what is it all about, my hurrying.
My eyes push forward, Cause me to squint, And then I break into smile.
Night after night in steady flow, Ideas collect; press fierce, Hard against my brow.
The pressure makes for heat, then fire in the brain.
I hear words march, with noise Akin to soldiers' boots slapping on pavement.
I see your face. The beauty of your large brown eyes Makes my brain run riot, Engulfs my neural circuitry.
Oh I smell wheat grass! It's being blended with fresh strawberries and oranges.
I love the juices' heady odor, When ever I breathe it in -- I am reminded of you.
We looked out the window. We sat upon stools at a Formica bar, A long, unobstructed window provided view And we people watched the intersection, Corners at avenue and street, the sidewalk before us, Our theater, and we agreed; It was pleasant evening’s entertainment.
Pressed, cardboard cartons contained our suppers. We ate our meals with plastic forks and knives; The napkins were brown, recycled paper.
Believe me, no irony intended. Honest!
Every memory, every instance My being with you, was lovely! I shall die a happy man
Here's my defense. However I may wonder, If I possess truth or fall to illusion, I know that those two forces tie me, Like Siamese Twins, Born to share common cerebrum.
Chicago, I see you, Though to be there, I must tap root scenes, Now, very long ago, what I share, More dream, fiction, than actual, history, event, My life enfolds in pictures, and my mind, it sees Lake-front parking, a lover’s lane, Way down at east end of Foster, The time I and my son’s mother, A woman who in future becomes my first, The one, the only wife, From whom, today, I count, Almost thirty years, divorced.
That fellow came from within the bushes, With a great length of metal, gaffing hook, Then a big overhead swing, bang, He punctured the hood on my Dad’s Chevrolet, Brand-new, 1960, four-door, hard-top, white. We survived the attack, Intact, secure behind the doors and car in reverse, We were lucky, I guess.
That time in the high rise, near North Side, Where up on the 18th floor, my buddy and I, That cop, yes, she was fine. My, Chicago, I remember her, the fond delight!
I liked the way she let her 9MM sleep with us, (She placed it under the pillow) And her blues, her uniform with its badges, Leather belt and boots, both, if she wore it, Or when it was thrown, scattered and heaped, All her garments, I remember well. They looked good on the rug of the bedroom floor.
Later, in the back seat, police cruiser unit, I joined the convergence, while she drove And her partner sat shotgun, chased the culprit, Down the alleys, fast, 30mph, Galvanized cans popping, their lids flying, like saucers, Garbage was raining all over the concrete.
River View Park, my first high school, Down the block from the Ferris Wheel, Reader excuse the free thinking, I leap here to insight and meaning, Back to the time my great grandfather, All the way from La Salle, came to see the lights, The white city, magic, and when he returned, home, Told tales about the city, twenty-years after the Fire.
He, my great grandfather, he returned home, And when he told the family about alternating current, How white the city in the middle of the night, He ignited my grandmother’s lust, she wanted a part, She sought the grandeur, she sold her soul, What darkness, the narrow, a woman’s common lot, The drudgery of hand laundry, the knowledge She frequently lamented, “Yes, I was born too soon.”
Ironing with implement heated on the stove, Early to bed, early to arise, the great bore, Small town life, it was said she bed the devil, And many claimed she had, when she married My grandfather, an itinerant painter, Who went from town to town painting church murals, And following the grand cliché, He drank his liquor as others might milk from a jar, And to add to his cocktail’s already heady mix, The family’s romance says, he had bad habit, To moistened the stylist between his lips; And we know, the paint his day had lead for base.
He promised her life, incandescent, a large role In Illinois history, remember, The new town rose up from the old, up from ashes, And was there not real truth, Behind the story, the Whites, the miracle, How they had been rescued at Fort Dearborn? She sought energy, electric, the moment She wanted city burning, burning bright, resplendent. Oh Chicago! It is from you that I have my life!
Bear me, quickly hence! Oh Great Heaven! Bear me To lovely bedroom scene, To where Love sits, To where she combs, She combs her beauteous hair.
Take me, Oh Saving Grace! Take me to where My darling reigns, She remains peerless, Her wit and mind unparallel.
The stillness of her flesh, The steady rhythm of breath, Cosmic glory of her face, Supreme, she sleeps At rest her beauty, unmatched, I contend she has no rival!
Serve me! Transport me, Oh Holy Favor, ecstatic, To her bed, my body, carry it, Place it, my flesh, Set it next to hers!
Next to her in repose, My soul lodges happily, She in towering keep. No storm, no force of arms, Nothing disturbs her enclosure.
In her embrace, life secure, Peace of mind, assured.
Oh Force Divine, deliver me To her safe fortress! The stronghold mortal monarchs Might merely hope to attain, Bear me, quickly hence!
Respond to this video. Tell me, dear audience, Tell me what you think, Or tell me what you may believe. I can’t be friends with her; She is no friend to me.
Tell me what to do,
It’s not she’s bad, Or evil beyond belief; Yet she has broken her every promise, No regard for holy vow, But the real truth behind her lies, And here great sympathy is required, She has a hard time copin’, Livin’ in the regular world, Bein’ like all the other girls, Who fit in the regular world.
Tell me, dear audience, Tell me what to do! My heart’s been rendered, I feel it split, I feel it’s split in two.
Nothing to win, and Nothin’ left to lose.
‘Oh, you’re such a pretty girl, Why are you so skinny?’ That’s what the ladies ask, When she just standin’ there, Standin’ there waitin’ for a bus.
Let me tell you what she said, I tell you, dear audience, What she once revealed to me, She said, she’s always starvin’ That’s how she, she got worn away, I’ve seen her get thinner, Thinner by the day, She can not finish her dinner, She imagines cottage cheese, Sees it form on the back of her legs.
Let me whisper a secret, Maybe it will clear the air, The first piece of furniture, The first thing I bought for this house It was a white, electronic scale, She will not step on the scale.
Her bleeding it stopped some time ago, But no problem with that, when there’s the pill, Tweak the hormone and, anyway, What’s so important? Why the big deal?
Really, I can hear her say it, As if she were present, Right before me into my face, talkin’, She be all pretend, diffident, Yet the tiny sarcasm in her voice, Oh that’s her, littl’ miss perfect!
‘Come on! I’ve got it, no problem! ‘My blood, it’s flowin’! ‘I’ve got my period right now.’
Respond to this video. Tell me, dear audience, Tell me what you think, Or tell me what you believe. I can’t be friends with her. She can’t be friend to self.
Nothing for me, Nothing to win and Nothin’ left to lose.
It’s so awful, it’s weird, I know she still loves me.
Will she ever be carefree again?
Can it be she’s really dyin’, Dear God, I fear it’s true, But she runs for miles, Goes to the gym every other day, Claims the thing, under-control!
My heart is broken, All I can do is pray.
I can’t be friends with her, She can’t be friend to self,
What else can I do? What am I missin’? I’ve never doubted her beauty! Please, tell me, tell me, -- I love her! –
Merciful Heaven! Is there any thing, If there is any thin’ I might do?
He was a boy who sang "Ave Maria" With clarity and perfect pitch, It was as if angels had arranged his vocal chords, His lungs filled with a breathe, so resolute and full, Many felt it must have come from Heaven, His gift transported those who heard him, His voice opened door to celestial level.
One night in early winter, He walked home after church, About him was hoarfrost, And world enveloped, everything bent and drooping, It was laden by the weight of ice from freezing rain.
Yet the cold, cold weather could not match, Nothing compared to the warmth of his singing.
And the dreams he dreamed upon the pathways, When he later came to compose them, Releasing their cadences, their images and similes, They were bold, like the Ninety-Five Thesis. They had weight and established new religion. The old ecclesiastical order fell to great commotion, The narrative compelled, hear it, and choose your side, Either pro or con, neutral ground no longer possible!
And when he read from his verses His voice was the same, the same That marveled all as when he began, his singing, Awestruck reverence fell upon those who heard it, It reverberated, and rang like the bells of the steeples, The crystalline delight, the tintinnabulation, Euphony voluminously welled, a music, which Lifted ordinary mind to outsized conception, Devotion strengthened, and praise advanced to rapture, Why it brought grown women to their knees!
And the dreams he dreamed upon the pathways, When he later came to compose them, Releasing their cadences, their images and similes, They were bold, like the Ninety-Five Thesis. They had weight and established new religion. The old ecclesiastical order fell to great commotion, The narrative compelled, hear it, and choose your side, Either pro or con, neutral ground no longer possible!
I fell in love with you. What am I to do? I care for you; you’re beautiful. No explanation, it’s not rational.
I’m older, you’re younger. I’m an American, you’re European. I was raised on the Great Plains. You grew up on the thin soil of a limestone island.
It reduces itself to the basic. Darling, try as hard as I can, I can not end it, Our love continues as though it folds onto itself, Looking more like one of those new images, Drawn from the explorations of current cosmology, Space-time systems overlapped, strung together, Wrapped, universes within multiple universes, Inexplicable, unimaginable paradox, Beginning and ending all at once Alpha and omega, and ultimately Sine qua non of my existence,
What else do you want me to say?
I’m at a loss. Right this moment, No one else, no one else but you!
Forgive me, my presumption, I believe the same holds true for you.
Believe in me, in the dwelling, here, for you, Not only in the physical space, Upon whose floor our hearts' drama plays, But in my soul where I built a mansion, Set a great kitchen to feed our spirit, And hung awesome crystal chandeliers, Light, so our feet not stumble Should we awake before sunrise To start our appointed chores.
And were it not so, Were I to have had a change of heart, I would not have pledged my word.
I have been utterly honest.
My verse attests to sincerity, Showing my readiness to receive you; Happy domicile awaits your presence.
I continue to outfit our home, And the Lord abides, proclaims For length of days, health and long life, And peace shall fill the chests and the closets; And our rooms shall appear to glow warmly, Not from some decorator, designer expertise, But because His grace, the abundance of Holy Spirit.
Our kitchen might have every appliance, Super store of food on its shelves, and within its Pantry not only plenty daily sustenance, But great ardor and emotional well being.
Where I am, I pray, there may you also be. And where ever I go, I ask, -- I know you will keep your promise -- You prove yourself true,
Mask of youth, and its costume still upon you, When we had met, year-9/11, It marked the city forever, Downtown burned, towers had fallen, and all the dead, Though today seems hard to believe, The smell dominated the air, Yet there at last days of December, it was, All the way to West 26th Street, A bad omen, I guess.
You were different then, more girl Than the grown woman you are today.
I remember that first Christmas Eve, And how you had bought silver jewelry, I was at market and you stood before the showcase, Studied the pieces, awaited me to make the move And price to drop, bargained without word, Used patience as your tool, you figured, I was in a hurry, wanted to get home.
It seems halcyon, when I look back, When I picture you, recall your eyes Expectant, be-all, the end-all, Tomorrow’s promise, stayed awesome and bright, I want to say, etched, But no lines, at that time visited your face. You were different then, more girl Than the grown woman you are today.
And you seemed happy, light upon your feet, I judge your back had not come to bother you yet, And you had hopes for a child, Maybe you wished the start to family, Saw for yourself a real, happy ending, hey?
My defenses were still intact, No idea you would play, lead in dream wish, Whose title read, cherished above all others, That when I fell within the sphere of your limbs, I would start believing, Make it an apostle’s creed, a matter of faith Though love is only a feeling, it drifts away.
All good sense and sensibility abandoned, I was yours, The pleasure of your company engulfed me, And once I placed my hand upon your knee, Oh heart beat, beating fast, lasting long, day after day, Together, no matter what I might have done, However I might have conspired to end it.
You said you would love me, now and forever, I know it’s trite, nothing I should write, Unworthy of poetry, your promise, Yeah, until the end of time, and you, Today I feel as if, you had purposefully taunted me, You laughed at notion, desire might ever wane, Though love is only a feeling, You swore ours here to stay.
Anyone who seeks, Fervidly wants dream come true, Gets the sense of what I am saying, knows The terrible desire, that were it possible, A replay of yesterday’s grassy splendor, To enjoy again the glory in the flower, Despite the rapid descent, the finality marking, Every bit of human radiance and beauty, No matter how grand, ambitious the effort, -- Isn’t it already written? -- The rainbow comes and goes, Some where out at space time’s edge, Gamma ray bursts post daily funerary notice, Yea! How impossible to variegate the end, Great bright light, then extermination!
And for us, for you and me, it’s same story, Agony to cling to silly notions, and hold them right, When the telephone is off the hook, And all the doors are shut.
World knows, love, only a feeling, It drifts away, and, I, fool, believed, I believed, I thought at odds, forgot the foreboding, Paid no heed to events, The lasting heritage, that first December, Sure we were masters of our affection, Our land, the land called Eden, Positive we had won, and continued the delusion That, and as you had said, ours was special, And contrary to every dictate of reason, I had come to believe we had found it, Love here to stay, bright sun, morning after morning, Endless awakening, fresh flowers everyday, A bed with gorgeous sheets and pillows fluffed, Despite love, it being only a feeling, Like the youth, we at one time owned, and Had been our possession, it drifts away.
Look to the day, today, The day is all we have, It is the very breath of life.
In its brief, twenty-four-hour course, From sunrise to sunrise next, Dawn the real and the true, The absolute of existence, The bliss of growth, The splendor of action, And the glory of power --
For history is over and closed, The past is gone, finished.
The future, no more than vision, A dream concoction, Our own mind fantasies our continuance, Notion we have another day, What guarantee next moment exists?
But today, well lived, Best endeavor, minute by minute, Makes every yesterday, dream of happiness, And should tomorrow dawn, Future becomes abundant, We may expect fulfillment of every hope.
Seize the day.
Live here and now, Give regard this instance. Give your very best regard to the moment.
Would you but bale the hay, darling, And put the pumpkin atop So I might know where to go to experience, Enjoy the true worth of a loving heart.
Or better yet! Why not erect a pumpaguben, A giant, human figure of pumpkins and gourds, That I might have advertisement, Direction right to the very center of your being?
There forever might I sample your wares And feast the bounty of your great beauty.
Yes, Darling, Yes! That’s how it went, How I saw it back in the day.
I stood up before the stage at Fillmore, East, And the girls, they were dancing, And in the crowd, next and behind the band, They were sashaying and Jerry, He was playing, it was if, Apollo handed him the lyre. And Phil ran the bass, By God, he transported us, tight, Hitting those four strings, On top the frets, up and down the neck, And two drums and the other guitar, The whole rhythm section was the purple gang, Pig Pen keyed the B52, and with that organ sounding, Yeah! We might as well have been in church,
And though inside within the concert hall, It felt like we all might be, All of us, standing in the pouring rain, How else, I know no other way to tell it!
I saw Betty Boop, she was dancing, Dressed, like she was girl from Hawaii, I was happy for the wink she gave me. There were other women, too, Bedecked in grass skirts doing the hula,
And we turned to one another, and smiled, Yet the lyrics were unkind, About some gal who had done her man wrong, We were singing a lullaby, Whose strains carried our souls, We were whistling and clapping, we sang,
“Shake it, Shake it, Sugaree”
How else? I know no other way to tell it! All of us were standing, dancing, We were singing in the pouring rain.
I sing tonight. It's the ol' babalu. Though tired and drawn, I am called.
I hear the knock at the door.
The prophecy takes hold. The school lessons progress. The command of language multiplies. The student seems eager. Dimension gains hold. Dreams of tomorrow grow. Wishes come true. New life looms on the horizon. Fantasy becomes reality. The promises burgeon. There is pregnancy of parts, Ocean of delight lies before us!
Hello! Darling, hello!
"Kiss me once, kiss me twice. Then kiss me once again." I want your lips on mine.
I lie on the bed here in our home. On the TV screen, I watch the DVD called The Last Waltz.
Its music has its way with my heart. And deep, unmistakably warm and tender emotion, It floods up, I feel, as if I am immersed, I swim in my fondness for you.
I see you through the doorway. You stand in the next room, working, You inspect and prepare dresses, Soon be packed away in luggage, Merchandise you plan for sale on a trip abroad.
You have on your gray, cotton shorts, The ones you usually wear around the house, The ones with the drawstring front; They have pink stripes on the side.
You sport a pale raspberry, -- a color, Which I believe, favors you -- V-necked shirt and its short, tapered sleeves Accent, compliment your toned, narrow arms.
I can not help but declare, I do, I do love you with all my soul and might.
In the morning, even before prayer or daily reflection, When we wake I turn my head to you, and ask, ‘Have I told you how much I love you yet this morning?’
And then I smilingly reply, ‘How much I love you yet this morning!’
In the afternoon I ask the same. Though we may drive about Try to accomplish today’s busy chores, I divert my eyes from the highway a moment, ‘Darling,’ I say. I say, ‘Have I told you how much I love you yet this afternoon?’
And then I answer, dead-panned, but right, As if I write, direct, From the very core of my inner most being, I intone, ‘how much I love you yet this afternoon!’
And now it is evening, and, though The refrain must necessarily remain the same, I record it for all to know. I want the world to know,
