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Friday, July 23, 2010



“Good Bye!”

What do you mean, ‘“Good Bye”’?
But, ….but, you made me do it!

Honey! I’ve got to talk to you!
A minute, let me explain.

Oh, please, just a moment of your time.

I’m buying drinks for everybody in the house!

Whatever I said about your past,
Please, forget it! Truth is I was afraid.

Forgive me!

I’ve got no past;
I feared I wasn’t good enough for you.

Gimme! Gimme! What I cry for,
You know that you made me love you.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

VENUS, Rewrite

How are you to be a great poet,
When you've got no inspiration,
And you're tired, it's late, and
Night after night your mind runs blank?

How do you find yourself stuck,
Fixed in the old, worn-out theme, writer’s block?

Might you recall instead that glorious goddess,
Made human form before your eyes,
With whom you spent yesterday morning, talking,
On the grass, warmed all over, blessed by rays,
An eleven-o’clock summer sun?

And why not read aloud?
What harm is there in letting world to know?
No shame in the telling
That mind awakes, once more, from midnights’ torpor.

She’s got it! Beauty, love, and
She’s fire, she’s my desire.

Monday, July 19, 2010

LOVE POETRY, Lost Without You

Lost Without You

How about some love poetry?

Right now I am so desperate for your touch
That I can barely speak, let alone write a thing.

I could walk out the door into the hallway
And scream with such ferocity
The neighbors might think
I have taken leave of my senses.

When I think of food,
Nothing compares to how I savor you.

When I contemplate delightful vision,
You are the only vision in my eyes.

I love all music,
But no sound is better than your voice.
I await every telephone call,
And lead you with questions,
Just to hear the timbre of your talk, which I adore.

Nothing makes me sadder than a bad connection.

Oh! Baby! I love your smell.
Intoxicated and pathetic, I make the bed,
And fluff the pillows,
I do so expecting the redolence of you.
And when you are gone,
Even after a day or two,
And your aroma is lost, I am lost, too.

At wits end, I circle the bed,
And pace the bedroom floor, like some pet
Whose master has not returned home.

I am frantic without the fresh smell of you.

Friday, July 16, 2010



Hard to believe she wrote such sentiments
Six centuries before our common era.
Legend had it she was a nun,
Who had fled her father’s home.

Repulsed by her family’s idea,
Its choice of the suitable man for marriage,
She ran to follow Lord Buddha.

On a tablet she noted,
“I am woman well set at liberty!
How free I am, how wonderful my story,
No more cooking pots and kitchen drudgery,
No more worry about the family going hungry!

“And free at last from having to bed
A man whose character I never cherished.”



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
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, plate-glass window provided unobstructed 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.

Die a happy man?

Here's my defense.
However I may wonder,
Whether ultimately I write fact or fiction.

Do I possess truth or fall to illusion?

I know that two forces bind me,
As is the case with Siamese Twins,
Who are born to share common cerebrum.

Friday, July 9, 2010

THE WORLD, By the Grace of God, Second Version

By the Grace of God,
Second Version

True, though now it seems strange, when I look back,
Relate times we had, and see the Columbian men
With their expensive suits,
And me riding in their limousines,
I recall those gents had super-cool, Castilian accents.

I smell the spray paint, fresh upon the scrim.

I remember the buddies, they were standing tall,
And though we dwelt in Village East,
They were packin’, packin’, as if we were in Old West.

I hear the voice of that dazzle, the black woman,
Who, though she sang backup,
Her timbre commandeered the band,
Corralled the bang-bang and the whirling electronic rifts,
Which the guitars and piano hammered!

It stupefies me how that past, it still reigns,
Though much, so much else
Over time tumbles and disappears.

And the boys’ night out,
They had ticket to premier, opening night of the World.

Right before me, I see, see, the images of the dead,
I had not thought death had undone so many.

And for those who survived, when truth is said,
Hear it, hear it!
Let it reverberate among circle of friends,
Declare it in the rooms and down the corridors.
Where the living have stacked the chairs up high,
Let it be known, there we go, lost, dead,
But for the Grace which brings us daily reprieve.

Thursday, July 8, 2010

ROMANTIC, Love Lockdown, edited

Love Lockdown, edited

I miss you, honey.

I miss going to dinner with you.

Everywhere I look, up and down the streets,
I keep thinking I see you.
It’s the damnedest thing!

By the way, I’ve decided to discard,
Throw out some of the poetry.
Of course, you must know why!
It has me loving you too much.

Oh! Those notes I took,
The notes of all our telephone conversations,
Sister, that’s a painful lot!

I documented all your promises, your assurances.
I made you repeat them.
I hoped thereby you might remember
How many times you had given me your word.

I wrote them all down, my questions, your answers.

I can look back, should anyone have interest,
And figure the exact dates of those, your pledges.

But the exercise would require work,
Because in the record of those,
Our long-distance dialogues,
I reckoned time according to lunar calendar.
They read, for instance, first, Monday, December.

Across one sheet I marked significant,
You had telephoned me from Florida this last October,
The day directly following the second,

The so-called Harvest Moon, a moon whose rise
The previous night I had sighted over Forest Avenue.

Upon those papers I sometimes drew,
(The right term here might be doodled.)
Regular zodiac signs, pretended knowledge.
I played the role of old-time astrologer,
Who predicated life’s lot on planetary whirl,
Who posited fortune from abstract, our lives
On conjunction of heavenly bodies within a starry belt,

I was dream-wishing.
It was make-believe, pathetic.

Might your last satellite communication, I wondered,
Be housed on a plane
Where moon rises into constellation, Leo?

It all gets very primitive when dealing with you.


When I concentrate,
Concentrate on my abandon, on my love,
Take the time and thoroughly examine
The range, the extent of my feelings for you,
My heart wells, fills up like a balloon, ready to burst.

Overwhelmed, stretched to utmost circumference,
Its membrane reaches thinnest extreme,
It helps to explain
Just how sensitive I am to your every desire.

If I remember to relax,
Should I try to stop holding on,
Just simply let you go,
Then I can not help but feel gratitude,
Give thanks for the time,
In which I had the opportunity to spend with you.

At other times I fall to absolute delusion,
And believe I write great poetry,
The words I pen immortal,
Celebrate you and me for the ages,
That future reader discover my dreams of you,
And pine and swoon as I do here,
Know that ours was destiny, and yes,
Wonder what higher power allowed lyric to express
Love beyond belief.

I guess I believe we are constantly being reborn.
I go through all these thoughts, again – again,
Hoping against hope,
Seeking a glimmer, some glimmer,
Fingers crossed for incredible stroke of luck,
Trust your return to my arms once more.


I have a real problem;
It’s when I look about.
I see other couples, pairs, tight,
Together for the afternoon, daylight upon their faces,
All lovey-dovey, they walk along the avenues.

It bothers me seeing them; they sit in cafes and read
Newspapers and books, and sip from bottles of water.

I envy them. I do not have you.

World seems happier place
When people have each other to depend on,
And romance animates their bodies and faces.

I am sorry to conclude, you’re a mean person.
You went away; my sole companion now my work.


Am I making this up as I go along?

But you did go and I am home alone.
You left me all by myself with my freedom.
I fear I’ve fallen prey to mine own emptiness.

Were you to belong to me, I swear I wouldn’t,
I wouldn’t share you with any one, with anything.
Time and place reduced to you and me,
You at center of it all!

Oh, dream comes true!

It would feel more like love, sweet love,
Than me, here, sitting lost,
Trying to figure the situation, or
How I might say it proper,
Finally to convince you, love too precious a thing,
Often once in a life-time event,
And ought never be willfully discarded, thrown away.

Hope I haven’t upset you.

Maybe that’s the real difficulty,
The source of us being driven apart,
I am just too romantic
You seek something other,
Maybe you are simply more practical, reasonable.
My flights of fancy and over-heated emotion,
Not things you have in mind.

Do not worry!
I have the capability of living with my beliefs.

But, darling, you must take pity,
Open your heart -- for you say you still love me.
Mercy please! Forgive me, I lack resolve.

I am unable to start anew, to make life without you.

I am still not over this thing of ours.

I haven’t gotten over it, the beauty,
All the wondrous times,
I haven’t gotten over my being with you.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

IMPOSSIBLE DREAM, A Lover’s Question, July 2010 Version

A Lover’s Question,
July 2010 Version

I have an astounding dream to report.
It has me running in the semi-darkness.
I run with a key in my hand. It's a cylindrical key,
And has a single, protruding notch at its end,
The kind of key used to wind an antique clock.

Next to the wall at the end of my run stands
A giant, cartoon heart, painted, yet color so natural,
It rivals the red of a Red Delicious apple.

On the right near the top of this wondrous heart
A gold metal strike plate sets up over against
An aperture, the channel; I wonder, does it lead
To the lock that might open, release your heart?

Have I the key? Or do I dream only to wake,
Awaken to nightmare day of awful longing and ache?

Have I lost my mind? Has logic betrayed me?
Do I confuse dream wish with reality?

Darling, answer me soon! Does deep desire
Verge on truth? Will anxiety cease?
And promise of new, peaceful kingdom,
Is it fulfilled, here, in this query today?

Now I stand before you, You, my Higher Power,
And the congregates sense the blasphemy;
They whisper calumnies.
They say that I am my father’s son,

“He is the boy from the hardware store!
By whose authority has he right to reveal,
Who does he believe, who might he think,
He is to inform us his midnight imaginings?”

And me, their belligerence does not concern me,
Not a whit, though they rise up
And ready to condemn me.
I pray ... I might have definite answer,
That I am prophet in this house,
That I may begin this, my public ministry, positive,
Carry hope for life anew,
And have news extraordinary, good, for all to hear.

Down a space eclipsed in semi-darkness, I run.
I have a key in my hand. It's cylindrical;
A single, notch protrudes at its end.
It is the kind of key that winds an antique clock.
Darling, please, your answer!
Have I the key to open your heart,
Or do I dream the impossible dream?

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