FIRE IN THE BRAIN

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FIRE IN THE BRAIN


Children watch me run through the streets, 
And wonder, what is it all about, my hurrying.

My eyes push forward, 
Cause me to squint. 
Then all at once I break into a smile.

And night after night in steady flow 
Ideas collect, press fierce, 
Hard against my brow.

The pressure makes for heat;
There is fire in the brain.

I hear words march with noise
Akin to soldiers' boots slapping on pavement.

I see your gaze upon me.
The beauty of your large brown eyes  
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, 
They became 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 instant
My being with you, every occasion 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 those two forces bind me,
As is the case with Siamese Twins, 
Who are born to share common cerebrum.



In a language plain, common to us all,
Here I stand and bear witness,
Though that I am mere flesh and born to perish,
Spirit informs me and grants me friends,
Friends who are awaiting worship,
And friends of friends who celebrate the light,
A priesthood of all believers who patiently gather
Filling the rows of benches in the meeting hall.
And one by one this church affirms a new covenant --
God is love and death has no power,
The kingdom lives within us, our souls eternal.

SAD*

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SAD*

Etta,  you do not seem to care if I am ill.

Remember last week, when a pinched nerve
Kept me in bed for most of the day?
I could not walk,
I began to panic, and
Believed my back might never be right again.

And your response, terrible, cold and unmoving,
You declared what in my heart was already apparent;
You told me that you had no aspirations,
That if I sought a Florence Nightingale,
I had barked up the wrong tree.

It hurt most, when after a moment’s reflection,
I came to believe your response sounded rehearsed.

It had a tone, which seemed practiced.

You had actually precluded any concern.

I had became lost to pain in an otherwise robust frame,
And you had shown no worry, commiserated not a bit.

Now that my health returns, and I am totally recovered,
I must wonder, no matter how many times
You have claimed that you love me,
If my being ill had not worried you in the least,
What good is it to me to be well again.

*Following an ancient writer’s reflection
\

FOR YOU, ETTA

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FOR YOU, ETTA


How the couch swells, then sinks,
As if its cushions meaningfully form to bring your body
Still closer to mine.

Twelve years float through our conversation.
Stray notes air from the web radio,
Now and then punctuating our sentences.

Why ask about our history?
What vanity possesses you to make sense of the world,
And try to figure God's will?

We met, we loved, what time before,
Is it dejavu, do we relive a previous encounter?
And where's the place I first saw you?
Do we return to it,
And gain another chance to do life over?


Or have we hope to live hereafter?
Shall we be rejoined,
And hand-in-hand walk the night
Forever young and through those fields
On the other side of the river?

The streaming-music player stops.

You lie before me and seem no more tangible
Than a thought, a dream within a dream,
Emerging within an instant then vanishing without a trace.
I just hold on, and try to grasp you.

I hear the whisper of your breath, its sound,
Though all the other voices cease, your voice remains.

A POEM AFTER RUMI

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A POEM AFTER RUMI


I see the light coming out from your eyes.
What sacred wonder illuminates your face?.
Wish I had nothing else to do,
But to spend the hours adoring you.
 

DIANA AND ACTAEON

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DIANA AND ACTAEON


The man was exhausted from the hunt.
During much of the day he had run furiously.
Now even his dogs welcomed the rest.

His bag was empty. He had not caught a thing.
Worse yet, his family expected bounty upon his return.

He stopped at a grove, and saw that within it
There was a pond and at its nearest edge
 A bed of turf and some shade. He sat.

He was sorry for himself, piqued,
Wondered how he failed, that he had no game.
Absentmindedly plucking single blades of grass,
Now half-asleep, he reclined,
Hoping time would restore his breath.

The splash, the Naiad, she startled him,
When he refocused his eyes, he saw her green helmet,
And a moment later he spied two more, sister-divinities.

It seemed that they joined together
In order to preside over the waters.

He thought that he heard their laughter.
He perceived from somewhere in the distance
The playing of a well-piped tune;
The magic of the scene overcame him.

Then all at once another marvel befell him. 
He witnessed a bright, white light,
A radiance at the opposite side of the pond.

Although forced to shade his eyes,
He soon discerned maidens at the bath, who,
With pail after pail of water, showered a naked woman.
She and her servant companions stood in the shallows.
Her tresses had been released.
Her hair dropped to her waist.

From his vantage he enjoyed an unobstructed view. 
He could measure her exact physical proportions,
And was able to consider for his delight
What are usually a woman's secret places.

He gazed upon the absolute symmetry of her face,
A skin without fault, and he noted the way
She diverted her eyes,
Seeming to look upon the world askance .

She was posed to her left side. 
Her hip was slightly raised.
Her knee was bent and she had her elbow set
Akimbo with her palm pressed at the waist.

He sensed that before him was immortal beauty.

The air carried a soft scent of rose.

He was ravenous.  He did not chew his food,
Rather he wildly stuffed his mouth.
His eyes devoured the meal.

In a fantasy run of his hands,
He tore at the meat of the feast.
He saw upset tankards of red wine,
Whose contents stained the top of the table,
And on the ground were silver bowls,
Which had fallen and were smashed,
Ice and fruit were scattered about the earthen floor.

His feet wildly tapped to the airy music.

His sense of smell had left him.
It nestled in the flowers that now floated about
Her ankles at the other end of the pool.

 

He paid no heed to his hounds,
He did not notice that their slumber turned to ferocity.

Not until after the first dog had bit,
When he recognized that his flesh was hide,
That his head had horns,
Only after he heard his torment,
That his screams, his cries transformed into
Awful, narrow screech over his out-stretched tongue,
And he saw that blood ran
Within the snorts which claimed his nostrils,
That were once his limbs, his feet and hands,
Cloven hooves vainly kicking and thrashing, wild thumps,
The mad noise of his dogs snapping and snarling,
Then he realized that he was prey,
That he was feast and being eaten alive.

And within the glory at the other end of the pond,
Nothing closed upon the rapture.

The mad dash, the cacophony, the every noise,
All that terrible frenzy of ravenous dogs at their meal,
The wild within every heart beat in the animal kingdom,
Complemented the harmony of the goddess at her bath.

And, as if it were a signal of Zeus's approbation,
The pleasure of the Olympian king
That justice had been done,
– The virtue of his daughter preserved --
A great, lone wolf appeared behind the woodland regalia.
For a while he ran along the shore,
Occasionally lapping upon the waters of the pond,
Then the creature abruptly stopped, 
Stretched his neck towards the heavens and howled,

The entire scene seemed basked in a silvery moon,
All of nature bore a feel of triumphant delight.

By the way, the hunter's family and friends,
His whole community had searched for weeks,
Yet neither the place of the man's demise,
Nor was one scintilla of his remains ever found.

YET ANOTHER LOVE POEM

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YET ANOTHER LOVE POEM


Who do you love the best
Me or one of the other boys,
The others who have been part of your life?

I believe you love me for my poems,
And the other guys because of their good looks.

Excuse me! I am sure that I know
How those former lovers write.
I would wager, their compositions stink!

They are schoolboys at their lessons.
Their vocabulary weak and grammar amiss.
Their voice never amounts to truth
For they have not learned,
They are not practiced in language of the heart.

A girl like you would never fall,
Never give herself over to some inconsequential chap,
Even were his house rich in goods,
Or he had. a ton of money in the bank.
Honestly, I doubt that it would be worth
Any man's while to court you, useless, I would say,
Unless he had verse at his command. 

You will have poetry in your life, and soulful adventure.

You will have love, above all else, love!  No!
Not artful, not postures of love, but absolute love,
All-out, heedless, besotted, running a muck,
Head over heels, love, as if, you were God-struck.

You will have an ardency whose heart-beat mirrors
The atomic steady of electrons about a nucleus,
An affection which possesses an endurance
Beyond any artifact of marble, any work of bronze,
And puts to shame the pretense of those,                
The ancient pyramids of Egypt or the other monuments,
Heights and circles of stone and rock,
Which seek to stake their own claim to victory over time.

The love you will have, its heart has a color and brightness,
A beacon from the farthest reaches of space-time,
A light by which all other lights are measured.

 
Too bad, honey!  Too bad for you!
You must know, and would you, please,
Tell the other suitors, oh just think on it a bit,
Who is the man, who may compare, or even place
A reasonable second in the ultimate competition,
Who but me might win the race for your heart? 

Sorry!  But it’s over, no choice,
It is just the luck, the fate which has befallen you.
Its story line, no earthly origin, not an everyday script,
The author knows when the sparrow falls,
He has count of the hairs upon your head,
Understand, accept, and embrace wisdom,
Let me call it, Destiny, and proclaim,
You have won the election.
A bright new day floods the horizon.

Mercy on whom mercy has has been granted, and
Compassion on whom compassion has been bestowed,
Not by any human will or its exertion,

But by the power of heaven and its justice.

JUNIOR SAYS

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JUNIOR SAYS

Honey, remember,

Remember that girl friend of yours?

She was the one, who, you said,

Had abandoned all hope of love.

A boyfriend had ditched her;

He had dropped her hard.

She felt awful, bitter, and

Whenever she referred to him,

In what amounted to a peculiarity of her despair,

She called him,

Instead of using his own real name,

She nicknamed him “boy”.

Sadness had run her down.

Your friend confessed that

She could not imagine world without him,

That that "boy" was all she ever wanted.

I told you, then, were you to leave,

Quit our home, break your solemn vow,

And go into world without me that

I too would desire sobriquet. I said,

Darling, might you now call me Junior?

I can no longer imagine life

Under my own given name.

My first name, the one you used to call me,

The one which formed upon your lips

Every early morning, and then later

When you wished me good night.

Now, whenever I hear it,

Can you imagine, yes, my own forename,

It only serves to increase my anguish.

Junior says,

He is lonesome.

He misses you terribly.

He awaits your return to his arms.

He knows your love is right.

You remain his heart.

He can not feel a thing without you.

That you had once called him “dear”

Makes him think himself

One of the luckiest men alive!

You alone possess his soul.

You rule his mind.

You trigger his every emotion.

You, his goddess,

You center his prayers.

He sees you as dream come true.

You are the love of his life.

SERENDIPITY

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SERENDIPITY

I know it's cosmic!

It's like, heavy, man!

Mystery inscrutable to regular analytical tools,

A Logic whose outcome sits beyond

Scope of rational, academic exercise!

Even if I had my desk in library stacks

And with it ready reference to twenty, one-foot-thick

Ancient texts, I doubt any human learning might lead me

(However diligent my application) to fathom what luck

Had brought you into my arms,

And yet tonight continues my rapture.

Though perhaps I should not appear unduly surprised,

Still I wonder, how in a parking garage,

A great space, which on weekends became a swap meet,

A regular New York City in-door, flea market,

Offering all kinds of old and colorful goods for sale,

Row after row of tables and stalls,

Set against both sides of wide aisles,

Had love found its way through all the material clutter.

I ask, what Providence had prompted Frankie,

My friend, and my helper, a man,

Who always had kept to his own counsel,

-- This, the one time, for he never, never

Interfered, ventured opinion on any other matter! --

He interrupted the normal, business routine,

The booth’s weekly setup.

He used all the resolve he could muster,

And reiterated to me, not once,

But on at least, half-dozen, separate occasions,

A notion that you and I were right,

Good, one for the other, in every special way.

He said you wanted me.

You later objected,

Said no such thought had ever entered your head,

That his estimation about your feelings toward me

Was wrong, simply mistaken, yet, you also confided,

Women frequently flirt to their business advantage.

I had noticed you, to be sure!

You were a regular customer.

A tall woman, and skinny, you had long brown hair,

And a nice face with a quick smile.

I shall always remember

The way you hurried through your purchases

With attentive eyes and lengthy fingers,

How sprite your manner and step!

Still no thought of romance had entered my mind.

I had not imagined us a suitable couple.

No! Not at all,

Until that one, the one, very early morning, when,

During a heavy rainstorm, I drove across Brooklyn

To collect you from the hostel.

We were going antiquing.

It was to be our first daylong excursion,

And in what seemed a proper gesture at the time,

I stopped at an all-night shop, and bought you

A single, exotic flower in a clear glass vase.

You, sister, limestone island, Baltic, woman,

I, who had sprung from the land-locked plains of Illinois,

Across countless markets and through

All the many wares we had examined for purchase,

For the decades, the year after year,

We had been searching,

Searching and searching, hoping for treasure,

Now there it lay before us, a worth whose value matched

The highest dollar bid at an Old-Master auction.

Consider it, the millions-to-one odds

Stacked against our favor, I... I, I mean, really!

I trust you have come to believe that

This thing of ours rests outside human command.

And let us remember,

Whomsoever the divine designates together,

No mortal may draw asunder.

This is it! I do! I do love you!

Tonight the pilot naps in the back seat.

I fly the aircraft. The bright,

Rollover arrows signal the glide path.

And over the wire direct to my ear,

Ten thousand watts propel the voice.

It says, “You do! You do love her!”

BABE RUTH, Home Run Secret

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BABE RUTH,

Home Run Secret

I pick a good one and sock it,

Get back to the dugout,

They ask me, what it was that I hit?

I tell them, I don’t know,

Except it looked good.

DIANA AND ACTAEON

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DIANA AND ACTAEON



The man was tired from the hunt,
He ran furiously all day
Even his dogs now welcomed the rest.

He had not caught a thing,
And his family expected bounty upon his return.


He stopped at a grove for the shade circling the pond.
He was disappointed with himself, piqued,
Wondered how he failed, that he had no game,
And he sat half-asleep,
Plucking single blades of grass,
He whiled the time to restore his breath.

The splash, the Naiad, she startled him,
When he focused he saw her green helmet, and then
He spied two more, this one’s sister divinities.
They must have joined her to preside over the water,
He thought, and he heard their laughter.
And in the distance lips running over reeds,
A well-piped tune, the wonder began to overcome him.

And at once he witnessed radiance, bright,
Direct on the other side of the pond, and
When he looked he saw maidens at the bath, who,
With pail after pail of water showered a naked woman,
And they had released her hair,
And it went way down below her shoulders.

The air carried a soft scent of rose.

Not in long-chewed swallows, but in full gulps
His eyes devoured the meal.

In a fantasy run of his hands,
He tore at the meat of the meal.
He saw upon the table tankards tumble over
And all kinds of fruit and bowls packed with ice,
They were smashed to the ground.

His feet wildly taped to the airy music.

And in that nosegay of the splashing
That came from the pool, he nestled his smell.

He paid no heed to his hounds,
He did not notice that their slumber turned to ferocity.

Her anger amounted to a slight look askance;
It was a dark turn of her eyes.

He first learned what would be his experience,
After the dogs had bit; and his dying,
The agony of that moment when his flesh was torn,
And he had been transformed into beast with horns
To be eaten alive, all his cries, his harrowing screams
Fell into the harmonies of the goddess at her bath.