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...
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.
I remember looking out the window. We sat upon stools And 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 recycled paper.
Believe me, no irony intended. Honest! Every memory, every instance My being with you, was so lovely!
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.
I know that by the time Isabel reaches her teens She'll want to read all the love letters Dad sent to Mom,
And Mother, Ever attentive to the moral order of the home, Will have censored some details of the lovers’ delight, Until the girl attains the appropriate age, And she possesses the missives on her own.
And our son will study the photographs, Taken when his parents' passion was young; He will marvel at his Mother's beauty And from her image learn standards necessary, When it comes to the time He chooses a woman for his wife.
And our children will cherish the memory of how, Night after night over the years, We read to them until they fell asleep.
And their minds retain the cadence of nursery rhymes, And the breathy note of excitement In tales of heroic deed and glorious adventure, And the memories of wonderful delight, The stories of fantasy and magic create.
Their rooms teem with books, These books form a collection, a magnificent library. It remains today the envy of posterity.
And most of all our children recall the hugs and kisses, The times they rode on our shoulders Their arms around our necks, The softness of our voice when we spoke to them, The affection lavished without stint Bringing to soul warmth and calm, And that happiness evident From childhood spent in a good home.
I‘ve never figured myself a jealous man. Maybe when I was much younger, During my teen years, I had a bit of a streak, And, later, toward the end of my drinking, Elements of my character became magnified, True, especially for the worst parts.
Liquor always brought me to morbidity.
I became lost, crazy, think was upside down. My bending of the elbow grew to obsession, That was the mode, coloring my every move.
But you know the story, Honey. Hallelujah!
I was saved. For me, like Saint Paul’s, A miraculous conversion, blinded by the light, I had been born free, citizen, Roman, holding rank, Armed upon steed, death squad commander, Who served at pleasure of god, Caesar, To whom I pitched incense, and swore Allegiance, knowing to act otherwise Would mean pain of exile, To be banished from Rome forever.
What a story! Knocked from horse, and When that saint rose up, up from that ground, From the road outside Damascus, He had not only raised himself, But us up, too, making for us all seats together, Heavenly places, in the church of Christ, Jesus.
Forgive me. I digress, and what I call miracle In my case may exaggeration for more pedestrian, Quotidian explanation be, my experience Panic attack, seizure, psychotic, I went nuts!
Leibchen, Ich habe ganz verrueckt gegangen!
However the therapies label, it certainly stopped My practice of daily imbibing, And took from me the terrible habit To set me on steps toward character improvement.
Allow me here more common fare, Borrow ready, simple conceit, To come to full circle, to explain How today’s affection takes this all too zealous turn. Oh by gosh, by golly! It has happened again. Thinking about you and the things that adorn you Has delivered me prey to green-eyed monster.
When your stockings lay in bedroom bureau, When you lived with me here in our home, I would open the drawer and look upon them, The pang I’d feel lay in what I could not… For unlike them, I could not caress your entire leg!
Then I grew jealous of your buttons and zippers.
You might say, using strongest intonation, 'Stanley! How can you be jealous of innocent items? How can you be jealous of objects, Please, like my own buttons and zippers?'
But I must retort, not so innocent at all! For they hold you in so many intimate places, And stay with you the whole day long, even now, Now, when you are gone, utterly absent from my side!
The devil possesses me for my ardor so extreme, I have become jealous of your shoes, because, And you must have guessed the reason, They hold your feet and take you away from me.
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 Just 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 noted significant, You had telephoned me from Florida the day Directly following the second Harvest Moon, A moon whose rise the previous night I had sighted over Forest Avenue.
Upon those papers I sometimes drew Regular zodiac signs, pretending knowledge, Like some sorcerer of old, Who predicated life’s lot on planetary whirl, Who posited fortune from abstract, A 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 plane with moon in constellation, Leo?
It all gets very primitive when dealing with you.
When I concentrate, Concentrate on my abandon, on my love, Really examine the extent of my feelings, My heart wells, fills up like a balloon. It’s 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 and stop holding on, Just simply let you go, Then I can not help but feel gratitude, Give thanks for the time I had opportunity to spend with you.
At other times I fall to absolute delusion, And believe I write great poetry, The words I pen have immortality, Celebrate you and me for the ages, Carry real prophecy and moment, True vision when I reveal my dreams for you.
I guess I believe we are constantly being born. 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 another problem; It’s when I look about. I see other couples, pairs, close, Together for the afternoon, daylight upon their faces, While they read their newspapers and books, And sip from their bottles of water.
I am sorry to conclude, you’re a mean person. You leave me alone with my work.
Am I making this up as I go along?
But you did leave me here alone. You left me all by myself with my freedom. I am afraid I’ve fallen prey to mine own emptiness.
Were you mine, I swear I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t share you with anybody, with anything. It would be just you and me. You’d be the center of it all! It would feel more like love, sweet love, Than me left here home alone with my work.
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 Than those things I have in mind.
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.
I sing tonight. It's the ol' babalu. Though tired and drawn, I am called.
There's a 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 now reality. The promises burgeon. There is pregnancy of parts, And ocean of delight.
Hello! Darling, hello!
'Kiss me once, kiss me twice. Then kiss me once again.’ I want your lips on mine.
He is lonesome. He misses you terribly. He awaits your return to his arms. He knows why your love seems so right He loves you. You are his heart. He can not feel a thing without you.
That you should call him 'dear' Makes him one of the luckiest men alive!
You alone possess his soul. You reside at center of his thoughts. You are his every emotion. You are his goddess; You are his dream come true.
Abide with me for fast falls eventide. Darkness deepens with alacrity, Nothing halts the night.
Stay with me while time yet allows, When other helpers fail, And other comforts flee. Allow me to mean the best, Help where others only helpless seem.
I want to be alone with you.
Though so many things to tell, One thing sums it right, One thing huge, deep and great, Like the sea, my heart embraces you.
You, my love, are all my life today.
Allow my help, I mean to assuage What ever wrongs cause distress, Spare your soul from bottom and regret.
When hopeless seems word of day, I wish to assure, readily predict, Though this but one moment seem, It be no moment at all, but infinite, Happy outcome, your grandfather’s dream, Favor divine and knowledge at sunrise.
