RED ROOF INN, Love a Few Miles North of Trenton, New Jersey

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RED ROOF INN,
Love a Few Miles North of Trenton, New Jersey




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'.

LOVESICK, After a Fassbinder Soliloquy

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LOVESICK,
After a Fassbinder Soliloquy





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.

FIRE IN THE BRAIN, Affirmation

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FIRE IN THE BRAIN,
Affirmation,
formerly NOTICE



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.

OH CHICAGO! Suite White City, III

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OH CHICAGO!
Suite White City, Version III


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!

SOUL LODGING, After Horace

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SOUL LODGING,
After Horace



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!

Make me, me the envy of kings!

RESPOND TO THIS VIDEO, A Poem about Friendship

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RESPOND TO THIS VIDEO,
A Poem about Friendship



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?

POET, The Gift

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POET,
The Gift



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!