Howland Cultural Center- African American History Month

FDR Mansion and Library

Dia:Beacon

At A Recent Poetry Reading, Where I Attempt The Vulcan Mind Meld With The Dead Poet, Czeslaw Milosz

 Vying for my attention

another poet cries,

“Try not to look at me.”

as she models her black bribe.

To which I reply,

"You are a garden I dare not enter

a rusted gate

glumly rigged."

...

I must awaken my taste.

My mood is blind.

...

They come in the night

with empty buckets

to take the land

assault my knowing

with malodorous cues.

...

Idle reality

impales hope

to a tree

where

not even

the

crow

can gloat.

...

Have faith, child     

The World is naive. 
Feed it a few gluten-free animal crackers.

 From Poem Hunter: Czeslaw Milosz, Polish poet, prose writer and translator of Lithuanian origin and subsequent American citizenship. His World War II-era sequence The World is a collection of 20 "naive" poems. He defected to the West in 1951, and his nonfiction book "The Captive Mind" (1953) is a classic of anti-Stalinism. From 1961 to 1998 he was a professor of Slavic Languages and Literatures at the University of California, Berkeley. In 1980, he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. 

Vernooy Kill Falls In The Catskills

Huckleberry Point

Overlook Mountain

Under-Cliff/Over-Cliff Carriage Road

Fahnestock State Park Three Lakes Trail

Wallkill Valley Rail Trail Rosendale New York

1926 Antique Caboose

 A look inside the caboose at 75 Haviland Road in Highland by The Walkway Over The Hudson.  

Poem: Fine Wine

Published in the 12/2015 issue of Chronogram Arts. Culture. Spirit.

 

Fine Wine

Wine 

should be

savored like 

a grand epic 

filtered throughout with 

barely audible hints 

of blackberry and currant, 

joined among swirls of licorice.

A dressed-up ballroom duo, noshing

creamy avocado wedges a-

top crispy crackers heaped with slices of

sharp orange cheddar from Wisconsin.

Accompanied by a sweet, good

looking Filipino man 

that croons steamy songs

to  pale, earthy girls

beneath  moon’s blush 

nightly, on

a cruise

ship. 

 

A poem that starts with one syllable per line, increases to ten syllables, and then decreases back down to one is called a  Double Etheree (or sometimes a stacked or diamond Etheree). 

The Etheree form was created by Arkansas poet Taylor Armstrong in the late 1970s. 

Giving Thanks

Thanksgiving is
Tom turkey stuffed, trussed and baked
to tender perfection, it's crackly skin oozing juice.
Celery and cubed bread stuffing,  Baked, fried, and mashed potatoes
Seasoned gravy made from pan drippings.
Crunchy French-fried onions layered over green beans.
Marshmallow streaked yams.
Chilled cranberry sauce.
Pumpkin and Apple Pie,
Sparkling cider, freshly roasted coffee.
Orange spice tea.

So eat like there’s no tomorrow, and then
put the fork down and chew on some TUMS.

Chew on this.

Thanksgiving is a time to remember those less lucky
to pardon the unpardonable,
to set aside differences.

Thanksgiving is a day to
appreciate what you have, where you live.
 And don't forget to clean your plates
People are starving.
People are dying in wars
People have given their LIVES
so that we can eat turkey, put up lights and shop at the Mall.

So enjoy your Thanksgiving
hug your family, friends, the pet and be kind.
Because we have much still to be thankful for.

I know I will.

Boscobel House And Gardens

"Seasons of the Mid-Hudson Valley"

Dancing Bears

"Seasons of the Mid-Hudson Valley"

An exhibit of photographs by 
Mohonk Preserve Volunteer Photographers

November 13, 2015, to Monday, January 4th, 2016

La Bella Pizza Bistro 

194 Main St, New Paltz, NY 12561

Opening Reception
 Sunday, November 15 from 5-7pm.

Grimm Expectations

I touched death's hand
and peeled back my crying skin
ready for death’s inspection
prepared to barter.

Take me instead.

I stroked death's supernatural chin
my screams
locked in the dead zone.

Death's white corpse
hovered before me
swilling foul fluids
noting my soft edges
hinting at frogs
and Biology.

I shrank
as death peeled back my lover
sliced by hot steel
selected without warning
on a haunted road
black as pitch
black as a bottomless pit
my love dead
by the splash.

I slept through my dark daze
a zombie
clasping
death's calling card
a calling card that read
Superboy is dead
long live Lex Luthor
Your life,
your journey begins here.
The card was signed
by a Mr. Grimm.

Hawaiian Time

climbs the Stairway to Heaven

taking in the view

finding plenty time fo breathe, cuz!

...

Hawaiian time

leaves Honolulu

on a late plane

to New York

it will arrive bumbai.

...

New York time

is waiting

on Hawaiian time

and promises

to chill

in due time.

New York time

thinks Hawaiian time

has two speeds

slow and stop.

New York time takes

a long minute

to change its

mind about

Hawaiian time

but Hawaiian time

doesn’t care

it expects New York time

will catch up bumbai.

Bumbai: otherwise; or else; later; later on

Hilda

was such a bloody bore

not cancerous

but a royal pain in the butt

I tried to quietly endure

Shush now Hilda.

The stress is almost over.

So dramatic

always gushing

apparently, she didn't have enough color in her diet

such a flood from one

so dehydrated.

In fact, Hilda refused to stop

her anal ways

felt attacked

when the doctor told her to cut back

on the ice-cream

cheese

groan, chocolate.

Poor damaged Hilda

so emphatic

cited the colonoscopy

as the final straw

causing her to spew

so profusely.

Doesn't she understand

that Doctor knows best

now he has to operate

to get her to stop

being so damned bloody.

I suppose the surgeon

and she will tie it together

finally,

giving her a chance

to sit pain-free

perhaps have Dr. Oz inspect her

bowel movements

enabling her to alter her condition

take new pride

in scribbling her S's.

Her flare-ups

soothed briefly

by the unflappable

Hazel, a witch,

who comes highly recommended.

The Unwanted

and destitute
crouch in a huddle
gasping at the dreaded discard aisle
as we sort through
the endless stacks of
brown, yellowed
and dusty volumes.

Some hide
dead cockroaches
insect poop.

Written on their title pages
are inscriptions to family, friends and fans.

A few hide old photos.

Delightful old bookmarks
are relegated to a particular box
later transformed into artfully decorated cards.

Now and then
we discover
a single bill
forgotten
between sticky pages.

We hunt to find a first edition
Hawaiiana
or any needy rare books.

We wipe away the grime
mend the tears
unfold corners
as I try to digest a mountain of data
intoolittletime.

The orphans
are then carefully priced
counted and packed into labeled boxes
their character
further noted
by the application of various colored masking tape.
Later carted away
by the truckload
to sit inside a warehouse
where they will wait
to be rediscovered
at the annual book sale.
The lucky outcasts
polished and poised
ready to converse
with us
again.


**Original version of my poem, printed as "Book Makeovers" Honolulu Star-Bulletin July 2, 2008.

Bonticou Crag