Saturday, January 30, 2016

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
not even
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. 

Friday, December 11, 2015

Thursday, November 26, 2015

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.

Friday, November 6, 2015

"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.

Friday, October 30, 2015

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
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.

Thursday, October 29, 2015

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

Sunday, October 25, 2015


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
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
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.

Saturday, October 24, 2015

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
between sticky pages.

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

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

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

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

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