Fire on Peterborough Street

I woke up in a Red Cross
disaster area today.
The sun was still the same,
April breezes mocking this
last day in March.  Nearby
the park was becoming alive;
but I was in the specter of
the dead.  Seven, eight, maybe
thirteen unlucky dead.

 

We stood, stared up,
we the witnesses,
staring at each other
to make sure
we were alive.

 

I woke up in a Red Cross
disaster area today and
walked to the corner.
To a ruined house full of
smoky ghosts, flaming spirits.
Windowless, roofless,
lifeless, except for a tiny
green plant that seemed to
outlive the blaze.

 

I woke up in a Red Cross
disaster area today.  Not
knowing what to do, I made
clumsy bags of soup, noodles
and raisins for those who
leaped out of windows or
clung to burning fire escapes...
crying out in the cold night.  

 

I stood again to watch the   
jaws of demolition cranes     
snap up debris and limbs.

 

 

December

The watching clock
pinches each second,
holds a minute in
its hand...drops,
catching another.

 

Snow gently falls,
frost gathering upon
the pane.

 

As gulls
proclaim this
new morning,
the sun rose...
another golden flower!

 

Her

Did you see that woman falling
from the escalator at Grand Central
Terminal?  Lying in dark circles of
blood?  Begging the police not to
tell anyone?  She would be alright
when she got up.

 

What about her?

 

Did you see that woman screaming
in front of the newsstand? Hear
those screams of hatred spewing
from her face?  Notice her eyes....
burning slits of light?  Maybe
she can't be tranquilized anymore?

 

What about her?

 

Did you see that woman walking
across the street?  Wearing those
special shoes?  All the toes
on her right foot cut off?  Isn't
it awful?  Watch her getting on
the bus, all that pain on her face.
How much longer can she keep going?

 

What about her?

 

Did you see that woman?  Ashen
and still as a corpse.  Lying
by the side of the Palisades
Highway?  Her hair so grey,
her legs so straight. Lying
in the short grass.  She was
always running off schedule
Always trying to be on time.

 

What about her?

 

 

How Sweet!

After bathing in bubble gum,
Mary Jane unties ribbon candy
from bags of chocolate kisses.

 

Sky colored by yellow, pink
& blue cotton candy clouds.

 

Marshmallow chicks hide
behind spearmint leaves.

 

Jelly beans sprout along
fields of candy corn.

 

Caramel apples, lemon drops,
orange slices stacked for sale
at Lolly Pop's juicy fruit shop.

 

Watch out as sour gummy
worms wiggle underfoot.

 

Climbing big rock candy mountain
wandering with sugar high stars.

 

Thirsty now, Mary Jane sips
root beer barrels at Snickers Bar.

 

Black licorice fills this night
with confectionary dreams
& one big banana moon pie.

 

Charlie Horse

Gambling everything:  bank book
insurance policy  frame house.
He bought into the business.

 

Now he was superior could push
us around. Brag about being
management.  Wasn't I lucky
to have such a nice boss?

 

There's no wishing him away.
Charlie was something definite
like that charlie horse tearing
you out of sleep at 4 a.m.

 

He told some personal stories
making me feel all covered with slime.
How he'd never finished high school,
been a drunk, got divorced, beaten
up dogs, kicked his kids out.

 

Impressive.  He affected everyone.
Some to tears.  Others to screaming.
Certain bosses sort of stared
at him puzzled, smiling slightly.

 

Day after day, he hammered in ideas.
The old ways were best.  He never
made mistakes.  Nobody works anymore.
It had something to do with
America and obedience.

 

Malignant sweat grew through his
heart and became putrefied.  Charlie
dropped dead one day from a heart
attack and somebody buried that horse.
 

 

 

 

 

Muse in Miniature

The Muse in Miniature

 

listening to this soft
symphony of raindrops

 

silver salmon leap to
lunch on bites of blue sky

 

all the greens of spring
are opening our eyes

 

splash…one word
in oceans of sound

 

the sun…an eye without pity
glares down on us

 

beneath fir boughs float
circles of blue bugs

 

evening is the dawn
of night time

 

amazing how many stars
fit inside my windowpane

 

these frosty windowpanes
chatter like nervous teeth

 

stopping to see
the shape of a snowflake

 

 

Moon see you

Do you see the moon?

Queen Anne's lace

star thistles

embroidering night.

Black cat curls

tail near porch rail.

Blinking yellow eyes

tiger's eyes.

We surmise soft

circles of sleep

approach.

O Awesome Muse

You of wondrous long hair
and haunting green eyes.

 

Why can't you help me
with my household tasks
become my personal assistant
my housekeeper, my consort?
Shop cook handle my calendar
wipe dishes floors, type for me too.

 

O Muse marry me, gratifying all
my amorous needs.  Especially my
sexual wants…fulfilling all my fantasies.
Be awesome. Take me to some posh
restaurants. Let's do something flamboyant
after jetting to fine cultural activities.

 

Instantly goggle all my queries.
Don't forget to publish me worldwide
in hardcover, paperback, electronically
after procuring excellent translators.

 

Find some adoring relatives, perhaps
plan an intergalactic extravaganza?

 

Hurry, please.

"A" train

brassy blue
electric

 

close eyes
watch points
like stars

 

think now
how insignificant
compared to train
speaking for itself

 

stars known
in no language
burn shoot
thru
tiger's eyes

 

brain in
constant action
reaction

 

to what we do not know
plans of distant stars
galaxies floating as

 

"A" train
silver worm
slides under
big belly
of city
 

 

 

 

 

Survivor Tree

There in core of the
World Trade Center
this pear tree stands.

 

It grew from ash of bodies
clasping hands falling in air.

 

Cared for by those who
believe in life.

 

Now reaching for heaven
despite the hatred of men
screaming in streets.

 

Look how sunlight touches
each leaf.  Think of
every leaf being
completely unique. 

 

There are none so blind
as will not see all
God has given us.

 

May 2011

Counting minutes

We hurry through afternoons
of thunderstorms.
Drizzle zig zag splashing
fast steps as winds
brush over trees.
Trance-like and in a fog,
we have discovered
no solutions.  
Does any one have answers?
Going home across moist
blackness.  This day finished.
Another piece of the puzzle gone.
Sprays of lost thoughts.
Raindrops shimmer on branches....
alluvial petals, watery bouquets.

That long afternoon

The air became heavy wiping
willows along skyline.
Blue jays sped to bushes
startled by thunder.

Rain drops linger on face
cascading arms
falling from fingers.
Lying on lips now
precious cool.

We listen to rain
caress marigolds.
Circles of water
spreading wider wider
laden with moist
smells of summer.

Rain walks over
side streets pelting
metal roofs in
slippery symphonies.
We hide under cover
our bodies as damp
as silver willows.

 

The Search

We are the lost who have
climbed hillsides...gathering
innumerable and unnamed
stumbling over sharp rocks
searching for our long shadows.
 
 
Tracing darkness with
vagrant fingertips
tasting the disdain of dust
we are long shadows
moaning with open mouths.
 

 

Eating bitter food grown
on the wrong side of this moon
our hearts caged in fear
fearing we have been cast off
fearing we have no destination.
 

 

Sands burning our feet
whipping our unnamed faces
we are long shadows crossing
this dessert longing for
an end to our thirst.
 

 

We are losing our shadows
entering empty caves
now listening for echoes
now finding wells of memories
innumerable and unnamed.
 
 
 

 

Celestial Songs

A Prussian blue sky,
willow weeps golden threads,
silver snow drifts on brown earth.

 

Shy autumnal bird.
Did you brush against the moon
and find that pale down?

 

In our frail world, even
meteors, the eyes of heaven
fall like dust from God's hands.

 

What discus player
threw a tangerine moon on
top of Main Street? 

 

 

Misplaced

Searching for sweet red peppers on sale.
Recalling how my income has fallen.

 

Touching edges of anxiety
maybe my mind is misplaced or
some new disease invades me.

 

My caged heart rebels against looming panic.
All those wars...this planet growing
more pustulant as clocks choke forward.

 

What have I forgotten at the grocery store?
I want to be sure, swift not grasping,
Slivers of black ice can knock me down.

 

Misplaced, silenced, lost with yesterday's lists,
mixed among crumpled coupons, long lines.

 

 

That evening...

after the operation  
you delirious
my heart torn apart
wearing robes of despair
o so heavy my desolation.

 

Walking through town
I pass train stations
where homeless children sleep
...wild flowers plucked
from gardens of grief.

 

You are conjured up in
my mind as trees draw
your face over tops of trees
blossoms of trees
your fabulous face.

 

Somehow we must
continue to live
in this mutilated world
but for today how lost
I am without you.

 

 

Was it worth it all, after all?

How many schemes we had.
Such grand ideas!

We'd live off the fat
of the land.  Just put
your finger on an atlas
and start our car rolling.

 

Then suddenly sickness
the great intruder
snapped it away.
Took all our plans
tearing them to pieces.

 

Is it worth it all
after all…all the struggle
when it all turns to
dust all after all?

 

Is that the same God
who put you in a coma?
Is that the same God
who forms the flowers?

 

 

sick sick sick

of seriousness
the universe is
a labyrinthine of my
ear ear ear

 

I am deaf from it
there is no sure
melody in these
crazy strains

 

deaf deaf deaf
dumb blinded
loosening mind
for just 1 moment
to a maze of human
dilemma absurd

 

gone gone gone
everything is
senselessly gone
running thru rooms
marked no exit
crying out in
no voice

 

dance dance dance
on the barbed wire
of time feet raw
raw raw bleeding
blood blood blood

I planted my garden

on the wrong side
of moon forgetting
tides of ocean
lunar wax wane

 

only madness
was cultivated
there underground
tubular roots
corpulent veins

 

flowers called
despair gave off
a single fruit...

 

I ate it
my laughter
becoming harsh
my eyes grew
oblique.

Rendezvous

That was the name of a paint

can from J&M Hardware.

With sweat lingering on her

face, she colored her room.

Tinted now like insides of

ripe plums, like perfect grapes.

When the sizzling lemon sun

dropped from heaven...night

became moist and black.

Her fan whirled thick air

stained with cigarettes

coffee, turpentine, white wine.

She sank into her wicker couch

as fog horns trail the horizon.

Lotus screech relentlessly for water

always wanting more more more water.

Closing her eyes, remembering him

now tasting the feast of his smile.