Well, said I, it’s right as rain
As snow fell down the window pane
“And almost spring,” the Reinbear said
As he rolled and tumbled out of bed.
I think you’re wrong or quite mistaken
I’m sure I would remember that
If spring were here, then I would cheer!
And cry “Hooray!” and be quite gay.
“It’s not too late to do a jig and herald in the woodland sprigs”
And so the Reinbear danced and sang
While snowflakes followed him around.
He did not care if it was cold, or blustery or grey,
He knew that nestled in his heart
Spring was just a little way.
He’d wait for it, for blooms and sun
For all his friends to come and run
Along the river, down the lane
He knew that Spring was when they came.
“I’ll take a nap” the Reinbear said
“And when I wake I know I’ll see
The sun and grass, all green and bright
And spring will be a sheer delight!”
So in December when all was cold
Dreary, dark and dank,
I hurried quietly into bed
And slept and dreamt with Reinbear near
Till snow turned into rivers clear
Of daffodils and crocus blooms
Sparkling in the azure blue.
Along the sidelines they stood,
while the sticks flailed wildly,
boys running screaming round the sidewalk-chalked bases.
We were only girls, unwelcome to the rhymes and rhythms of the male psyche,
as testosterone rode high in these ten-year-old men.
We cheered and screamed, blew kisses and taunts,
giggled madly and pulled down skirts,
afraid to be noticed
yet afraid not to be.
Our fathers soon came home
some in high spirits, others in despair.
Soon words registered–angry, sad, laughing,
Then mothers called us to dinner.
Sticks and balls dropped,
arguments about who won and who owed what,
while we picked up our school books, and ran down the street,
to set the table and serve dinner,
while our brothers boasted about their prowess,
taking their princely places at the table.
I am a copy of myself
Just offer me a cigarette
And though you know I do not smoke
I dare to say I will not choke.
Now this is very odd indeed
I run and run and run with speed
This makes me feel that I am free
For trouble seems to follow me
No matter where or when, you please
I usually begin to bleed.
Make no mistake (perhaps just one)
Mistakes are rarely very fun
Avoid temptation to reply
I say this, but I don’t know why
So if you are inclined to write
I hope to find that you’re polite!
Tell me when autumn comes
For I must leave, you see
Tell me when the first leaf falls
For I must set you free
Tell me when the rose withers on its thorned crown
For when the rose has lost its hue I cannot comfort thee.
I leave though I am pained at thoughts
Of seeing you no more
I leave though grieved I am at circumstances
That carry me off shore.
Oh, tell me now, before I go
That you still love me so
Tell me, quick, as winter nears
That your love shall endure.
I weep for one who cannot hear
But nonetheless I weep
The tears seep through my hardened heart
Into my swollen breast
Shattering my mind apart
That I may still find rest.
Soldier, ride from battle, ride
Broken mind and soul
Ride until the heavens part
And swallow, one and all.
Weep, weep, weep and then
Turn into the wind
Till rain and tears are one, my love
And flesh to earth becomes.
Loneliness dissolves to tears
Sickness eats my heart
Eyes that sorrow blinds
And the world slips apart.
In death are we not made whole?
For who can say this is not so
Can testify to life beyond
If there be one, then let us go
If there be none, let the dead rest
Free of pain and sorrow’s weariness.
Lament not the passing
Yours draws nearer each hour.
Nearer is mine
So near your asking holds it
Mine, trivial to the world around
I would dissolve this union of flesh to bone
Could I hold to my resolve
Left with promises unfulfilled
So seemingly even
Heart drawn and quartered
Oh, had you not asked!
I start to freeze–
December always makes me sneeze.
My body shakes from nose to knees
And I begin to cough and wheeze.
Then January starts the year
With Polar Bears in bathing shorts
Madly running on the beach,
Diving into waters deep.
Now blizzard warnings warp my mind–
You better not delay.
Winds will howl all through the night
To drive the snow away
And bury cars in six-foot drifts
While all you do is watch and wait.
So open up your pantry doors
And see what lies inside.
Your larder looks a bit up-tight
It hasn’t food to last the night–
It’s just a case of fight or flight!
Get going while there still is light
problems and worries
one on the other
way too serious
why do I bother
so reading is better
than writing right now
but thanks for inquiring
I’ll try a lot harder.
I fell down
It wasn’t far
But in that distance life shot past
with indeterminate speed
I was the moon, falling,
David Bowie gliding to earth
Lost in a desert
Alien to myself as to all around
I grabbed a midnight Pan Am and headed to New York,
Landed in Idlewild,
Memories not yours.
You, the simple one I used to be,
After all the searching
Found life was only what I needed.
Shadows crawled out from the walls,
Dreams of freedom being mine
As you fell into cracks and crevices so small
That hopes of retrieving you were insane.
103 years, Judge Ingram said,
as Weberman lowered his head,
charged with crimes of acting out,
found guilty, on 59 counts,
child sexual abuse, towards a 12 year-old girl.
His religion could not excuse,
his heinous acts, his moral turpitude,
an unlicensed therapist upon an unwitting soul.
“I would cry until the tears went dry,”
the victim sighed with head held high.
Now 18, married, she moved away,
her home in another place to stay,
for society still perverts the crime
to wrong the woman victimized.
Brooklyn D.A. Charles Hynes got it right,
wresting power from the powerful,
letting law see the light,
so victims will know their voices are heard
and justice once more rises at dawn,
to challenge the dark, one day at a time.
The trains pass, crowded with humanity,
a woman, crushed against riders,
with hair askew and packages in hand,
grabs hold the car’s gleaming pole,
struggling for space
as a myriad of hands,
unrelenting, begrudge her safety.
Out the window more trains pass,
each bears burdens of day’s woes,
work undone, promises broken,
jobs lost, some won,
though weariness surfaces in all–
the city takes its toll.
The woman exits, with little relief,
her evening a reflection of her day,
as cook and clean fill the hours,
till slumber calls
and sweet caresses of dreams obscure the city’s madding screams.
NYC–St. Patrick’s Cathedral–interior–crèche with dog–looks like a golden retriever
dog and god, one and the same
you can’t fake what’s in a name
forwards, backwards, it’s the same
dog and god are one name
Down, down, and down
black holes with fetid water
the wine of a city
blinded by cheap lights
too costly to survive
only in dreams.
dreams ghost by
the gold ring beckons
horse heads break
ancient wood, brittle and neglected
your forgotten dreams
when horses ran round and round
and laughter was the only sound.
decapitated and dethroned
you shuffle back and forth to work
down subway steps
towards black earth
and rats that scurry, finding death
anticipating you, along the way
will find the fall
You casually accept the entry
the underworld so grim
there to find your long-lost kin.
political issues aside
there are some things I really can’t hide
though finances are rough
not having a dog
is getting real tough
and depressed is a new state of mind
New York fills me with a haze
of smoke and soot
abides not well
New York borders on the hell
of crass indifference
and yet to tell
it often proves a boon
a source of pride as all collide
and come together, side by side
Sunnyside, so comforting a name
Now can only claim
A place of death,
Another in NYC.
Queens, so regal it proclaims
But harbors those who maim
And kill the innocent of this a city,
Inured to violence
A purple heart of death.
We honor killing, murder, depravity
And toss aside what’s left of our humanity
Replacing it with such insanity
That souls are set adrift.
When I awoke
The day just lay there
Which dream was real
No hour longer than this day
Under cover though I stay
Tangled mess, my sheets tell the tale
The next awaits
And never arrives.
When darkness overcomes
To hide has just begun.
Victims of the city walls
All await a deadly fall
Through sewers, streets and shopping malls
The Subway tracks tell us all
That life is rotten to the core
When we neglect our neighbors call
No jobs, low wages, a scary sight
As politicians continue on
Wreak havoc on so many here
And food a scarce commodity
While rents increase and they rejoice
To those we pay a living wage
As we scurry to our grave.
The snow has fallen, not too deep
The forest comes alive.
As deer and fox and turkey scurry
They cannot wait
Today is Christmas
Today is grand!
Throughout the land!
Oh! Très bien! Très bien!
Uno or dos
I seem not to know
Whom I like most.
I count on my fingers
Five – up to ten
And then I begin
To count them again.
This is quite fun
Having you here
To read all my gibberish
When it appears
And though I do know
You’re all very busy
I can’t stop myself
From making us dizzy!
How quiet he is.
In death as in life.
Soft, smooth, once warm, now cold and stiff.
Gone my love. Gone my long companion of days adrift and nights awake.
Gone now, gone forever, three feet down, an amendment to the soil.
To mask my pain and ask forgiveness.
What life did you lead. Were you served well, you who bent your head and body to my will.
I did ignore. I did. I remember well.
Soft, my boy, soft next to me, so easy to put aside.
To gather back those times, the endless repetition of a life’s attitudes, changed never, repentant forever. Time finite. Time infinity.
You left, and I sit, shocked that 16 years passed before me, unnoticed.
Asleep in your place on the floor, the discomfort comforts. The last sleep and weariness of each day blurs my mind of thought and emotion. Kept at bay, I exist.
If I had a nickel for all the eaten pickles
And a dime for every cone
I’d hop aboard a plane
And fly to the Ivory Coast.
And then I’d board the largest ship
That sailed the ocean blue
And float and float in circles
As long as the sky was blue.
This isn’t heaven
The clock says
I’m slowly fading
Yet here I wait for 2:14.
Now its come
And now its gone
The clock still runs.
To be precise
I cannot last
And now I crash.
No doubt at 3:22
You are dreaming the whole night through
Yet here I sit, you see
The clock displays 3:23
And should I think to wait some more
I’m sure it will say 3:24.
By now my mind is wandering
A half hour I’ve been pondering
So with surprise I find I’m vexed
It only says 3:26!
A lake is not an even shape
With ins and outs and rocks that tempt your very fate
And even man-made obstacles, the decks that jut out from the shore.
There’s that, and then there’s even more
Like water slides, they’re in your way
And little floating balls that mark
The edge of which, I know not what.
But if you turn your mind around
You’ll see that other things abound.
The beaver dam is one, you see.
And lily pads, there’s more than three!
Don’t get me started listing things
It never ends, so to begin
I see two deer, as dear can be
With mother walking very near.
Some fish are jumping in the lake,
And slithering away, a snake.
Did I forget about the birds?
Now really, that is quite absurd!
For there are blue jays, juncos too
And chickadees, count twenty-two!
And buzzing off in rapid haste
Are hummingbirds in every space!
It never ends, the things you see
Around a lake, around a tree!