Part Of Me Is You
I’ve known you nearly
All my life and it’s been as long
Since I’ve last seen you;
You’ve divorced
Lost weight
Lost a parent
(Or two)
Remarried
Your kids visit
As often as they can;
Last night I dreamed
Of your dad, I borrowed
His Harley Davidson
Model G Servicar and drove
Aimlessly (as I do in all my
Driving dreams) down
Western Avenue;
I parked in Fluky’s lot
And walked over to the
Antique shop to see if my
Grandparent’s old dining
Room chairs had been refinished…
We have a lot in common—
Jeff, Alan, me—and so many
Others who share parallel
Lives and intertwined destinies;
There is a part of all of you
That remains an integral
Part of me, it’s been there
Since the first day we met
All those years ago
When life was simple,
When our fathers taught us to
Catch a baseball and made sure
Our mitts were well broken in;
I knew you as boys but now
We’re men, and we carry the
Aches, pains and longings that
Have made us who we are today
And remind us of all the beauty
Wonder and love that surround us.
˜
No Brotherhood (1996)
While a spiffy lawyer
Basks in Boca Raton sun
I wheeze and cry and yearn
For stairs to climb and long halls
To throw balls down for my dog to fetch;
˜
Pompous Negro judge
Flicks flint off his jive sleeve
Monogrammed dress shirt, his spit
Polished lizard and suede pavement
Pounders glisten in the over lit courtroom;
˜
I ruin my crooked spine
Moving house to two rooms
And a john cramped with possessions
And whatnot, unread books in stacks on
A Wurlitzer that hasn’t been tuned since 1947;
˜
And jazzy Leroy Lips with
His rhetoric and justice and a
Funky G.I. Bill law degree for a
Pumped up war veteran who went to
Nam a nigger and came back a Jucy Lucy;
˜
He’d have been better off as
Jungle jerky food chain gristle on
White toast burnt over some slanty-
Eyed gook’s flaming hut, kids running naked
Through the village like a picture in Life magazine;
˜
Now the brothers call the shots
And I’m the pawn in their mon(k)ey game
Jockeying for a buck here a flash deal there
While Jewish Jimmy Co(h)n could care less if it went
On forever—don’t matter none, he gets paid either way;
˜
The Florida sun burns his Jew
Skin so dark that he blends right in with
The brothers and can walk through the section
Eights without an escort flashing his pinky ring and
Diamond star of David and talking the talk of the brotherhood.
˜
Rina’s Little Legs
Your legs remind me
Of Helen Fourment’s
In Rubens’ Little Fur;
Thick, bulging knees
Wrinkly but strikingly
Feminine, bruised the
Way Jane Avril’s might
Have looked after an
Evening of Cancan,
Folly and lechery
At the Moulin Rouge…
I wonder what your
Lover will say as he
Reaches his hands
Below your loins to
Stroke your stumpy
Chicken skin legs
Only to discover the
Welts and blotches—
Unmistakable mementos
Of your appetite for
High-heeled footwear
And your penchant
For stumblebumming.
˜
Aware
If a seamless death takes me
Away
˜
I shall never know what fate
Awaits
˜
If it comes before I even
Awake
˜
My plans for tomorrow gone
Awry
˜
Left will be a shell of
Awkwardness
˜
My family will bear the
Awfulness
˜
Of telling me that I’ve gone
Away
˜
If only I could linger here
Awhile
˜
Long enough to celebrate life’s
Awe.
˜
Passage
Hopefully the skies will clear
And rays of sunshine appear
To shed some light on these
Dreary and wet conundrums
Whose queer sense of humor
Has dampened my disposition
Leaving me in a funk of moist
Drizzle day after day while my
Spirit longs to breathe the air
That my forefathers swallowed
Deep into their lungs on brisk
Summer mornings as the fog
Rose over the Rostovitsa river
Consumed by the warmth of
Slowly emerging sunlight that
Broke through stubborn clouds
To bake the wet ground leaving
Fissures of time in a timeless
Godforsaken land where wind
Cast shadows into nothingness.
˜
Howard
Were you anyone’s hero
Or just feared?
Money has a way of
Seducing the meek
Flight and films
Business empires
Months at the Nosseck
Naked and disheveled
Plane crashes
Stacking tissue boxes
Pill popping
Pain palliation
Elusive, reclusive
Obsessive, repressive
Penthouse suites
Immersed in darkness
Lonely tirades of
Injected infirmity
The Mormons
Could not bring you closer
To God
Or Satan
But your billions
Were their reward
The devil’s due
Into wicked pockets fell.
˜
Afghanistan (1991)
O! Afghanistan
In silk and garnet,
Divine and smooth—
Hot oil;
˜
From your broken mountains
Spill youth’s mortality as
You linger in ruin,
Nourishing petulance,
Every lie and every morbid thing;
˜
You awaken to bluebirds,
Thundering Afghanistan—
Zebras and cobras
Gnawing at your mouth;
˜
As smoke rises above the
Poppy fields, Afghanistan
Chokes on her smoldering reality—
Fires rage upon copious loins and
From the ash is born a
Luminous entity;
˜
O! Afghanistan
In flame and ruin,
Mortal and coarse—
Hot oil:
˜
It wasn’t you in my
Dreams Afghanistan, your stench
Kept from me sleep—
Fragments of my inner self
Woke me revealing a cryptic alphabet (i, t and y)…
˜
Isn’t it a pity
That nothing lasts an eternity
I often wonder about the possibility of
Death as an absurdity where piety and mediocrity
Loathe sensibility and vulnerability…
˜
Let the heavens open up and suck you
Into its vortex and spit you out
Like a piece of chewed meat;
I often wonder whether or not
I’ve done the right thing
In naming you
Zafrine.
˜
Turn the Channel
There are moments
When I wish I could
Cancel my dreams
Like the networks do
With badly rated TV
Shows whose viewers
Don’t buy enough of
Their advertisers’ wares;
˜
My dreams of late are
As bad as summertime
Reruns—always late for
School on the first day,
Overwhelmed at waiting
Tables or driving aimlessly
Or carelessly or recklessly
On unfamiliar streets in
Equally unfamiliar cities;
˜
If I could only turn the
Channel on these dreams,
Switch to where they sell
Steak knives or choppers
Or things to flatten my belly
While reading or sleeping or
Dreaming about cars or school
Or the restaurant where I
Keep returning to time and time
Again only to forget that there
Are dozens of starving people
Waiting for me to take their order.
˜
The Sky(pe) is the Limit
This is technology
I’m here
You’re there
But we’re connected
Miraculously—
Our thoughts
Words and images
Sailing invisibly
Over time and space;
Your guitar licks
Soaring high above
The Pyrenees
As you peer with ease
Into my domestic world
Of floor sweeping, dog
Walking and diaper changing;
Soon we’ll be together,
No need for bandwidth or
Webcams and the virtual
Kisses that send you off
To sleep will be real,
Long-lasting and tender.
˜
Decibels
Sound explodes
Into deafening
Decibels leaving
Me incapacitated
Unable to muster
A single coherent
Thought;
˜
But it is my very
Own sweet baby
Whose frustrated
Capriciousness is
Propelling the din
Of fifty thousand
Jackhammers;
˜
With each scream
Penetrating deep
Into my ears it is
Throbbing agony
That I feel as if a
Bomb has blown
My head to pieces.
˜
One Year Older (But Only One Day Wiser)
I’ve woken up to a new year
A new sun and a new person
In my house
˜
And there’s a new gray hair
Reminding me that everything
And everyone grows older
˜
But I wonder why with all the
Years that have come and gone
Wisdom has eluded me
˜
Though I have marched to the
Beat of a different drummer
Traveled and read many books
˜
Listened to symphonies and
Marching bands, sat patiently
Through operas and ballets
˜
I’ve tried to live a life that
My ancestors before me
Would find agreeable
˜
A life that has been replete
With love, music, friendship
And few regrets
˜
So perhaps it’s not wisdom
That I should be seeking
But merely deeper understanding
˜
A way towards discovering all of
Life’s mysteries that have yet to
Unfold and all of the wonders
˜
That remain to be revealed.
˜
La Reina de Flamenco (The Flamenco Queen)
It’s been too many years
That time has all but wiped
You from my memory
˜
I can’t remember what your
Skin felt like or the smell of
Your hair or your breath as
˜
Passion spilled from your
Mouth like vapors from an
Inextinguishable steam train;
˜
But your dance is etched
Clearly upon my recollection as
I can hear the Campanilleros
˜
Being chanted in the cool
Morning air of an Andalusian
Sunday, the Rosario de la Aurora
˜
Passing beneath my window on
The Cuesta de Gomérez as I
Awake to find your duende gone…
˜
Madre del Divino Amor, haced
Que cuando expiremos, nuestras
Almas entreguemos en las manos del Señor.
˜
The Milliner
I should have been a hat maker
For below each of my creations
Would stand the mind and body
Of one unique being whose life
And restless thoughts would all
But converge in spasms of light
And illusion, glory and righteous
Indignation; for hardly a man is
There who truly wears only one
Hat, for the world in which men
Created can only live he whose
Devout resolution, incorruptible
Ideals and steadfast ways attest
To the temerarious nature that
Every man wears like a hat and
Where beneath every brim there
Exists a being who longs to cry
Out to the infinite universe and
Say, I am only this and nothing
More, but you have made me in
Thine image so I must cover my
Head with honor that Thou shalt not look down upon
Me in shame, that should I remove this contemptible
Crown meant to emulate your greatness, you will see
I am but a humble man whose good intentions were
Misguided, who deserves not your wrath but the very
Forgiveness for which you are most revered and loved;
I will vow to cover my head no more, never again to
Place a barrier between my callow thoughts and You.
˜
A Love Affair With Pie
Of all of life’s earthly delights
None have I known to be so
Splendid and sweet as thee;
˜
Your firm skin holding within
Delicacies of green orchards
Plump juiciness plucked from
Heavily burdened branches;
˜
Aromas, Godly sensations of
Smoothness that seduce my
Palate tempting me to the
Very outer limits of ecstasy;
˜
You are, in all your continence
And sumptuousness, unequaled
Pleasure, slice after glorious slice.
˜
Secret Rain
Every
Secret
Ever told
Falls in each
Drop of rain,
˜
Lies
Truths
Mortal sins
Love, hate
Pleasure, pain;
˜
Dust
Comes to
Plunder my
Secrets once
Frigid and wet,
˜
Leaving
Them dry,
Demurely aloof
Hardly worth
All the regret…
˜
When
Torrents come
To wash away
What secrets
Still remain,
˜
Alas
I’ll be
Reminded,
Deafened and blinded
By secrets in the rain.
˜
The Excitement of New Things
The excitement of new things
Newborn babies waking before the dawn birds
Weeping Willows kissing the canal with their soft branches and
Shadows quietly wading in the gently rippling water like in Monet’s garden;
˜
A light mist falls coating the
Lawn with a layer of sky, glistening and ever so
Cautiously balancing upon each blade of grass as to not disturb
The bumblebees bouncing sedulously about making their morning rounds;
˜
And with every new thing comes
Delight, breakfast cinnamon buns tasting sweeter,
Menial tasks become undemanding and enjoyable, babies’ cries
Transform magically into love songs resonating to the outer reaches of infinity.
˜
The Birth Registrar
It is the mother
Who brings her child
Into the world
˜
But it is you
With your pen and
Official seals
˜
Giving authenticity,
Civil status and a
Name
˜
To a nameless infant
Who only has within
Her power
˜
The ability to coo,
Cry and spend her
Entire lifetime
˜
Wondering why
She couldn’t have
Simply remained
˜
Within the safe,
Warm confines of
Her mother’s womb.
˜
A Haiku For Cassia
Like Shakespeare’s King Lear
A third daughter has been born;
Love and be silent.
˜
First Born
I have a crystal clear image of a five year-old you,
Lying on our mustard colored sofa, in sun-bleached
White underwear that formed a cool cloudy backdrop
Against your warm summer tanned skin and golden hair;
˜
But that was the summer when
Every hint of innocence was wiped away
And our lives were hurled into a whirlwind of
Unimaginable uncertainty and foreboding;
˜
And these thirteen years have passed too quickly,
I would give anything to have a few of them back
If only to relive the many moments of joy that we
Shared together that remain deeply embedded within me;
˜
Though many miles separate us, I could not feel any
Closer to you than I do today, and as the birth of your
Third sister is only hours behind us, I feel a renewed
Sense of devotion to you, my first-born child;
˜
And now as you are becoming a man, discovering
All of life’s wonders, I pray that the light that
Shines down upon the roads you choose to follow
Illuminates your way guiding you to every good thing;
˜
You are my inspiration and the source of my
Undying love that flows like a stream to the
End of all time, filling my life with endless
Happiness, giving me hope and a sense of truth;
˜
I would wish a thousand sons upon any man
Whose son shines as brightly as you,
Your radiant glow of innocence and wisdom
Bathes me in the most soothing, tender and all absorbing light.
˜
Spellcheque
Technologee is a god thing
Its their too help our feable minds
Allong the path of uncertenty and confuzion
Alowing us to cleerly stear our ideas in the right direcshin
Avoiding misundrestanding and permiting us to comunicate are
Thoughts in a manner best fiting are own indivigil intelects and wizdom;
We live in precareous times, in a world wear are words define
Who we our, in a society wear what we say steaks clame
To are ability to domenate are suroundings by
Elivating speach and righting to hier levels of
Mastry; creating every werd as if are
Very existance dependid on it.
˜
The Marvels of 4 A.M.
Insomniacking
Dishwashing
Bathroom cleaning
Poetry writing
Facebooking
Baby checking
Dog scolding
Hedgehog hunting
Twittering
CNNing
Peeing
Listerine-ing
TMIing.
˜
18 Months
So much has happened
In the eighteen months
Since you came into my
Life; and on the eve of
Your sister’s birth I can
Only say how grateful I
Am to be able to share
This time with you, and
No matter where life’s
Journey leads us, I will
Always be there for you
In the gentle whisper of
A song.
˜
History Repeats
Every raindrop
Tastes the same
˜
Falls from the
Same satin sky
˜
From clouds
Who have
Rained upon
Every barbarity,
Every blessed thing;
˜
This history
I taste
As it
Drip drops
Between my
Parted lips
Is as bitter today
As it was in my youth;
˜
Unforgiving,
Undaunted and
Replete with
The profane
Malevolence
Of the ages.
˜
Dan’s Voice
I first heard your voice in the
Mountains above Los Angeles
In my camp counselor’s cabin
On an old tinny cassette player;
An Illinoisan like me, you were
A great inspiration and teacher;
And that voice that stirred me
Back in 1974, though it is now
Silenced and sings no more, is
Still resonating within me; like
Every memory of a lover’s kiss,
I feel your passionate melodies
As if each one were meant only
To be heard by my ears, a voice
So indelibly woven into the fabric
Of my being that each note has a
Texture whose downy softness
Caresses my emotions and sings
To sleep all the unhappiness that
I have ever known and ever will;
You were more than a souvenir,
You were my morning sky and a
Big part of the plan, you taught
Me that the long way was a better
Change and that there’s not only a
Place in the world for a gambler, but
A place where a man’s dreams can
Come true with a guitar and a song.
˜
