Who walks there darkly

Can it be Janus, his clock out of time?

No. Janus never was hooded,
His need to straddle past and soon
Precluded such frippery.

But who is this person and what the tool?
A farmer monk on his way to market?

I bid thee Good Day Sir.
Tell me your news.

Let me see your face.

My God.  It is Death with his scythe
And who is this other, your double in black?

Your  tallyman with his knife and stick.

Happily adrift
at Carnival time
buffeted by babes
and tycoons in wine
I was brought up all standing
by a voice from the blue
that solicited quite rudely

Haiku for you?

Papa she cries
underdog underdog
So
I
conscripted
ready
and at
the exact split second
my hands against her ****
I tense
and run
and push her
and up
and up
high on the arc of the swing

Underdog?

tints of irony
shade the illuminescence
of the doge's death

When is the game over?
When the man dies?
When the first born is a girl?
At the end of the first meal without salt?
When the woman dies?
At sunset?
At the late time of night when the spirit ebbs?
When his one good joke is repeated too often?
When his son is killed by friendly fire?
When the potatoes are blighted?
At the end of high school football stardom?
When rejected by a prom date?
When destituted by frivolous litigation
Destituted by insufficient health insurance?

When caught cheating?
At cards?
In adultery?
In a resume?
By the IRS

When caught?
In a sting?
Ten most wanted?
Interpol?

When I finish my drink?
When I empty my wallet?

It comes from the heart, he said,
Really!

Really? she said,
one eyebrow raised in disbelief.

Her mouth seconded this opinion,
a firm, tight  line.

She turned away,
this encounter over.

Game. Set and Match

In summer in the country
the married buzzards wheel and flow
on languid wings,
surveilling every inch of the earth below
for unwary prey.

The sun tracks dawn to night
over heat scorched land,
ripening the grains and drying the hay,
whilst in dense city living,
the park tree-leaves rustle
in summer symphony and
sandlot infants scream and play,
their mothers watching every move,
no suntime siesta now and here.

And in dense packed city blocks
mi casa es non su casa,
open windows leak sound,
and the smell of someone’s mother’s cooking
is treif at another table.
In grander houses the front lawns
now water-lack died-back brown,
evidence of greener days gone past,
wait for the fall's forgiving.

And yet and still
in the mellow evenings
neighbors talk to neighbors
friendly asides,
jokes,
politesses,
the leavenings
that let us live together
till the cool comes
and the windows and the doors shut.
We too hibernate till spring.

The shout travels up the narrow valley
furthered faintly by the sheer rock face
to the ear of the man stacking shooks
he heaves the last sheaf into place
and walks to the shade tree
for the lunch brought by his wife

“It’ll be a fine harvest if it stays dry”
“Happen”

In the warmer months
The ladies sit on the bench
And watch the passersby.

The ladies are old now
Some very tired and frail

They talk amongst themselves
And watch the passersby.

They were all young once
They were all girls once

Some sassy, some quiet
Some thin, some on a diet

Some undoubtedly wore lipstick
And tight skirts

Some went to Sunday school
Some were flirts.

Now they sit on the bench
And watch the passersby

When my daughter rides by
on her tricycle
She smiles and waves

The old ladies smile and wave back
And just for a moment
You can see the girls they once were

my brain
failing two times
to achieve the hour of two
does lie awake
and seek news
reassurance from familiars
wonders from the untutored
wisdom born in by stones
who come to frolic
and leave cairns
to say goodbye
till tomorrow

My child plays
and mutters
to her other self

the two of them
one dominant

the other passive
act out the game

Alpha and beta
vie for equal time

My child plays
and utters
her right to rule

I have a house on the hill
with an outside terrace
with two chairs.

There at night
I sit in the left hand chair
my heart beats and the earth listens
so quiet is the night.

The other chair is empty.

I need a heart to beat with mine
but no one comes.

it's just the earth and me.

North I go
to deeper cold and longer night,
once I was certain but I lost hope.

East is better?
The dawn in my eyes does blind me,
who now knows the way?

South to Patagonia
sheep and trees riled by the wind,
then to rocks crouched in the cold sea.

West where the sun rules the late hours
and we on tiptoe stretch high
to postpone the losing of the light.

took the train down south
fabled city St. Louis
the river flows through

the purest form of sycophantic flattery
and kiss my *** ed ness
plagiarism is it?
now they tell me,
oh well,
I will grab some while I can.
"Fab write - congrats on the daily **"
Feels good to me
Enough postings in this mode
doesn't have to rhyme
or be an ode;
Why stop
Gets me to the top
My name in lite prose,
Sufficient unto the day,
Or something like that.
And
"Wow well done on the daily my friend - stunning write **"
How to describe this gem
A sound bite for all of them
The gift that keeps on giving
(just cut and paste)
This way nothing ever goes to waste

Now this bit below,
A gift for all time
In the blue corner and by the one and only…………….
The Englishman
Weighing in today just for one short piece
Will i am Sha ke  es peare .......................

“That strain again
It had a dying fall:
O, it came over my earlike the sweet sound
That breaths upon a bank of violets
Stealing and giving odour!  Enough; no more
‘Tis not so sweet as was before” **

Gosh he’s good

gives me time to copy some stuff
Well that should be enough
I’ll rest on other’s laurels
only the kisses, not the quarrels
Why not? and God wot
Post it quickly, who’s to know
A Daily Poem I’ll be all aglow

hello poetry
the ***** daily is here
plagiarism

condescension
imbues him from head to toe
he demands respect

I have a relationship
with my god,
he knows I'm not perfect
and allows me the leeway
to make mistakes,
making up for them
is my job,
he gives me guidance
if I ask,
gives me the get-go
if I'm right
and a go-round
if I'm wrong,
we're in a long term relationship,
it works well for both of us.

I thought of love today
All those words in my mind’s eye
Imploring me to feel sad
Being had is bad too
Our cries
Our sighs
Tears falling on silky thighs
Her dancing lightly as a fawn
Unto a grim dawn
The princess bright
Enlivening our sight
Crossing the Bridge of Thorns
******* on a Golden unicorn
Until despondent
penitent
Heart rent
Life spent
And out of words
The birds take me
Forwards to heaven

The west wind blows
white with snow
pushing the new mom
with her new babe
in a new pram
I looked over
and all I could see
was a blue hat
and a blue blankie
with a pink nose
in the middle
snorkeling up

it's the end of a long day
here in Chicago
weather made giddy by spring
with snow blown horizontal  by a west wind
bright sunlight made stop-action by scudding clouds
then more snow
the day then grew older and more responsible
calmed down to quiteness
the sparrows come out to gossip

boughs blow in the wind
practice for pollen exchange
life cycle once again

the sky crane lifts slabs
third floor in a new building
lots of noise today

ten minutes ago
the sky let loose heavy rain
now the sun shines bright

my daughter confounds
so much smarter than I was
am I proud or what

april fool today
most pranks are just plain silly
sadly some can hurt

walking down the alley
midday walk with my dog
Hey he says
nice day isn't it
he's a chicago native obviously
it's forty degrees
and he's in shorts, a T shirt
and flipflops
yes I say
wearing my gilet and heavy coat
it's nice with the sun out,
summer soon he says
and it'll be
too damm hot again

I read about the how and the why
and the where and the when
of love
and rarely see plain words
that show the range of reaction
of love made manifest
giddy night time
singing to the moon
babbling inanities
to all the friends
who make time to listen,
scribbled words
as blind offerings never posted,
damp misery
crying to a nighttime pillow
salt tears falling
into your morning coffee
and nighttime soup
and the worst
looking up at the window
where the lover lives
deaf and blind to you below
and yet I know
all those
who have been out on that limb
and have come back
are rarely defeated
and quickly set out
to once again gamble
in the crapshoot called love

the lead couple chime
quivering noses smell musk
the ***** makes for cover

I sit at my desk
and look around at my walls
and see eight pieces of art,
all bar two from artists I knew
who were friends in my early days in manhattan,
the city where we were all poor
and came from different places,
miguel from buenos aires in argentina who spoke only spanish
a political refugee who feared being disappeared
and now had a tiny bed in a tiny loft and painted on canvas
I have two of his works
a cactus plant with beautiful plum sized multicolored flowers
and the other entitled the thirsty horse that looks like a demented snarling dog with slanted eyes and teeth to spare but benign enough to be loved by my daughter when aged three,
horsy horsy was her good friend.
katsu from osaka in japan who waited table in a sushi bar
and painted his vision on board,
the desert with flowering saguaro cacti with three tiny men in three tiny cars driving anywhere and nowhere
with three stuck-on labels -
namely: the baby of kangaroo - levi 501 - pronunciation
all significant to him no doubt and guiding us through his vision of pale blue wash with applique.
john from Cleveland, his work the prodigal son with father limned in profile, dull white, dull ochre and matt black
with a mid ground horizontal bar of pinky red for reference,
strongly emotive without shouting.
next is jennifer now in arizona, her work a **** with a weird perspective very red embouchure lips and red ******* and a red scarf with a walled city behind. I love it and can’t say why;
behind an abstract my parents bought at my pleading from a hungry american now mine to ponder and wonder if it is a crucifixion california style,
maybe jesus on acid, I never did find out exactly.
in front a huge print the laughing frogs by karel appel, I bought it from a friend dying of aids, it had no future in his life  and I liked it a lot especially when oncoming death priced it down
and here the odd one out, a big silkscreen print with colour
at my right hand, eye line high and bought in paris france with teenager money, all I had,
a very old woman dressed to the nines, hat with flowers and a little veil,
fox stole, big jet earrings and a steady gaze eyes front, sitting in a café with her right hand near her glass of dark red framboise, enigmatic smile forever; I have never been able to read the signature.
and the last from andrew of chicago a big bold watercolor entitled dusk nyc, company art sold when the company went bankrupt and I was happy to buy it, a painting of the canyon streets of manhattan with cars and cabs and people all like chess knights jumping for position with no check in sight.
These are all my long time favorites,
my go-to works when I am tired and need solace. they never fail to please.

an eye on this space
just all you need to know about
my art in poetry

on townhouse front lawns
new spring time grass rises green
the weeds are in sync

on a night time beach
jamaican dreads share a chalice
this white guy bongs out

custom chocolate
with drizzled caramel sauce
morbidly obese

vegetarians
don't eat meat of any kind
tofu for you

this easter sunday
our family brunch together
pay with dad's blue card

my pet dog emma
ten city blocks is not too far
the rain is not cold

Chicago is a cold and dangerous place
So I was told by another
and as a citizen of the Second City
I looked back to my life here
seeking terrors
unfolding my layers of memories
to find oppression, fierce tumult
attacks on my person, mayhem and madness
and found nothing.
Chicago is a cold and dangerous place
I was told
and to give them credence
I sought again in my memories
looking for hordes of evil ones
said to live here forcing good men and true
to lie quiet and not live in the sun.
Try as I might
I relived no terrors
no threat to me and mine
but rather in my neighborhood
a whole wide range of men and women
and those not sure
of all colors and creeds and language
all in their cohesive whole
making my city a place of the new and of joy.
Chicago is a cold and dangerous place
I was told
thinking back on this makes me think
that there are some who far from their natal place
withdraw and fear even their shadows
and see life as a cage where they survive
fearful all their days
I have time to invoke my god to give them strength
to live in the light and not be fearful

Men are men
and women are women
and never the two will tweet

Adam and Eve lived here
before she went vegan
and chomped the wrong apple
dropping them both into deep schtuck
with a difficult learning curve
before they got up to speed
as our progenitors
and began begetting.

With only two to start with
there had to have been a lot of ******
with begats here and begats there
and still, the gene pool stayed clean
without fits and starts
so there must have been a Divine Profiler
in the sky keeping the books straight
with our future at stake.

But there is a question?
In the beginning there were only two
so was Adam the midwife
and if so
where did he learn the skills
the whole midwifery bit
the gentle initial slap
to get the first wail ever on this earth

Interesting theological
and philosophical thoughts
not even thinking
about baby clothes
and the like
I suppose breastfeeding
was a must before Baby Formula

Deep thoughts for Easter

Life in my kitchen
I cooked lima beans today
No taste of anything

Let me write of and sympathize with
men
strong and typical
women
strong and lyrical
and children
an ode to joy forever
mostly all boxed in
twentyfour/seven/twelve
home, school,
different grades, more school
job(s) on the cusp, second job
home at night late
and yes, there is a tomorrow
mow the square  of grass
in front of the house
over and over again
years line up ahead
the same dispiriting grind
but you have a team!  Yes your team !
every season beginning  anew
playing well, job coffee breaks joys for a minute
then fading and fading and fading
out of it  till next year, for sure it will be better
and Yes, Remember to Vote for Change
then the same old the same old unchanged
and now you’re the empty nester
the silence is suddenly very loud
and there are fewer options now
where did it all go

huddles of green spikes
push and elbow to the sun
rush to flowerhood

For them a short life
Easter lambs cavort no more
dinner on Sunday

Two parentheses
above and below white space
"Liked" by many. Why?

Pensees from my mother

I lie in bed
knowing the truth
that those who come visit,
bright faced and light voiced
with words that miss,
that fail to arrive,
I do not hear.
And then to atone
they bend to bestow
a farewell kiss on my brow,
a move to make up
and blur the fact,
I know that they will live on
and I won’t.

On advice from someone
I met clandestinely
I spilled my heart out.
I was surprised at the result
Two pairs of Louboutin shoes, different sizes,
too high for office work.
One gather-me-tightly corset
strings cut in a panic and abandoned,
bras that emphasized parts too boldly
for the emergency ward
where hearts are already under stress
and thongs.
thongs are the cigarette butts of yesteryear
see once, think once, buy once, wear once
and abandon for ever,
the "I was here" icon of today
All magic memories for this heart's man
with one fault.
They are all too big to press in the family bible

Part One. The Kvetch

I am starting to wonder
about the Daily Poem:
Is love always forlorn,
never requited.
Is there an alternative to angst.
where did laughter go.
smiles that blaze like  a sun
turning  a face into an ode to joy:
are they forbidden.
poets write of *** and their lover’s bodies
mostly cold, mostly clinical.
Never feral, never lyrical.
Oy

Part Two.  It’s Spring after all, time for a change

Can the algorithm be dialed up to happy
set to silly and plainly sappy
I started this poem sad and gray
Somehow I changed to light and fey
It’s Spring after all, time for a change

When my daughter is sad
she makes  cupcakes
the series of taste tests add up to twelve
and she is diligent.
I don't mind,
all the necessary food groups
are there for her
and the crumbs will do fine for me.

cuneiform script
marks cut into a stone slab
history today