Nico Reznick: Favorites

Jan 2017 Nico Reznick

Holy Braille

Jan 2017 Nico Reznick

Onoma

Holy Braille

Van Gogh
was blinded
by light...
so he drew
holy braille.

Jan 2017 Nico Reznick

Igniting The Idle

Jan 2017 Nico Reznick

Mike Essig

Igniting The Idle

Canoodle away the daze.
Low productivity remains
sadly underpaid.
Dreams do not demand
To Do lists. As yet,
love requires no app.
Perhaps the world is dying
but green, green patches
remain in the shade.
Find a tree, see.
Take your love’s head
in your lap. Be glad
of time and hugs.
Glorify in achieving
that most perfect goal:
no goal at all.
Or one perfect kiss.
Clarity radiates from
exactly where you sit.
You can’t step in that
same stream even once.
Don’t try. Keep your lips
happy and your feet dry.

Jan 2017 Nico Reznick

Gone

Jan 2017 Nico Reznick

Jim Timonere

Gone

He left for good today,
It was earlier than expected and without notice,
Just a voice on the phone
Saying, “He’s gone”.

I went to the place where he lived
Hoping it was a mistake, but he was gone,
Hard to believe,
Difficult to accept,
But he is gone and my world is a lot scarier.

I’ve got his place now and I am not the man he was
Because he made it easier for me than it was for him.
He did this selflessly and with
Joy because I was his son.

Am his son.

An honor I didn’t have to earn,
Yet I want to be worthy of it.
So, I have to find my balance
And do what he did for me when it was his turn.

There are people behind me
Who need the things he gave me and
There are people behind them.
Though the shoes they must fill are smaller
Than the ones I step into.

Safe journey home, dad.
I’ll see you soon and we can talk about it all.
Rest well ‘til then

Joe Timonere passed in his sleep on January 15, 2017. He was a good man who lived that phrase with grace and honor and courage. He is missed and loved.

Jan 2017 Nico Reznick

Sentimental boy

Jan 2017 Nico Reznick

David Noonan

Sentimental boy

Taking two words to describe yourself
You just smiled "Annie Hall"
I had only seen Manhatten but somehow
Knew, knew how hard i'd fall
As for my turn
Well you just placed a finger on my lips
And then so softly whispered
Sentimental boy

That was then, as for now
Maybe the final credits have rolled
Our picturehouse now in ruins
No more screenings nor stories to be told
Like that derelict Ballroom of Romance
We visited at the edge of town
Summer nights, flagons of cider and your
Sentimental boy

Recreating it's history
By it's broken down and boarded up wall
Slow dancing in the moonlight
Stopping only to swear we'd heard a call
Rising from the paupers graveyard
Dancing silhouetted in the stars
Ghosts of dead lovers to an old fashioned tune
Sentimental boy

This town now has changed so much
But none so more than we
Yet so often on a warm summers night
By that paupers graveyard you'd still meet me
Humming some half remembered melody
Whilst wishing on the brightest star
Please oh please, won't you just let me be....

                                                                     your
                                                sentimental boy

* Rural Ireland in the 1950s/1960s offered little in entertainment or socializing, save for dance halls. These became known as Ballrooms of Romance but were little more than large sheds and most lay unused and derelict by the late 80s/90s

** In modern Ireland a flagon usually refers to a two-litre bottle of cider. Very popular for underage bush (street) drinking due to its relative low cost per quantity

*** Paupers Graveyards were a field of unmarked and unkept graves of the poor and destitute . Originating from Famine times (1844-1849) they were common sites all over the country. 150 years later the only signs that remained were often a single cross on a mound of the field

Jan 2017 Nico Reznick

The Question of Light

Jan 2017 Nico Reznick

Jim Timonere

The Question of Light

The fog came in and cut the hard edges off Monday morning,
Which really didn't do much good because a cold rain
Fell through it and soaked down to my soul.

It is the kind of day when reality bends and
The big questions beg for answers,
Like where does the spark go when it leaves?

I mean we turn out the lights, but the beam travels
Endlessly, the fastest thing we know, to the end
Of what?

The universe? Time? (Whatever time means compared to eternity)

So, the light in our eyes, where does it go when the power is cut?
Or am I supposed to accept, Dr. Hawking, the light we make
Rubbing two sticks together is superior to the light in us because we
Can't yet find the formula for sentience or measure
It's limits beyond what we can see?

Big questions, foggy, rainy Monday and I am alone
A week after the light went out in dad.

I expect he’s out past Jupiter by now, heading home.

He’s also right beside me, I can feel him, thank God.