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Jack L Martin Sep 2018
Giannis Antetokounmpo
Drinks Ouzo
In his Greek Freak
Pumpkin Spiced Latte

The grande size is
$5.25 USD
Salary of Giannis Antetokounmpo
$24.16 million USD Per year

One USD per meal (Meal Math)
$24.16 million USD feeds
1,655 families of four
per year

GO BUCKS GO!
"With two years remaining on his previous contract, according to multiple reports Aaron Rodgers will receive $67 million by the end of 2018 and more than $80 million by March next year."

https://www.cnbc.com/2018/08/30/aaron-rodgers-signs-134-million-nfl-contract-commits-to-green-bay.html

What's wrong with this picture?
Twenty two years had passed  by

She blinked, and a lifetime had passed

She started this job as a lark

She never thought it would last

Two husbands and rehab were part of this bar

The husbands...her clients all knew

But the rehab, was hers...and hers all alone

Only one in her family knew

She'd been tending bar here for 3 presidents plus

Two popes, two husbands....one queen

There were things in this bar that were secreted away

There were things just not meant to be seen

Say, 4 fights a week for 22 years

That's four thousand six hundred fights

That's more violent acts than one person should see

That's  a lot of just mind numbing sights

As a tender of bar, she was part doctor as well

Serving drinks, and giving advice

She was hit on as well, and most she turned down

But some, they succeeded....some twice

They would come with their problems

spill their guts to this girl

Who they'd probably just met that night

They would tell her their problems and drink a few ales

When they  left, they would be feeling all right

But, Mary...poor Mary would harbour their pain

She'd help them, but could not let things go

They'd cheer up with her talking and 1 or 2 beers

But she hurt, and would leave feeling low

There was always a someone on the tales other end

Who was home, maybe beaten or mad

But, Mary....she talked to the one who'd come out

And she always left feeling quite sad

The stories they told her, she never asked them to tell

But they came and they opened on up

And she as their hostess just listened and served

Whle they sat there, getting full in their cups

She married two men that she met in the bar

Both left wives, and poor Mary was blind

They both charmed this girl, till she was way too far gone

And she learned that love..yes, was blind

She had a young niece, that her sister had left

She was going to school here in town

If there was one person alive who could bring Mary up

Her niece Amber was the proverbial clown

After marrying twice and divorcing just once

Mary vowed not to do it again

But, she was hit on each night

in this bar Down the lane,

by a considerable number of men

Her first husband...a lout, for better want of a term

Was a drunkard, and jealous most days

But she fell for him hard, for his sad tale of woe

And her marriage lasted 91 days

He would come in each night after finishing work

And would berate her for flirting for tips

After leaving the bar, he would beat her at home

Hitting low, just above Mary's hips

Her boss saw her marks whens she was filling the fridge

He kept quiet, but he told her to call

A friend that he had, who would help Mary out

He knew her marks were not from a fall

Before Mary phoned she had incredible news

Her husband had been in a crash

Her problems were over and her bruises would heal

And it all happened ...****...in a flash

During this time her sister ran off

Leaving Amber for Mary to raise

Though she hated her sister for leaving

Dear Amber she loved, and she helped Mary get through the days

But eight years along, with no outlet in sight

Hearing tales and of other folks pain

Mary reached out and she found comfort in

A needle and a rock of *******

for three years she spiked, shooting up every day

spending money she stole from the till

And during this time, she got married again

He seduced her when she had no self will

He knew of her problem and joined in all the same

Just a leech come along for the ride

He would help keep her secret, never telling her boss

Never letting them know she was fried.

Poor Amber found out, she walked in one June day

there was Mary with her coke and her spoon

When she looked at young Amber, she knew she must quit

And she knew that she must do it soon

Pure heartbreak she saw in that little girls eyes

She could see how she thought she would lose

Her Aunt like her mother, gone from her life

Mary knew she would now have to choose

Rehab was chosen, and her husband he left

He found out that this train had now stopped

his free ride was over, his meal ticket gone

You could say that his bubble had popped

Two years clean celebrated, at the bar with the kid

Mary got some good news from her boss

He was retiring to Texas and was selling the bar

And he would sell it to her at a loss

She was now the proud owner of a bar all her own

Three doors down from Giannis on Hope

She would run it precisely, the way she'd been taught

She would run the bar clean, free from dope

She would meet some great people,

Some nights in for a drink

And others that she wished would just leave

She would listen to stories, some good some not quite so much

And others just to  hard to believe

She would make friends with some people  And others she'd ban,

making sure that they left with a start

She'd befriend Harry Cooper, the World War two vet

Who would imprint his soul on her heart

And Amber...yes Amber would come down to spend time

She was fine and was going to school

She was a classical ****** in the dark of her room

And I tell you this girl was just cool

Mary brought Amber up with morals and faith

She would come when her Aunt made the call

She would rather hang out at the bar every night

Than to go with her friends to the mall

Mary made peace with the demons she had

She could leave the folks tales and go home

But, now she had Amber and a reason to live

And she would not have to do it alone

the bar's past Giannias, three doors  down to the right

It's not large but she makes  it make do

There's some music out back from a bluesman as well

Come on down and be one of the few

Be a regular there, join up with the crowd

It's not big but the beer's always cold

You don't have to stay long, but you'll come back again

For it's special....or so I've been told

Tell Mary I sent you, you'll get a free drink

And a free ear to hear of your tale

But, leave your ciggies outside for you can't smoke in here

You can do it outside by the pail.
Daily walks would lead me down

The tourist laden streets

Where people from all walks of life

Would congregate and meet

Buskers, singers, ne'er do wells

Would work throughout the throngs

But in back of Giannis restaurant

Sat an old man sharing songs

He didn't sing so much as talk

His voice was hoarse with age

But a milk box and an orange crate

Were his table, chair and stage

His instrument, an old guitar

Scarred, battle worn and black

His guitar strap was as old as he

An old potato sack

He sat and played to nobody

He just let the words be there

His audience could be a hundred deep

Sometimes it could be air

His music was his lifes blood

It was everything he had

So he shared it with the people

And the people....they were glad

The tourists, stayed away though

They were more attracted by the flair

Of the buskers and the jugglers

Not this man who wasn't there

He never left to join the crowd

And to sell his songs to those

Who really wanted nothing more

Than to hear some manufactured prose

The people who he played to

Were just others from the street

They worked the bars and restaurants

And at night they'd find a seat

In front of this old bluesman

Sitting by his orange box

Playing his guitar by candle light

Taking in his songs and talks

He sang songs from the heart, I guess

About those who'd he'd met

He'd sing about a dozen songs

That would constitue a set

Then he'd open up his silver flask

And ******* two gulps down

"This here's just my medicine"

"My past lives just to drown"

He sang of Truck Stop Beauty Queens

And of Walks out in the park

He sang of people living life

Not just hiding in the dark

He sang of things so real you'd see

Their pictures in your mind

He'd sing of places and of things

That others would not find

But tourists, they just stayed away

Near the buskers blowing fire

While yards away this old man sat

Just like an old town cryer

His audience would leave a bit

of change for their free show

He never asked for anything

For this was his row to ***

At two though when the street shut down

He closed his show down too

But he always had an extra song

A special one for you

His music came from in his heart

He shared it without fear

For once it left his throat it was

A sound that was so dear

The tourists went to hotels

Once the buskers all went home

But he just moved his crate and box

He slept out here alone

He sang his songs of characters

Who helped make us his life

His words were sometimes gentle

While others cut you like a knife

His world was just that orange crate

And his music helped unfurl

The melodies in this mans mind

It helped him share his world

He knew some things and people that

Would take rather than give

He sang about the street people

Because among them he did live

His home was just a cardboard box

Behind Giannis bar

And if you want to see a real good show

You don't have to go far

It's just a little beaten path

Away from tourist fare

Where this little, old, shy

Bluesman sings to hundreds or the air..
Jim Brady was a local man
His life was non-descript
He was not on local radar
In fact, he was a blip
He moved around but no-one knew
Just who Jim Brady was
they knew not where he came from
They didn't know his flaws
He worked under the table
He wasn't on the grid
But of all the money that Jim made
He gave most to his kids
He worked nights at Giannis
In the kitchen, ***** stuff
He cleaned up after closing
The work here...it was tough
But Jim, worked hard and honest
Earned his money every day
And Gianni, as a favour
Off the records he would pay
Jim Brady was a soldier
He was broken...and no good
But Gianni, saw his life light
And he did what all men should
He gave Jim work and fed him
Kept him clean and made a life
For Jim had come home injured
But it was internal strife
Jim's mind was torn and tattered
Simple thoughts could cause him pain
Jim Brady was a soldier
But would never serve again
He had trouble with his anger
He was not quite in control
But Gianni saw a soldier
Who needed help out of a hole
Gianni ran a restaurant
Been there for 30 years
He helped all those who knew him
Through the smiles and the tears
He housed the ones who needed
Just to get off of the streets
He fed the tired and hungry
And he performed other feats
Gianni was a hero
To all in this poor town
He would never turn a man away
If he knew that he was down
When Jim came in one evening
Gianni read his face
He said "Son, I'll help you"
"And you're now working in this place"
Jim lived by the water
The noises kept him calm
But on nights of wild weather
He stay at Giannis, nice and warm
Loud noises brought the nightmares
Put the pictures in his head
Of the IED explosion
And of his three companions dead
He went to get some treatment
But the VA said "You're fine"
"there's more important cases
than just you out in the line"
He was shuffled home to start again
A damaged, broken man
But with issues like poor Jim did have
He tried as one man can
His marriage broke down quickly
His wife was not to blame
But Jim came home with issues
And the **** war was to blame
He looked for help at every turn
But no-one would help out
Until he met Gianni
Jim's new hero I won't doubt
He gave him work and money
Jim then gained some self esteem
He wasn't Jim the soldier
But, you could see who he had been
His pride was back, his head was high
But still he had the dreams
There was nothing that they knew of
To alleviate the screams
But Gianni, still the hero
Thought "I know what might just work"
He introduced Jim to The Bluesman
He also has a minor quirk
The Bluesman as you seem to know
Lives out behind and plays
His music in the alley
Where he spends most of his days
Gianni helped The Bluesman
Maybe he could now help Jim
It could be The Bluesman's music
Might just be right for him
Most nights when Jim was working
He'd leave the window open some
Just to let Bluesman's music
Find the kitchen . make Jim hum
Jim liked The Bluesman's music
It painted pictures in his head
But this time they were joyful ones
Not pictures of the dead
They helped him come to terms with things
That made his life a mess
They did what others couldn't do
His problems were addressed
With Gianni and The Bluesman
Jim moved on and did quite well
Funny how a restauranteur
And music man could bring Jim back from hell.
She was a friend of Amber Clark
You know, you've met her before
She's the girl who listens secretly
To Bach behind the door
The Closet Classic ******
Who wears shirts of the Ramones
But listens to Rachmaninov
whenever she's alone

Jennifer McSweeney
known by all upon the street
She had kind words for everyone
She liked everyone she'd meet
She ate meals at Giannis
Knew the Pawnbroker, Old Cy
She listened to the bluesman
Whenever she came by

Like all the folks upon the street
Jennifer was dark
Not gothic, but you could say grey
She was set to make her mark
She was going to be famous
Her face upon the Silver Screen
She was going to be a movie star
Like The Truck Stop Beauty Queen

Jennifer loved movies
Not the ones that can be found
At the local dvd store
She liked the movies without sound
Her little quirk was that she
Liked the movies from the start
They told tales in black and white
These were strong in Jenni's heart

Buster Keaton, Harold Lloyd
Fatty Arbuckle, and more
Zasu Pitts, Charlie Chase
They struck her to her core
L and H, The Keystone Kops
She loved to see them grapplin'
But none of these compared to her
deep love for Charlie Chaplin

The Cineplex would show a film
They would host a special week
When silent movies were the shows
When nobody did speak
Jennifer would take the time
To watch each film they showed
She was so happy when the week came round
She positively glowed

The kids she knew, all thought her odd
Because of what she liked
But, when the silent week was here
Jennifer was psyched
One year she went to the next town
To get a small tattoo
It was all done up in black and grey
It was what she had to do

Like other girls who have been inked
It was in the same place
But, it was little, very non descript
Of her favorite actors face
She told few friends about it
And though she never did get violent
If you laughed at her tattoo
Like Chaplin, she'd be silent

She kept it to herself most times
Her little bit of ink
As she aged she'd show it more
For the cost of just one drink
She would take them to her bedroom
And by the light of her small lamp
She would show her tattoo proudly
Chaplin....her little ***** stamp

It's the thing that she is known for
She's the girls with Charlie's face
Where others all have Chinese Words
She has Chaplin in this place
She is known for loving movies
In black and white, and though it's camp
She gives a whole new meaning to
Having a ***** stamp.
"Old Man Rubenstein",

that's the name they knew him by

He'd worked the shop for fifty years

His friends just called him Cy

Each day he'd enter from the back

For at the front door slept

Someone trying to survive the cold

Inside the store Cy swept

The store had been a fixture

On the street for ninety years

Five Generations of Rubensteins

Had seen the smiles and tears

Of young men getting married

Picking rings out for their brides

And in many cases watching them

As they tried them on inside

The street had changed in fifty years

In ninety, even more

But one thing about Rubensteins

Was their famous tiled floor

In the foyer, just inside the door

There were tiles black and white

They were laid out like a flower

It was really quite a sight

When his Great Great Grandpa

Laid the tiles, it was done by J.C Hardin

To signify each customer

Was welcome "in his garden"

Times had changed since Cy came in

The street was not the same

A lot of stores had moved or closed

The malls all held the blame

With suburbs came progression

And with progression came bad news

Most small stores lost their customers

To chains with modern views

But Rubensteins stayed on the street

Never changing one small bit

They had been right here for ninety years

And this is where they'd sit

The front, I mentioned earlier

Each night became a bed

For someone living on the streets

A place to lay their head

Cy would leave a pillow

And a blanket by the door

It was always there next morning

Nicely folded like before

Other storefronts opened up

At nine...right sharp each day

But, Cy would leave the door shut

Letting his sleeping beauty lay

There wasn't lots of people

Who would shop in Cy's old store

With the way the neighborhood had died

No one came round here no more

With pawn shops open down the road

And two just up the block

The fact that people went to them

To Cy, was not a shock

He really ran the business

To keep himself alive

For he knew that if he closed it

He was sure he'd not survive

His life was wrapped up in the store

Each decade on a shelf

He was quite the story teller

And of stories...he'd a wealth

He sold a ring once to the Mayor

For his engagement years ago

They were still together nowadays

That was forty years or so

Harry Cooper bought his wifes rings

And his son had done as well

He'd bought a special pendant

When he lost his son in Hell

He'd go down to Giannis

And buy his lunch most days

He was never in a hurry

And most times he'd stay and gaze

He'd stare out the front windows

To a time so long before

Then he'd head back to the jewellers

And he'd still use the back door

He thought of times way in the past

When Christmas windows glowed

With displays of rings and Christmas lights

Lit up the whole **** road

But now, the storefront windows

Were protected by strong bars

There were hardly any customers

And even fewer cars

He remembered when a shopping trip

Meant dressing up to shop

But nowadays, a pair of jeans

And a t-shirt as a top

He'd sit inside the storefront

Until about six everyday

Then he'd put out a clean bedroll

And he'd quietly slip away

He'd show up every morning

Through the back door every time

He'd check on his front doorway

And he'd hum a little rhyme

"If friendship is a flower

'And a garden grows in time

I'm glad I have a garden

And you've spent some time in mine"

He'd make sure when he opened

That he'd turn on every light

Then he'd go out side the front door

And sweep away the night..
The Street is pretty empty
Just the locals out tonight
It's New Year's Eve and chilly
Seems this time, that all is right

No drunken revelers on the Street
All the buildings are shut tight
Except the bar and Gianni's place
On the Street, that's just alright

The Blues Man sits out back right now
And he's looking at the moon
No fireworks, or crystal *****
Say the New Year's coming soon

He coughs a bit, a little harsh
Grabs his medcin, and guitar
then he gently starts to playing
Looking at a single star

There's a few folks in Giannis
Watching the ball drop on tv
The bar is full of locals
Where the New Year's shots are free

But out back of Gianni's
The Blues Man sits in peace
Singing gently to the midnight sky
Sitting besides the drums of grease

This year he found his daughter
Memories of years gone by
And he sings tales of their meeting
To the chilly, midnight sky

His daughter is his lodestone
She keeps him grounded, always did
No matter where he ventured
He always loved his missing kid

She's drinking at the bar now
While The Blues Man sits out back
Singing tunes in Winter Darkness
He lets us in...but just a crack

The door behind Gianni's
Is open, just a bit
It's open for the Blues Man
To go get warm and sit

But, for now, he sits here playing
As the New Year ventures in
He sings songs about redemption
And he drinks his medcin

An hour in and locals
Leave Gianni's and the bar
They venture to the alley
Where he's playing to that star

They join him in silence
Hear his prayer for the year new
They are swept up in his magic
And let him do what he must do

He smiles and keeps on singing
Fills the night air with his voice
For no matter how his life is
He only had one choice

He's the Blues Man, always will be
He's the teller of the tales
He sings songs out in the alley
He's the wind in the Street's sails

He finishes his last song
His daughter standing, smiling wide
She gives him a kiss upon his forehead
And she ushers him aside

He'll wake up again tomorrow
In the alley, cold but free
That's the life of The Street Blues Man
And that's the way ...that it should be.
The word was out around the street
Tonight, behind Giannis bar
There would be really something special
From the bluesman and his guitar

For locals not for punters
Just for those upon the street
You'd better bring a lawn chair
If you wanted a good seat

The word spread fast and no one
Would miss this once they heard
New works from the bluesman
You had to take in every word

The bluesman was a legend
In this flawed, dark part of town
He only played back in the alley
That was where his show went down

At precisely eleven seventeen
The bluesman took his place
Upon his beat up orange crate
In his same familiar space

It was just like a cathedral
Underneath the golden moon
Quiet and forboding
As he started his first tune

The alley was the bluesmans church
As he sang to the street people
But this church had no walls or pews
No bells, it had no steeple

The bluesman sang of love and loss
Of dragons, ships and gin
He sang of Shubert, Bach and Liszt
He sang of constant sin

He looked but he saw no one
He was zoning, all alone
He sang songs of faith and hunger
Time to give the dog a bone

He played and drank his med-cin
For sometimes he got dry
The bluesman had the crowd entrapped
Beneath the shining moonlit sky

He talked of how his smoking
Through the years gave him his sound
It only took me fifty years
I'm surprised I'm still around

He sang of love and window panes
Of jealousy and trust
Of walruses and potholes
Of people turned to dust

As people sat in wonder
Of this prophet in disguise
You could see a certain twinkle
Deep in the bluesmans eyes

Gianni, stood off to the side
Timekeeper of the show
He signalled to the bluesman
One more and we must go

He had to close the restaurant
Turn the lights off in the back
So the bluesman took another sip
And grabbed a song from his minds pack

He finished up with something
Singing songs for all who came
He made them feel it was their heartsong
Although he never said a name

He sang of waitresses and barkeeps
Pawn brokers and of guests
of family and train tracks
of watchers and of quests

He finished up and packed away
His crate and his guitar
And he collected appreciation
In a two quart mason jar

The crowd left thirty dollars
almost ninety cents a seat
A fortune to the bluesman
And the folks here on the street
MARIA PANOUTSOU Oct 2016
HESIONE*

Shut in her room with the scent of roses
pounded with wet stones
picked one by one from the riverbank and shining still,
Hesione struggled to remove the clasps
which she placed on a piece of cloth weaved by her grandma.

Days later she lay in bed wrapped in a sacred vestment.
Secret hopes torpedoed her body
and for a moment removed the clasps from the groin.
All worthless.

People were buried nearby.
The freshly-dug graves smelled of tamarisks.
She and the Thoans scanned the sea.
Nothing reminded one of who she was and why she mourned.
She forgot all about Hercules, thurifications and joys never to be.
Now all worthless.  


POEM  FORM THE COLLECTION SALUADER
BY  MARIA PANOUTSOU  TRANSLATED IN ENGLISH BY GIANNIS GOUMAS
*Hesione: daughter of Laomedon, king of Troy, and sister of Priam.
She was chained by her father on a rock to be devoured by a monster in order to appease the anger of Apollo and Poseidon.  Hercules promised to deliver her, for a reward of Laomedon’s wonderful horses, and killed the monster.
Sunday morning silence
Like the eye inside a storm
The street was empty, vacant
This would be the brand new norm

The windows all were shuttered
The doors were closed up tight
No one in Cy's doorway
To recover from the night

The church doors were both open
A note pinned to the door
The back, open to the alley
The note, "pray" and nothing more

Giannis, door was locked up
Joe was sleeping in the back
A note said "order through the window"
The window, open just a crack

The bar was also locked tight
A note said "coffee, but no beer"
"yell through the broken window"
"Don't worry we will hear"

Broken Spines had in the window
A large note for all to see
The note said "Cooking up some chili"
"Come back here around three"

Cy came in the back way
Taped his note up on the door
"Don't worry about paying"
"Call if you need more"

The street was still in motion
It had life, but none to see
Today, and for a while
The street folk lived for free

The city closed the main roads
The street, forgotten to most folk
The old man, sat on the curbside
Looking up, he lit a smoke

People ordered up their coffee
Got themselves a bite to eat
Stood in line outside, all waiting
Social distance...now six feet

Most folks on the street now
Lived above their stores or near
The street was still in action
Strong and silent, cloaked in fear

While life was now adapting
A sound, blew by upon the air
The Bluesman, oh so gentle
Was singing, but, from where?

The alley by Gianni's
Was empty, not a sound
But, still there heard the music
With the singer not around

The music, it got louder
The wind brought it to the street
The stores opened windows,
To hear the Bluesman's vocal treat

It took some time to figure
Where the music was relayed
He was on Gianni's rooftop
He just sat up there and played

A special Sunday concert
With stops for "medicin" now and then
Brought the street folks altogether
They were one now, once again

The Bluesman sang The Beatles
He sang U2, he sang the Band
He sang all the Guthries
He sang about the land

He sang of inspiration
Of not being all alone
How we were in this together
His message simple, inspired tone

He sang songs that got you dancing
In the stores, that's what they did
All alone, but, with the Bluesman
Dancing like a little kid

Some sang, but no one heard them
They sang loud and didn't care
They were exactly like the Bluesman
Singing proudly to the air

He sang for near an hour
Folks below yelled up their praise
The Bluesman brought The street together
In the most beautiful of ways

He finished up by singing
Two songs that made this right
He sang "Imagine" by John Lennon
Then he gave them "Silent Night"

He made his way down slowly
He was older than he was
He did this for his people
He did this just because

People started singing
You could hear it all around
But, the Bluesman grabbed some chili
Found his tent, and hunkered down

Inspired, I would say so
That is just life on the street
A group of flawed, broke people
You'd be lucky should you meet

A family, but not really
They were one, but, many too
No one here is really special
They are all like me....and you.

— The End —