#gelato
A true story of a chance gathering of strangers in the back room of a Gelato Parlor *** restaurant, two years ago, in a little village near the bay, on a land surrounded by vineyards. Come visit.
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Gelato Nation
There is a place,
location secret,
mine to keep,
mine with which
you to tease,
make you envious,
a back room 'office'
jealous guarded
by a barkeep,
whose chosen invites sweeps
you into a reality that is
what you will it to be.
But nota bene, note well,
remembrances of things swell
from your past be the
only tongue spoken here.
Code word entry only,
a shared whisper.
Perhaps One Woman,
may reveal its pleasures,
if she so chooses,
which are:
gelato laughs, poetry snaps,
Beatle songs sung ensemble,
by rag tag strangers
self-collected accidentally,
sung de rigeur off key
by voices lubricated by
cognac, laughter, and
the coldest of white wines,
issue of the very soil
upon which we sit.
Words to value properly,
not in my possess to capture
the few moments in time when;
Strangers transform themselves
into a triple A nation united,
that will never be
S&P; downgraded.
A holy alliance
celebrating July 4th
all night long,
all participants
signatory witnesses to
its gelato conception,
as well as pallbearers
to its last drink dissolution,
the fullness of its lifetime
a vintage of a few hours extant,
a vintage, once drunk, is
a history, forever gone.
Mixologists please record:
One playwright, a psychologist, bond trader and a social scientist
with a dash of museum director,
and do not forget the
Hundred Year Old Woman,
whose Dowager Princess Daughter
(she, a mere eighty)'
from Central Park West
clarifies all of life dilemmas with
the singular analytical tool of:
But is it good for the Jews?
**But t'is the barkeep
who is the leavening
in this evenings human
pastry-petrie dish.**
He makes the pastiche,
the ions of personalities,
coalesce best,
guitar strummer,
singer of songs that were our
multiple national anthems
when we were pseudo-rebels
starting out on our
long and winding roads.
Long the King of the Keep!
Long live the memory of our
Gelato Nation,
may it stay sweet in
our antique collection of
the best moments of
our intersecting lives.
July 2011
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 6:00 PM UTC
We are heating up
A-glow--- A-star*--- A-blaze
Many other well-lit planets
She's luminous like no other
Simply crazed____Fairytales
***She's Peach-Fruitti-Tutti
Godiva loves nuts
All the melt in's
Mr. Bacio-Hazelnut
Mr. Pistacchio he got his nose________
Inside their sweets____Pinnochio
She's the Light-up Icecream Cone
Moods are like ice cubes
hot and cold websites
I prefer cold zone
**Feeling like
Eskimo in Alaska**
Miss Prima Donna
Oh! Donna is her name
Gelatos are not all the same
We are not here to have
special privileges
Robin lost some ruffles
Polar bears ice Igloo
College boys with their sports mug
Polo shirts Santa hoo duffle bags
We don't know what she knows
or what he likes the stars
of the Cosmo we are not
here to win someone's love
OH! Yes Lotto
We are not professors or wizards
Harry Potters, they have some
Pots not a fan of pans got
some ****
**** so cool menthol smoke indeed
**Around the Gelato in eighty days
The Race of a drive**
computer clicks one-day creation flag
Hens and chicks laid the golden egg
Mr. Egghead meeting Conehead
His tasters choice
She loves Mr. Maxwell Mansion
This is Italy the Art sculptures
Sweet Gelato lips say a
thousand words of pleasure
We travel with Exotic lovebirds
Saving the Ice blue diamond
Icecream wreck what a she
gains more than a pound
Mama Mia,
not the Chia job plant
Over the rainbow
chill out pants
Having Gelato clean
as mint float
To the waffle cone top
of the mountain sugar coat
Niagara Falls here
"Gelato calls"
**What spaghetti my name is
Carretti***
Mr. Alfredo his physique and
passion for food
Feeling like the comics
Having fun marveling
Carvel walking through
the love tunnel
Hot ladies how do they ever
Decide iced up inside
Hothead Alfredo throws
the dough
She coughs he laughs
The pizza everyone's
the head is turning beet red
Something is burning exorcist,
Lady in red pizza list
Back in Brooklyn best
Pizza and Italy (Rome) Venice (Florence)
But Bensonhurst Saturday night fever
With Nightingale Mr. Chippendale
He's chatting away on his cell phone
With her Gelato looking at the
stars of the men spiritual experience
The Cosmos feeling meltdown presence
St Thomas sunny like yellow
gelato melting
Being a saint please don't faint
A food critic dessert
*** a hex playful flirt
T Rex mighty green lime
The love fallout of coconut
He's the hottest man
on earth Pluto
Being whole flavor or 1/2 pint
of Vanilla Sky scholar or
Intermission Icecream internship
The Canadian cup another trip
Nike air what an ice cream pair
Going back to New York City
Rockettes icecream kick
He's on his time feeling the royalty
Lets bow to the dogs best friend
French barrette in her ice blue
Corvette, she is 'Ice Queen"
Super Ice me, Hero
Do what the Romans do
Lend me your warm soul of hands
Getting married Italian medieval rings
For my next Gelato adventure
escape be polite on Google
Mr. Alfredo loves all kinds of noodle
The shape of Cone's to come in her head
Not an Antman, please or fly by night
Icecream Cone Head Batman
*But I am a woman named Robin
Christopher Robin, Robin Hood
Why are boys and girls name alike
**** good humor lady
Good humor truck
Where is her order head chef
shrimp scampi
In the islands of Sorrento
What a time for ironing
What a waffle shirt eating
his waffle
Icecream with ladybugs and dirt
So many varieties mental thing
Everything icecream you scream
What a college Varsity every year
"Hot lady Gelato's" head of the dean
list oh! No
[Mr. Alfredo} ice cream chair with
another Gelato pair
Chiao for now
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 2:21 PM UTC
You are urban delight, New York debonair,
and you don't need to be grandeur
to set a trend or flutter a heart;
not when you brush your thumb against
the beard you maintain with apple-pie order,
and quickly flash your howlite teeth
with such modesty, that man has to
stop and wonder if it's really true
that the most endearing, do not have
a notion of how sublime they are.
and I love how the sun still catches itself
upon your burnished, rust-painted
locks, slicked back and parted,
careful not to hide a single fleck of
the honey-gold scattered in the jade
of your eyes that still flicker warmly,
even when we're passing under the
shadows of the skyscrapers that
try to swallow us whole with 8th Avenue.
take me to Amorino,
let me fix the collar of your shirt
while you order me a lemon gelato,
and I'll tell you on the walk
to the carousel on Pier 62
how it's all your fault that my cheeks
have been matching the pink
of your shirt since the afternoon-
and you don't even realize
you're doing that to me,
but I love it as much as I love
reminding you of the reasons
that I could think to adore you,
because that just happens
to be one of them.
And the other is because I would love to.
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 10:12 PM UTC