Why would anyone give up
Reading a real book
For a machine?
Holding a book,
Feeling its weight;
Feeling the paper of the pages
Between your fingers,
And actually turning pages
One by one.
With a book
The tactile sensation becomes
As much a part of the whole
As the words
And the use of language;
Blending the story and the book
Into a total experience.
All a machine gives you
Are words
And eyestrain.

I walk the dog
I read
I watch the wind
Blow the branches
Of the trees
Under a gray sky
That threatens rain
The torrential rain
Here last night
Gone today
But for the threat
Of more
The day begins
Time passes
I watch
I wait
For rain
To cleanse the air
To shift the shadows
Of clouds
Darkened with water
Waiting
To empty their burden
Darkness pervades
Plans change
Empty hours
Of waiting
Umbrellas furled
Leaves drip
From the canopy
Of trees
Remnants of rain
Past
Droplets of water
No longer suspended
Like time
Bent
To conform
To the new
Reality
Holding the moment
With mist
That turns
To rain

I keep on dreaming
There’s some place to live
A romanticized vision
A romanticized walk

Maybe Alaska
Maybe New England
Maybe a seaport
Maybe New York

Expatriate Paris
Tuscany’s villas
Provence at midnight
Perhaps County Cork

Too many novels
Too many movies
Too many stories
Too many dreams

Too many heroes
Too many failures
Too many sidewalks
Too many screams

No place is perfect
No place dramatic
No place to hide out
No place it seems

No more contentment
No more excitement
No more bravado
No more extreme

Only a longing
Only a passion
Only a nightmare
Only a scheme

Finding forever
Finding the moment
Finding contentment
Finding the dream

We never got to celebrate Christmas
One last time
At least she saw the tree and decorations
One last time
Where was her Christmas miracle?

The Christmas in July movies suddenly made me think of my wife’s and my last Christmas – she went into the hospital on December 3rd and died on January 18th – fortunately we had decorated during Thanksgiving week-end.

A boat in a tree,
A silly place to be.
Why would there be
A boat in a tree?

There came a great wind,
That wouldn’t rescind.
That couldn’t be pinned
Before it had sinned.

The ocean did roar,
Like rarely before.
And finally did score
By coming ashore.

The wind picked up things,
Like butterfly wings.
And powerful as kings
Or a lion who sings.

Then up it did go,
Just like a show.
The boat travelled slow
Before it did know.

Over the sand,
And over the land.
To find a tree stand
Just like it was planned.

Out of the water,
Not what it ought-a.
Something it sort-a
Never have thought-a.

A boat in a tree,
A silly place to be.
But I happened to see
A boat in a tree.

This is based on a true incident of a cabin cruiser, about 25 feet long, up about 15 feet in a tree after Hurricane Sandy.

There once was a man
Who thought he’s a comic.
He didn’t need logic
‘Cause still he dreamed on.

He’d open for this one
And open at that.
On sidewalks, in nightclubs
If they’d pass the hat.

He followed his plan
And eventu’lly made it
On cruise ships and Vegas
He moved right along.

Through ups and through downs
And fights with his agents
He fought and he battled
And weathered the storm.

And now he’s retired
From stand-up and show-rooms
And calmly announces
As comics move on.

Clouds
drifting across the sky
in imaginary forms

Clouds
making imaginary images
that only the mind
can put together

Clouds
of varying shades
and shapes

Clouds
metamorphosing

Clouds
morphing
into the unknown

Clouds
metamorphosed

Clouds
floating
like the Goodyear blimp
off on the horizon

Clouds
lost
shapeless
meeting
and reforming

Clouds
like foam on the ocean
endless and everlasting
but empty in their
subtlety

Clouds
like cotton candy
pink then white
shifting shades
of gray

Clouds
filled with rain
or as
ephemeral
as infinity
ethereal
everlasting

But, for us,
memories aren’t enough
nor is the present –
we’re looking for the future
and what we want to do.
And the making of new memories.

The music of time
Remains frozen
Drifting like snowflakes
Across the Himalayas
Waiting for dancers
To unlock the mystery
A simple Pas de deux
Lyrical and elegant
Filled with the joy
Of lovers
Joined by a thread
Suspended
But never touching
Until the final moment
As the music of time
Transports their reality
Into one

I sit on the porch in the early morning
And watch the world.
I watch the birds and squirrels awaken.
I watch the sun slowly drift
Across the lawn;
Casting a golden light
And drying the dew.
I watch people jogging
And getting ready for work.
I watch a woman as she walks,
Outlining the perimeter of every parking space
And I wonder – why?
I watch as people start their cars,
Pull out and head off.
Where are they going –?
To work?
To play?
To start another day.

My dream of academia
Is an idealized one
Mr. Chips and the Paper Chase
Classes of five hundred
In lecture halls the size of stadiums
Students focused
Totally absorbed
Hands flying skyward
With thoughts, questions
And answers
Always thinking
Always searching
Always seeking the challenge
Digesting facts and adding knowledge
Connecting dots from places obscure
Yet always looking for hidden meanings
Layers and levels and subtexts
That clarifies cognition
And opens the portal
Of the enigma unknown

My Darling
I was so hopeful then
First it was
Home for Christmas
Then it was
Home for New Year’s
But you never came home
Except in my heart
Where you’ll live forever

The Quest (complete)

Bruce Levine

And I don’t mean The Impossible Dream, because the only thing impossible is that one can never reach the end and, in one sense, maybe the quest is the end unto itself.

If one can never reach the end of the quest
Is the quest, then, an impossible dream?
Or is the quest the end unto itself?

Or, maybe, the quest is the end unto itself.

There is no such thing as an impossible dream
Because the only thing impossible is that one can never reach the end
And, in one sense, maybe the quest is the end unto itself

The 4th of July

Bruce Levine

(To be read in a G & S cadence)

Here’s to the 4th of July
Tra la
The Founding Fathers rejoice
Tra la
Though their work is done
There’s much more to come
So
Here’s to the 4th of July
Tra la