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"Do you like wasabi peas?"

She hands me a small sage-green orb.

"It's hot, spicy," she says, nodding encouragingly. "Have you ever had wasabi?"

It tastes like horseradish and is not at all spicy in comparison to the chile-spiced mango I've been snacking on. I nod and smile to her approvingly.

Before I know it, she's handing me a chocolate sandwich cookie and without saying a word, going back to the duty of putting away the groceries. It's delicious.

Jivy, upbeat soul music blasts from an iPhone speaker dock. The kitchen faucet is running. Cabinets, the dish washer, opening and closing like a delicate rhythm.

He was building a fire pit outside, thick white smoke billowing up into the sky. But it started to pour a soft summer rain, as it had two or three times already that day. The world beyond the kitchen is grey, wet, happy. The shabby porch is used to being drenched in rain, the mason jars filled with dead cigarettes and the disarrayed furniture.

With more than one person in the narrow stretch of kitchen, it's a crowed party. I watch on from my chair in the breakfast nook. She chops vegetables on the counter for cold gazpacho soup.

She, in a delicate red rose skirt. The men except for me in cargo shorts.

I'm drinking flat Dr. Pepper from a painted mug, instead of something hard like I might want. The sip of black beer he gave me tasted like soy sauce. It fizzled on the porch a bit.

"Oh, ****!" he said, putting his hand with the overflowing beer out the door while standing partly inside.

/

Asking the cook for permission, he sits down across from me and begins to sing a song on a guitar. A sad song, one that he's played before. Maybe the only one he knows.

I sit in my chair and watch it all go by. I take out a book from my bag to look like I want to read it. I'm really just sitting here, like a fly stuck tragically on the fly paper he hung in the kitchen two nights ago. Lying there all sprawled awkwardly, eyes open to what's around me.

He finishes the song. "Beautiful," she says, gathering papery remains of an onion and tossing them into a plastic bin. He strums another tune. His voice is untrained and not hard to listen to if not a tad syrupy and self-aware. A bit like the way he carries his wide personality.

He answers questions from across the room, interrupting the melody for a few seconds now and then. The two men are on separate wavelengths. But the singer didn't seem to mind being interrupted. They must have grown up with this dynamic, the men. It's a story they tell easily.

/

"Buongiorno!" she says, slicing a lemon.

"Hey, you have a nice accent. Arrivederci!" says the guitar-player.

"Arrivederci!" she responds, playing up the dialect with sweetness.

"Good deal." He says, striking up another tune. He puts on a different voice. Deeper, with more swing, like a caricature country-western singer. His voice fills the space.

Our mugs are gathered all together, mixed up in a menagerie of colors and shapes at the end of the kitchen counter. I brought several of mine from home and they mingle with the others unnoticeably. Multi-colored ones from Poland. Mine, purchased at various thrift stores. All of them stacked awkwardly and happy.

He asks me if I want to share a smoke on the wet porch. I say "Not right now. Maybe later, though."
Avery Glows Dec 2018
Disclaimer: I did this as a creative rewrite for one of my university lit courses, and all the inspiration and quotes belong to Robert Browning the original writer of "My Last Duchess"

HIS LAST DUCHESS
ARRIVEDERCI
“That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive.”
(I’m not)
Alas! Me, “a wonder.” He calls.
Now wretchedly refined and pasteurized.
To be consumed, now, for genteel eyes.
Pity! Should you ever see me roll mine.
Behind those curtains, you might have been surprised
To see my countenance whimpering
At you Sir; and seething, at Him.
Must you not be fooled by that sickly decorum
Upon which his manly pride resides.
The Duke—what rich talent in envy he has,
And of pithy idiosyncrasies! Pardon me now
As I speak of his infamies: Is it not,
Too preposterous of a Duke, to sulk
And take offense, over a blush?
(As if the blush was his to wield and shun.)
Am I not allowed to flush at all?
And must I be ashamed of being swooned
By the casual offers of life’s grandiosities?
Each and every, dropping of the daylight,
Ripen cherries in May and chivalrous gentlemen,
my dear white mule; must I then weep
at them all, only to prove my fancy for him.
And when does gracious gratitude itself
become in vain: a finite honour—
deemed excessive elsewhere?
Never had he plucked me out, for censure,
Before he gave commands, I knew he did
To pluck the smile out of my face.
Utterly clueless—he thought I was
To find myself throttled, for immodesty.
A wife, an appendage to a Duke,
Loosely felled, to stroke a green-eyed ego.
My fault it seems, is a mere generosity
Of affection: falsely opined, if not
Misread, to fare a defect of temperament,
A chronic malady, doth be cured by death.
To cement the farce he will, soon, bring you
Downstairs to meet a friend. (a fiend)
A prized possession: Neptune, taming a sea-horse.
His hubris incarnate, cast in bronze.
But you must know the truth, for the sea-horse
Did not perish for naught, she is freed from him
At last.
Oct, 2018
John F McCullagh Dec 2011
A man on the cusp of One Hundred
found letters that proved beyond doubt
that Rosa, his bride since his twenties,
in the 40’s had “catted” about.
Some German had tickled her fancy
and perhaps a bit more its believed.
The statute of limitations doesn’t apply
when an Italian husband’s aggrieved.
Did he stop to think of the children?
They’re at such an impressionable age.
They may go and spend
their whole pension on drugs,
join a gang, or go out and get laid.
Antonio’s mad at his Rosa
He’s just about called her a *****.
It matters not to him that her transgression
dates back to the second world war.
We don’t know what he read in the letters-
Perhaps his whole life’s been a lie-
but as he is on the cusp of one hundred
why not wait for the children to die?




In Italy, a 99 year old man has divorced his wife aged 96  for a affair she had with a German officer in 1942
He found their letters in a drawer.  No he not longer has to wonder why his oldest boy was named " Fritz"
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
not everyday you get to pet a labrador
at half past 10... during the night...
he sees you, you see him 10metres apart,
you start you autistic body-space crucial
talk; you start gesticulating, blinking
to-n-fro like some mad rhetorical adventist...
and then you signature the discussion
like any sensible curator might:
you insinuate a tut-tut, but the sound you
make sorta makes onomatopoeia obsolete...
you tut-tut while ******* a lemon...
and **** me! the labrador is yours!
teary eyed and tail in a tango-likened to-and-fro...
if ever picking up a girl in a nightclub could
feel as good... it wouldn't...
the mere antic of petting a stranger's dog:
i'd be salivating had it been a rottweiler...
never mind the labrador...
           ***** ate the would-be hetero...
we call him metro these days, salmon-tinged shirts
and the ooh-la-las to my mistake: faked camp.
  but they loved the political coup without the d'état!
which is a bit like pizza without cheder dangly,
or god forbid: a gorgonzola!
    oo, tangy! jokes really do necessitate a need
for punctuation.
for what god forbid was the p added when it
merely said cou? optometric lesson no. 1:
French... optometric lesson no. 2:
English; optometric lesson no. 3:
a year in Yorkshire: endure that and you'll endure
Germanic Hitlerite checking advents of
chequers grandpa... or those eager to await Auschwitz
and least eager to don mascara within
that tattoos of rightly-awaited wrinkle...
     oh yeah, yeah: they forgot the tribalism; silly wankers.          

is that a pooch or a Gucci?

i don't know, whenever i ask that
question or see someone
famous or fashionable
i just get fidgety,
like as Chinese person
seeing a doppelgänger -
with a billion's worth of populace,
you don't look out for a
"most photographed" face..
  you look out for doppelgängers,
lookalikes...
    
still, you end up petting a stranger's labrador in
the night sometimes,
while walking to a shop for a bottle of whiskey...
tearful eyed, tail waggling...
   which is more than picking up a girl in an Essex
nightclub would ever be...
          you end up petting a dog
and saying to heterosexual counterparts:
                                                     arrivederci!
because it was **** primus with Liberace
and fooled housewives sprechen butch speck,
bound to the glutton archives...
              **** me that labrador was all i needed tonight.
Havran May 2015
Through blurry dreams of vivid ebony.
Of crimson red that escape my mem’ry.
The old hand of time has taken its toll,
In a world of dreams that wish to console.

With the passing of a clandestine star,
Whose dazzling silver lights just seem too far.
The transcendence of a thousand comets,
Are as beautiful as a sun that sets.

Overhead, a deep and calming sky blue,
A sign of life that shall now breathe anew.
Outcast and in exile, the vagrant weeps,
A soft silent whisper as Zephyr sleeps.

For stars that age, that once shone so brightly,
Dimming grandeur though ever so slightly.
Woe to he, lost in this sad serenade,
Her beautiful face, her pitiful shade.
Alicia Dec 2015
it's soaring through flaming green hills
your heart races with the curiosity of discovery
it's dancing on a secluded mountaintop
with the drunken energy of a motorino zipping.
it's the endless time spent laughing
lips tingling with wine and philosophy
furiously awaiting l'autobus
and saying basta to the pasta.
the hazelnut aroma of hot cappuccini,
and suddenly you have the bravery
to get lost alle tre in Trestevere.
it's watching sunrays part mountains and Corinthian columns
and sparkling on salty waters
and you inch toward the edges of cliffs
just to catch a glimpse.
it's the comfort of friends and Nutella
when Ryanair lands and Rome becomes Home
and life, and death, and carbs follow you.
it's the homeless and the hungry
sleeping in the strong arms of St. Peter
and disappointment and shame
consumes you.
it's sobbing when you are alone,
foreign, and strange
and sobbing when it's time to say
arrivederci
it's when you fall, your stupid heel caught between cobblestones
that you realize you're in love.
motorino - scooter/vespa
l'autobus - bus
basta - enough
alle tre - 3:00 a.m.
Trestevere - nightlife neighborhood of clubs, bars, and restaurants
St. Peter - St. Peter's Basilica/The Vatican
arrivederci - goodbye
Robert C Howard Apr 2016
For Denis Joe*

Alas, poor Pluto
I knew him slightly
Dangling out there
On the sun system's edge
Unsung by Holst
Who knew him not at all.

Furl browed tribunes smack their gavels
And in a nano - second
Planetary glory dashed to asteroids.
Mighty Pluto busted to dwarfhood!

[Brief moment of silence]

Well, the dwarves will have to have
Their own music now -
Nothing Earth shattering
like THE PLANETS.
A humbler essay, say a trio
For tuba, autoharp and cello.
Modest but catchy tunes
For little orbiters and shakers:

XENA (warrior princess)
CERES (goddess of grain)
PLUTO (mythical silver smith)
CHARON (underworld boat jockey)

Oops, almost missed the big send off.
There he goes now with Charon at the oars.

          Arrivederci

                little

           ­           fellow.

                              SNIFF!
Mike Hauser Nov 2017
I spent my early life
Looking out from behind
The chain link fence on the turkey farm

There they fed me right
Fattened up my thighs
After all, what could be the harm

If it was up to me
I would never leave
It's where I prefer to spend my years

But alas will come the day
When all good turkey's have to say
Arrivederci...I am outta here

          I was born to be a Butter Ball
          Unlike those sloppy pigs that live next door
          To be a tender turkey is my call
          And all you want to do is eat me
          Yes, you wanna eat me

They just took Turkey Jack
To the shed out back
Where we never heard from him again

Just like yesterday
With my friend Turkey Dave
Strange they haven't messed with Turkey Slim

Am I the next in line
Could this here be my time
My head placed on the chopping block

As I say my goodbyes
To all the gals and guys
I gobble to Mary Lou as an after thought

          I was born to be a Butter Ball
          So delicious they're coming back for more
          Tenderized to the very core
          All they want to do is eat me
          
          I was born to be a Butter Ball
          A slap in the face to the Honey Ham
          To be a tinder turkey is my call
          Heavy on the gravy with a side of yams

Now that you know my tale
I hope I told it well
Enjoy this day with your family and your friends

So remember then
Don't leave the stuffing in
And dinner will go the way that it was planned

          I was born to be a Butter Ball
          The highest honor of them all
          Into the open oven I must fall
          Cause all you want to do is eat me
          Yes, all you wanna do is eat me
The votes are in and have been tallied! Who am I to go against the will of the people. Back for another go round!
If you don't remember the tune, YouTube is a wonderful place to either find your mind or lose it!
Mike Hauser Nov 2013
I spent my early life
Looking out from behind
The chain link fence on the turkey farm

There they fed me right
Fattened up my thighs
After all, what could be the harm

If it was up to me
I would never leave
It's where I prefer to spend my years

But alas will come the day
When all good turkey's have to say
Arrivederci...I am outta here

          I was born to be a Butter Ball
          Unlike those sloppy pigs that live next door
          To be a tender turkey is my call
          And all you want to do is eat me
          Yes, you wanna eat me

They just took Turkey Jack
To the shed out back
Where we never heard from him again

Just like yesterday
With my friend Turkey Dave
Strange they haven't messed with Turkey Slim

Am I the next in line
Could this here be my time
My head placed on the chopping block

As I say my goodbyes
To all the gals and guys
I gobble to Mary Lou as an after thought

          I was born to be a Butter Ball
          So delicious they're coming back for more
          Tenderized to the very core
          All they want to do is eat me
          
          I was born to be a Butter Ball
          A slap in the face to the Honey Ham
          To be a tinder turkey is my call
          Heavy on the gravy with a side of yams

Now that you know my tale
I hope I told it well
Enjoy this day with your family and your friends

So remember then
Don't leave the stuffing in
And dinner will go the way that it was planned

          I was born to be a Butter Ball
          The highest honor of them all
          Into the open oven I must fall
          Cause all you want to do is eat me
          *Yes, all you wanna do is eat me
Mike Hauser Nov 2014
I spent my early life
Looking out from behind
The chain link fence on the turkey farm

There they fed me right
Fattened up my thighs
After all, what could be the harm

If it was up to me
I would never leave
It's where I prefer to spend my years

But alas will come the day
When all good turkey's have to say
Arrivederci...I am outta here

          I was born to be a Butter Ball
          Unlike those sloppy pigs that live next door
          To be a tender turkey is my call
          And all you want to do is eat me
          Yes, you wanna eat me

They just took Turkey Jack
To the shed out back
Where we never heard from him again

Just like yesterday
With my friend Turkey Dave
Strange they haven't messed with Turkey Slim

Am I the next in line
Could this here be my time
My head placed on the chopping block

As I say my goodbyes
To all the gals and guys
I gobble to Mary Lou as an after thought

          I was born to be a Butter Ball
          So delicious they're coming back for more
          Tenderized to the very core
          All they want to do is eat me
          
          I was born to be a Butter Ball
          A slap in the face to the Honey Ham
          To be a tinder turkey is my call
          Heavy on the gravy with a side of yams

Now that you know my tale
I hope I told it well
Enjoy this day with your family and your friends

So remember then
Don't leave the stuffing in
And dinner will go the way that it was planned

          I was born to be a Butter Ball
          The highest honor of them all
          Into the open oven I must fall
          Cause all you want to do is eat me
          Yes, all you wanna do is eat me
Back by popular demand...
Well not sure how popular but it's back!
Mike Hauser Nov 2015
I spent my early life
Looking out from behind
The chain link fence on the turkey farm

There they fed me right
Fattened up my thighs
After all, what could be the harm

If it was up to me
I would never leave
It's where I prefer to spend my years

But alas will come the day
When all good turkey's have to say
Arrivederci...I am outta here

          I was born to be a Butter Ball
          Unlike those sloppy pigs that live next door
          To be a tender turkey is my call
          And all you want to do is eat me
          Yes, you wanna eat me


They just took Turkey Jack
To the shed out back
Where we never heard from him again

Just like yesterday
With my friend Turkey Dave
Strange they haven't messed with Turkey Slim

Am I the next in line
Could this here be my time
My head placed on the chopping block

As I say my goodbyes
To all the gals and guys
I gobble to Mary Lou as an after thought

          I was born to be a Butter Ball
          So delicious they're coming back for more
          Tenderized to the very core
          All they want to do is eat me

          
          I was born to be a Butter Ball
          A slap in the face to the Honey Ham
          To be a tinder turkey is my call
          Heavy on the gravy with a side of yams


Now that you know my tale
I hope I told it well
Enjoy this day with your family and your friends

So remember then
Don't leave the stuffing in
And dinner will go the way that it was planned

          *I was born to be a Butter Ball
          The highest honor of them all
          Into the open oven I must fall
          Cause all you want to do is eat me
          Yes, all you wanna do is eat me
Hate to do this to y'all again (not really) but Thanksgiving only comes around once a year! So crank the tunes...LET'S DO THIS!
Mike Hauser Jun 2013
I bid to you adieu
Adios, arrivederci, bye bye
So many different ways to say it
I never realized
In how many different languages
It is that I could cry
I will keep you in my heart
Please keep me in your mind
Needing a much needed break from my addiction...
It's been a blast! I'll never stop writing...just need a break from posting and checking my phone every 2 minutes...See Ya!
Cydney Something Oct 2019
Until, when?
Spinning again
Around the thought
That I should say
Goodbye
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2020
from under the iron curtain... not quite though:
in a study of the form of: immediacy...
a spare 30 years (circa)...
    from under the iron curtain thrown
under: the silicon curtain...

                 what science fiction ambitions:
what new worlds: new species of interest?
          concerning some "here"... and
                                obviously some "there"...
glued together, by -
                        the already mentioned study
of the form of: immediacy -
            i.e. more broadly known as the word
being...
          more broadly known as the word:
                                                           being...
for what is... and in that: the suspicious
utterance of "what" in conjunction with: is...

but it's hardly a book burning...
        i once cited a myself in transit...
        i once cited my self:
                            in the reflective sence...
not compounded in the reflexive immediacy
of myself... that...
    writing is not an invitation to speak...
it is an extension of thinking -
            i too have... had... avenues closed off...
for a while...
        as long as the substance is tame...
         but writing was never an invitation
to speak... it was always an extension of thought...
i privy the wanting ****** to entertain
his or her: caged tongue...
to labour with insane dignity to...
have that freedom of breath:
   without a single word being uttered:
   a feast for the eyes...

    of freedom of speech though:
  is... speeking freely... an invitation to... think?
what "book burning"?
             video-mash-up and a ******
variation of "*****": misnomer alley...
           no rigid lexicon for a... stalemate...
some grand unmoveable object of the tongue
to lick...
   to write is to extend thinking:
it is never to script someone...
   however... to speak doesn't invite me to
think... i would be too gullible for that
to be true... too forcefed a bulimic "rhetoric" /
and question to tow...

i have yet to find that speaking freely
allowed a chiral complexity of thinking freely...
as a reply... antonym...
     book burning: audio book... burning?
for the privacy of the eyes...
less this... feeding of echo... and more... echo...
speaking freely is not an invitation
to think freely...
                     i hope writing has
enshrined this facet of distinction...
                    it's such: oh such a "minor" technicality...

but i've used this phrase before...
from under the iron curtain we came...
and enjoyed the remains of the free world...
for a circa of 30 years...
                from under the iron curtain ******
under... the silicon curtain...
                  
/ / / / / interlude... of a soft-core existential nature:

  well the absolute joy of... shaving...
i perhaps did that once...
concerning as most would have called it:
on the face of a late-teen and early 20s colt...
***-fluff...

       as one had to... since the hairs resembled
the crop of cranium...
and weren't stiff enough: ***** enough...
for the guillotine of all ******* drops...
to form a beard...

   oh i had ambitions! i had ambitions
like you've never seen!
to add to a full crown of hair... allowed
to grow long enough and gear up for...
a 14 year old girl's wet-dream in school
of a french braid...
          i had such ambitions for a beard
so long... so long... it would...
tease the length of the whole torso...
from chin down and down to...
the bellybutton!
    in a thick iraqi braid...
       i wasn't so lucky on the face as i was
on the 'ed...
     bets are in... chances of me...
going bald?
   chances of me... having hair on my...
stomach region... my chest...
and patches of my back?
         bets are on... the horses are funny...
sorta running... mildly giggling and
playing: goof... shimmering...
the size of their teeth... as big as their *******
hoofs!

my idea of a haircut?
                      grow it to about bearable...
a comb to the left... a cut on the side...
to comb (hand brush) to the sides...
  and then... cut it down to a bare minimum...
not a skinhead...
   my head isn't best shaped for a king skin...
as one girl told me in high school...
i don't have the...
    well formed pariental / occipital coupling...
one of these bones is diminished in:
curves...
   i curious observation...
i guess that's called an invitation to:
pressure...
        a side-project of the occipital bone
being less protruding...
                          a schlawic shorta shin-diggy-oh...
girl spoke like a confirmed:
proselyte of the soul...
                       of language i can confirm...
it didn't matter it was...
a roman catholic school... in england...
some... confirmation... bias?
then i'd have a confirmation name
to boot with my two already given and a surf-name
surprise!
but i'm still: e = mc...
                     a horrid acronym...
                         eschlert = matthias ck-on-rad...
oh... god! yes!
i love the sound of my own voice so much...
i'm a gifted orator... frequently...
at... some ****-poor party revival
once a year... at... Nuremberg...
    yeah... i love my voice so much...
    i've ejected it from imitation thinking:
internal "monologue" and "air"...
i like it so much: i like it most when
it shuts the **** up...

itchy fingers and pervert eyes...
and domineering eyes...
the kind of eyes that... see...
your and you're...
       the apostrophe and the A like a halo...
hovering above: giggling...
infantile joys...
   never to be revised... but such...
pitiable domineering affairs...
no wonder i never advanced into
the realm of b.d.s.m. of adult joys and
advanced cinematic arena hard-ons:
        
  this one time i can don a hugo boss...
adventure... im grau oder schwarz     (ц)...
                                             (ш)...

all the other letters are kosher...
     but that dream... of a beard... as long...
as the king's hair...
gone... in an instact...
it takes about a month...
  before... everything return to: shabby...
the unkept beard... the irritating moustasche...
and then...
a miracle of having sat at a turkish barber's
with my eyes closed: as one does...
before a mirror... when someone is being
invasive...
      and feeling each and every snippet...
i should have taken
a before & after of my... "vlad the impaler"
deeds with every contort: matter...
a sense of making a rhombus into a sq.
or a sq. into a rhombus...
     oh... hair is easy... cut to a minimum...
a month passes... some jelly is used
in the last 3 weeks of extension...
and then... back to canvas (a) exhibit (0)...

       no point asked for a barber...
the man can cook, the man can bake...
the man has enough fudge muscle to shift
2 tonnes of soil in under 4 hours...
enough leg for 14sqm of experimental golf green
addition to a garden...
otherwise littered with patch-works of
gravel and project: drainage... another tonne
of shingles and pebbles...

    couple that with... a keen insight into...
the barber project... and arrivederci
                                migliore "tenuta"
    correttezza / bellezza: "mississippi"...
          cappoh: cchinno...
                           marble... cake...
                      gas-tap: top-off: shh!
                                      it's a lean...
              a leen in a lean in a: gwan-pazzio!
sounds sounds... suoni! su'oni!
                                      sounds sounds...
there is a morbid sense of meaning... but...
it's all lost to the interlude!

                 there is nothing more gratifying...
than being able to curate your own beard...
and find the sort of cranium crop top
to count the months in a year...
                       never working from:
                                       pelzkopf...
a dream of... roman brush... mochicans...
dipped in... woad blue / purple... / / / / /              

in the democracy of poets...
        in the republic of philosophers...
it has always been like so...
that philosophers dictated a republic...
that the poets... would have to...
somehow... dictate... a democracy...

i have in my possession...
a very strange book... "strange" that it is...
or was part...
of a 20th century curriculum...
a standard of pedagogy from 1967...
   O-level standards...
             we were taught latin: once...
cicero was a go to... beginning
with latin grammar...
first came latin grammar...
then... anglo-saxon shrapnel: "grammar"...
evne the term...

asyndenton... definition?
               this is the absence of conjunctions
between co-ordinate clauses, phrases,
     or "words"... the precise connection
              being inferred from the order of words
and the general sense....

      cicero's "modus operandi" of style...
      -que / et or....         and / and...
              or? speedy gonzales:
   que: what / and...

                   this the "copulative" sense of...
"missing" in-and-between...
                          nouns, adjectives, verbs...
   "words"... synonym pirrouete peacock fest
of grammar "technicality"...
        a "word" for a philologist
                    is a "thing" for a philosopher...

i will not... equip myself with...
what latin grammar i might have...
learned... to have studied such a book...
and its zenith of the year 1967... in a catholic school...
at least a catholic school said:
perhaps - "perhaps" insinuated back then...
latin grammar first...
christian dogma... second!

                adversarities: conjunctions:
                     sed, autem, vero...
example?
                   no example... contrasting clauses...

what of the conjunction: qua - i.e. as being?
or quo?
              privy: quid pro quo...
and one wonders...
the notion of "ego": had to became...
elaborated... isolated...
     given the asyndenton(s) of descartes...
i.e. (ego) cogito ergo (ego) sum...
well then! so much free room and reins!
to isolate the supposed "abstract" he-oi!oi!oink!
"says" so!

we pretend to move forward within cicero's
confines... back in 1967... this was standard
pedagogy!
latin grammar... what am i working with:
said the plastic surgeon to
the jack nicholson joker in that: Dt: fat...
Boatman: a tool a crude scalpel
of grafitti...               ahoy! ahoy! spare island!
Fwyday! vitch iz Velsh! i say!
oi oi!     hell-oooooooooooh!

             almost a sanskrit word...
so it must be!
    hendiadys and the asyndenton...
         the first... in sanskrit...
      please...
                हएनदऌअदईस
           ­       HENDIADYS...
that's as far as i will ever get...
no amount of diacritical marker excavations
will keep track of this:
experiment B'ah-Bel...
              yes... a drying up on the first
conjunction: the natives still speak:
Bay-Bel...
            B'ah-Bel'...

  the pashtun language... afghan women...
landay... something beside the ebb
of the strict skeleton of syllable
count of of a haiku...
or... i'm still token best **** in town
when it comes to:
misnomer: freely open noun usage...

the use of the pronoun IS
implies... there's no pronoun associate
worth a gender neutrality...
          IS is a pronoun...
              how can... IT... also a pronoun...
be... made... double neutral:
when "it" is already facing a neutrality
focus of quiz?

       an abstract noun... though?
to a cicero... an abstract noun...
with... hindsight... would be...
a... microscope...
   an adjective prefix...
   and a bypass of nouns into the verb...
prefix dear verb...
when will that suffix become
a noun and not a doubling of a verb?
of what? of scope!

     to denote an act rather than engage
in it!
          ******* scissor sisters grammar
of the modern age...
they should have taught me latin grammar
than given me
abortion conundrums to begin with:
failure! best kept secret!
aged 16... would make the vatican
proud!
      it's not that i own a baseball cap
that i can flirt with a "noah"
of n.e.w.s. with...
              it's not that...
so much for education...
in 1967 a catholic school would do...
the nun's project proud...
2004? what nun?!

                solitudo erat ea quam voluerasmus...
there was just that seclusion we had wanted...

an "antecedent" noun...
                    i much prefer an "antecedent" verb...
a variation of hammering...
or ******* in "fixes"...
   when there was once...
a turmoil of the jist of knee-armed...
and then... electric: sorrow-sowing of...
the nearby: "fix"...

          this language is best be forgotten...
the otherwise fictive rigour of teaching...
barbarians... a quick-and-easy...
acquisition of... latin: my dear... sir...
because... the english are the afghani sort...
first served: first come... though... last
to topple... anything... worth remembering
a past with 'em: therein!

i call sir! my immediacy...
funny thing... calling "my" in a borrowed...
body... which you... also... cling to...
with a tongue of transcendence...
and... a body's worth of an anchor:
and so! in reverse!
this body of no transcendence!
the old empire...
and this... jailor quizz...
the "asyndenton" of the hebrew...
in... how niqab is your...
                                             niqqud?!
ah!
               שׁ (š)... translated:
                             szkoda: shame...

and שׂ (ś)...       ślizg: slide...

that the hebrews... kept the ancient latin...
play on an asyndenton...
but kept it: vowel primo-intact...
   beside... a mere play on conjunction words...

i giggle... what have i to add?
beside a... ha ha?!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eh1m3vCCGdA

Black Princess of the night chin strapped to her violin
she plays the notes from her memorable heart of blue
while the moon in her sorrow spills light upon the Quin,  
she plays on, a Stradivarius interlude of thin soulful Adieu;
Arrivederci  (goodbye)
Donna (woman)
Ingannato  (deceived)
even the stars weep  under her spell as her raven changelings
scatter like black ashes to the wind
Five seasons of partings five degrees of loss, still no light
bursts forth from a soot sky of ebon black
lamentations and moans
heaven groans
from the weight of  her sorrow comes the eye of the storm
as she plays her last note of deep unrest .
Kelly McManus Dec 2019
Whatever language
you choose climate won't change so
goodbye amigo

                                     Kelly McManus
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2020
”Well, my friends are gone and my hair is grey
I ache in the places where I used to play
And I'm crazy for love but I'm not comin' on.
I'm just payin' my rent every day in the Tower of Song”

Leonard Cohen lyric from The Tower of Song


§§§

this lyric hits, it’s a ten fingered cheeky ****** marking,
fits like a new white t-shirt, clean~perfect in every aspect,
I’ve just changed song to poetry, so nobody’s complaining

axiomatic, slept less a than three shambolic hours last nite,
don’t ask what I was doing or even a simple why, even the
vultures grew tired, helplessly hoping for solutions to start appearing

water pressure ok, poem spigot strong but the words desiccated,
it’s time to revisit roots, back to where I’ve come-begun, bury losses,
seek no consideration, write in isolation, a-quiet niche, a shhh! beach

my silent reverie owns me and the angels, biggest fans, just can’t
get enough, know their faith is strong, never proofing reads required,
content to wait till find my lost chords, comforts of only fresh truths

so arrivederci, until we meet again, when cadences have resumed,
rolling in unbroken, won’t need other’s words recirculating my blood,
till my slip sliding over, direction from arrows stabbing new openings

rented a storage unit in nearby woods, empty shelves greet ya with a
‘ready, willing, and able,’  many open arms looking for fulfilling, a job, that don’t even pay minimum wage, but the benefits are just fan-tastic


So:
should you spot a man ungainly wrought,
weighted down by a harpoon cross, resting,
‘pon on his cursed Cain-marked back, fingertips,
you need not move to the other side, or hide,
'tis only a make-believe poet, no longer believing,
with his recording device, seizing your rhapsodies
to rhyme with his own collected artifacts, your crinkly
smiles are his meat, his metier, his chosen career,
to be again a comfort caresser of your illusions into
a shapely sculpture of words be-loved, keeping-worthy,
tokens of a reexamined self worth, a new girth, leaner,
a celebration for the keeping, dug up with pail and shovel,
a best left hid on his treasured island, in a treasure chest, only his new-no-good-best-most-satisfying-new-no-good-best-mystifying-sati­sfying-cursing-muses-who-got-two-knee-on-my-soul-I’m-
howling...
­
Monday Jun 1, 2020
self-explanatory but if you don’t get it, then:

“there is no “better” in poetry

mine yours theirs, alive or not,

just gasps tears and blood
whimsical smiles and isles
cuts and burns of pained revelations,
hidden in fog,
that words try to delete away,
through the shrouded mists of
human tissues,
unconstrained by the
bounded shape
of the human cell,
our first, our own
self-imposed jail”
Maddy Oct 2021
She beckons me to return
Something changed when the words work to live became a mantra
Celebrating friends and family with a joy never known before
Just because and a dolce vita state of mind
You enjoy and take out the good stemware and stuff for special occasions every day
You make every moment a holiday because indeed it is a gift to be here and enjoy
That is the reason
So until we meet again dear lovely cities
Your art and culture never stop filling my cup
Firenze look for me
Venezia your magic fills the air
Italy with a style and colors of its own
A tutto c'e' rimecho fuorche la morta
Arrivederci alla prossimo


C@rainbowchaser2021
while there is life there is hope
Goodbye until next time
Florence
Venice
Shivpriya Dec 2019
My few achromatic
feelings!!
I think I will lose my world if
I forget about you!

Come inside my lamenting
heart!
O romanticist!
My heart shed tears like separation
needs the higher latitude and
the season needs the quality of
warmth which can adequately
embrace this distressed heart!

Basically, it is beauteous that
there is no orderliness required
to limn the capacity for emotions.
However, the thoughtfulness is revived!

-My arrivederci to you!

Shivpriya
#shivpoetesspriya
Mike Hauser Nov 2018
I spent my early life
Looking out from behind
The chain link fence on the turkey farm

There they fed me right
Fattened up my thighs
After all, what could be the harm

If it was up to me
I would never leave
It's where I prefer to spend my years

But alas will come the day
When all good turkey's have to say
Arrivederci...I am outta here

          I was born to be a Butter Ball
          Unlike those sloppy pigs that live next door
          To be a tender turkey is my call
          And all you want to do is eat me
          Yes, you wanna eat me

They just took Turkey Jack
To the shed out back
Where we never heard from him again

Just like yesterday
With my friend Turkey Dave
Strange they haven't messed with Turkey Slim

Am I the next in line
Could this here be my time
My head placed on the chopping block

As I say my goodbyes
To all the gals and guys
I gobble to Mary Lou as an after thought

          I was born to be a Butter Ball
          So delicious they're coming back for more
          Tenderized to the very core
          All they want to do is eat me
          
          I was born to be a Butter Ball
          A slap in the face to the Honey Ham
          To be a tinder turkey is my call
          Heavy on the gravy with a side of yams

Now that you know my tale
I hope I told it well
Enjoy this day with your family and your friends

So remember then
Don't leave the stuffing in
And dinner will go the way that it was planned

          I was born to be a Butter Ball
          The highest honor of them all
          Into the open oven I must fall
          Cause all you want to do is eat me
          Yes, all you wanna do is eat me
Holiday Maddness...
Kellie Gray Sep 2022
Dormi bene my dearest friend.
Your journey was long and you are weary.
Dormi bene, Nana, you deserve the rest.
I’ll watch over the flock; to them I will tend.

Fly to the horizon and do not look back.
Now is your time to see peaks and summits.
Drift away in the warmest, deepest seas,
Traverse the wildest, rockiest track.

Your body can’t hold you; your soul is free.
Your beautiful, worldly, universal soul.
Take it to be with the love you have missed.
And give him the longest hug from me.

Nessa dorma. It escapes me.
It’s easier to love you than to miss you.
For you;
I’ll learn to do both, in sweet harmony.

arrivederci alla luce del giorno
perché saremo insieme
nella notte
riuniti eternamente
nei sogni e nei bei ricordi

My love, always.
Upon the death of my dearly beloved Nan. Classical music fan, world traveller and Bird by married name.
Ryan O'Leary Apr 2023
Dyslexia


Wind turbines waved

arrivederci at animal

transporters on their

way to an abattoir as

surface water spray

diffused the red sign

which spelt P.O.T.S.
Yenson Dec 2018
We've known strifes and bloodshed, uproars and pain
in another world at another time in a land no longer home
Filled with yesterday's woes, we look for tomorrow's joy
In the cold climate, we hold the past and sing silent songs
Come tend my root and and I'll help clean your cave

I live by the water and you can rail here end of a week
Our bonding is common and we find solace in little things
I know your secrets 'n know mine is safe in your plain palms
We go back a long time and I have your back as always
At strangers' land we give and take to survive blinded by needs

When you're gone I often visit the body shop in the back streets
No ring on my finger, no promises broken, it is what it is
You've told me your story 'n we exchange my notes for your coin
Don't buy me a bird  but let your canaries sing you a sweet song
Have a pizza and a glass of Chianti and say arrivederci and ciao

Life hurls along and most times the nights are lonely and dark
We live to survive and can't always pay the piper for a tune
Take it where we find it and write fitting stories in hidden notes
Tell the folks back home one day we will return and share olives
But we know our lives is a lie we believe just so to live and smile
Ryan O'Leary Dec 2018
I'm going in search
of a memory.

Because I never said
arrivederci, to

Luciana Giannini,
somewhere in Brindisi.

          <>

I'm Sorry.

— The End —