"cannolli" poems
I'm a Yankee in the South
Far from where I was bo-ahn,
Th' other half of this Country stout,
But not where I'd call home.
I talk too fast and walk too fast
And speak with easy grin;
And every word that I say once
I must repeat again!
If you're black you're Black, down he-ah,
and if you're white, you're White;
I don't fit well, I'm mostly brown,
They just don't feel it's right.
I work each Sunday in the sto-ah,
I do the work of three;
Back home I went to Sunday Mass
And Godless they call me.
Godless Yank, I'm rude, I'm cold,
I started the great War -
(Not our Great War, you see, but one
that came somewhat befo-ah).
I've tried their greens, I've tried their grits,
I've had biscuits n' gravy,
Oh what I'd give for chowdah hot
Or some lobstah tasty!
I like my tea, I like it hot,
Not sickly-sweet and iced,
Brew it black and brew it strong -
No sweeter will suffice.
Well, I'm a Yankee in the South,
But I wish I'd never gone.
So in a month I'll pack me up
And home I'll be 'fore long!
I'll eat cannolli in North End,
I'll visit Fenway Pahk,
I'll watch the city glow with light
The minute it gets dahk.
I'll roam the rivers, fields and woods,
All dusted up with snow;
The northern bogs, the stony beaches,
That's what I call home!
I never should have come, I sweah,
I'll never go again;
There's plenty here to tide a girl
A hundred years and ten.
The long-sought day has dawned at last,
And now we'll sally forth,
So clear and a bit chilly, it's
A promise of the North.
We drove and drove and drove again,
And then we drove some mo-ah,
We started out at ten to six,
And now it's half-past ****
And when I'm shovelin' the snow,
Cursing potholes in the road,
I'll think of all the Southern folk
And smile at every load!
Well we're home again, we're home at last,
I won't leave anymo-ah,
I've proved without a doubt there is
Nuthin' to leave it ****
Well, I was a Yankee in the South,
It's not what I'd call nice,
And now I can concretely say
I wouldn't do it twice!
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 4:45 PM UTC
_Impressions of Philadelphia: May 20-8, 2023_
A masked saint dressed in dollar bills. Stuffed rice ***** Cannolli. Italian street festival
Bentley and Porsche. Bright sequins everywhere. Side-slit, backless, plunging. Metal detectors. Prom night downtown.
On the median, a barber and a man. Haircuts for the homeless.
Black tattoos, ankle to cheek. Dark lips. Green and blonde hair. Who needs a bra? City girl, Philly girl.
Bike paths everywhere downtown. Few bikes but lots of scooters. Lancaster county too.
Belly button here, belly button there, here a navel, there a navel, everywhere navel-navels. Philadelphia Innies ‘n outies.
Bright colors, weathered colors. Loving, nurturing, and plain strange. Gayborhood murals.
1st post master, mapped the gulf stream, lightening catcher, 9 Atlantic crossings. “I never discovered anything, I just made it useful”. Ben Franklin.
Overnight parking $300. At the Delaware, across from Camden.
The Rocky statue outside the art museum, golden Diana within.
Statues hanging from every other building. Avenue of the Arts.
Drexel, Temple, U-Penn. Unsolved murders. The campuses.
ATV rodeo every night. Rrrumm, rummm! Broad Street after 6.
Phillies 12 - Cubs 3. $8 hotdogs. Citizens Bank Field.
“All things considered, I’d rather be in Philadelphia”. W.C. Fields
Jun 2, 2023
Jun 2, 2023 at 10:54 AM UTC