Indigo. A dream of the color, and the sound of soft rain. Bathing birds babbled among pines beyond her window, and morning light was warm on her closed face. An ache in the spine. Creaking knees. Shoulders cold cliff-rock. Complaining muscles knotted tight as wood. The wooden house around her also creaked in the wind. Smelled wet. And somewhere echoing through her fields Edgar barked three times, then once more in playful affirmation. Today maybe the last today. In her mind’s eye, falling almost back into dream, Nora surveyed the long acres surrounding her cold home: untended wheat, alfalfa, cattle-corn, all woven through untold ecosystems of weeds. Stray indigo flowers and violets. Scattered dust-filled barns. What the place might look like after all this time. With her right hand she sought the frame of the bed, found it, rough chips of paint flaking. Slowly exhaling at once Nora lifted her iron legs over the edge, thin-socked feet found the bedroom’s planks. Cold air. November hopelessness. With spider-sensitive fingers she plucked her way around the room, imagining violet dawn spilling through her screen window. Stood before the poker-faced mirror out of habit, ran her brush through hair that must now be silver. She felt the satisfying tug on her scalp and loudly past her ears. If her dresser was in front of her, to her right was the window and the pine-scented boxes where she kept his clothes, behind was her rumpled bed, and to her left then was the bathroom. She felt along the door-frame, the sink, the toilet, and sighingly she settled onto its seat. Relief.
Rain drops on her roof were like the “shh” breathed to an infant. Warm blanket of rain over the cold farm. The breathy wind was driving the rain towards her house, cranky knees told of a storm to come. The boisterous wind had the sound of laughter and strife, of voices: the twins arguing somewhere, Edgar probably with them over-enthusiasticly ******* their footsteps. The bellowing wind made the house creak more than usual, but there was something else. A distinctive groan from the foundation up the east wall to the roof-tiles. Someone was in the kitchen. Constance, just like it used to be. Connie was here and the twins were outside: they had arrived closer to dawn than Nora expected. Heavy truck’s tires in mud, headlights had pioneered dawn darkness. Smell of soil. Massaged her own back, kneaded the the flesh on either side of her spine, then wiped and stood from the seat letting her nightgown fall all down around her knotted ankles. Washed herself, and a short shower before the water turned cold. Dried her wrinkles feelingly, smelling soap, and pulled her soft nightgown back on. Socks.
Always a joy whenever Constance came to call — less frequently these days it seemed — always a joy to be with her grandchildren though little Bastian was still mistrustful of her. Always a joy to see her daughter’s family… but she never got to see Matt’s. An image of her son’s face, a red haired ghost of the past, flickered in Nora’s memory. He couldn’t stand this place since he was young, hated his full name “Matthias,” maybe hated Nora too. No reason to stay after his father died. He fled to the city. Must have a wife, several children by now. Well. At least Constance kept coming by. The rain grew heavier, played on the roof like the roll of a snare drum.
Out of the bathroom and bedroom, feeling the planks of floorboard with her soles, hand by hand and foot by foot she traced her steps down the rickety stairs. Uneven. Nora knew the chandelier she once hung here was red; she pictured the color as hard as she could to envision its reflection on each surface of the stairwell. Smell of pine. Like the smell of his clothes safely preserved in the boxes by the window. Jagged nostalgia. Nora had met dear Rowan back in another world: a world of whirling sights and colors and beautiful ugliness and ugliest beauty all. To America when she was nineteen, leaving behind all Germany and studying her new tongue. Had still devoured books then, was able to become a school teacher. When twenty-three, met in a chance cafe Rowan who worked the docks. Red hair. Scottish but of many American generations. Nora grabbed blindly at a face just out of memory’s reach. Her hold on the bannister revealed the places where varnish had been rubbed away by her wringing hands. From the kitchen, acrid cigarette stench and shuffling. Inflamed knees hating her meticulous descent, but better this ordeal each day than to abandon the bedroom they had shared. When the two met, Rowan still sent money to his agricultural folks in New York (“Upstate,” he protested more than once, “Not that awful city, but in the countryside!” and he’d pantomime a deep breath) because of the expenses of running their farm. Nora’s now. From the cafe he had bought her an almond pastry, triangular, smaller than a palm, its sweet crisp flakes made her think of Mediterranean forests, and when the two were married they worked this hereditary farm. Nora knew all the animals, when they still kept livestock. Now Nora’s farm, whose after? When her little Matthias was born they had praised him as the farm’s inheritor. Unwise.
Last step. Sound from the kitchen of Connie shifting in her seat, rustling papers. Smell of strong coffee. Strong cigarettes. Composed herself, quietly cleared throat. Sauntered down the hallway, monitoring expression and tone. Nora said, “Hello Constance. When did you three get here?”
“Hey ma,” said the woman’s voice when the elder crossed into the kitchen. “For christ’s sake don’t call me that.”
“For christ’s sake, don’t take his name,” Ma scolded, but then traced her way past the table to the countertop and felt about for utensils. “I’ll make you something Connie.” The counter was in front of her, bathroom to the left, stove to her right and along that same wall was the back door. ”How about some nice eggs and toast like how you like.”
“No ma, I handled it already.”
“And what color is that hair of yours this time?” Ma asked, carefully inserting slices of bread into the toaster. “Seems like months you haven’t been by.”
A patronising, sarcastic chuckle. “…it’s orange, ma.
Listen—”
“That is so nice. Your father’s hair was just that shade of orange.” Felt around inside the refrigerator. The styrofoam carton. Small and cold and round, her fingers seized four of them. “Do you remember?”
Pause. “I remember, ma.”
“What I don’t understand,” said Ma swallowing a cough, expertly igniting one gas burner as practiced and putting on hot water for tea, “is why you don’t fix to keep it natural. I love our nice fair hair, very blonde, very pretty.” Back home in Germany Nora had been the favorite of two men, but many years since engaging in the frivolous antics she in those days entertained. “Best to flaunt your natural hair color while it’s still there: orange like Matt and dear Rowan, or fair like you and Lorelai got.” Memories of her own face as she remembered it. Relatively young the last time she had seen. What wrinkles there must be. What a mask to wear. No wonder Bastian. Nora ignited another burner. Tick tick tick fwoosh. Smelled gas. Sound of the almost boiling water complaining against its kettle. Phantom taste of anticipated tea. Regret. The contents of the vial hidden on the top shelf. Today maybe the. Sound of heavy rain. “And how are your bundles of mischief?”
Connie sighed. “I told Lorelai to get her little **** inside the house, as if she hears a word. She’s playing with Ed somewhere in the fields I don’t wonder, rain be ******. That girl is such a little — well she’d better not be down by the creek anyhow. Could get flooded in a downpour like this. Bastian was out with her, but he’s playing in his room now. You know we don’t have time to stay long today, it’s just that you and I got to finally square this business away. No more deliberating, ok?”
Swallowed. “Course, Constance. Just nice to hear your voice. You’re taking care?”
“Care enough. Last time I was — oh! Jesus, ma!”
Ma’s egg missed the pan’s edge. She felt herself shatter the shell into the stove top, in her mind’s eye saw the bright orange yolk squeezed into the albumen. The burner hissed against liquid intrusion. Connie made a strained noise and scooped her mother into a seat at the table. Movement. Crisply, the sound of two fresh eggs being broken and sizzling on the pan. Scrambled as orange as Connie’s guarded temper. The table’s cool surface. Phantom smell of pine wood polish and recollections of Rowan at his woodworking tools building this table once. Other breakfasts. Young Constance, young Matthias. Young self. Her left hand massaged her aching right shoulder, then she switched. The sound of plates being readjusted with unnecessary force.
“You know,” said her daughter, “living in one of them places might even be fun. Might be good for you instead of moping about this place. But like I’ve been saying, we got to make our decision today: sell this place or pass it on. I know you don’t take no walk, cause where would you go? What’s the point in keeping all this **** land if you’re not gonna do nothing with it? You can’t even ******* see it!”
“Constance! Language!”
“Come on ma, just cut it out! This is great property, and you’ve let it get so it’s bleeding money.”
“…But Constance I can’t sell it, not like your brother wants me to do. He’s always trying to get rid of this place and turn a profit, but someone needs to take care of it! You know that this is the house that your f—“
“‘That your grandparents lived in where your father and I raised you…’ Yeah I know, ma. And I get it. Believe me. But what you’re doing is just plain impractical, why don’t you think about it? All you’re doing is haunting this place like a ghost. Wouldn’t you rather live somewhere where you can make friends? Things can’t go on like this.” A plate was placed softly on the table and it slid in front of Ma. Can’t go on like this. Egg smell. Salted. Toast, margarine. A cup of tea appeared nearby. “Anything else you want? Here’s a fork.”
“What will you eat, Constance?”
“I ate, ma, I ate already. Have your breakfast, then we can talking about this for real. Ok?” Then, the sound of her daughter’s body shifting in surprise, a pleasant unexpected, “Oh,” before Connie said low and matronly, “Hi baby, how you doing? Are you hungry?” But only the sound of the downpour. Orange eggs still softly sizzled. The wind pushed the creaking house. “Sweetie, you don’t have to hide behind the door, it’s ok. Come say hi to grandma… don’t you want some scrambled eggs?” Refrigerator’s hum. Barking echoed, coming over the hill. But not even the little boy’s breathing. Grandma had met the twins two years ago, following the **** of Constance’s rebellious years and independence. Nora was reminded of her german gentlemen and her own amply tumultuous adolescence. She could forgive. Two years ago Lorelai and Bastian had already been too big to cradle and fawn over, but they were discovered to be just starting school and already bright pupils. Grandma hung her head. Warm steam from where the uneaten eggs waited patiently. Edgar’s approaching yapping. And, fleeing from the doorway, a scampering of feet so light they might have been moth wings. Down the hallway back into his room. “Sorry ma,” said Constance.
Shrugged. A nerve flared in pain up her neck but she didn’t react. Only fork scrape. Ate eggs. On introduction, poor little Bastian had burst into tears and refused to go near her. Connie had consoled: “It’s ok baby, she’s just Grandma Nora! She’s my mother.” But poor little Bastian inconsolable: “No, no, no! She’s not!” What a wrinkled mask it must be. How hideous unkempt with silver hair. How horrible unflinching eyes. “She’s not,” would sob the quiet boy in earnest, “she’s a witch! Don’t you see?” And he never would let Grandma hold him. Lorelai was always polite, hugged warmly, looked after her pitiable brother, but her mind too was far elsewhere. Edgar alone loved them all unconditionally and was equally beloved. Barking. Yowling. Scratches at the door. Downpour. Door and screen door opened, wet dog happy dog entered, shook, and droplets on her cheek.
And there appeared Lorelai, a star out of sight. “Hey mom. Hi grandma!”
Grandma swiveled for cosmetic reasons to face where the door. Grinned, “Hello Lorelai. Wet?” Envisioned yellow sunlight entering with the excitable girl in spite of the deluge.
“Oh it’s so rainy out there grandma, I found little streams through your fields and big mud puddles and Edgar showed me where your secret treasure was, we found it!”
“Stop right there, missy!” commanded Constance. “For christ’s sake you look like you took a bath in the mud and the **** dog with you. Come on, your filthy coat needs to be on the rack, right? Now your boots.”
Warm nose found Nora’s palm, excited lapping. Slimy fur, smelly fur. A cold piece of egg dangled in her fingers, then dog breath came hot and licked it up. Satisfied, he trotted off elsewhere, collar jingling out of the kitchen and down the hall.
Little Lorelai lamented, “I couldn’t help it mom, the mud was all over the place! When we got past the motor barn and the one alfalfa field that looks like a big marsh frogs went ‘croak croak croak’ but Edgar growled and chased them and then we made it all the way in the rain to the creek and it’s so much—”
“Now you just hold on. Hold still!” Sounds of wrestling. Grunts of a struggle. “That creek must have been overflowing! Didn’t I tell you not to? You didn’t take your new phone out there did you, Lori?”
“No ma’am.”
“**** right you didn’t, cause I sure ain’t buying you a new one. Didn’t I tell you not to go all the way out there? Didn’t I? Now you get into that bathroom and wash your **** hands!”
“But I’m telling Grandma a story!” huffed little yellow haired Lorelai.
“Well wash your hands first and then we’ll hear it, Grandma don’t listen to misbehaving girls who are all muddy and gross. Not a squeak from you till you look like you come from heaven instead of that nasty creek.”
A profound sigh, a condescending, “Fine,” a door closing and a squeaky faucet running. Muffled hands splashed, dampened off-key ‘la la la’s.
“Who knows what the hell that one is ever talking about,” said Connie. “It’s everything I can do to get her to shut up for five ******* minutes. You done with your eggs?”
Ma fidgeted. The plate was scraped away, and a clunk by the sink. Licked her lips, mouthed a syllable, about to speak. But then her house creaked three strong along the east wall. From deeper within bubbled a suppressed sob: “Mom,” little Bastian wailed, “Mom, come quick!” Constance sighed, Constance cursed, and Constance swept off down the hallway struggling to refrain from stomping.
Sound of washing. Wind. Rain. Alone. Cold. Picking out the paint for this room, listed in gloss as ‘golden straw yellow.’ Rowan hadn’t liked it and chose himself the bedroom’s color in retaliation. The loss of the home they had built together. The contents of the vial hidden on the top shelf: do they see it? Bathroom sink stopped flowing, door wrenched open. Smell of soap, clean smell. Grandma said to her, “Your mother went to check on Bastian,” Taste of eggs still yellow on her tongue.
“What a *****!”
Stunned. “Lorelai!” she snapped. “Don’t you dare take that language!”
“But mom does it all the time.”
“Then Lorelai, it’s up to you to be better than your mother. When I’m not around any more, and your mother neither, you’ll be the one who keeps us alive.”
“But as long as you’re alive you’ll always be around, you’re not a ***** like mom. And remember? I got all the mud off so can I finally tell you can I what we found? Well actually it was Edgar found it. Oh and I’ll describe it real good for you grandma just like you could see it: when we pulled up we were just wandering in the blue rain, Bastian and me, and silly Edgar joined us but Mom tried to make us come back of course but I told Bastian to stay with us at first, but later I changed my mind on it. It was he and me and Edgar were hiding in the old motor barn where it smells like a gas station remember grandma and he was so excited to see the sun when it rose and made the morning violet sky he started clapping and Edgar got excited too and was barking ‘bark bark’ and howling so I told Bastian to go back even

George was lying in his trailer, flat on his back, watching a small portable T.V. His
dinner dishes were undone, his breakfast dishes were undone, he needed a shave, and ash
from his rolled cigarettes dropped onto his undershirt. Some of the ash was still burning.
Sometimes the burning ash missed the undershirt and hit his skin, then he cursed, brushing
it away. There was a knock on the trailer door. He got slowly to his feet and answered the
door. It was Constance. She had a fifth of unopened whiskey in a bag.
"George, I left that *******, I couldn't stand that *******
anymore."
"Sit down."
George opened the fifth, got two glasses, filled each a third with whiskey, two thirds
with water. He sat down on the bed with Constance. She took a cigarette out of her purse
and lit it. She was drunk and her hands trembled.
"I took his **** money too. I took his **** money and split while he was at work.
You don't know how I've suffered with that *******." "
Lemme have a smoke," said George. She handed it to him and as she leaned near,
George put his arm around her, pulled her over and kissed her.
"You *******," she said, "I missed you."
"I miss those good legs of yours , Connie. I've really missed those good
legs."
"You still like 'em?"
"I get hot just looking."
"I could never make it with a college guy," said Connie. "They're too
soft, they're milktoast. And he kept his house clean. George , it was like having a maid.
He did it all. The place was spotless. You could eat beef stew right off the crapper. He
was antisceptic, that's what he was."
"Drink up, you'll feel better."
"And he couldn't make love."
"You mean he couldn't get it up?"
"Oh he got it up, he got it up all the time. But he didn't know how to make a
woman happy, you know. He didn't know what to do. All that money, all that education, he
was useless."
"I wish I had a college education."
"You don't need one. You have everything you need, George."
"I'm just a flunkey. All the **** jobs."
"I said you have everything you need, George. You know how to make a woman
happy."
"Yeh?"
"Yes. And you know what else? His mother came around! His mother! Two or three
times a week. And she'd sit there looking at me, pretending to like me but all the time
she was treating me like I was a *****. Like I was a big bad ***** stealing her son away
from her! Her precious Wallace! Christ! What a mess!" "He claimed he loved me.
And I'd say, 'Look at my *****, Walter!' And he wouldn't look at my *****. He said, 'I
don't want to look at that thing.' That thing! That's what he called it! You're not afraid
of my *****, are you, George?"
"It's never bit me yet." "But you've bit it, you've nibbled it, haven't
you George?"
"I suppose I have."
"And you've licked it , ****** it?"
"I suppose so."
"You know **** well, George, what you've done."
"How much money did you get?"
"Six hundred dollars."
"I don't like people who rob other people, Connie."
"That's why you're a ******* dishwasher. You're honest. But he's such an ***,
George. And he can afford the money, and I've earned it... him and his mother and his
love, his mother-love, his clean l;ittle wash bowls and toilets and disposal bags and
breath chasers and after shave lotions and his little hard-ons and his precious
love-making. All for himself, you understand, all for himself! You know what a woman
wants, George."
"Thanks for the whiskey, Connie. Lemme have another cigarette."
George filled them up again. "I missed your legs, Connie. I've really missed those
legs. I like the way you wear those high heels. They drive me crazy. These modern women
don't know what they're missing. The high heel shapes the calf, the thigh, the ***; it
puts rythm into the walk. It really turns me on!"
"You talk like a poet, George. Sometimes you talk like that. You are one hell of a
dishwasher."
"You know what I'd really like to do?"
"What?"
"I'd like to whip you with my belt on the legs, the ***, the thighs. I'd like to
make you quiver and cry and then when you're quivering and crying I'd slam it into you
pure love."
"I don't want that, George. You've never talked like that to me before. You've
always done right with me."
"Pull your dress up higher."
"What?"
"Pull your dress up higher, I want to see more of your legs."
"You like my legs, don't you, George?"
"Let the light shine on them!"
Constance hiked her dress.
"God christ ****," said George.
"You like my legs?"
"I love your legs!" Then george reached across the bed and slapped Constance
hard across the face. Her cigarette flipped out of her mouth.
"what'd you do that for?"
"You ****** Walter! You ****** Walter!"
"So what the hell?"
"So pull your dress up higher!"
"No!"
"Do what I say!" George slapped again, harder. Constance hiked her skirt.
"Just up to the *******!" shouted George. "I don't quite want to see the
*******!"
"Christ, george, what's gone wrong with you?"
"You ****** Walter!"
"George, I swear, you've gone crazy. I want to leave. Let me out of here,
George!"
"Don't move or I'll **** you!"
"You'd **** me?"
"I swear it!" George got up and poured himself a shot of straight whiskey,
drank it, and sat down next to Constance. He took the cigarette and held it against her
wrist. She screamed. HE held it there, firmly, then pulled it away.
"I'm a man , baby, understand that?"
"I know you're a man , George."
"Here, look at my muscles!" george sat up and flexed both of his arms.
"Beautiful, eh ,baby? Look at that muscle! Feel it! Feel it!"
Constance felt one of the arms, then the other.
"Yes, you have a beautiful body, George."
"I'm a man. I'm a dishwasher but I'm a man, a real man."
"I know it, George." "I'm not the milkshit you left."
"I know it."
"And I can sing, too. You ought to hear my voice."
Constance sat there. George began to sing. He sang "Old man River." Then he
sang "Nobody knows the trouble I've seen." He sang "The St. Louis
Blues." He sasng "God Bless America," stopping several times and laughing.
Then he sat down next to Constance. He said, "Connie, you have beautiful legs."
He asked for another cigarette. He smoked it, drank two more drinks, then put his head
down on Connie's legs, against the stockings, in her lap, and he said, "Connie, I
guess I'm no good, I guess I'm crazy, I'm sorry I hit you, I'm sorry I burned you with
that cigarette."
Constance sat there. She ran her fingers through George's hair, stroking him, soothing
him. Soon he was asleep. She waited a while longer. Then she lifted his head and placed it
on the pillow, lifted his legs and straightened them out on the bed. She stood up, walked
to the fifth, poured a jolt of good whiskey in to her glass, added a touch of water and
drank it sown. She walked to the trailer door, pulled it open, stepped out, closed it. She
walked through the backyard, opened the fence gate, walked up the alley under the one
o'clock moon. The sky was clear of clouds. The same skyful of clouds was up there. She got
out on the boulevard and walked east and reached the entrance of The Blue Mirror. She
walked in, and there was Walter sitting alone and drunk at the end of the bar. She walked
up and sat down next to him. "Missed me, baby?" she asked. Walter looked up. He
recognized her. He didn't answer. He looked at the bartender and the bartender walked
toward them They all knew eachother.

Connie was born a lady
She knew what to wear
Opened up her wardrobe
Stood and quietly stared
Loved the frilly dresses
And the ones with butterflies
What she put on
Was always a surprise
In her silver slippers
And slides in her hair
Connie was ready
To go anywhere.

Thought it might be nice
To go out twice
As the day was sunny
She'd go with her Mummy
Up to the shops
To buy some new socks
White fluffy ones
with ducks at the top
Then a pair of shoes
Pink ones will do
Go with her smock
With the lollipop.

Connie was a lady
She played ladies' games
Never catch Connie
Out in the rain
Liked to dress her dollies
In ribbons and lace
Hand knitted dresses
Slipped over the face
Had a row of shoes
So dolly could choose
Turquoise boots
with high heels too.

How I love dear Connie
We have lots to do
Playing with our dollies
And taking them
To the zoo.

Love to Connie from Grandma xxxxx

For Connie, a Friend Indeed

There are no pictures of poker-playing dogs!
The health certificates make for dull reading
And last month’s issue of Texas Monthly
Has not the old cache’ of Field and Stream

There are no pictures of poker-playing dogs!
Among the snaps of Baby’s First Haircut
Children and grandchildren in cute little frames
And lovely young girls all styled for the prom

There are flowers and scents and catalogues

But –

There are no pictures of poker-playing dogs!

                                                          ­ Woof!

Montague and Connie Flu
Got caught up in a racing boom
Found themselves in a field
With coloured banners and an ice cream que;
All the competitors in a line
Wearing fitting clothes , combined.
Connie in her high heeled shoes
Wondered what she could do,
Monty suggested taking them off
Wrapping her feet in an old Jay- cloth
Connie did not like this view
So borrowed a pair of training shoes
From a member of the Boom,
Black and white with silver stars
Matched her top and legging style,
So they ran their fastest best
Over hill and under tree
Won the race without out a phew!


Love Grandma for Monty and Connie .

Chapter two

December 24, 1979;
This day or, should it be said, night… is the night a spark alters this heart’s understanding of a heartbeat with such desires which were never thought possible. After most have gone to bed; it’s 4 in the morning, Kelli, Julie .Joe and my-self were sitting up downstairs talking in Rose’s living-room, enjoying her lovely Christmas decorations.  Kelli goes up around four-thirty and Julie sat-up on the armchair by the archway; Julie was talking about things going on at her work. Funny enough, the only thing going through my mind is ‘Oh my, I sure hope you go up stairs before others begin to waking; I want to have time to talk with him by himself.
Finally, “Goodnight Uncle Joe!” and up the stairs Julie goes; It’s now, five fifteen, he and I are alone on the couch together and finally I could talk with him ‘til others wake or ‘til he tells me he needs to go sleep.  I would have been happy just having he be as a friend but knowing he was no longer with Connie… could heaven feel this near? We sit talking… I edge towards him; I feel a touch, his hand gently he reaches and then pulls… no guides …, for I more than anything want this to happen, to the warmth of his lips; my heart pounds as the taste of his salty-sweet lips rushes into my mind beside all the sensations his lips touching his arms give…tingling warmth, surrounding me, enveloping me?! I’ve never known this feeling before; such depths of wanting; of needing, of a desire to be here in these arms.
“Joe; Joe, Joey I love you…” Did I just say…???
“Don’t!” he says, “Don’t, this is a just for-now thing; but there’s no commitments, no responsibilities?!”  
I know why he says this… Connie?!  He doesn’t know, these words of his only make me want him so much more?! He has no idea how fearful all this is for me; these words, his words make me feel safer in his arms; it is safe here in these feelings I’m having?!
“If you want…; it’s your choice?! No commitments.”
“Fine.”
How could Joe know just how much he’s already a part of me?  I would never…  I could not say no.
How could Joe know how I’ve already thought of him; he couldn’t know how special he is in these eyes; how he has been long since a time before the 77’ blackout, back in summers-passed?!  On a day I was looking out the window, watching, Connie and him in the backyard working on his car. I held such envy towards Connie, looking out, watching the two of them, and ever since whenever I would see them together. If only; but who would truly want what I am…beyond my Chameleon’s mask? Dreams are nice to have but you can’t ride pipes all your life?! You can only live in what there is in this life.
Days earlier than watching them from that window… I had walked in-on Billy, the one I was with; he was in bed not alone they were in the midst of the most explicit acts?!  There weren’t any blankets on them and it wasn’t right away that they knew I was there stunned in the doorway!? This being something which one could never un-see?! And yet, I seem to be remaining?! A part of me already knew this about him but it’s just, I, never thought it would ever be in my face or who it’d be…I’d see?! Which as it turns out is what was most overwhelming of it all.  Billy was raised by foster-system and he’s been living with this man, Joe McAtamney, since he was nearly eight years old; you’d think… but no; No boundaries??? I thought Billy would be aged-out of this man’s wants…But no; and, to think several months earlier my dad signed papers for Billy to be my husband?! I ran from the three of them down in City-hall; I should have kept running?!  But oddly to say this little tat-a-tat doesn’t even close to being the worst of happening in my life; I was Billy’s first female … to think, barely, thirteen years old and next to him I’ve already have had years of expertise in the activity, merely on a physical basis; I did have no comprehensions on how to conduct or relate beyond that… not a real clue on how to be in a normal male/female relationship out of the ****** interactions?! And hell, as much as that was concerned lord knows I’d rather be clipping coupons???  I would have still been with Billy if it wasn’t for the loss of my daughter back in May of 79’!  Joe, Billy’s foster-father, rented Billy a Rockaway's bungalow I thought it was to keep him from being under foot but that’s wasn’t it?!    Billy’s foster-father and my mother figure in bribing Billy he would/could convince me to abort or if nothing else to give-up my baby if it comes to it. Most of April we had set up house out there in Rockaway; I thought he and I could find work, a place to live of our own and make a home for this baby. But no, every penny I could hide he’d find and spend; he’d have other boys over who are friends with his foster-father, like these are the people anyone would want around any child???
The last week I was out there, Pat Current was out there with us; I couldn’t stand this boy he was every bit the same as having my brother Kevin around?! You wouldn’t want to fall asleep in a place where he might be able to find you. A sociopathic horror, a ****** deviant and a thief; someone who wouldn’t have a problem in delighting in and/or causing other’s pain as a form of his own entertainment; Why Billy has Pat here knowing what he’s about?! I know Pat’s a time to time lover of Billy’s Foster-father but he isn’t here with him???
It was the morning of the 14th. I woke-up not feeling well; Billy and Pat said they figure to go down to the beach so I could rest and they told me they’ll  be back around one for me make them something to eat. They return only to find all those from the other bungalows along with the lady who rents them out were all inside the bungalow with me; they were staying with me so I wouldn’t be alone until the ambulance comes.  When the lady heard my screams she ran down into the yard and entered the door; I was holding myself up trying to make it myself to the front-door to find some help. There were ****** puddles all over and handprints over everything; there’s such pain and pressure I wasn’t able to move a step more. She helped me back to the bed. When I got to St. John's Episcopal I was all alone; nobody could come with me in the ambulance. By the time Billy arrived I was there about five or six hours has passed and she, my baby girl was gone.  The Doctor wouldn’t allow me to touch her, to pick her up or hold her in my arms. The doctor just left her next to me lying there cold and blue …exposed ; they had her laying there in an old metal bedpan; my child.  
Doctor, “When you’re ready you can get up and leave; make an appointment with your regular doctor for a hemo-globin shot.”
The nurse told Billy he needed to come in the room and get me out, he needed to take me home. He would not; he said he’d wait until I came out on my own.  The nurse walked over to me and she look at my face she could see I wasn’t about to walk away from my baby; she reached to remove her… I blocked her path I couldn’t allow her, to, to take my baby away from me?!  The nurse went over by the table across the room; she picked-up a small baby-blanket and return over to where we were and she made a shush sound and said it’ll be alright; she understood. She gently wraps my baby into the blanket and had me sit-down then the nurse placed her into my arms… the nurse remained by my side while I held my poor little girl in my arms. Touching her face, “Please forgive me for not protecting you better; I am so sorry…” I kissed her and, “I love you; I’ll miss you, always.”
The nurse held out her hands and said, “Don’t you worry I’ll take care of your little Baby Rose;”
“Thank you.” I left my baby there in the arms of the nurse and I left the hospital with Billy. We walk to the train station and we begin to head back to the last place in the world I want to go. He and Pat were talking about where they’ll be going to go tonight??? Billy turns and says,” If you feel like it you can come; it’ll be fun!”
‘??? He didn’t just say…’
“You can go to where-ever…” I looked at the two of them, “I’m going elsewhere?!” I back-step-it off the train at Broad channel the doors closed and I waved. I went to sleep that night in my bed at home on 66 Street. I couldn’t stand to have to look at his face. Afterwards, I was told Billy was rather happy that my little baby girl was gone. I awoke in the morning, first day back and things around here were no different. I went to Dr. Tierney’s office about the shot I needed and he told me I should never try to have a baby ever again; “You need to go on the pill and don’t ever allow yourself to get pregnant again!”
“No problem Doc… I no-longer have a boyfriend and I don’t have much luck with them?!”
“Easy said but only takes once?! Go on the pill; be sure!”  He writes a script and I go home.
I had a boyfriend before Billy; his name was John (Stretch) Thompson, its funny John was 6’4” and at the time I was only about 5 feet tall. He lived around the corner from the St. Sebastian’s church down in Woodside. This was back in 73’ he and I met at and worked together in the Burger’N’Shack on the corner of Queens Boulevard and 58th. He was night shift and did all the prep-work for the next day and they, the worker’s of the nightshift, paid me with eats and tips to clean off tables and to do quick-mops during the night; and, after John would finish his shift we would go over to his brother’s house. Both of John’s parents died back in 66’ and he lives with his brother and his brother’s wife. John went into the military… he told me when he returns we’d be married; eight months after John left his brother found me and he told me John was killed on his third day over there. I hadn’t seen John’s brother or his wife after that; I stayed around Key-food and carried bags to cars for tips or I’d walk with woman to their nearby homes with their bags. Big Frank, Little Frank and Denis allowed me to take out a store-cart from the lot so I could make money; Big Frankie, Oscar from the deli department and Mr.C, the owner of Big-Six’s Key-food, like me. And, the owner was also a very good friend of my Great-Uncle Patrick’s. It was sad John’s death but…  Move on; No-one the wiser.  This is the year the Dunn’s moved in on the block. Me, myself is odd, on my own block once more… act like every other kid! Even, when you see others who know different… you are a child?!  ...but not; silence is silence even in the loudest room it’s there. All you need do is to open your eyes to hear it.  To think, if it was that Norman Rockwell and Picasso were to blend their styles together…  Oh, how it would be of those on these blocks of Woodside?!
    Back then, for me, *** was an activity devoid of any kind of desirous wants.  For the most part those near my own age would get my delighted saying to them,” Cut it off and Brass it then put it by your baby-shoes!” or, if I thought better of the individual I’d tell them, “What you care to tell friends, who cares it’s your business, but there’s nothing happening here, don’t waste my time, or yours and go away!”
But here my being in Joe’s arms there is such a difference; I had never wanted, anything, anything with this intensely. We made plans to get together at the house once everybody has left for the day; oh, Wednesday.  Wednesday morning could never be soon enough. The last person is gone, everyone is gone… I open, closed the gate was up the stoop and inside the house before anyone could have ever seen me enter the gate. Joe and I chitchat a little while looking at one another… Joe repeated “… this is a just for now, no commitments, your choice… if you want…?  suddenly even-though we were nowhere near that couch the touch of his arms… the taste of his lips, the scent of his skin…  time melts; it feels as if he we hadn’t been away from each other a single second?! But here we are, now, with the hall-door locked, the decorations no longer being on; there is no worry of someone stopping us…and, we go into his room. Joe has no idea how, in this moment, being here in his room frightens me; it’s not him not a bit… it is these sensations of wanting… Joe would not understand, I don’t, how could he; Joe thinks me being more knowing of things like this?! No wrong, though he doesn’t realize these feelings he, now, is bringing out of me are all so new?!  Every breath, every heartbeat, and every gentle movement of his body against mine… his touch made me feel! “Joe, Joe I love you.”
“Don’t!”
You said; If, I want?  It’s my choice; …as-if there could ever be any-other.
  
Since then whenever we were alone together the feelings were the same for us; we’d drive around in the car talking then find somewhere to park enjoying each other’s company for awhile… just talking and having a wonderful time. And, then… a touch, one of us would reach out towards the other the sensations overtake and cause time to shift into its stillness and no-longer do our moments separate; the first… this… all of time bound within this sensation we share. But time, time never allows long…. It cannot when such appetites’ seem endless. He’d need to get home. I’d need to do things as well. We’d both need time to do what must… I would usually put up a fuss; many times Joe laugh,  he’d need to tell me he’ll kick me out the car if I didn’t get out on my own… I never wanted to be without… this sensation, these moments we share; I never want to know again what life would be without him.
Things between us remain; even after I told him…
I told him about having a baby?! Asking him to be the child’s God-father would assure  that nobody would think differently about his being close to child; I couldn’t take the chance of his not wanting me to have this baby?! And, he hadn’t asked; I was in bliss. If he had asked me I would have had to tell him. Is there any wonder why I feel the love I feel… we would still be together; but he wouldn’t allow me to be as insatiable as he made me feel; Joe was always so careful with me when we’d be together even in our most sensual of moments he was always mindful to keep the baby safe. I had never known; never experience such loving tenderness in this life as at this time being, held, here in his arms. Everything I am everything… belongs to him.
Until the day of June 28th.

When I die
I don't care what happens to my body
throw ashes in the air, scatter 'em in East River
bury an urn in Elizabeth New Jersey, B'nai Israel Cemetery
But l want a big funeral
St. Patrick's Cathedral, St. Mark's Church, the largest synagogue in
        Manhattan
First, there's family, brother, nephews, spry aged Edith stepmother
        96, Aunt Honey from old Newark,
Doctor Joel, cousin Mindy, brother Gene one eyed one ear'd, sister-
        in-law blonde Connie, five nephews, stepbrothers & sisters
        their grandchildren,
companion Peter Orlovsky, caretakers Rosenthal & Hale, Bill Morgan--
Next, teacher Trungpa Vajracharya's ghost mind, Gelek Rinpoche,
        there Sakyong Mipham, Dalai Lama alert, chance visiting
        America, Satchitananda Swami
Shivananda, Dehorahava Baba, Karmapa XVI, Dudjom Rinpoche,
        Katagiri & Suzuki Roshi's phantoms
Baker, Whalen, Daido Loorie, Qwong, Frail White-haired Kapleau
        Roshis, Lama Tarchen --
Then, most important, lovers over half-century
Dozens, a hundred, more, older fellows bald & rich
young boys met naked recently in bed, crowds surprised to see each
        other, innumerable, intimate, exchanging memories
"He taught me to meditate, now I'm an old veteran of the thousand
        day retreat --"
"I played music on subway platforms, I'm straight but loved him he
        loved me"
"I felt more love from him at 19 than ever from anyone"
"We'd lie under covers gossip, read my poetry, hug & kiss belly to belly
        arms round each other"
"I'd always get into his bed with underwear on & by morning my
        skivvies would be on the floor"
"Japanese, always wanted take it up my *** with a master"
"We'd talk all night about Kerouac & Cassady sit Buddhalike then
        sleep in his captain's bed."
"He seemed to need so much affection, a shame not to make him happy"
"I was lonely never in bed **** with anyone before, he was so gentle my
        stomach
shuddered when he traced his finger along my abdomen ****** to hips-- "
"All I did was lay back eyes closed, he'd bring me to come with mouth
        & fingers along my waist"
"He gave great head"
So there be gossip from loves of 1948, ghost of Neal Cassady commin-
        gling with flesh and youthful blood of 1997
and surprise -- "You too? But I thought you were straight!"
"I am but Ginsberg an exception, for some reason he pleased me."
"I forgot whether I was straight gay queer or funny, was myself, tender
        and affectionate to be kissed on the top of my head,
my forehead throat heart & solar plexus, mid-belly. on my *****,
        tickled with his tongue my behind"
"I loved the way he'd recite 'But at my back allways hear/ time's winged
        chariot hurrying near,' heads together, eye to eye, on a
        pillow --"
Among lovers one handsome youth straggling the rear
"I studied his poetry class, 17 year-old kid, ran some errands to his
        walk-up flat,
seduced me didn't want to, made me come, went home, never saw him
        again never wanted to... "
"He couldn't get it up but loved me," "A clean old man." "He made
        sure I came first"
This the crowd most surprised proud at ceremonial place of honor--
Then poets & musicians -- college boys' grunge bands -- age-old rock
        star Beatles, faithful guitar accompanists, gay classical con-
        ductors, unknown high Jazz music composers, funky trum-
        peters, bowed bass & french horn black geniuses, folksinger
        fiddlers with dobro tamborine harmonica mandolin auto-
        harp pennywhistles & kazoos
Next, artist Italian romantic realists schooled in mystic 60's India,
        Late fauve Tuscan painter-poets, Classic draftsman *****-
        chusets surreal jackanapes with continental wives, poverty
        sketchbook gesso oil watercolor masters from American
        provinces
Then highschool teachers, lonely Irish librarians, delicate biblio-
        philes, *** liberation troops nay armies, ladies of either ***
"I met him dozens of times he never remembered my name I loved
        him anyway, true artist"
"Nervous breakdown after menopause, his poetry humor saved me
        from suicide hospitals"
"Charmant, genius with modest manners, washed sink, dishes my
        studio guest a week in Budapest"
Thousands of readers, "Howl changed my life in Libertyville Illinois"
"I saw him read Montclair State Teachers College decided be a poet-- "
"He turned me on, I started with garage rock sang my songs in Kansas
        City"
"Kaddish made me weep for myself & father alive in Nevada City"
"Father Death comforted me when my sister died Boston l982"
"I read what he said in a newsmagazine, blew my mind, realized
        others like me out there"
Deaf & Dumb bards with hand signing quick brilliant gestures
Then Journalists, editors's secretaries, agents, portraitists & photo-
        graphy aficionados, rock critics, cultured laborors, cultural
        historians come to witness the historic funeral
Super-fans, poetasters, aging Beatnicks & Deadheads, autograph-
        hunters, distinguished paparazzi, intelligent gawkers
Everyone knew they were part of 'History" except the deceased
who never knew exactly what was happening even when I was alive

                                                February 22, 1997

let me tell you this story
of how i felt better
after a while

first it was my brother that left
then it was my mom
and then my father
who isn’t even my father
wasn’t even around
always too busy to play a board game,
leaving me to play Stratego alone
my brother too old to play with
a younger sister
who plays with his hot wheels

but my father
who didn’t help me
when i needed him most
who didn’t listen when i
made it so blatant that i was hurting
who didn’t hear me when
i was sobbing so hard
and didn’t realize that
i was trying so hard
to not be there
at all
ever

and then there was him
a boy who said he loved me
but wouldn’t listen to me either
said i didn’t have the right
since his parents were split
since one

and there was also him
again but with a different face
who said he loved me
but was with me for the intimacy
who saw my cuts
and instead of listening,
slapped them,
which stung
which made me tear myself up
some more

then there was him
but in the form
of a feeling
that told me he loved me
and kept me warm at night
leaving me heart empty
and my soul bare
it felt right
to be there

but my father
wasn’t my father
and getting to the point
i think i’m trying to make
he’d rather help his girlfriend
and her daughter
than help his own blood
even if she claims suicide,
claiming it’s only a phase
but the scars show it true
that it was no fad

and oh,
i’m not allowed to cry
it seems i’m trying to manipulate
by showing my feelings
i’m not allowed to show affection
because then i’ll be
manipulating
and i can do no right in his eyes
everything i do
is
manipulating
and betraying

and it’s no wonder,
he says,
i have no friends
because i am so selfish
and
worthless
a *******
that will never amount to anything
ever.

he screams,
you do nothing for me
i do everything in this house,
he says,
all you do is take and take
and i’m sick of it
i want some appreciation,

he yells,
connie wouldn’t do this to me
because she loves me
you’re just like your mother
manipulating
and a liar.

please understand,
after being told so many times
by multiple people,
that it seems
i have begun to understand and accept these as truths
and that i really
have no worth at all
and the feeling i have come to love,
(a sense of numbness
that is mine
and no one else can understand)
kept me
simply on the edge
until that night,

but once again
i have gone off track
this is getting much too long
and from the beginning
i’ve been trying to explain
that i don’t feel this way
all the time
anymore

and while i want to
rip apart my flesh and
ruin my hair
i’m starting to feel better
and as if i am something quite nice

To know just where your're going

You must know where you've been

You must respect the history

The things others have seen

It's true in all things relative

Be it music, sports or life

If you don't know where you came from

You're just dancing on a knife

Gherig, Ruth and Robinson

May, and Mantle, Seaver too

Respect their contributions

And don't just say Ruth who?

Respect where things have come from

And the players of the past

Because you learn and make things better

It's what makes the **** game last

Jimmy Foxx, Bob Gibson, Kaline

Nestor Chylak and The Goose

They made baseball special

They gave the game a little juice

Orr, Richard and Gretzky

Gordie Howe and Howie Morenz

You have to know about them

You need the beginning to your ends

Bob Baun and Bill Barilko

Connie Smythe and yeah...the Chief

You have to know their history

They're what it is to be a Leaf

The game has changed immensely

Things can not go back in time

But to me...the old alumni

Made the game I know as mine

Respect the ones before you

The ones who laid the groundwork down

The ones who made it special

The non-pretenders to the crown

Elvis, Buddy, Harrison

Played the songs inside their heart

Lennon, Wilson and the rest

They all played a real big part

Every single generation

should learn from the one before

For if they don't know where they've come from

Then what has it all been for?

Nicklaus, Palmer, Bobby Jones

Sarazen and Hogan too

They pushed the gameright to it's limits

Now the pressure's upon you

The new breed are the teachers now

They're the ones to lead the way

When twenty or so years from now

You'll hear somebody say

"Respect who came before you

The ones who made us so **** proud

LIke  Nash and , Perry and  Taylor Hall

They played the game so loud

Pudge, Jeter, and Verlander

they brought it up a notch

They were there to stretch the limits

Not to just sit by and watch

Rory, Justin Rose and Mahan

Bubba, Dustin and the rest

They are the players of the future

They all respected the games best

So, to know where you are going

You must know where you have been

Respect, past through the future

And all that's happened in between.

Constantly my desire's mind spins ‘round
Oh lover, my feet dance above the ground
None can affect as this love I have found

Never before has life been so fine
Intoxicated by your lust filled wine
Eros and Cupid, oh help me pen this line

Are these birds singing just for me
Lo and sweet are their melody
Enchanted, enraptured by mind, soul and body

Newness in every tender embrace
Every breath, every sigh, every thought in its place
Gone are the questions, your touch did erase

Of passions, you have taught me well
Of desires, you have yet to tell
Do I tremble under your nakedness spell

Will you whisper in my deathbed ear
I love you and will always be near
Now let go, and do not fear

THE BEAUTIFUL FACE
MATLOOB BOKHARI
I saw a moving full moon over the sea
Then I saw the face of a maiden
I stopped and said, “Moon is fair
But the sweet magic of her face is
  Fairer far, which attracted my eyes
Captured my heart and won my soul.
Moon tries to imitate hr face and
Rose tries to copy her lips in vain!
She is beautiful,she is most beautiful!"
Niamh Dada Land Lovely friend. Many Blessings
Michele Vizzotti-White I totally like the first one, it was vivid and I saw how the rose must have felt, they r both awesome and fanciful, a maiden more fair than the moon wow that is a powerful statement, the 1st one reminds me of a painting the second one a song of love, both lovely though
Demelia Denton Lovely written words Matloob Bokhari

Barbara Shoetaker And is this fair woman still the one who stole you heart?

Semeniuk Carole you know how much I love your poetry . your stories .. the way in which only you can tell it ~~ thank you my long time friend, Matloob Bokhari .. wishing you well .. alwayS !

ina Farnworth What a beautiful verse Matloob, thank you so much for
Connie Hofacker Hemmerich Senter Thank you, for sharing this lovely poem, Matloob.

She sent a package
tied in this biege tweed cord.

It turned out to
be a picture of you two
at the lake,
that day it was cold
and she wore that beanie with the flames,
her hair all curly and escaping,
your lips all red and chapped.

A folded note tucked on the inside
of the frame reads:

"I have Connie,
*******

Love always,
smiley-face,
smiley-face
smiley-face,
smiley-face,
me."

­Connie: your/her rat terrier.

You put the picture
in its black frame
on the tv table.

The tweed
you nail
to two spaced planks
on the wall above the tv.

It's like abstract
modernist-expressionist-
constructionist-art.

It's just one string.

A taut cord
of brown tweed.

The black night comes,
over and over,
over and over,
she doesn't return,
but the tweed remains
as taut as a fingernail
or an exposed artery.

Somehow
it's so human and obstinate
that the woven vertebrae
seems to curve minutely
and femininely.

As time passes,
the tweed moves
from beige
to golden
and gravitational.

A call to a friend goes something like this:
"Come over here, I've got this amazing thing on my wall."

The friend, Eric,
calls more friends.

The friends come over,
all piling around this golden tweed
after they've taken stock of the kitchen
and Wild Turkey.


They take turns
plucking it,
thumbing it,
putting their ears to it,
and studying it,
all
at your insistence.

Somebody,
******* Eric,
coughs in the room.
More people begin to cough.

Eric walks up
to the the string,
that is nailed at top
and bottom
on two spaced planks.



Eric gives it a final hard tug,
snapping it like a belt.

the tweed hums and shivers off a few flakes
of dust and amber material.

"I've just wasted five minutes
with this thing,"
Eric says

to the string,
and you.

Eric speaks for the group.

He turns and leaves,
taking the whole group of
twenty
with him.

They trail behind Eric
like a great, long tail
flicking
and knocking things over
in your apartment
out of sheer agitation
on the way out.

The golden gravity subsumes you.

You do not close the door behind them,
you can't even hear their tiny, black voices
as they all clamor into the elevator
and ding.

Connie is upside down
Head between her knees
Feet flaying in the air
Two bunches in her hair,
Connie just likes to be
Upside down
Between her knees.

( for all to see) alternative .



Love Grandma ***

Sepember 13 , 1945 , the day you were born
And you had survived . An infant baby girl
Arrived unto this world . Oh what promise Sparkled in your eyes . The world war ended
When you drew first breath . Oh what hope lay Before you to test . Through a fall and winter too . Your first Halloween , Thanksgiving , and Christmas too . Remember the stuffed doll so soft And warm ?
How on Valentine's Day you stole our hearts .
Then on St. Patrick's Day you dressed in green . And when the cherry tree blossomed
We took your pictures . Oh , what a glorious day that spring . Then a sudden illness caught us by surprise . You lost the sparkle in your eyes . And Jesus called out your name and left us in our grief . And took you with him to home in Heaven , May 23 , 1946 .

Fitz
Fritz
Fido
Sandy
Spencer
Chaplain
Bernard
Jesse
Snoopy
Charlie
Charles
Fred
Freddy
Bones
Remmy
Ren­a
Reno
Tony
Julian
Julie
Frisco
Meghan
Addison
Robby
Buddy
Rudy
F­riedrich
Fredrick
Bernie
Rudolph
Adolf
Ferdinand
Rose
Cassie
Cassidy
Lee
Balto
Little *****
Allen
Alvin
Jake
Demi
Randy
Alex
Richard
Alexis
Kenneth
Ken­ny
Chris
Jose
Josey
Rodger
Moe
Joe
Emilio
Walt
Emily
Emma
Maddie
­Anna
Jafar
Aladin
Jasmine
Genie
******
Amber
Gracie
Ramen
Gordy
G­ordon
Jordie
James
Bucky
Huff
Manny
Sam
Samantha
Mary
Marie
Tila
­Rita
Cathy
Tammy
Mickey
Cam
Amelia
Rene
Jeb
Dan
Bagel
Tommy
Donut­
Bubbles
Blossom
Buttercup
Mark
Cody
Andy
Cristo
Andrea
Whiskers
­Mike
Bill
Billy
George
Geo
Joy
Mitch
Trigger
Tigger
Stephen
Archi­medes
Anya
Duncan
Nitro
Crash
Bub
Crystal
Egor
Bernadette
Cammy
T­immy
Antonio
Natasha
Natalia
Ivan
Abbey
Abdul
Carly
Aaron
Omega
F­inn
Nina
Debby
Tomato
Tabby
Artie
Archie
Noah
Kyle
Alfie
Alfred
Conrad
Conner
******
G­unner
Fry
Fries
*******
Constance
Connie
Frank
Fran
Candice
D­andy
Lucy
Lou
Louis
Quincy
Doogle
Dubie
Dakota
Ace
Casey
Barry
Te­rry
Trenton
Gabe
Laurie
Cornelius
Kabob
Sky
Skylar
Rufus
Louie
Ba­rton
Kimmy
Angel
Capri
Basil
Cy
Ruby
Emerald
Eleanea
Elenor
Barth­olomew
Jazz
Dreamer
Thunder
Topaz
Amethyst
Salsa
Meril
Dodo
Toto
­Eric
Barbera
Hannah
Katie
Zoey
Ben
Pinto
Squanto
Columbus
Columbo
Porgy
Bess
Clark
Savannah
Ken­dra
Marco
Leise
Toby
Trevor
Tresten
Treven
Adrienne
Caleb
Carlyn
­Ricky
Gibby
Donny
Han
Solo
Hans
Gabby
Dirk
Spot
Sebastian
Dee
Sco­oby Doo
Shaggy
Polly
Reginald
Burger
Steak Sauce
Ethan
Bradberry
Lucky
Fergie
Cheese
Boxer
Napoleon
Snowball­
Gerald
Jeremy
Benji
Gemma
Pal
Mal
Preston
Jack
Jackson
Molly
Mac­kenzie
Alexie
Alicia
Dora
Olivia
Salvador
Beast
Beauty
Oliver
Dal­e
Rim
Marley
Diego
*****
Bobby
Ralston
Zeke
Rooney
Plato
Cole
Nep­tune
Sailor
Frida
Rico
Dali
Veronica
Victor
Copeland
Swift
Riley
­Tubs
Lassie
Yo-yo
Harvey
Lemonade
Coke
Pepsi
Tanya
Camille
Token
­Laser
Beam
Seamus
Dorthy
Ian
Moby

Who is she?
She is the:

C areless
O ne who
N ever even
N oticed
I
E xist

yet even though i count only five members,
i still play with my moustache and beard
like an organism of eight extensions,
thus i weave and think simultaneously,
in this great cobweb of silence:
my hand the spider, my mouth the cobweb...
how pretty the interaction to exact
the daffodil a caleigh with the thistle in parisian persian.

i am as unsavoury in my buds
of the tongue as i might calypso a pineapple for pink
in the new dictionary stating pink defines punk!
i am unsavoury in by tastes
like trans-muscle in its ivory enclosure,
as i am outstretching my hand
to “photograph” the rain
with my hand to get freckles and knitting patterns of aqua gnats,
as i am to say:
a. you dittoed that word without using it prior,
so why exploit such usage in the first place?!
and...
b. it made more sense to itch with rain
than describe drunk & twitching spiders doing a cancan dance
in the four necessary extremes of  21st century morse encoding
with emoticons: s.o.s. = octopus :) reverse :) pianist fake :(.
elevator going up! (this is the scottish parliament,
after all)
shiksh floor...
elevator going down...
ground floor...
that’s just ******* boring...
how about you climb the shcaffold
and drop chimney bricks onto prince’s st. (edinburgh) drunk, eh?!
well i did that, actually... who’s up for a sarcastic tying the knot
and reining in a horse?
no one? oh oops twos a buckle with hoofs for teeth
as the same cement... no, sorry... it’s called *enamel;
say hi for me to ben and nick harper in this silence of typing ‘
oh i thought (i.e. susan).
**** me, the comma is on the ceiling, who’s going to measure
the time width of that one for exacted humour?!
here's one: when sean connie is on the screen,
you never shush the audience...
unless you get a shish kebab prior... and a shanty town
dr. feelgood - repairs project in motion...
shanty town project thumbs up good to go!
dr. strangelove - bomb bomb bomb!
dr. feelgood - shanty town isn't a hiroshima.
dr. strangelove - bomb bomb bomb, bomb!
dr. feelgood - a nuke on a geographic peanut?!
dr. strangelove - bomb bomb bomb burning bush in the taj mahal urn!
edinburgh is the new paris! edinburgh is the new paris!
yo yodeling the york... new town... virginia...
i'll export revolutionary france via scotland with edible 'burp'
new paris! bon voyage the october-haggis...
settle us among the apache with blood ***** and gain
testifying the hog's intestines as worthy digestion!

Little RICHARD the proclaimed self architect of rock and roll sang out high pitched about GOOD GOLLY MISS MOLLY you sure like to ball when your rocking and rolling can't hear your mama call OTIS REDDING sang about SITTING ON THE DOCK OF THE BAY while RICHIE VALENS played his guitar singing LA BAMBA and FATS DOMINO found his thrill on BLUEBERRY HILL than MARVIN GAYE crooned through the mike that  I HEARD IT THROUGH THE GRAPEVINE and IF I COULD BUILD MY WHOLE WORD AROUND YOU PAT BOONE related to pioneer DANIEL BOONEspent  his day WRITING LOVE LETTERS IN THE SAND THE  COASTERS sang about that lazy CHARLIE BROWN  JOHNNY RAY sang about THE LITTLE WHITE CLOUD THAT CRIED  as GLADYS KNIGHT AND THE PIPS about taking THAT MIDNIGHT TRAIN  TO GEORGIA and IF I WERE YOUR WOMAN meanwhile THE FIFTH DIMENSION  sang about ONE LESS BELL TO ANSWER  one less egg to fry one less man to pick up after I should be happy but all I do is cry CLAUDE MCPHATTER in true rock and roll style  sang WHITE CHRISTMAS and RICKY NELSON sang POOR LITTLE FOOL AND TRAVELING MAN when I heard about THE BEATLES I  thought they were coming over the water to eat up our crops but they had  A YELLOW SUBMARINE sweet and wholesome CONNIE FRANCIS asked WHERE THE BOYS ARE some CHAINGANG and CUPID draw back your bow and let your arrow go straight to my lovers heart for me ALLAN FREED an unknown disc jockey tagged the new wild music ROCK AND ROLL DEAN MARTIN sang AIN'T THAT A KICK IN THE HEAD and somewhere  along my musicial journey  I heard the great piano mover and confess  I watched all of his films  MARIO LANZA formed and shaped my love for opera with BE MY LOVE for no one else can fill this yearning ,I went out and brought an album of the wonderful singer actor activist HARRY BELAFONTE and freely admit that during that time I was a teenager with limited funds but saved up the money just so that I could hear  BELAFONTE sing SCARLETT RIBBONS  and the infectious DAY O sunlight come and me want to go home come mr  tally man tally me bananas and than QUINCY JONES known as Q  wrote the theme for SANFORD AND SON and produced THE FRESH PRINCE OF BELAIR starring WILL SMITH ,WE ARE  THE WORLD AND OFF THE BLOCK ISAAC HAYES black tall barechested  draped in gold chains won an OSCAR for singing and composing SHAFT which was before he acted in TRUCK TURNER  IKE also sang I STAND  ACCUSED of loving you to much and I hope that you don't mind PAUL ROBSON in deep bass  sang OLD MAN RIVER in his career he was a lawyer actor scholar outstanding athlete singer  finally THE BIG BOPPER sang CHANTILLY LACE and a pretty face and a pony tale hanging down he died to soon in a plane crash along with RICHIE VALENS and BUDDY HOLLY who sang THAT WILL BE THE DAY

THE CALDER TREE
( for Connie )

The tree stands
naked

against a sunset
leafless.

She cries for the tree's
lost leaves.

I tuck her into bed
promise to make her

a tree
a la Calder.

Dawn sees the tree
adorned

in mobiles...wind chimes
where leaves should be.

The tree sings
the morning.

Mobiles sings the day
that is

to be.

The Calder tree
orchestrates this Thursday.

Birds are
our choir.

She stands under
understands

the moment
as it

sings.  

She the one "stabile"
beneath the cascade

of wind chimes & mobiles
that the morning plays.

The tree
forever planted

in her mind
now

all of her
outstretched

as she listens to
Time singing.

With this string
I do tie
your world
to mine
With this ring
I promise you
will be mine
With this ring
I engage
your world
to mine
With this ring
I am marrying you
With my heart
I will always love you.
                     By Connie Hopkins

MY Place IS Placeless
Matloob Bokhari


You are moonlight
You are fragrance in the breeze
I am bewildered to see you
I am speechless
In the frenzy of my love
I am drifting in the sea of your love
Now and then ,joy and  depression
Dark thoughts and light of love
I am senseless
You and I are inseparable
I want to kiss you  with tenderness
I am helpless
I live for you, my  love is timeless
My heart ,where you are living,
Has become a room of prayer
All  I belong to you!
I am a nameless poet
My place is placeless!

Persian Khushi Sweet and touching


Deanna Caroline Bosworth How precious!...Quite the romantic

    Connie Hofacker Hemmerich Senter Wow, I feel the commitment of your heart...a room of prayer, so very toucing, Matloob. Thank you, for sharing.
Fran Ayers So lovely!!.I missed your poetry!!
Natasha Nabokov Thank you, . Kiss kiss
    Barbara Shoetaker You write so passionately.
Demelia Denton A writer of many explicit romantic words Matloob Bokhari ~ Beautifully written
Lindy Michaels Really lovely...

MY Place IS Placeless
Matloob Bokhari


You are moonlight
You are fragrance in the breeze
I am bewildered to see you
I am speechless
In the frenzy of my love
I am drifting in the sea of your love
Now and then ,joy and  depression
Dark thoughts and light of love
I am senseless
You and I are inseparable
I want to kiss you  with tenderness
I am helpless
I live for you, my  love is timeless
My heart ,where you are living,
Has become a room of prayer
All  I belong to you!
I am a nameless poet
My place is placeless!

Persian Khushi Sweet and touching


Deanna Caroline Bosworth How precious!...Quite the romantic

    Connie Hofacker Hemmerich Senter Wow, I feel the commitment of your heart...a room of prayer, so very toucing, Matloob. Thank you, for sharing.
Fran Ayers So lovely!!.I missed your poetry!!
Natasha Nabokov Thank you, . Kiss kiss
    Barbara Shoetaker You write so passionately.
Demelia Denton A writer of many explicit romantic words Matloob Bokhari ~ Beautifully written
Lindy Michaels Really lovely...

I bet that as soon as you read the title you thought this was going to be a non-stop ramble about a boyfriend or whatever. Well, it's not.

This poem (lets just say it is one), is about the one girl who helped me get on my feet every time I fell to the ground. Hard.

It's about a person so amazing that it pains me to watch her hurting over some unworthy *******.
It's about a beautifully damaged soul. Her moods swing from one to another pretty fast, he loves to sing 80' songs and cuddle with her cat Connie.
She loves poetry and respects artistic expressions.
She is my role model as she tries to always do the right thing.
She treats everyone fairly and sympathizes with every living creature.
She makes me feel better about myself and puts everyone else's needs before hers.
She may be struggling with some serious ****, but she'll always have time for her friends.
She is loyal and loving.
She is all I'd ever wanted in a friend.

She is perfect to me.

We are still working on that part, though.
She doesn't believe me when I tell her she's flawless.
I really think she is.
Inside out.

Someday she'll realize that I'd been telling the truth this whole time.
Someday she'll appreciate her long eyelashes, harmonious voice and cute curly hair.
Someday she'll wake-up and say:
HEY, I'M A HELL OF AN INDIVIDUAL!

She's my teacher.
My mother.
My sister.
My best friend.
My everything.

Thank you for everything, really. Every secret you kept for me, every inside-joke, every muffled laugh at class, every singing voice note, every poem, every midnight talk, every smile, every shed tear, every movie we watched together. Thank you for just being you, for letting me see your true self. Thank you.

**I love you so ******* much.

THE BEAUTIFUL FACE
MATLOOB BOKHARI
I saw a moving full moon over the sea
Then I saw the face of a maiden
I stopped and said, “Moon is fair
But the sweet magic of her face is
  Fairer far, which attracted my eyes
Captured my heart and won my soul.
Moon tries to imitate hr face and
Rose tries to copy her lips in vain!
She is beautiful,she is most beautiful!"
Niamh Dada Land Lovely friend. Many Blessings
Michele Vizzotti-White I totally like the first one, it was vivid and I saw how the rose must have felt, they r both awesome and fanciful, a maiden more fair than the moon wow that is a powerful statement, the 1st one reminds me of a painting the second one a song of love, both lovely though
Demelia Denton Lovely written words Matloob Bokhari

Barbara Shoetaker And is this fair woman still the one who stole you heart?

Semeniuk Carole you know how much I love your poetry . your stories .. the way in which only you can tell it ~~ thank you my long time friend, Matloob Bokhari .. wishing you well .. alwayS !

ina Farnworth What a beautiful verse Matloob, thank you so much for
Connie Hofacker Hemmerich Senter Thank you, for sharing this lovely poem, Matloob.

I feel I have done more
than just existed
in my life

Your outlook on life changes
when certain unexpected things happen
things that are out of one's control

When you know
nothing will be different
until the day you die

You tend to live
in the middle
wondering which
way to go

                                        By Connie Hopkins

THE CALDER TREE
( for Connie )

The tree stands
naked

against a sunset
leafless.

She cries for the tree's
lost leaves.

I tuck her into bed
promise to make her

a tree
a la Calder.

Dawn sees the tree
adorned

in mobiles...wind chimes
where leaves should be.

The tree sings
the morning.

Mobiles sings the day
that is

to be.

The Calder tree
orchestrates this Thursday.

Birds are
our choir.

She stands under
understands

the moment
as it

sings.  

She the one "stabile"
beneath the cascade

of wind chimes & mobiles
that the morning plays.

The tree
forever planted

in her mind
now

all of her
outstretched

as she listens to
Time singing.