through the streets and column cracks
culture weaves and summer smacks
sacred figures, holy shrine
monastery in grand design

cathedrals, convents, heaven’s stars
god of neptune, god of mars
doge’s palace, alley ways
gondolier on full display

winged lions on pastel breeze
cicada singing from the trees
pillar walk of saint mark's square
basilica in all its flare

crosses shade the carousel
a bridge of sigh that leads to hell
golden stairs on placid ridge
arches of rialto bridge

torcello! murano! grigio!
the countess rides the river poe!
sins of seven, fiery hides
poplars bank the levee side

black plague, attila the ***
eden formed before the sun
paradise above the marsh
high alter, gothic arch

middle age, religious wars
celestial fountains, marble floors
sculpted peacock, catholic faith
all is true the great god saith

Venezia, its musical key of brick and shade
And the canals in rejoining polyphony
Sweeten the dour Church-ear.  
From the impasto knife and loose brushwork,
A thumb-smear of waves and gently-bristled strife
Rise to assumption of the cloud-submerged bay,
Mural of cristallo, only-light without landscape,
Made too from the winds of Murano,
Its clayed blowpipe of waterways molding
The lagoon of blown glass and bouquet of colored sea-shadows.

The Tiber lies on its side, like the lion and fox,
Licking its paws at empire’s dust,
A drifting gaze of water that already foresees
The swift-run northward to Romagna,
Where the veined fur of the roe will succumb…
A ripple twitches like one dark claw of the Borgia…

The watercolors of the Arno are a fresco
On the wet plaster of the lips of Firenze, Tuscan fire-dream.
Or like the warring leg in curve of counterpoise,
Sprung foot-forward to the daring world
And arm slung down in stone-victory
From this valley, too much like Elah,
With taunting eyes turned from the Medici toward Rome.

Soon I'll be far away again
the lapping shores the only thing keeping me from you
but you should know that I would swim oceans for you
even if it was just to see a glimpse of those blue mischievous  eyes
always the most beautiful in the setting city sun
How will I live knowing I won't awake with you entwined around me?

Where do the hours go?
With you I'm always losing track of time
I'm at your whim
Have I ever told you that I'm crazy?
That I'm a little bit deranged?

Baby
I'm losing my mind
Sweetheart
It's something about the way you laugh at stupid things
and make jokes just to hear a room beat with laughter
Your voice turns to a hum when I look at you sometimes
realizations like lighting striking me when you fall asleep
arm across my stomach like you're afraid I'll leave
because I've told you before how I learned from my mother how to run
and I'd been doing it ever since I realized boys stared at my waist
not ever listening to my words as I try to explain myself
****** hands hidden behind my back like a broken vase

My father told me that I was too beautiful for my own good
eyes alive  like the sky  at dawn the first morning you didn't sleep
hair wild as I slow down to look at the view
and he always got angry when I did that
stopped dead to stare at the fading pink light of a day coming to an end
You don't get angry
you  just stop and look at me with the same gaze I give that setting sun
and I swear
out of the corner of my misted eyes I see you smile
run your fingers through your hair as you wonder what I'm thinking
and I've always been afraid
afraid  that in the moments I spend with you that you realize
that you see that I'm thinking of one thing only
you
and I stare at the street lamps far below a little longer
tempting you to find out how much I really love you
to come closer and ask me what runs through my aching heart
but you  keep your distance
I wonder if you just know that later when my speech is clouded I'll say it
as I always do in the early hours of the morning
smoking out my deepest secret like trying to coax a ghost

I wish your lips weren't so protective
holding in lovesick notes even when drinking the clearest false securities
and she wants us to go far away
and when you express how fond you are of her company she looks down
everyday I see her I realize how similar we are
twin stories of mismatched fears and wanderlust
does she know about the way I claw at your skin as if looking for a way in
bruised ribcage under lust stained sheets
she used to eye me like I was a panther inching closer
irises daring her kin to set me off
but I'm no time bomb
and I think she sees that now

I'll always remember the time I realized I loved you
the first time, at least
it was too quick to know
and I was far too invested as you watched me glare at you past branches
only to fall asleep with my hair tangled in your fingers hours later
does time pass differently to you when I'm asleep next to your waist?
fluttering eylashes onto your knees like tiny dancers
I wonder if you ever notice the soft skin peaking under my shirt and sigh
thinking about how you'd long to slowly take off my clothes in the dark
teeth hitting bare skin of my collarbone as if I'm prey you've finally caught

I think of endings a year in advance
I always have, as if everything is terminal the second I say "I love you"
maybe that's why I don't say it
maybe I just assume with every lost memory I discover like a shipwreck
and ever passing whisper I recall
you see how entranced I am
my whole existence has bits of you like gems within it
or possibly they all encompassed you already
and the paint hadn't chipped enough to reveal you yet

When you're sad you sing songs to me about Venice
and the way your mother used to wear her hair to her shoulders
orange milky light stained every window like melted gelato
and you wondered if you'd ever find a girl who's heart was Murano
all lit up in the night like a summer sweet dream
when the air is hot and everyone's cheeks are a little red
their hair curly from the salty spray of the sea
you'd mark her neck until it looked winestained

but you appear  so sad when you tell me these stories
a faraway look in your vacant mind

I could be your merlot skinned girl
I can have eyes like the italian hills
rolling into the horizon
always having you search for the tallest one
Let me be your Venice
Let me be your home

Jamming jellyfish
Top-Me 
((Giddy App Seahorse))
The horseradish on
my lap_

The jolly Jelly
Gefilte Fish
Little help from  my friends
How we click the laptop
One dent to Deceive me
The Rock and Rolling

Stomach his smoke went
Like (*** Cheese)
he leaves me
The spicy tongue map
Z-Top Zany Chilli Pepper
your # tap dance tap
Italian top of
the cheese designer skirt
The outskirts of Naples
Her sweet dimples, please
The Islands of Sicily
So many Cheese forms
Terms of Endearment

Mama Mia Murano-Positano
Her lips of Romano Cheese
(To Top Me) Challenge me
Cheese doesn't mix
with cappuccino,
she's the Capri
Ala Denti
Cheese Wiz chair
Mediterranean Wines
Bear men doing low
sips of time
the grisly(Z) pour

The car smelled like
Flight (Top Me) Swiss air
Meet Dominique

How it went La Cirque
Anti Christ Devil Red-bed
cheese mystique
SOS to their notes
PS the junk car in
Midas the makeover
Make-up artist counter
Clinique
I could paint over your hood
Creamy mind put at ease
He's so displeased

New castle disease
Mingling social disease
She's so infectious
ZZ- Top me rock me
Eyes bloodshot you got me

And nevertheless
With twelve and V
V- Vamps tramps
and 14 karats
The French Lieutenant
Mistress Brie with heavy
bite teeth like garnets

Cher turning back time
The burlesque striptease
Come back little Sheba
Z Top Queen of Sheba

I know it's coming soon?

All Tight claustrophobic
The tight squeeze
Him speaking
Mandarin Oranges
The British Colony

Unique Chinese languages
Her hills, San Francisco
Jack Nicholson
Comedy of China town
The American Women
Smile cheese at the Disco
The food Cantonese
style
Z muscles Hercules
Joan Rivers
Fashion Police
The Cheese of Portuguese
Its the meat market
With his nifty thrifty Neice

All Socrates
(Gromet and Cheese)
Those Brooklyn
workers
The Falcon Matese_*
More cheese Z-Top
Who could ever top
The string cheese
Silken strings became
to rest, I rest my cheese
What cheese fascinates you
Tell me?

My Night with Art Garfunkel


some years back wrote a poem titled
My Night with Paul Simon,^
so it seems that in time,
this his companion’s piece would find me,
reaching its own due date, the timing right,
indeed, perceived, by the muses
that this one, the poet who cannot sing,
needs urgently another soft poet’s voice,
to come to me at night, and so it came to pass last night

a regaler, the teller of tales, both of us looking admiringly upon what was our youthful appearance that only we see in a vintage Murano mirror

the where the why, no matter, just two NYC boys
in their declining years reminiscing about growing up
in Queens, telling tales with no need for exaggeration,
too old for that, for old men lying is always sadder than sad and the truthful stories are not stories, but harmonies

the voices are worn soft, the worse for wear, and the velveteen
is two shaded where usage has reduced the weave, and sunlight has discolored but not discouraged the aging agents

we exchange verses, the swapping of our ****** fluids,
I do not share my prior pope paul adventure,
a separate but now equalized recording

he signs his new book for me,
full of reminisce and new verses

and I am thinking
Art for art’s sake, or art for Art’s sake
or both

wistful higher and higher notes that can longer be reached
of no consequence,
for the body is the work and the work is from the body

let’s take a selfie I ask, but a polite demurral hints of better a preference remembrance of things the way they were, in the past, but I snap a quick photo and it resides on a Facebook entry, unless the muses deleted it without telling me

(which they do quite frequently,
hoarding the best I made all for their elusives elfish selfish-selves)^^


Dec 5, 2017 10:20pm

<•>
^
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/387251/my-night-with-paul-simon/

June 2013

^^
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/747333/the-elusives/

June 2014

Can you envision a city built on a lagoon?
That's Venice, a name that always makes one swoon,
It has a reputation for canals rather than roads,
And a prime reason why one will never get bored

The famed gondola ride through the labyrinth of canals,
Is a must-have experience that is far from banal,
Gliding through serene waters with hardly a tilt,
While being serenaded by the cheerful gondolier's lilt

The epicenter of Venice is the popular St Mark's Square,
Teeming with tourists with a perennial effervescent flair,
Historic buildings and stately arcades form the periphery,
With an array of cafes and accompanying music for people to make merry

Witness the serpentine line of visitors entering St Mark's Basilica church,
Gazing at seemingly endless luminous gilded mosaics inside makes one almost lurch,
The Pala d'Oro altar of gold studded with hundreds of gems is a marvel to behold,
As are the mammoth innumerable columns that are so mind-boggling, if truth be told

The majestic Doge's Palace bears the stamp of masterpiece Gothic architecture,
Resting on a double arcade of marble columns lends solidity to the structure,
Spectacular halls and staircases adorn the interior, replete with exquisite paintings,
While ornate works of art complemented by more paintings are featured in the ceilings

The Bridge of Sighs is touted as one of the finest bridge architecture in the world,
The stylish Italian Renaissance connects the interrogation room to the prisoners' abode,
The sculptured sad or angry faces while crossing under the bridge can easily be seen,
Depicting sighs of prisoners awaiting their fate, as they mulled "what could have been"

The bustling Grand Canal is the central transport hub in picturesque Venice,
Gondolas, vaporettos and water taxis cruise up and down the canal without amiss,
Flanked by colorful buildings, iconic structures, buzzing markets and cobbled streets,
Time flies in hopping to various locations while savoring the glorious visual treat

The world famous Venetian glass has a history of its own,
Murano's glass museum visit facilitates all there is to be known,
For intricate shapes, it is a treat to watch the glass blower's skill,
Colorful designed vases and sculptures are effortlessly made at will

The lengthy arched Rialto Bridge is as old as the hills,
A crossover between San Polo and San Marco districts with hardly any frill,
It's breathtaking sunrise view receives considerable emcomium,
As a popular tourist spot, it needs no second opinion

As the bell-tower of the basilica, the Campanile is the tallest building in Venice,
The ring of each of the five bells is replete with history that one cannot miss,
The panoramic breathtaking view of Venice from the tower top,
Is one of the reasons why it is a must-experience visitors' stop

The mere mention of Venice always makes the lagoon city so exciting,
Little wonder that the annual Film Festival is a much-awaited outing,
The aura of glamor, glitz and entertainment never wanes any given year,
As folks continue to throng the city from far and near, with their near and dear

Sing my song of forgetting,
Of lips never wrong, never upsetting,
Sing the wine-infused air along,
From the violin’s grapevine song,
Purely gifted as the altar wine and alms
Of the Santa Maria della Visitazione,
A cadenza from the catgut of stringed waves,
     The vibrato in polyphonic staves across the lagoon,
          Amid the psaltery sway of submerged algae plumes,
               Like the strident tails of the horses of Neptune,
Or the teardrop-surge of the glass chandeliers of Murano,
The same powdered hue of Venetian sky,
As bluebirds fallen into their own drowned tune,  
As absence awash over the sun-scattered tombs of Olympus.

Sing with a felt-tipped tongue,
So my song of forgetting is never undone.

The Ritual
By: Yue **** Yitkbel
Friday, July 17, 2015
I gently slit open the front zippers
Of the charcoal stained book bag
And reached in with the precision of a surgeon
Taking out an army green box
The heart of this unrequited tale:

The box squealed a pointless yelp
But, as always, I never responded
And, so I proceed
Taking out the red blue Murano quill

It was never yours, and always mine
But through these regretful years
I always kept it dear
It was the last
Token of our silently syncing heartbeat
Now slowly failing over time
Then, here and there
Alive once again, catching me by surprise.

I touch along its length
Like a dear old friend
Like a familiar and faithful patient
Check his health, wish it well, and
Send him back to his paper home

Like a ritual
I turn it around
And stealthily place it back upside down
For, that is how I remember her
The back of her hair, the back of her coat, the back of her heels
Standing stoically and unmoved
Against the curtain of the Venetian Rain

When your dance a bounty, yet sing
they fail – I have learned to love,
worrisome mother and adorn you:

such a kiss is planted
a rose on the plump cheek of children.
your girth measures unflinchingly,
the laughter of the world around you
so small, kept in a dark, blinkered box.
your parasol smothers the light
cast unswervingly on stone.
who has long kept you in the caliginous womb,
with all the light that spangles through?
who has snuffed your little arms
and dressed you for everyone to see?
when you are quite flamboyant for
everyone to feast on,
what word passes on as salutation?
when you are festive enough to revel in,
what pagoda tries itself to the life
allowed to gleam proudly?

women, men, children, and all -
frolicsome around the darkled bough
smitten by the frayed sight of believing,
sifting from the way our hands
craft things the dispensable glee
of glasswork: the world is Murano.
and my eyes have seen all flourish
in a darling ebb of curbed felicities – the diaphanous
clangour of steel and shadow.
the slain orchestra of frogs in the crush of rain.
the detriment of the Earth curled like an infant
in the womb of the dark.

     - oh trees and their wondrous life of green,
begin to question the wind and its tourniquet;
shadows drunk on turpentine, the spry wilt of hours:
what is their final duty?
   if our laughter is slain in the perils of night,
how are we to become them?

Verse:

You’re the footstep in the snow

I might not always see you

But I will always know

If you’ve been here before


So draw me with a pencil

And color me with chalk

Remember me when you’re here

But forget me when you leave


Pre-Chorus:


I know I’m just

Embers among stars

I know I’m only

Leaves within fleece


Chorus:


But I can be your silence

Till all language cease to be

But I can be your mindless tune

Till all songs lose their melody


Verse:


You’re the wind in the willow

And I’m seeds of memories

Forsaken in the furrow

Waiting to be set free


So hum me like a wordless song

And mold me with dust and rain

When you cease to be near

I will also cease to be


Pre-Chorus:


I know I will always be

Flecks of color

On your masterpiece

The words you’ll never speak


Chorus:


But I will be your lighthouse

Till all land becomes the sea

But I will be your canvas plain

Till there’s no more scenery to paint


Outro:


Even if you’re just my fragile love

Even if you’re just my butterfly dream

Illusive murano flower never touched

Elusive hummingbird among twigs and leaves


I will always love you

Till we are stardust of

Once upon dreams

lustre worthy
of Murano
and industry
too

desire of the
impossible light
in glass that
crystals it's edges
is absent

want

is the song.
the pure note
of blown
glass.

music made
when gently
struck
in time with
ebb and flow
of it's water.

sing. I am response.

Inocente Murano del rocío,
canto del pino, miel de la mañana,
la flor del camalote en la fontana,
viento de Mayo sazonado frío,

y Diana dirigiendo mi albedrío
hacia la selva, fronteriza liana,
donde alza el mirlo su jocunda diana
y empieza el roble a flor de caserío.

Madrugadora fiel, sobre la frente,
me nace el sol atempranado, y siente
mi sangre la salud del fresco día.

Los nervios tienen un cordaje cálido
y se ilumina el rostro enjuto y pálido
con una nueva luz de epifanía.

You are just my fragile dream
My butterfly dream
My dandelion love
The elusive hummingbird among
Twigs and leaves
The illusive flower within the
Murano glass
That can only be reached when
Shattering

Not to be chased
Not to be touched
Not to be caught
Without escaping
Without breaking
Without losing

Still I tried to chase it
Tried to caress it
Tried to catch it
Tried to love it
All the while losing it
Losing myself
Running towards
This mirage of a love
As I get blown away
By the wind of impossible things
And storms of self-deceiving affections
Till I am merely a handful of stardust
Breaking
Escaping
Eventually blending in
Seamlessly
Within
The Desert of Lost Dreams