Jade sauna
just over body temperature
to increase metabolism
smooth blood flow
and sweat out toxins
my hair is up
there are no lines on my pale smooth face
I'm happy and peaceful
I look so serene
and so skinny
"'scuse me you speak Russian?"
it's one of the cute foreigners
I've had my eye on
flirtations ensued
and it was nice
to be looked at
with fascination
with cute wonder
getting complimented
through broken english
as he ran his hands through his hair
smiling abashedly
trying to make sense of my words
as I did the same for his--
we were up all night talking
"no halloween in Russia,
but if had, you be Queen"
he knew nothing of me
just this peaceful calm side
that smiled and giggled
and carried a conversation
like a feather on the wind
he saw a girl he could smile at
and say
"you are very beautiful"
"you have lovely smile"
I'll never see him again in my life
but what a wonderful memory to have of someone
nothing but kind words
and laughter
and peace
serenity
a few of the things
I treasure most,
yes,
what a lovely memory
of Annex the smiling Russian boy
who drank tea with me
at the Jeju Spa
until the sun rose
and the lights came back on.

Waltzing through the chaos that life’s left for today,
Dragging along my battered horn in case she wants to play
‘Scuse me, Ms. Bartender, but I’ve got something to say
Ain’t nobody listening to the radio anyway

I don’t need a soapbox, no suit or microphone
Just a space to spread the truth wherever I may roam
I speak straight from the bottom of a bottle left at home
The night is not much easier when you take it on alone

Hear ye, hear ye, gather round to hear a tale
Of dreaming big, working hard, but destined still to fail

Shredding that loopy little melody,
The craziest cat you ever did see
Make you feel so alive, ladies screaming, “Wow boy!”
I jump and I jive, cuz I’m a bebop cowboy

One Sunday night  a drunken man went down the streets about three sheets in the wind and bumped against a tree. Thinking he had hit a man, he backed off, took off his hat, and said,"scuse me,sir- scuse me." He staggered on a few steps, struck a man, and courtesied again, before staggering away.
A neighbor came along, seeing him stumble against a fence."Why, William! You need to go to revivals with me."
Accordingly the two set out for the meeting held at the nearby church, all the while William recalling what a hypocrite the deacon was.
Making his way down the aisle he threw himself on the pew beside the disgusted looking deacon, while Neighbor Jones took the bench behind.
As deacon Goodwench rolled his eyes in horror, William grinned and winked at him.
Presently the evangelist came to an eloquent Biblical passage and called, "Where is the drunkard?"
Whereupon William rose, folded his arms, and shouted,"Here's the sot. Blaze away," and proceeded to stand at his pew till the evangelist finished the verse.
The Reverend Crawford came to another Biblical passage and called out, "Where is the hypocrite?"
Nobody moved and you could hear a pin drop.
Suddenly William arose,reached over and gave Deacon Goodwench a rough nudge in his side. "Get up and take your med'chine,< Goodwench! Likes I did when he called me..."

Gotta find a new way
To scribble the pencil on paper
To draw letters and words
Sentences and paragraphs
Chapters and books
Because there's just too much going on
In my mind
It's like a cement mixer filled with rock and mud
Turning 'round and 'round
Mixing that **** into concrete
You can put your hands on the spread product
And the imprint will dry in the block
Forever for to contrast the size of your hand today
With the size of your hand in 25 years
(Barring a catastrophe that demolishes the concrete)

Always hoped my mind would be a deep well into which could be thrown a cavalcade of essentials,
Knowledge, wisdom
Intellect
I've kept my mind open for them
And yet they weigh me down
They make me feel awful, like being squeezed across the chest by the not particularly strong arms of an aging circus  sideshow barker

Take what you will
Lighten my load
For Gods sake take the fear
Of being happy without feeling this ominous depression

This is the point where I rail against how unfair it is that in Colorado and a few other enlightened states marijuana is given due credit for it's medicinal propensities while 10 hours away in Oklahoma you can still be thrown in jail for possessing even a small amount.

People, scoff if you will
I need medicinal marijuana
I know that nothing else is going to bring me a modicum of joy such as it has for so many years

And I know it's wrong to be more excited about hooking up than in communing with God, meditating and contemplating on His Holy Name.
It's wrong
It's got to be a sin, obsessing about ***
While my desire for God wanes and
Flutters like a flag at a losing race
I'm sorry I feel this way
But I do
O Jesus I trust total honesty
Means a lot more to you
Than puttin' on the show
Pasting phony smiles
and lying, making out like their love for Someone they've never seen is consuming them with the same passion had it been a new boyfriend or a special girlfriend with flesh and blood and sinew and tendon and breathing heart and beating lung
Speaking words
Emitting odors
Skin to pinch
Glorious laughter in your ears
Guffawing at your stupid jokes, she likes you!
Mikey liked you, dear, I know that means a lot
Maybe ask them if they want to go see God with you
But if they don't you'll be disappointed
And if you're as depressed as I am
You'll stay home and hope they'll decide to hang with you

Because there's too much information
There are too many idiots walking the terra of this country
Too much misunderstanding
Too much pressure
Too much unloving intolerance
Too many headaches
Too much wringing of the hands.
Mister, you wouldn't recognize Jesus on the street if He personally placed your hand in His side
You don't want to know him, do you?
The Truth is a terrifying concept
Don't get too close to it, get burned by the light
You can't handle the truth, afraid you'll see it in the mirror
So you hoist the beam from both your eyes
Because someone said if you did that you could judge rightfully
But you didn't get that the beam wasn't a literal object , that it in fact could not be removed
None but the Christ Ever had the right to judge you
He judges from love, always seeing the value in the man, long past forgiven all sins
But they'll run from Him
I think he'll giggle, knowing they'll eventually come around
Maybe he'll have to show them
But for right now I don't see Him
My faith may be weak
But I need some ******* relief
I have a feeling He wouldn't mind
If nothing else He'd be pleased that it made me feel like living again

Scuse me while I load a bowl
Let me get a few tokes
Then you come back
And I guarantee you'll notice
A much friendlier, social man

The rattling
of an empty plastic water bottle
on a trash-ridden street
at 3 a.m.
is so exceedingly hopeless
that it makes me want to
jump.

Seeing the two drops of water
lingering in the bottom
causes me to untie
my beat-up shoes,
take off
my plain grey socks,
and place them in a neat
and hopeless
pile
next to the overpass.

The label
peeling away from the bottle
forces me to climb over the railing
onto the little ledge,
high above the busy street
below.

Glancing at the forlorn
plastic water bottle,
I prepare to jump.

A ****** homeless man
shuffles down the ***** street
picks up the bottle
and puts it in his bag.
“'scuse me miss,
do ya have any spare change?”

I stare at him with dead eyes
and begrudgingly climb down
from the railing.

Happily he deals very gently and understandingly with me.  I love him.



(sonnet #MMMMMDCCXCV)


Not mists.  Thet ghostly whiteness as a veil
Down where the valley shivers in suspense,
Flirtatious winds' moist breath stale in the sense
Tis muggy ere dawn cast off Sunday's pale
Thought of more hallowed things, and in a frail
Excuse I button that blouse Mum gave thence
To me, to die as seeing her worn face hence,
Those precious eyes, and hate me in betrayl.
Oh Robert!  How I want to scream as twere
Until the universe is shattered to
Sheer nothingness.  But then as now in poor
'Scuse, no sound can come out. And I tell you
Cuz only you seem understand.  Mists tour
Forsooth, and I still breathe, pray, love you too.

24Jul16a

...might as well be?


(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXXXV)


Lo, now the moon peers in to splash a pale
Glance 'cross Mum's carpet, up my legs and thence
Upon these silent hands sans voice, a sense
Thet silver eye just watches, what'd avail?
The Scriptures.  As tree silhouettes detail
Nigh ghastly clouds with blackened figures, hence
Recall "...one glory of the sun--" fr'intents:
"...Another of the moon--" what, in betrayl?
Forsooth.  I am not Mum, nor shall in poor
Scuse ever match up.  Yet what should I do?
My aunt sez God has me still here as twere
To do His will.  I can't but own tis true.
Dreams, prayrs, half mock what is.  Whatever, fer
All that is my work?  Someday swear I knew?

09Jul17a

Caught an ol' friend smokin' down Derby Drive
Two lost buddies shootin' **** and feelin' high
These cats I was with though, sho din't jive
So I said, Later fellas, think I'll call it a night
Went a'whistlin down the sidewalk all proper and trim
These houses lookin' at me, got me feelin' dim
So I say to myself, Son, whatcha gonna do?
You're gonna groove it all night until the mornin' dew
So I flip my flops off and toss 'em in the road
When the weather's hot, barefoot is the only code
I've got Summertime feelings on my mind
And a love in my heart that I like to call kind
But if you come at me on a one way street
I ain't turnin' around til' your *** is beat
Cuz ain't no one in this world gonna mess wit' me
I'm a child of the flower and a man of the tree
I'll chop down some wood out in the forest green
And build you bird houses you ain't ever seen
I like to fly in the sky, and **** on your head
Only if you ain't listenin' to what I said
If you're a good student in my class you get a gold star
But if you mess up too much you won't be goin' far
So read your books, do your work, pass this course
If you don't, it's ok cuz things could be quite worse
Just take a lesson from the teacher once a day
Then before you know, the black and white turn to grey
You start seeing colors you ain't never knew
Hearing sounds and voices speaking loud and true
But where did we get off from this walk in the road
I'm searchin' and a'searchin' for my humble abode
There's a cornfield on the left, I sho' ain't goin' in
Cuz' the aliens from Signs are gonna be my Fin
I'd rather walk by and just stare at the sky
As Jimi says 'Scuse me while I kiss this guy
If you're Gay, then stand up, you a got a brotha in me
Just don't be gettin' feely at afternoon tea
Unless of course we're hangin' out with the Queen
I'd like to show her crazy, Americans WE
Sillysilly Brits with their chips and fish
Prince Charming William more like Lil' *****
I sho' like their countryside and cities, though
And getting all kinds of coins and colored dough
I really ain't got nothin' against those guys
Except for when the King is telling all his lies
Monty Python's Flying Circus, what a trip
Reminds me of some mushies with insanity dip
Whoever knows what the hell they're talking about
But in reality, do you know in from out?

Yes, I am prolly the only fan of old, cold, coffee.  Over antique sonnets, too.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMCLXXX)


Soft blue heavn's arid eye ne clouds 'non fence
Though ah, how ghostly shadows haunt and trail
Across the rippling fields of grass detail
Below! look sweetly as in years gone--sense
Of all we'd known within their cast, til hence
The soul yields to is't childhood's carefree scale
As twere of hope? vain dreams' perspective hale
If we'd but 'llow ourselves to breathe, fr'intents.
And Maples' shaggy boughs nod; leaves astir
To aerie whispers, as the voice of who?
Some distant motorcyclist passing through
Upon these emptyer country roads in tour,
Lends 'scuse for placid calm, where Sunday fer
All that's excuse, the hol'day 'pon us too.

27May18b

So there.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMVI)


Yes, fire.  We plunked down on the fur rug thence
Afore her fireplace, and I in betrayl
Neglected to erm, lose me on its hale
And licking flames, e'en that romance' pretense
Was blind to--wherefore? Sandwiched for intents
Twixt two guy friends, I was too dull t'avail
Me even there, yea lost myself in pale
'Scuse in auld lines to Nigel, like's good sense.
Now Sunday watches diesel trucks roar fer
Sweet hours through lonesome country roads 'neath blue
Skies nary cloud is but a ghost in, poor
As saying.  I told a friend I'm as a melon you
Cleaned out, sans Mum, and what as twere
Is left?  LORD, give me Thy fruit.  And kids too?

11Mar18b

There IS a reason we're told to beware of what we...everything, really.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMLXXXVIII)


Swear off the pleasures I knew ere cuz thence
I'm too, what, eh? beleaguered to avail
Me of indulgence, yes.  No choc'late, pale
As loving oft to nibble it fr'intents
Home in my father's house.  And thus, what hence?
The id'ot box passe, I'd in betrayl
Now clean forgot the litrature's detail
Which shaped my thoughts and manners, yea, my sense.
Take oh, the lux'ry of an essay fer
Lo, minutes on familiar turf I knew
Weeks, months, so many years ago as twere
Likeas my other "food," and what ah, to
Effect?  As if my thinking clears in poor
'Scuse for brief seconds, oh how sweet tis too!

24May19d

Here I am hunched over another
stomachache, another mistake,
and all I can do is watch the bruises form and darken.

The first time I met you
was a corner table in a coffee shop
with blackberry water and toes frozen solid.
Mint chocolate chip nights, vandalizing desks,
scrubbing grimy dance floors—
it was my kind of falling in love.
Less like falling, blushing, butterflies;
more like a face plant onto the sidewalk
(unexpected, clumsy, bleeding).

But maybe love isn’t french kissing and slow songs.
It’s forehead kisses, dreaming of Japan,
listening to post-rock.

I think you knew, though,
that our ice cream would melt and our sparklers would die out.
Now I’m the beggar on the street corner:
“’Scuse me sir, do you have any love to spare?”
Or change.
Pennies and dimes jingle in my cup holder,
but change is what cracked my plastic heart and ripped my paper skin.

I’m weaker now, but not poorly made;
There’s been no knock-out punch or final words.
Just bare-fist brawling, searing insults,
bruises,
bleeding.

It was a lonely night
East grace street
Richmond's art district
on the border of Jackson's Ward
my side of the city
more bums than students
right by the transvestite bar
I met a fellow,
strange in appearance
and mannerisms
black dress shirt
black slacks
black shoes
black hair slicked over a waxy skull
'scuse me sir
ya gotta smoke
no man, I'm all out
all tapped out for cash
wanna strike a bargain
this roadside stranger
the hour was wee
cracked a cracked teeth smile
I knew I should deny
but still...
what're your terms
use your wrists
veins
fingers
mouth
mind
heart
promote me
tell the people I'm still sittin' here on the side of the road with a sign askin forra smoke
I nodded
vocabulary voraciously stolen by the non vox populi
he gave me a pack of filters
I lit up
eyes dancing, lost in the cherry's afterglow
and I felt it gone
empty
dangerous
erratic
I sold my soul that night
and I don't feel like looking for it

A name so colors one, is anyone satisfied with
a nomenclature such as Myrtle or Prudence or
a name that shouts out a particular feature:
like Hogg, or ****.
Who the hell is as lucky as Rene Descartes
or 'scuse me , my favorite, Blaise
Pascal. Wow. I wanna name me next newborn
Papa, see what becomes
do his pals
make fun.
Or, will he or she
suffer
under letters small
and
significant.

...the Word of God.



(sonnet #MMMMMCMLXXII)


Oh yes.  I wimper still oer Mum.  Care thence
In silence as ne words assuage nor bail
My soul, except the LORD's in sheer betrayl.
Orange kisses treetops, yellow nestles hence
In sidewalk cracks and dips, vines paint a sense
Of scarlet through the copse no phlox detail
Now, and lo, I submit a sonnet they'll
Not choose, remembring Mum last year--and whence?
I swear, the Word of God my home as twere,
Replies as through a parched land we ensue.
Grey hours rain drips oer, deep blue heavns we were
So fond of seeing twixt yellow Maples--do
Not have my ticket anymore.  In poor
Scuse I watch Pride and Prejdice.  Where are you?

16Oct16b

Scuse' me sweet women,
Did you know you put me on the world's shoulders?
Or did you sleepwalk into the situation like me too?
Either way, it's alright we're up here now
And isn't it a lovely view?

Oh and to think about going back down to earth now
.... I couldn't, could you?

It's funny...
I was wading in the water
Not going far at all
Just cruising, as you do...
Until I swan up and out,
And I breathed the air
And I tell ya, I did shout, I did
But I said "Oh hello, um how do you do?"

Zoooooooom!

Next thing, we're traveling half way to the moon!

And it is at this place that I sing to you,
Oh Angel, Oh Dharma!
Is this mortal living or what they call Nirvana?
Alas, it makes no difference to me what is the answer
All that does, I tell you
Angel, Lover, Newfound Owner of my heart whole!
Keep wearing your silver armour,
But remember,
With me by your side,
No sinister soul,
Or a man that means foul,
Could push past my passion to harm ya!

A purple petunia (is it?) lies dried on the inside cover of this latest spiral notebook whose title above it just chances to be:  "Something Very Like:  Don't Look Now,"  and I never guessed when I happened upon that title 7 days ago that we'd be...here.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCXVIII)


O!  Now I'm scared.  For since the minute's stale
Touch, long past, when our eyes first met, to thence
That kiss he pressed upon my hand to fence
Lo, giving me a flowr:  Joe's in betrayl
A dream come true, so wonderful, in frail
Excuse I hes'tate to believe him hence,
Afraid to grasp what might dissolve, a sense
Of all I wanted beckning to avail.
I'm slow, but he takes that in stride as twere,
Til ah! I wrestle with this wakning cue
As if I had more I could lose in poor
'Scuse than is gone already.  Rain shrouds blue
Skies with metallic grey, and dank hours tour
While fragile rays pierce gloom, and I'd love:  you.

17Jun17a

Haha,



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXXXIII)


Of leprechauns and clover, yes...t'avail
I've neither, am in green to match fr'intents
Mine hazel eyes, and how blue heavns wear thence
Such fresh-washed golden light in sweet all hail
O me!  I'd feign go down which wooded trail
To hunt the early violets?  Mushrooms dense
Wi' import are sought out and sold for sense
Or lurid dreams, but I want that detail.
Wee white-striped, purple faces none bestir
'Cept wildest breezes, whitest virgins too,
With purple stripes across their miens in tour--
I'd love to bend and finger them anew!
Sip twa espressos, joking of, in poor
'Scuse, "faux" things we oft cherish, as all woo.

17Mar19a

FIRST:  the poem which inspired...oh, yes, laugh--it's reminiscent of, of, would that be the old "the house that jack built"? ie, Joshua Amos Graff/aka Graff1980's poem--

Graff1980
4h@18:04, 29Oct17
Untitled

The phone store
is closed,
but I can still see
the sharp blue glow
of those
bright screens
blinking out at me
from the window
to the streets
where I am walking slowly.
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2187429/untitled/

SECOND:  the comment his poem inspired and which he too generously told me I "should post."--

[He said Jenny Williams]--Like a ghost none sees, catching the lurid eye of those eyeless windows to the black hole of an eerie yonder, the speaker treads as if slippered through the darkness which itself is alive and aware, the scene commonplace, yet rendered thus with a poignant ghastliness, a delicacy. Thank you for sharing.

THIRD:  the sonnet which I told him I'd endeavour to compose from that same comment, yet which is a frustrating reminder why as Stella Armour was it? told me years ago she did NOT want to force thoughts into sonnets, and I heartily concur:  I'd far rather pour the unformed thought into that "most exquisite form of poetry" than try to squeeze a complete thought into that "gilded cage"--

...for Joshua Amos Graff's poem--



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCCXXII)


Likeas a ghost none sees where streetlamps fence
The blacker shroud of night, how in betrayl
'Non catching lo, the lurid eye's detail
Of those more eyeless windows harking thence
Unto the black hole of an eerie sense
Of yonder, how you tread as if t'avail
Now slippered through the darkness which in pale
'Scuse ah, itself's alive and 'ware.  What hence?
You only put down for the page as twere
That lonely walk through naked streets left to
None else.  Yet where dead cellphones look in poor
Excuse out, la, you render thus anew
What's common, but whose ghastliness in tour
Is poignant, delcacies I cherish.  You?

29Oct17a

I was sitting in traffic
From the belvedere 2nd st exit
Through 2nd and Byrd
And cary, main,
Franklin street
The parking garage on my right
On my left:
Buildings anonymous
I see the Wells Fargo bank
Looming over cars
And more cars
This country
It's drowning in concrete and cars
And these people
They drive like cows with no feet
In my car I'm a fuming ball of impatience
I say
**** this ****
And to my left
In building anonymous land
A pretty looking artsy/hipster girl
Says
I know, right?
Connections
Lost in a green light switch
Grace to the alley
Which takes me to 1st
Takes me about 10 minutes
I park illegally
And ask a middle age black couple
'scuse me,
What the hell is going on?
They respond
the two street festival.
thanks.
I go into my apartment
And life goes on.

Aiere ha fatto n'anno - 'o diece 'e maggio,
na matenata calda e chiena 'e sole -,
penzaie 'ncapo a me: "Cu che curaggio
io stamattina vaco a faticà!".
Facenno 'o paro e sparo mme susette:
"Mo mme ne vaco 'a parte 'e copp' 'o Campo".
Int'a ddiece minute mme vestette
cu 'e mucassine e cu 'o vestito blu.

Nun facette sparà manco 'o cannone
ca già stevo assettato int' 'a cantina,
annanze a nu piatto 'e maccarune:
nu zito ch'affucava int 'o ragù.

C' 'a panza chiena, a passo... chianu chiano
mme ne trasette dint'a na campagna,
mmocca nu miezo sigaro tuscano,
ca m' 'o zucavo comme 'o biberò.

Tutto a nu tratto veco nu spiazzale
chino 'e ferraglie vecchie e arrugginite.
E ched' è, neh?... nu campo 'e residuate:
"il cimitero della civiltà".

Nu carro armato cu 'a lamiera rotta...
trattore viecchie... macchine scassate...
n' "Alfetta" senza 'e qquatte rote 'a sotto...
pareva 'o campusanto d' 'a Pietà!

Guardanno a uno a uno sti ruttame,
pare ca ognuno 'e lloro mme diceva:
"Guardate ccà cosa addiventiamo
quanno 'a vicchiaia subbentra a giuventù".

Mmiezo a sta pace, a stu silenzio 'e morte,
tutto a nu tratto sento nu bisbiglio...
appizzo 'e rrecchie e sento 'e di cchiù forte:
"Mia cara Giulietta, come va?".

Chi è ca sta parlanno cu Giulietta?
Nmiezo a stu campo nun ce sta nisciuno...
Tu vuo vedè che l'hanno cu ll' "Alfetta"?
Cheste so ccose 'e pazze! E chi sarrà?

Mme movo chianu chiano... indifferente,
piglio e mm'assetto 'ncopp' 'o carro armato...
quanno 'a sotto mme sento 'e di: "Accidente!...
E chisto mo chi è?... Che vularrà?".

Chi ha ditto sti pparole? Chi ha parlato?
I' faccio sta domanda e zompo all'erta...
"So io ch'aggio parlato: 'o carro armato...
Proprio addu me v'aviveve assettà?

A Napule nun se pò sta cuieto.
Aiere un brutto cane mascalzone
se ferma, addora... aiza 'a coscia 'e reto,
e po' mme fa pipi 'nfaccia 'o sciassi".

"Vi prego di accettare le mie scuse,
v' 'e ffaccio a nome anche del mio paese;
Ma voi siete tedesco o Made in Usa?
E come vi trovate in Italy?".

"Sono tedesco, venni da Berlino
per far la guerra contro l'Inghilterra;
ma poi - chiamalo caso oppur destino -
'e mmazzate ll'avette proprio ccà!".

"Ah, si... mo mme ricordo... le mazzate
ch'avisteve da noi napoletani...
E quanto furon... quattro le giornate,
si nun mme sbaglio: o qualche cosa 'e cchiù?".

"Furon quattro.Mazzate 'a tutte pizze:
prete, benzina, sputazzate 'nfacccia...
Aviveve vedè chilli scugnizze
che cosa se facettero afferrà!".

"Caro Signore, 'o nuosto è nu paisiello
ca tene - è overo - tanta tulleranza;
ma nun nce aimma scurdà ca Masaniello
apparteneva a chesta gente ccà.

E mo mm'ite 'a scusà ll'impertinenza,
primma aggio 'ntiso 'e dì: "Cara Giulietta".
Facitemmella chesta confidenza:
si nun mme sbaglio era st' "Alfetta" ccà?".

"Appunto, si,è qui da noi da un mese...
'A puverella è stata disgraziata,
è capitata 'nmano a un brutto arnese,
... Chisto nun ha saputo maie guidà.

Io mm' 'a pigliasse cu 'e rappresentante,
cu chilli llà che cacciano 'e ppatente;
chiunque 'e nuie, oggi, senza cuntante,
se piglia 'a macchinetta e se ne va".

"Di macchine in Italia c'è abbondanza...-
rispose sottovoce 'a puverella -
si no che ffa... po' nce grattammo 'a panza:
chillo ca vene ll'avimmo acchiappà".

"Giulietta, raccontate qui al signore
i vostri guai" - dicette 'o carro armato.
L' "Alfetta" rispunnette a malincuore:
"Se ci tenete, li racconterò.

Come sapete, sono milanese,
son figlia d'Alfa e di papà Romeo,
per fare me papà non badò a spese;
mi volle fare bella "come il fò".

Infatti, mi adagiarono in vetrina,
tutta agghindata... splendida... lucente!
Ero un' "Alfetta" ancora signorina:
facevo tanta gola in verità!

Un giorno si presenta un giovanotto
cu tanto nu paccotto 'e cambiale,
io, puverella!, avette fà 'o fagotto,
penzanno:Chi sa comme va a fernì!

Si rivelò cretino, senza gusto:
apparteneva 'a "gioventù bruciata".
Diceva a tutti quanti: "Io sono un fusto;
'e ffemmene cu mmico hanna cadè!".

Senza rispetto, senza nu cuntegno...
cambiava tutt' 'e giorne... signorina:
ci conduceva al solito convegno...
... alla periferia della città.

Chello ca cumbinava 'o giuvinotto?
Chi maie ve lo potrebbe raccontare:
io nn'aggio mantenute cannelotte
'e tutte specie, 'e tutte 'e qqualità:

la signorina di buona famiglia,
a vedova, 'a zetella, 'a mmaretata...
E quanno succedette 'o parapiglia,
stavamo proprio cu una 'e chesti ccà.

In una curva, questo gran cretino,
volle fare un sorpasso proibito,
di fronte a noi veniva un camioncino,
un cozzo, svenni, e mo mme trovo ccà".

"A nu fetente 'e chisto ce vulesse
nu paliatone, na scassata d'osse'...
Ma comme - dico i' po' - sò sempe 'e stesse
ca t'hanna cumbinà sti guaie ccà?".

"E che penzate 'e fà donna Giulietta?".
"E ch'aggia fà? - rispose 'a puverella-
So che domani viene una carretta,
mme pigliano e mme portano a squaglià".

"Giulietta... via, fatevi coraggio -
(dicette 'o carro armato). lo ero un "Tigre",
il popolo tremava al mio passaggio!...
Mannaggia 'a guerra e chi 'a vulette fà!

lo so cosa faranno del mio squaglio:
cupierche 'e cassarole, rubinette,
incudini, martelli, o qualche maglio,
e na duzzina 'e fierre pe stirà"

"lo vi capisco... sono dispiaciuto...
ma p' 'e metalli 'a morte nun esiste;
invece 'e n'ommo, quanno se n'è ghiuto,

Or?  Go figure.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXIII)


What? as night's blackness is passe in frail
Excuse, the hours now merely for good sense
Um, stacking up whiles I close down from hence
This slim machine for lack of aught else' tale,
And this where Twitter promised to avail
Itself of all my minutes--all's fr'intents
Too dead, dull, boring--I've moved on, pretense
Worn to a frazzle in aught that I'd hail.
Remember:  "I should write more--" to bestir
Me, yet ideas have flown off unto
Is't nether regions?  cuz I "watched in tour"
Who cares who?  Fashions.  "Follow her--what you
Should wear is...THIS."  I've MY own style, in poor
'Scuse, am ergo at odds with all, cool too?

25Mar19b

hi.  [funny thing about chancing upon that particular title is my first boyfriend used to wrestle with my brothers and I]


(sonnet #MMMMMMDCXCV)


Ah, silver twilight! mists like to a veil
Down in the valley, maples nod from hence
Their greener boughs as rain 'non whispers thence--
That voice my soul harks unto, low and frail
Yet oh, how sweet!  If only in betrayl
I could 'gain lose me on that haunting sense
Which tugs at nary sleeve, yet knows fr'intents
What I sae yearn t'embrace, light waxing pale.
My brother sez thet all does change as twere,
Um, after we are one, though neither to
Effect know truly, 'cept by what, in poor
'Scuse, others say.  The Word of God is true.
I'm sick of waiting...yet.  Leaves dimly stir,
This half-light all I cherish, without you.

14Oct17c

4 and 20

Jump down, turn around, pick a bale of cotton,
scuse me, while I kiss this guy,
old times there, are not forgotten,
4 and 20 blackbirds, baked in a pie,

now of course, the question has to be,
just what is the point, of all these crazy quotes,
the message seems quite clear you see,
unless you've been too busy, tending to the goats

just why is it mandatory, that have to keep jumping down,
would it not be easier, to stay there all along,
and just what did Jimi mean, why would he kiss a clown,
or did I misunderstand, the meaning of his song

I also take exception, to the fact presented here,
that old times or not forgotten, never fade to black,
hey, I cannot even remember your name my dear,
just who were those jokers, Frick and Frack

Is it really possible to fit all those birds,
under the crust, of just one pie,
and of course the thing that bugs me,
is why, oh why, oh why

Gomer LePoet...

Eh?  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXVI)


So laugh at me, cuz now I've chance to thence
Immerse myself in poetry's detail
Oer coffee break, I've plumb forgot t'avail
Me thus.  Three books, yes, printed pages dense
With antique lines, wait to be read is't, hence?
But I perused them on the night I'd hail
The chance to purchase cast-off books, and pale
As aught complaint th'auld poets stunk, where's sense?
Change is the order of the hour.  We were
Supposed to drink joe in good comp'ny, to
Talk to a living soul, not dead.  Bestir
Me to read lines and catch their spirit through
That seance was't?  I'm all mixt up in poor
'Scuse cuz the coffee's mine, all mine anew.

12Mar19b

Why I seem to be fair prey for men my father's age and his friends to boot, I cannot guess.  But how do you be friendly while hating their interest intensely?  He said, "I saw that look!" and I'm not really sorry he did, either.


(sonnet #MMMMMCMLXX)


Thin blue skies peer twixt greyish clouds a sense
Of bitter air wafts from, as if the pale
Eye of uncertain warmth's half golden scale
Of light is fragile and must tiptoe thence
In fear across these rasping fields 'til hence
Called off, whileas how leaves just whisper, frail
Breaths passing through oer naked boughs' detail,
The maples green yet as orange paints suspense.
He pops his head in at my bedroom door in tour,
And I assure him that, "Oh, I know you--"
While classcal music plays, rehearse in poor
'Scuse memries, 'til oer one say that we do
Not hafta lie:  "I'm not availble fer
Whomever--" and he bows...is that adieu?

15Oct16

...whence?  I know, I know, you've the florist's packet of preservative mixt for your cut flowrs don't you?  Good luck.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXXV)


Lo, tulip capes so thickly clustered they'll
Ne'er blossom, like sardines is it from hence?
Wait greenly by the back stoop for a sense
Of April in the wings.  And jonquils' hale
Green tendrils wait likewise for that detail
I guess, as maids whose innocent suspense
We fail to notice, full of vain pretense'
Auld lies as if such might at last avail.
Girls have been known as flowrs, since oh, in tour
God's Scriptures told us that, I spose.  Aye, do
Men ink laments of this or that as twere
It's thus:  "...her virgins, pure, deflowrd--" they knew.
These latter days we are taught lies, (in poor
'Scuse know by instinct) and cut flowrs down too.

29Mar19a

Chancing to look through an old file, I'd forgotten the pleasures of matching wits with an intelligent man who actually has working brain cells, not just these "primal urges" 99% of men own.  I'm sick and tired of all these monkeys.  Go tell some other woman she is ****.  I wasn't dressing to please you, but me.




(sonnet #MMMMMMDXIV)


As blue skies, shadows 'non cavort from hence
Beheath the watchful eye of, own a tale
Of cloud battalions floating like to scale
Upon that purest sea frame what? I thence
Bewail Jean Yves and O! his wiser sense--
Lost on the wings of hours gone ere we'd hail
More than keen matching wits when time'd avail
Us, yes, a man with intellect's defense.
"God's gift to women," ah, I laughed as twere
Oer what he swore is merely truth, 'til who
Shall now console me, eh?  Most men in poor
'Scuse are dull blockheads, never thinking, to
A fault such beasts that only want to stir
Yes, "primal urges" oh! what shall I do?

24Jul17a

Yes, I teasingly told him "I might even write you a sonnet," never yet informing him I'd already been doing so since the day we met.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCXIII)



O Thou whose eyes perplex me from th'all hail
When you cut into conversation, whence
"Hi!"--and--"I'm Joe." did more than simply hence
Just intro you, but left me in betrayl
In arms oer what that look you gave'd avail,
Yes, who when I was sassy cut that sense
Short with again, a look I'd puzzle thence,
Today--what?! kiss my hand likeas tis bail?!
Call me, "my lady," with a flowr plucked fer
Th'occasion yes, in tow.  I fell for't too.
Or rather, sweetly thanked you like in poor
'Scuse that was perfect.  O what did I do?!
If any saw they'd know we were what? your
Late project?  Shall I be yours now, think you?

15Jun17a

If there will be a tolerating of a metered Tapping
Of finicky high pitch the flipping of flapping
If domino fingers find dancing refinement as pins in the roll of the promenade brigade

Then command to attention each private and captain, each Sergeant, lieutenant, Commander in Chief, and deputy director,  please seniors and majors...I've called an assembly, I'd like to keep brief.

To even presume some desire is pouncing, waiting in ready to Connect on Command, as if orders have issued external assignment, a repose from an otherwise comical stand.

There is nothing more perfect, and no one more clever, no motive for power 'scuse a Daft Rumour Spreader.

Just simply a-script from a quick keene observer, that was shoved to the seat like some kind of Sacrificial Meat.

In A-gaze, Stiff as Steel-Steering of hands
Gripping heat on the wheel in the front of this Monster Truck Madness Ordeal.

It's easy to jeer, laugh, joke and sneer from the drunk, detached comfort of Stadium Beer.

But, Wait, a Reminder!!
We are all in the Boat!
Don't yell at the driver
Then claim not to Float.

Oh, so I see, it's clearly
just innocence
do forgive me,
Cause it comes from the jarring, and scarring, manure in air, that boasts of boldly stout cheering fanfare, clamoring, yammering, death rally hammering, celebrating dirtiest, grittiest, most Carelessly Daring.

Why would the crowd be gathered if not to service-us with shocking engagement to consummate longing for Death's-Entertainment?

I've always found this sinister trait in human beings grossly Un-great.

It's interesting being argued with to your face regarding getting your work on the market and published.  They are too kindly in my local poetry group at the library.



(sonnet #MMMMMCMXLIX)


La, to my face, ere from a distance' pale
Voice bits and bytes denote, some worry hence
I'll be like mousy Dickinson, as whence
They urge me publish these fraught lines' detail,
Lest after Death seals that font in betrayl,
What **! but shall these perish sans defense?!
Come, let us now observe a winking sense
Of hallowed silence, shall we?  Have I bail?
Where Shakespeare trusted he'd be loved ah, fer
Was that until this earth be done? He knew
Him cherished face to face.  Besides, in poor
'Scuse we but parse his lines or lisp the crew
Of them sans knowing Will.  I'm not loved.  You're
Appreci'tive, and my loves:  I  love y'all too.

05Oct16

Everything’s been frantic since the break.
What people don’t tell you about college,
is that you’re just tired ALL of the time.
I’m so tired, yawn ‘scuse me.
So if you’re planning to talk to me, bring coffee, make
some effort to be interesting - clap your hands or.. something.

Work piled up on me while I was sick (I missed two days!)
and it radiated across my.. everything, like nuclear waste.
In New Haven, you have the inalienable right to fall behind.

ok, let’s put it poetically..

The microorganism was as fast and brutal as a twister
and it spun, tricksily, out of a clear blue day
leaving me weak, in shock and totally focked.

I needed things that come after a natural disaster
- wailing sirens, to clear the way for organized relief
but no volunteers can help me pick-up the pieces.

I guess I needed another challenge this term.
Sure, my roommates check in, but they have their own traumas
and they’re like those slow, drive-by accident-tourists that gawk.
Too bad there’s no such thing as missed class/assignment insurance.

There’s a saying (cleaned up), here at Yale, that goes:
It’ll get done because it HAS to get done.

I wonder what either shall think if they see this page?



(sonnet #MMMMMCMLXXXIV)


How fuschia peers as from a slit cut thence
Twixt purplish navy racks low on the pale
West houses cluster 'fore in gloaming's frail
Eye, and down in the valley silence'd fence
Lo, neighbors' dogs set up a racket whence
I unpeg laundry that ne winds exhale
Through save by whispers, hoping yet for bail
When I can see Shaun, like tis not pretense.
One headline touted findings of why you're
Too fond of being online.  Well, I'll tell you:
Cuz breathing is more stale than we'll endure.
And wherefore is't that waking to Will's cue
Began this fine divorce from that?  In poor
Scuse I liked Shaun ere and what shall I do?

21Oct16e

Kick me, I smile too gaily for the sparrows these days.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCL)


Now twilight falls upon what was and thence
Sifts out more lucid notes, how silence' pale
Breath hangs oer naked trees until their frail
Stance, like to ghosts half frozen in suspense,
Waits for the darkness sans a voice, though hence
Ah, Mavis' hallowed strains aught thrill t'avail.
Me left alone and whispring in betrayl,
"Oh, Andrew--!" blue skies thicken oer that sense.
Yes, I watched orange splash stone walls left as twere
Forlorn with empty eyes that stared out through
The greyish windows as lo, clouds donned fer
Effect, ah, purple, fuschia winking too
Oer houses left in shadows none in poor
'Scuse shifted.  Come, tell me when he'd not woo.

06Apr17c

See the previous sonnet:



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCLXXIX)


I meant to put down shadows 'cross the hale
Face of these sun-washed green lawns blue skies fence
With nary cloud but tis a white puff hence,
How that September'd wink in tow t'avail,
Our hopes of was't vacations? in betrayl
Capped ere yet realized with a haunting sense
Of sheer conclusion, kneading rye dough thence,
Tae whip a sheet cake up like joy's not frail.
Poke myr'ad holes and trickle as it were
The strawb'rry juice in for dessert, and to
A fault I'm drained 'fore sundown in a poor
'Scuse.  So I washed my hair at midnight's cue,
And showered after, to drift off, til fer
All that how Sunday nudges me anew.

27May18a

...the old classic "I'm forever trying to keep ahead of that freight train--"



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXIV)


Lo, peach-kissed fluffy white clouds sailing thence
In bluest seas oer greener Maples frail
Winds softly ply to soto voce's scale
Of whispers on a Friday evning's calmer sense,
And I'm too zonkered to but note from hence
What nudges memries long since past t'avail,
As if Mum still was waiting in betrayl
To talk and laugh while sunset yawns oer whence.
Now but's an hour 'til midnight, hark! in poor
'Scuse an explosion rocks the silence, to
Lapse into nothing.  Is't July astir
Upon suggestion?  O, what matters?  Do
We feel the changes tugging, what's as twere
To do?  Perhaps Joe shan't call.  Say I knew.  

30Jun17c