"strummer" poems - Hello Poetry

A true story of a chance gathering of strangers in the back room of a Gelato Parlor *** restaurant, two years ago, in a little village near the bay, on a land surrounded by vineyards. Come visit. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Gelato Nation There is a place, location secret, mine to keep, mine with which you to tease, make you envious, a back room 'office' jealous guarded by a barkeep, whose chosen invites sweeps you into a reality that is what you will it to be. But nota bene, note well, remembrances of things swell from your past be the only tongue spoken here. Code word entry only, a shared whisper. Perhaps One Woman, may reveal its pleasures, if she so chooses, which are: gelato laughs, poetry snaps, Beatle songs sung ensemble, by rag tag strangers self-collected accidentally, sung de rigeur off key by voices lubricated by cognac, laughter, and the coldest of white wines, issue of the very soil upon which we sit. Words to value properly, not in my possess to capture the few moments in time when; Strangers transform themselves into a triple A nation united, that will never be S&P; downgraded. A holy alliance celebrating July 4th all night long, all participants signatory witnesses to its gelato conception, as well as pallbearers to its last drink dissolution, the fullness of its lifetime a vintage of a few hours extant, a vintage, once drunk, is a history, forever gone. Mixologists please record: One playwright, a psychologist, bond trader and a social scientist with a dash of museum director, and do not forget the Hundred Year Old Woman, whose Dowager Princess Daughter (she, a mere eighty)' from Central Park West clarifies all of life dilemmas with the singular analytical tool of: But is it good for the Jews? **But t'is the barkeep who is the leavening in this evenings human pastry-petrie dish.** He makes the pastiche, the ions of personalities, coalesce best, guitar strummer, singer of songs that were our multiple national anthems when we were pseudo-rebels starting out on our long and winding roads. Long the King of the Keep! Long live the memory of our Gelato Nation, may it stay sweet in our antique collection of the best moments of our intersecting lives. July 2011

0

Jul 4, 2013

Jul 4, 2013 at 6:00 PM UTC

nat-lipstadt

Gelato Nation (July 4th, 2011)

A true story of a chance gathering of strangers in the back room of a Gelato Parlor *** restaurant, two years ago, in a little village near the bay, on a land surrounded by vineyards. Come visit. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Gelato Nation There is a place, location secret, mine to keep, mine with which you to tease, make you envious, a back room 'office' jealous guarded by a barkeep, whose chosen invites sweeps you into a reality that is what you will it to be. But nota bene, note well, remembrances of things swell from your past be the only tongue spoken here. Code word entry only, a shared whisper. Perhaps One Woman, may reveal its pleasures, if she so chooses, which are: gelato laughs, poetry snaps, Beatle songs sung ensemble, by rag tag strangers self-collected accidentally, sung de rigeur off key by voices lubricated by cognac, laughter, and the coldest of white wines, issue of the very soil upon which we sit. Words to value properly, not in my possess to capture the few moments in time when; Strangers transform themselves into a triple A nation united, that will never be S&P; downgraded. A holy alliance celebrating July 4th all night long, all participants signatory witnesses to its gelato conception, as well as pallbearers to its last drink dissolution, the fullness of its lifetime a vintage of a few hours extant, a vintage, once drunk, is a history, forever gone. Mixologists please record: One playwright, a psychologist, bond trader and a social scientist with a dash of museum director, and do not forget the Hundred Year Old Woman, whose Dowager Princess Daughter (she, a mere eighty)' from Central Park West clarifies all of life dilemmas with the singular analytical tool of: But is it good for the Jews? **But t'is the barkeep who is the leavening in this evenings human pastry-petrie dish.** He makes the pastiche, the ions of personalities, coalesce best, guitar strummer, singer of songs that were our multiple national anthems when we were pseudo-rebels starting out on our long and winding roads. Long the King of the Keep! Long live the memory of our Gelato Nation, may it stay sweet in our antique collection of the best moments of our intersecting lives. July 2011