1970 Odysseus visits cousin Patsy in New York City she introduces him to her best friend Lauren’s older less attractive more reclusive sister Tanya Mulhaney extremely wealthy family father founded corporation manufactures pinball machines which years later develop to video games then casino empire he favors and spoils Tanya but dies suddenly her envious sisters and mother gang up on Tanya is pale skinny flat-chested copious brown bush Odysseus sits in bathtub with Tanya and he probes in a way they hits it off maybe no boy has ever touched her in that way her complexion is so fragile slightest fluster prompts pink blotches on her cheeks neck chest back he admires her book smarts he’s attracted to her refined strangeness he thinks her bush and flat-chest are **** she laughs shyly offers to take him around the world he accepts Odysseus tells his parents Mom goes crazy yells into telephone what are you a ******? you father and i work like fools to send you to the best schools so you can make something of yourself you’re going to throw everything away to be a ***? i tell you we’ll disown you you won’t have a home to come back to do you hear me? we’ll disown you! she sobs how can you just walk out after all we have done for you? you ******* kid! Odysseus takes leave of absence from art school he and Tanya take Iberia jet 12 hour flight with stopover in Iceland to Belgium Tanya sinks into one of her moods swallows several pills to help her rest sitting on other side of Odysseus is curly haired skinny talkative musician claims he has jammed with Miles Davis and other jazz greats Odysseus says yeah right and i’ve shown with Johns and Twombly where exactly are you heading in Europe? musician answers he is a scientologist on his way to visit L. Ron Hubbard in England Odysseus does not know what Dianetics are and wants explanation he asks many questions and musician talks for hours they enjoy each other’s rapport as jet descends in Brussels they exchange home addresses in the States 9 months later when Odysseus returns to America a friend notices scribbled address while skimming through his travel journals Odys! how did you get Chick Corea’s address? do you know him? do you realize how brilliant he is? he’s a keyboard virtuoso! Odysseus questions Chick Corea? who’s Chick Corea? he looks at journal page then says oh that guy i sat next to him on the jet to Europe so he really is a famous musician huh? wow!

in October 1970 Brussels is damp chilly Tanya wears hip-hugger jeans black turtle-neck top North Face shell she huddles her arms around her chest smokes cigarettes looks through hotel room window out into gray overcast sky speaks in defeatist voice i didn’t bring clothes for this weather she picks at her plate in hotel restaurant glumly vacillates later in bed after refusing *** decides they leave tomorrow fly to Canary Islands for several weeks to get tan before traveling through Morocco during winter months Canary Islands are laden with Swedish tourists including bikini clad young girls many not wearing tops Odysseus is thinking about how to swing some of that Swedish free love once Tanya gets drunk succumbs to Odysseus’s ****** overtures it is good  one day while returning to hotel from beach 2 Spanish police stop and question Tanya and Odysseus police order to see their passports then command them into squad car police bark in Spanish rifle through their daypacks point a finger Odysseus can smell alcohol on their breaths Tanya and Odysseus are terrified police drive off main road to remote location abandoned ruins no one is around police order them to step out police drive off laughing Tanya’s complexion is crimson she sobs they could have murdered us no one would know who we are or where to find us we’re lost where are we? Odysseus looks around replies don’t worry we’ll be all right i watched where the driver was going we’ll retrace their trail

they fly to Tangier travel south by train Tanya is irritable insisting Odysseus carry her backpack Casablanca is ***** 3 men peer from sunglasses act suspicious wear tattered trench coats Tanya and Odysseus snack at cafe which provides hookahs for smoking hashish Odysseus scores several grams Tanya laughs suggests they rent car drive south travel to sandy beaches of Diabet for 6 weeks in the morning she paces around French hotel room with cigarette in one hand ashtray in other like she is sultry 1940’s Hollywood actress she stays in room and devours Penguin Classics Tolstoy Stendhal Proust Huysmans Zola turns out Tanya is sexually frigid she buys Odysseus anything he wants but does not put out they take train Marrakech it is sun drenched with blue skies mountains in distance Odysseus wants to go out explore get ***** with the natives he visits Medina daily witnessing many bizarre scenes he does not understand a woman squatting over an egg a man with no legs dragging himself through marketplace holding up cigarette butts in his hand he meets a professor who is out of work because king of Morocco has closed the universities due to teachers’ strike professor explains woman squatting over egg is fortuneteller and man dragging himself has been offered crutches many times yet makes more money playing off pity of tourists cigarette butts are for sale the professor invites Odysseus to visit Berbers in mountains Odysseus persuades Tanya she reluctantly agrees the 3 travel by bus in first-class front row seats vehicle filled with lively families chickens pig bus driver has assistant who lugs people onto bus or shoves them out door at a midpoint bus stops in little town everyone exits bus then men women children urinate in street local venders sell trinkets snacks Odysseus buys nibbles shish-kabob that later professor informs is roasted cat and dog they reenter bus wait suddenly butchered lamb flank is flung onto Odysseus’s lap a man climbs aboard bus stairs then grabs large carcass and heedlessly walks to back seat Odysseus wipes blood and slime off his jeans Tanya demurely giggles bus climbs mountains arrives at small Berber village professor leads them along narrow winding street of shanty huts sheltering merchants open kitchens professor tastes from various steaming iron kettles finally decides on one they are directed to rickety roof where they sit wait a boy comes up with plastic bowl filled with water and small box of Tide following professor they wash their hands then minutes later proprietor brings up simmering *** of couscous serves it with scratched raw plastic bowls no eating utensils they eat with their fingers Tanya seems bothered declines to partake she withdraws into silence after meal she becomes irritable complains of headache says she needs to return to Marrakech she remains standoffish on bus all the way to French hotel

after Marrakech they take boat trip to Italy while onboard Odysseus meets Italian Count who has an eye for him Odysseus wears Jim Morrison beat-up leather jeans Bruce Lee t-shirt scraggly whiskers Count wears thin manicured beard tiny red Speedo swim trunks Tanya grins amused Count offers Odysseus and Tanya to be guests at his villa in Milan city flourishes with stylish clothes loud lively restaurants classical sculptures covered in car pollution following several weeks of aristocratic wining and dining amazing 11 course elegant soiree Odysseus botches compliance with Count’s desires they are asked to leave Tanya laughs hysterically they board train to Germany based on Tanya’s tour book they find historic hotel with wind rattling windows coin operated hot water bath in Munich Tanya stays in room Odysseus goes to dance club meets brown-hared pale skinned German girl neither speak the other’s language he pays for hourly rated room they play German girl in animated gesturing warns him as he is going down on her but he does not understand until several days later scratching beard finds ***** seeks A-200 lice treatment German version leather pants disposed Tanya knows but says nothing she buys Volkswagen they drive through Black Forest Tanya wants to visit King Ludwig’s castles Odysseus does the driving mostly they listen to the Who’s “Who’s Next” and Joni Mitchell’s “Blue” he follows Tanya’s instructions not knowing who King Ludwig was eventually he learns Ludwig was colorful character built extravagant Disney like castles and friends Richard Wagner Bavaria is cold gray brown deep forest green scenic Swiss Alps visible in southern view they drive from Neuschwanstein to Linderhof to Herrenchiemsee then Freiburg lodge in bed and breakfasts Tanya grows restless by all the driving decides to ditch car along road in northern France as Odysseus unscrews car license by road side several cars stop French people concerned they need help Tanya is anxious hoping for clean get away from abandoning vehicle they board train to Paris Tanya speaks a little French in spring of 1971 they are backpacking in search of hotel on Left Bank it rains all morning sky is overcast Tanya reads “Pride and Prejudice” Odysseus draws in sketchbook at sidewalk café sitting next to them are older Parisian couple man detects they are Americans he turns to them expresses in English his contempt why can’t you Americans learn from France’s lessons in Vietnam? Tanya and Odysseus don’t look up they feel like dumb ugly Americans within days they leave Paris

cross English Channel by boat they find temporary apartment in Earl’s Court in London it is overcast almost every day within a month they move to larger place in Chelsea with backyard with run down English garden Odysseus weeds garden plants tomatoes lettuce carrots radishes flowers Tanya stays in her room smokes reads at night they go out to ethnic restaurants one night they visit Indian restaurant a very proper English woman sitting at next table orders exotic fruit for dessert Odysseus asks waiter what kind of fruit waiter answers mango Odysseus has never seen or tasted mango English woman delicately eats the fruit with fork and knife Odysseus orders mango for dessert he attempts to imitate how English lady proceeded fruit slips around on plate finally out of frustration he picks it up in his hands bites into it he is aroused by how luscious mango is sniffing with nose scraping fruit’s skin with front teeth then ******* the seed Tanya makes a face suddenly the seed slides from his grasp shoots across table Tanya’s cheeks neck turn scarlet voice raises stop it Odys! you’re disgusting! are you intentionally trying to embarrass me? why are you doing this? he replies i’m not doing anything to you i’m enjoying the most delicious fruit i’ve ever tasted who cares what it looks like? later she laughs about incident offers to buy more mangos promises to take him shopping at Harrods tomorrow he goes along with their arrangement until it all seems like pretty background scenery to an empty intimacy missing all his friends back at art school he writes about his loneliness he feels trapped in Tanya’s web several times he sneaks English girls into his room when Tanya jealously confronts him he admits he has had enough and wants to go back to Hartford she suggests at the least they fly to Bermuda for several weeks to get tan before returning he declines on June 30 1971 Odysseus returns to Hartford and Tanya moves to San Francisco on July 3 Jim Morrison overdoses in Paris

September 1st, 2001.
I woke up to that same annoying alarm clock, 7:03 AM
Morning shower, morning coffee, morning breakfast –
I changed the calendar but I dropped the tack to hold it up.

September 2nd.
I’m thinking about October,
All the trees ablaze with orange and red, pumpkin pie in the season, cinnamon tingling in the air.
The new Spirit Halloween store opened up around the block. Superhero costumes are pretty cool.

September 3rd.
My mom takes me out to dinner because it’s Monday.

September 4th.
Routine

September 5th.
Routine

September 6th
In calculus, 11 is my favorite number.

September 7th.
Routine

September 8th.
Routine

September 9th.
My routine staccato.
Taxis responds after 3 calls,
My favorite professor gave me a hard time,
I wanna go home.
After the hustle of ants we call people,
loud street venders,
that creepy guy on the street corner,
NO, I do not want to try your new raspberry cheesecake Jack In The Box, I just wanna get my **** food and go home.
I arrive and melt into my sofa, falling asleep to the news.

September 10th.
No alarm clocks.
In the evening, my mom and I go out to dinner because today is Monday.
Red Lobster has the BEST seafood and while we’re eating,
she complains about the air conditioning in her new work place.
She works for some business in the twin towers.

September 11th, 2001
Instead of the alarm, sirens wake me.
I find the tack to hold up my calendar. – It’s Tuesday.
My feet, cold and lifeless, wander around the house until they trip over the scent of smoke.
Those sirens must’ve stopped nearby.
My mom is at work.
I want to get some air,
so I grab the keys off my splintered champagne desk,
****** them into ignition,
fingers wrapping around cruise control,
shifting into reverse,
the monotone GPS lady telling me to turn left.

The smoke is denser.
I follow her voice: turn right.
The smoke is solid.
Keep straight.
The smoke is suffocating.
In 3 hundred feet, turn left
The smoke is the sky –
Charlie Chapman gray.

My mom was at work.
Around me were firetrucks sparking with blinding flashes that screamed the word “emergency.”
My mom was at work.
The sight ahead was morbid. Unnerving. Disastrous.
It was like Halloween, except there were no superhero costumes, only firefighters and policemen.
My mom was at work.
The tower had holes punctured into their glass windows,
Smoke rising like leaves stemming out of the stump of skyscraper.
My mom was at work.
People like ants, fleeing, scattering, put on the mask of apocalyptic expression.
The throaty yells of “it was a plane” stuffed my eardrums
It was a plane, they said, it was a plane.
This was not routine.
My mom was at work.
The alarm woke me up.
I had my morning coffee.
It took all the synapses in my brain to deny what was right in front of me.
My senses detected telephone signals exploding with,
"I’m fine honey, don’t worry,”
Airlines confused and cramming.

I parked my car in overwhelming paralysis.
Above me, a screech of a whistle filled what was left of the air,
Followed by a boom that replicated my heart.
Frozen. Milliseconds frozen.
The plane was flying too low
WHAT HAPPENED?
There were people in those towers,
Everything was an epiphany --
Marriages, birthdays, fathers, sons, mothers, daughters,
Now cadaverous bodies antigravitating in rubble of boring office walls, family pictures.
Death in one swift move of terror.

My mom was at work.
We went to dinner yesterday.
My mom was at work.
The seafood tasted amazing.
My mom was at work.
She complained about the air conditioning.
My mom was at work.
She got a new job in the twin towers.
The twin towers are ablaze
The twin towers are spilling orange and red
They are sending ashes tingling through the air
This was not the October I asked for.
I longed for September 1st
I dropped the tack to hold up my calendar.

It’s Wednesday.
September 12th, 2001.
I did not sleep.
The news kept me awake, kept saying terrorist attack, terrorist attack, identified bodies, many mourning.
Because of their god, they lessened faith in mine.
This was the closest the public eye were to see a warzone-
Text messages cluttered with sympathy.
My routine changed for the rest of my life.

10 years later
Alarm clocks ringing, 7:03AM I stay in bed.
It’s Monday. I do not go out to dinner.
Instead, I drive 5 miles out to the cemetery.
People are still ants, pushing and shoving to where they need to go, they walk as if they had forgotten.
I no longer crave the red and orange of fall, cinnamon is foreign to my senses.
I hate the number 11 because it’s etched on your gravestone.
Your gravestone – gray and dense like the smoke
I wish they were not a constant reminder of the future I live in, but you don’t.
Today, there are no exclaiming yells of people or screeching whistles of planes.
Today there is only silence.

There is only silence.

Making a living they sell knick knacks
While others sell fruit for snacks.
They come to you wanting the chance
to make you ,once you leave, money lack.

While the wine and cheese and skinny upturned mustaches
Were all there,
Wrapped in gold tissue paper and tied with white bows
The passion, desire, and spark
(which were promised by the $24.99 guidebook)
Were nowhere to be found,
Not even floating down a gondola on the Seine
(or am I thinking of Venice now?)

I wrote home in two postcards
(not because I had so much to say)
But because I thought my family should see the Eiffel Tower in both day and night
As plastered on the pair of plastic, flimsy cards I mailed away.
Being away from Mom and Dad, I thought I’d enjoy it
But after investing in a French-English Dictionary
I learned that the love letters I’d been receiving here
(voulez vous coucher avec moi?)
Weren’t so lovely after all.

I told them that I’d tried French Onion soup,
That I’d walked down that street featured in Midnight in Paris,
and that between the guns slung over shoulders
(worn like fake Louis Vuittons advertised by desperate venders)
and the solicitors outside the Moulin Rouge
the city of love
had shattered my unprotected heart.

The glow of neon lights illuminates the spot he stands,
It is raining and their reflections are quite clear on the ground,
Using one hand propped up against a street sign,
The other holding an almost invisible, dark umbrella,
One leg crossed fashionably over the other,
Long coat, hood up, shadowed face underneath,
    He waits.

Cars go by, all of any color, but really just one color; darkness,
They reflect the seafoam green, and cherry red lights of the lining shops,
The venders are fast asleep, for the hour is late,
Their shops are closed, but the lights show on,
The nearby pedestrians glance up at the man, the signs, but walk on,
But one girl, white coat, black hair, face in her phone,
    Walked
    Right
    Into him.

He felt it, she felt it; there was a shock between their hearts,
For one split second, they shared a soul, a past, a future,
Neither said anything, they just, stared into each other,
The light shined in her stormy blue and his oak brown eyes,
Mouths agape, he slowly started to smile,
“It’s been awhile since I saw an angel on Earth,”
    She gleamed.

“I knew I was waiting for something, didn’t know it was you-
Come with me.”

She went.

You would figure
such a moment would be burned
into the paradigm of memory
when exactly did I learn
life was no cartoon?
well, it wasn’t one traumatic incident
rather a rushing current of events
a drunk uncle here, a screaming mom there
a belting boyfriend or toy-stealing sister
playmates picked dead last no matter
older boys bullying the younger
teachers who didn’t particularly bother
some cousins had yards and fathers
while others like me had neither
always more chores than fun
and no one ever explained how come
priests were less present and less kind
than the mexican street venders
there’s no specific scene to pause when I rewind
I honestly can’t remember.

It wasn’t at a funeral, by then
though I was young , I somehow knew
life was not all beautiful and true
that those adults who told me what to do
sobbed on dark beds and screamed at phones
then wiped their tears or ****** walls
before reentering the room
their eyes a little more like stone
while I pretended to un-see it all
and kept on playing with my toys, alone.

flossing jocks swing mighty
***** crow blowing triumphant
incumbents sent to extend the morality
vitality reality equals fallacies and tribulation  
recreation station seething with malcontents grossly exaggerate
the aggregate to depreciate the innate greatness of iced milk and cherries
varying fairies trailing mankind grind to different beats
seated meat sacks lack tact and force ill-mannered children  
to render hate venders with crayons
yawning chasms plastered with plasma and grass clippings
flipping chihuahuas slipping in to the dark
bouncing ta-ta’s, beer-soaked and tightly clad
refocus the mass passing by
flying low with bellies plastic filled
pelicans land softly on quiet mountain lakes to breed in peace

Willoughby is the name. And if I can't express my unique and unconventional way of writing here on Hello Poetry as a shock poet,  I'll get angry and leave.  And believe me, you don't want me to get angry (I've been known to get so angry I wet myself).  Following is an example of my style. (WARNING:  If your eyes start to burn, turn away for a few seconds.  You'll be fine).

Reuters news service.  This just in...

PROJECTILE ***** MAN ARRESTED

Dateline:  New York City ---
   Charlie Jenkins, the projectile vomiter of New York is behind bars after 24 incidents of vomiting on people who had made him angry. From rude waitresses to aggressive beggars to mean hotdog venders, he didn't discriminate.

   He apparently could throw up at will and spew it Like a weapon on his unsuspecting victims.  When confronted he would claim that he was just sick with the flu and had no control over it and you can't get mad at someone who is sick can you?

   The judge had to search the laws to call it an assault at the courtroom yesterday and then was promptly vomited on by the man with the nickname known as Up-Chuck Charlie.

   Charlie was quoted as saying, " It's like a super power and there are a lot of jerks who deserve my kind of vengeance and if I punched them I'd go to jail, this way I leave them humiliated and soiled in ***** and get to walk away".  Sorry Charlie, not this time.

    Susan Clark from channel 2 news asked but why do such a disgusting thing, why? Charlie replied,"Why do I do it?  I do it for the same reason that a dog licks his own *****...because I can.

The day the starfish were high,
we were swimming towards the sun
and nirvana was only a stroke away.

We carried stories in our stomaches
and let them bubble up from our throats
until we could see them wrap around
the waists of street venders.

The merry-go-round music tangled in my hair
but I never wanted to shake it out.

Your breath was in my lungs
when the citrus-******* sunshine
made your heart skip a beat.

Our feet burned black on the board walk
when we walked too far,
looking for where the ocean herself was born.

When the mermaids called our names,
we waded through tide pools,
let seaweed grow around our ankles
and promised never to uproot them.

And finally the seagulls brought us
aphrodisiacs from the Gods
so we climbed the lightning bolts
and became a new constellation.

I walk the crowded pavements, like a sea
Of people life flowing ebbing upon the
Streets all to reach that destination

A light shining red a hundred feet ready
To walk Idle hello's and lovely weather.
Green and the herd move once again.

Necks stretched upward, gazing as if
Never seeing such beauty up high
Tourists easily spotted.

Locals smile as all are welcome in
The big city. Smells of food venders
Gliding aroma, Mmm hotdogs.

Colonial buildings litter the sidewalk,
derelict and rundown. A past that
is fading into the bustle of the street.
Casts mingle, but prejudice lingers.

Tuk-tuks weave through out streets,
collecting tired feet that need a rest.
collecting lunch off street venders,
who greet with smiles, as aromas linger.

Street children, parentless masses sit
on the steps, hands wondering for rupee's.
The taxi doesn't stop, so they shower the path
with change, and they think of their baby at home.

As the old world fades, heritage still lingers.
but contradictions of what was and is contest.
Old ways grasp at the change, but our streets
will soon be a metropolis of fading faces.

"Is this a good thing? or are we moving to fast.

Once upon a journey
A man packed up his bags
He took what he could and then set out
He pulled his cart and went for a trip

He needed to leave
He couldn't stay
He needed to go where he mattered
Where from his life could lay

Here a man is traveling
Going on a trip
His goal is the city
Where he can have a joyful life

This is the city of Amamble
A city of good and glory
A city where fear is expelled
Where for joy you never have to gamble

The city is your goal
Your freedom from this life
Where the demons are cast out
Where you are free to go about

So here is a man on this journey
To the city of glory
His cart is in tow, his belongings packed
As he sets out to go

He travels and travels on and on
Through forest, meadow, field
He travels and travels on and on
Through village, town, and hills

This man goes on his travels
And here is where my tale begins
Of a long oath a man went down
To give his life a kiss

He takes his cart
Going through the woods
Where trees are all around
And the road is as it should

Here he hits, ruts and mud
But he pulls his cart with muscle
He makes it through the deep dark woods
Where his strength is turned to labor

Next is the marsh
Where through muck he must pull
But he has no strength
He has been pushed to his limit

But an old man comes on by
He gives this traveler an ox
So through the muck this can go
But not with out hardship to come.

The ox was useful in the marsh
It made it all the way through
But next is a meadow
Where all your dreams come true

But one dream fails
The I'd sees good grain
And chooses to leave
And live here in gain

The ox is now gone
So once again he pulls
Through the meadow
He now goes

Past flower and fern
Past bee and butterfly
Through the meadow he hauls
His strength is weak but he us determined, No matter the chances bleak

But the meadow is beauty
He sees a meadowlark
He sees a hope to reach the city
Where he can sing a hark

So now is a village
Where venders are selling
Beans and roots, and corn husk shelling
Ripe fruits, and fortune telling

Here is a place where vanity is sold
But give up what's on the cart
Is your not your future foretold
With nothing you must part

But now through the village
He arrives at a hill
He pulls and pulls
Hoping his strength will fulfill

But at the top a wheel breaks
His cart will no longer move
How will he now reach the city
How will he not despair

But even still
With fantasy strength
He pulls the cart ahead

He left home
And all he knew
This journey he won't dread

The axle drags across the ground
A line is forming behind him
This line springs sorrow
Demons come out
And make him mourn for the morrow

The demons whisper in his ear
And tell him he is alone
He will never make his goal
In his mind they drone

They make his journey hard for him
As they want to see him fail
They want to expose all weakness within
And make his strength turn frail

But he is weak he is dying inside
His strength is no more there
How will he ever reach the city
How with this burden to bear

At the hill base he reaches a tower
A tower guarding a bridge
He looks around, he sees the hills
The high up reaching ridge

In this tower there is a women
Who encourages him along
She sees his distres
and says with a smile
The city won't be long

So off he goes pulling again
To reach the place in mind
The demons taunt, but he pulls on
And to the cart he grinds

He marched onward pushing and pulling, as he travels closer and closer to glory
Soon he'll make it, soon he'll be happy
With the long journey he has made

Soon he will arrive
His toils be done
He will see the faith he had in Amamble
And soon his victory will be won

"It's eight thirty," she says,
Her feet crossed and hair falling out of a braid
A French eight thirty means glittering lights
On the Eiffel Tower,
Street venders selling champagne,
Couples on the street corner,
Wishing you were here

I am a devout foodist
I celebrate every holiday
That involves food
I’ll try anything once
Except grasshoppers, ants
And other creepy-crawlers

Dinner is a sacred point in the day
Not just a repast or fuel for the body
A joyous time to be savoured
And reveled in
To be rekindled on the tongue
Throughout the evening

Foodism is open ended
Open to all of those
Who desire to luxuriate
In the pleasures of the gastronomic
Who feast with their eyes
As well as their taste buds and stomach

Foodism requires no special meeting house
Restaurants, side-walk venders and home
The approbation of the culinary skills
Praise for the chef
All uniting under one umbrella
All celebrating foodism

6/1/19