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Saturday, March 26, 2011

AND THAT WAS THAT
















Whatever happened to hot apple pies
cooling on the window sill,
Norman Rockwell calendars,
and long romantic walks in the park?

And whatever happened to Ozzie and Harriet,
holding hands,
and hula hoops?

Whatever happened to cuddling
on the back porch swing,
men wearing hats,
and...
women without bras?

Whatever happened to pulp fiction,
poodle skirts and Parchesi,
slow dancing,
the strong silent type,
and...
women without bras?

Whatever happened to family picnics,
bouncing the kids upon our knee,
Sundays at grandmas house,
draft card burning,
civil disobedience,
bad acid trips,
wife swapping,
women without bras,
and horizons without limits?

It was a summer's day in 1986--
I remember it well.
I was strolling through the mall,
and being the observant fellow that I am,
I noticed that all the bosoms were unbound,
unfettered,
free to be all they could be--
to jig and joggle,
to wobble and weave,
to bob and bobble,
to bank and roll
with the normal ups and downs
of everyday existence.

Then,
the very next day,
as if by some cosmic signal from
THE GREAT GOOGLY-MOOGLY

ALL
THE
WOMEN
PUT
THEIR
BRAS
BACK
ON

And that was that.

And a colder wind has blown o'er the land...
but sometimes I still long for the good ol' days
when the nips that nourished a nation
were proudly displayed
through the milk of human kindness
and in the interest of full disclosure--
no fakes, forgeries, or false impressions given.

And I guess I should just forget about the past--
make a clean breast of it,
and end this uplifting tale.

But sometimes I can't help but wonder...

Whatever happened to hot apple pies
cooling on the window sill...
long romantic walks in the park...
and...




Saturday, March 19, 2011

WAITING GAME (a pantoum)








I have led a life of great anticipation...
trading the hours of my days for the digits in a ledger--
biding my time; buying into the myth of security in numbers
and always believing that love was just around the corner.

Trading the hours of my days for that which gave me pleasure,
I languished in lobbies and watched the women of the world walk by,
assured the law of averages was in my corner--
a lonely sojourner playing the waiting game.

Watching the worldly women walk by,
I lobbied for a glance or a smile--
a lonely sojourner playing the waiting game,
still convinced that love was just around the corner.

And so, with a glance or a smile,
once in a while one would come my way--
curious, as she was, to see if love was just around the corner,
and for a while we'd fill the empty space with laughter.

Yes, now and then one would come my way,
but in the end those who wait are never waiting for each other--
mindful, as they are, of love that's just around the corner,
leaving just an empty space and the memory of laughter.

And near the end, those who wait will always hold a place for one another--
finding, as they do, a kind of purity in numbers,
trying to fill some empty space with memories and laughter...
leading lives of great anticipation.

Friday, March 11, 2011

PEOPLE






















People are so strange,
and weird,
and funny looking--
with their baseball caps
and safari hats...

All shapes and sizes,
but mostly round--
with bellies that spill over belts
like giant teardrops about to fall,
and long baggy shorts that stop
just above their socks
(another inch and they'd be pants).

Huffing,
and puffing,
and shuffling along--
off to the bank,
off to the cleaners,
off to the market to pick up some wieners.


What do they think?
what do they hope for?
who are they buying that Soap-On- A-Rope for?

What are their innermost
dreams and ambitions?
(hey, did that guy just let off an emission?)

Ambling along in their clogs
and their flip-flops,
connected to ipods
and some kind of hip-hop.

Joking, and smoking, and choking
their lives away--
yet up every morning
to greet the brand new day...

People are so strange,
and weird,
and funny looking
on the outside...

But often beautiful--
yeah, kinda beautiful
on the inside.

Saturday, March 5, 2011

LAST TANGO IN TIMBUKTU


Poetry Potluck














I wonder if you can sense that you're mostly tip and very little iceberg,
though I still get a chill thinking of you.
And do you understand that your shallow hellos and how-are-yous
don't begin to scratch the surface of this itch?

Like the Sphynx, you sit there stone-faced,
a cryptic note I wrote to myself and can no longer decipher.
You strain to read my lips while I try to interpret your hand signals,
and that's as close as you and I ever come.

But all I want to do is touch you--
and maybe, maybe if we make love, I could break through.
But I remember some who wouldn't give me the time of day
on the day after, as if to say WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?
You can't touch me THAT way!

But maybe, maybe if I told you all my secrets, then I could touch you--
or would you just sit there in embarrassed silence and order another cafe latte?
Or take you to zee Kasbah and whisper dark obscenities in you ear,
or force you to look into my eyes,
or suck on your toes (whilst you're blowing your nose)
stand on my head, or take you to bed,
yes, I know it's not always a bed of roses
and sometimes things get thorny--
but DAMMIT, sweetheart...I'm horny!

SORRY. Just a minor loss of control.
Not something you, or the crew of the Titanic, were at all familiar with.
There is a place inside you where emotions become trapped and die,
so allow me to translate:
I LOVE YOU GO AWAY!
I LOVE YOU GO AWAY!
I NEED YOU GET THE HELL OUT OF MY SIGHT!
I NEED YOU GET THE HELL OUT OF MY SIGHT!

Go ahead and blame your parents who didn't have a clue.
(Where are you now...Timbuktu?)

The buck's gotta stop somewhere baby,
and when I say to you that you're responses are perfunctory, you say "OH?"
And when I say that you're proving my point, you say "OH?"

And still you sit there like a demented desk clerk,
while all the while your brain is screaming:
CHECK OUT TIME!
CHECK OUT TIME!

Wait a minute--you can't leave now!
 Can't just get up and walk away--
tear it all apart when we could be so together.
Ah, GEEZ!  There goes another one.

Good thing I told the waiter separate checks.