The vicious rite of winter
bites
And sinks its clammy claw
through to bone
It paralyzes me
like nothing – numbing my brain
I must leave it
or die shaking
2 – 10 – 76
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Category Archives: poems
the end of my intentions
formed
in flutes
where candles flicker
waxy table tops and wooden chairs
silhouette in blue air
floats
our point of intersection
A little gift from Drake’s Sandwich Shop
a dint of sunny street
light shines up front
but in the back the
dim-lit high-back booths
pronounce the privacy
with dull green walls
and wooden seats and
glossy black accents
an ornate
stamped-tin ceiling seems
the only interloper here
(beyond the kitchen door
the dishes – heavy duty
dishes – clank and rattle)
Drake’s was old and
liked to let us know
we found the only sign
of really modern times
the vague and distant
melodies of modern songs
that crept in from the kitchen
and reminded us
the present was the past
Your Duplicate
I saw your duplicate yesterday
She looked a lot like you
But she wasn’t really you
She wore the same shoes
as you, too
The ones you wear to work
Watching the Leaves Fall Off the Trees
She had a hard time with the numbers
In fact, she couldn’t do it at all.
It must have been the time of day
Or the way she wore her hair.
And it’s hard to say who was dumber
Or who looked sillier than who
As we sat on that cold cement slab
In late October –
Watching the leaves fall off the trees
the spectator
we love to smash ‘em up and love to hear ‘em crash
the pads, the hardwood pins, or bash the leather ball
the timing of those sporting games
appropriate, it grabs us all – such violence
around us without feeling any pain
someone threw a rock and knocked another off a ledge
and soon we all were betting clams on arms and teams
began to form the rocks and clubs were soon outdated though
‘cause also when the snow fell fans got cold
so owners brought the teams indoors for winter
and as the athletes started bowling, playing basketball in fall
by winter hockey brought the fists a flyin’ lots of blood
and fun for all and even racetrack frequenters
are hoping for a smashup will it really go much further
will we soon be watching murder?
Of Misery and Happiness
Burden not the solitary equine
Willing servant, sumpter of e’erlasting woe
Tribulations tensed and thus so high-lined
Carry that which rightf’ly’s your own
Make not the son some candelabra stool
Nor husband tote contentment all and then
Nor daughter eat the sins of ancient fools
Nor wife protect the vanities of men
What share we may this blessed earth belong
To sing and dance as glad participants
To have and so be had in joyous song
The best of times we know shall never last
So burden not the solitary equine
For sorrow if it choose is only mine
love and the revolution
look inward, angel,
to where the sun’s not at
and i’ll be there.
for absurd as it seems – is not
to be the precious pet
but to not forget.
forgive me, plausive angel,
but were they not to set you free?
and could you thank a soul
to give you back bare feet?
and did they cry when you cried?
or did they forget?
look inward, angel,
to where the sun’s not at
and i’ll be there.
for absurd as it seems – is not
to not forget
to pet the precious pet.
sip a golden salty dog
a half baked chicken back
was all i had to eat that day
and when i was walking up the stairs
to take you away for the evening
i heard someone say the sun was coming
out tomorrow . . .
it never showed it snowed
Senses
When do my senses get caught up in fences?
When do my thoughts take a trip on their own?
All that I’ve wondered, the thoughts that I’ve pondered
All that I’ve seen, heard or touched all alone
My eyes see a stranger, my nose senses danger
But somehow I’m hearing the words of a friend
The air becomes cool as I sit on my bar stool
Playing another sad game of pretend
Sometimes we smell victory, sometimes a trick
Or follow your nose, move from where you are at
See all that is blue or look into the future
Hear what they’re saying up under their hat
What things seem to be, I often don’t see
Like feeling the fool when I’m winning respect
Or I thought I heard praise as their glasses were raised
But I’m not sure what next to expect
(I don’t trust that pat on the back)
I’ve watched while he preaches, I’ve heard all his speeches
I’ve read of this, that, and the other big deal
My thoughts are confused, is my voice being used?
Concerned about credence – and what I don’t feel
When do my senses get caught up in fences?
When do my thoughts take a trip on their own?
All that I’ve wondered, the thoughts that I’ve pondered
All that I’ve seen, heard or touched all alone
Johnson Street
Your mind’s been blown
in thick pink clouds of rancid hue
from smoke and silt and residue
which left your brains in acid stew.
The film that stains your clothes dull green
lies in shadows kept unseen;
emits to us the raunch of what we see.
It keeps you dead to us ‘unknown’
and makes you perpetrate and groan
your want. It’s yours alone.
You pitiful sad thing,
you . . . you wanted everything
but now you’re left to feel the sting
and let the needle cling.
It’s done its deed.
You’ll lie in slush and let it bleed,
consuming wants with all your need.
It’s sad, indeed.
yes
and as a game of pool
becomes a night at the bar
the first chess game
becomes the second
i can neglect the goths,
the franks, consuls and kings
they will remain
but a neglected game of chess
is lost forever
The Ode – like a hundred times
like a hundred times
before today
a poor soul lost his frisbee
smashed to bits
on a city street
dave an’ gary an’ i
buried it
in the sewer
on congress and schaefer
Upon a Table
And cups,
a black ashtray sit
together with my button
and do not move.
I’m In Heaven
The sun beats down
On the North Beach sand
Linda and Mary
In their summer tan
Sipping lemonade
As my skin gets fried
(1, 2, 3, 4)
I must have died
I’m in heaven (do da do-da do)
I’m in heaven (do da do-da do)
I’m in heaven (do da do-da do)
I’m in heaven (do da do-da do)
Crowded into Kroll’s
For the Sunday game
Bears at Packers
I can feel the flame
Suzie and Karen
Shouting football pride
(1, 2, 3, 4)
I must have died
I’m in heaven (do da do-da do)
I’m in heaven (do da do-da do)
I’m in heaven (do da do-da do)
I’m in heaven (do da do-da do)
At Chief O’Neill’s
In the afternoon
Drinking pints with a woman
That I met in June
I can’t remember her name
But you know I’ve tried
It doesn’t matter . . .
I must have died
I’m in heaven (do da do-da do)
I’m in heaven (do da do-da do)
I’m in heaven (do da do-da do)
I’m in heaven (do da do-da do)
I’m on the Near West Side
Underneath the moon
Sitting on a couch
In The Tasting Room
I’ve got Connie and Becky
On either side
(1, 2, 3, 4)
I must have died
I’m in heaven (do da do-da do)
I’m in heaven (do da do-da do)
I’m in heaven (do da do-da do)
I’m in heaven (do da do-da do)