July 31, 2017

WE SHY A DISTANCE FROM THEM

   

          WE SHY A DISTANCE FROM THEM
             
               Eccentrics jump wildly into
               fiery circles, feats we consider
               foolish. Glints of yellow-blue, red, orange,
               chipping free in the figment of erratic
               oddball behavior. We shy a distance
               from them in safe zones where there is no need
               to raise hooded eyebrows or entangle
               frazzled nerves or shake our heads in disbelief.
              We are the commonplace vanillas; they,
               the standout chocolates. Though we both melt,
               one does so down the cone; the other, in
               acrobatic splatters of the bizarre.

               #

July 30, 2017

IT’S NOT A LONELY HEART

IT’S NOT A LONELY HEART

A yellow sub honked a frantic horn,
then spumed an underwater blast
to frighten me out of its murky path.
Curious creatures butted snouts
against me, sonar nudges to save me.
High above the surface of the sea,
I could decipher the screaming voices,
Nora’s plea to the waterfront
to rescue the man she loved, now drowning,
but no one would risk the torrents.
Again, the yellow submarine blared away.
I didn’t know Sargent Pepper personally,
Though I suspected him full of wonder:
A man breathing in the deep waters
Is worthy of lyrics and melody.
So, into his log he scribbles
and hums a new song, as with his other
hand his fingers pump the klaxon.
It’s not a lonely heart that keeps me
down here. Brimming with love, I test
new waters once verboten for me.
Then Nora screams my name
and I swim upward toward the sunlight.


#

July 29, 2017

SEEK OUT THE GEMS

      SEEK OUT THE GEMS

      Sometimes the joy inside us can be seen.
      An aura of circled gold, a halo
      that proclaims even when we’re down and out,
      broken by the vise of sorrow, we can still
      look at life and feel holy by God’s gifts.
      In this imperfect world, seek out the gems
      that light the road upon which we skip
      like children in their hopscotch chalked boxes.
      Trade away the long face, the upside-down
      quarter moon, the spritzer of crying jags,
      the cynical outlook of glasses
      half-empty, the orders we give to our bones
      not to dance or embrace or go out of
      our way to show love and contentment
      to the lonely, the lost, those caught in a rut.
      Be happy! God created the world for us.
      Make someone laugh! In our short time here,
      let’s do it up right. Thank God we were born.


      #

WAITING FOR SHELLEY

WAITING FOR SHELLEY

My dear brother in poetry,
I waited for your prompt return
from the Gulf of Spezia where
you sailed the Italian waters
with two friends who likewise loved
to sail the Ligurian Sea.
Only the month before, we cheered
your thirtieth birthday. Mary
prepared your favorite supper.
We toasted goblets filled with wine.
We cheered your poem “When Soft Voices
Die.” Now July gallops away
with you in tow. Percy, silent
the lyrical lines you will not write,
unheard laughter at Casa Magni!
    How deep the sorrow, how great the loss!
    I spend my hours now reading
   your poetry, your timeless sonnet
   of the colossus: “…boundless and bare 
   the lone and level sands stretch far away.”


   #

July 27, 2017

FIVE MORE 17-SYLLABLED NOT AT ALL HUMAN POEMS

FIVE MORE 17-SYLLABLED
NOT AT ALL HUMAN POEMS

1
Horror films of the ‘50s
kept me up all night
Swatting giant ants.

2
Uncle Pete’s bad temper
could not be pacified
by a Snicker’s bar.

3
Sinning? A human weakness,
but the gift of forgiveness
is divine.

4
And some believe aliens
from outer space
walk in our midst.
(We do).

5
She’d loved so often and so well.
Her autopsy showed
She had two hearts.


#

KISSES FROM THE PORCH

KISSES FROM THE PORCH
When dusk softens spring greens to gray
and I shut one eye as I climb the steps
on my return from yielding crop-filled fields,
I can see you rocking through the haze of time,
your face beaming in the half light-dark.
Without words, Grandma, you say again
how much you love me. In the bleeding of day,
The absence of sun and technicolors dimmed,
you toss your hand to me, a paper-thin wave,
fingers set free of kisses buzzing deathless love.
#

July 26, 2017

I CAN STAND QUITE TALL HERE

 I CAN STAND QUITE TALL HERE

A steward in my church
I read sacred Scripture
standing at the ambo,
the Holy Book opened
to Testaments Old and New.
I can stand quite tall here.
Moses asks God, “Me, Lord?”
At my side a cane helps
keep me upright, balanced,
glad to be alive and
blessed to read the Bible.
Jesus speaks out, “Follow Me”
and I nod my head.
Sometimes the words cause me
to choke back tears. The thought
of speaking His words,
the words of patriarchs,
of saints, of unbelievers—
I intensify my prayers
that more hearts will open
to the God Who died for us.


#

July 25, 2017

EVEN LOVE TAKES PRISONERS


EVEN LOVE TAKES PRISONERS
[inspired by MKA Photography]

How effortless it would be to cast off
these fetters of rope! But she sits there,
head bowed like a penitent enduring
the penance of captivity, staring
down the unraveling as though the twists
and curls of rope could be deciphered,
perhaps reveal what will become of her.

In the fog of thought she replays her crime,
squints the scene through the opaque mental screen.
The two of them faceless, a mesh of hands,
promises exchanged. Where did she go wrong?
Did she love too much? Not Enough? He vanished
in the thin air of her grief without goodbye.

Now she sits there and wonders How long before
before she wriggles free her wrists so cuffs

fall and she can dream of finding love again.

#

FIVE 17-SYLLABLED NOT-AT-ALL-HUMAN POEMS

FIVE 17-SYLLABLED
NOT-AT-ALL-HUMAN POEMS

1
Your face distorted in anger
proves there is life
on other planets.        

2
When, with heavy hand,
you hurt a child,
pet dogs and cats
are saddened.

3
To speak of love
without sincerity
disaffirms being human.

4
More than in night dreams,
life’s terrors challenge us
to act more than human.

5
We must assume blame
for similes linking us
to the inhuman.


#

July 24, 2017

LOVE CAN TRY AGAIN


LOVE CAN TRY AGAIN

A look, a kind word, a nervous smile
can fill the vacant heart emptied of love
gone bad. It can salvage from the offal heap
that offbeat pulsing grayness, the dazzling shine
a barrage of trenchant remarks snuffed out.
The heart can bravely try again. It can allow
new life to permeate a sagging hollowness.
Love can lift one’s head from abashment to
beaming pride. It can grace the lonely
and read into hope a bright awakening.

#

July 23, 2017

FROM A FALCON’S POINT OF VIEW

FROM A FALCON’S POINT OF VIEW

From the heights, I can draw into my eye
the crawling sights of man and ant racing
toward their safe walls of wood and hills of dirt.
I, instead, soar towards heaven’s golden sky,
fearless in my search for all that’s gracing
from God’s good hands. There I will find no hurt.

These wings glide upward, driven by the rays
that pierce the crystal floor of Paradise
into the assembly hall where saint  
and angel scrape their knees in highest praise
and falcons like me whose vision is precise
need seek no prey nor reason for complaint.

In this Crystal City, God’s kingdom reigns
and life is never ending. Peace abounds!
These wings at last have set a falcon free.
All living things find joy here, never pain.
Hymns to God on His throne are the sounds
we sing to Him for all eternity.


#

July 22, 2017

ANIMALSPEEK


Animalspeek was the language I wanted so much to learn when I was a kid in Brooklyn. 

Once some gang kids put kittens in a canvass bag and smashed them against the concrete handball court in the park. I was only seven, much too young and scared to do anything to help. I firmly believed those shrieking meows of those kittens were desperate pleadings for someone to save them. 

Of course, it’s purely fiction that someone could communicate with animals, but I wish I could suddenly, even now in my old age, acquire that unique gift of conversing with animals. Like St. Francis of Assisi, I would grow a little closer to the peace all souls crave daily. 

Such a gift would allow me to show compassion to all of God’s creatures because my heart would be transformed to see and hear and understand beyond the human condition. I could feel for the caterpillar, the cat on the windowpane waiting for her human friend, the dog rolled up in a ball of pain, the human lost in the dark. 

Oh, how I wished I were fluent in Animalspeek! The road to Heaven would become just a little bit clearer.

When Sharon and I lived in New Jersey we had two cats, Spiranza  cats, and Curaggiu (Hope and Courage), which we had to give away when we moved to WV. I still dream of them. I still hear them in the woods of Dream asking me why I abandoned them. How could I tell them my new landlord would not allow pets? 

Spiranza whose kittenhood was so traumatic it was hard to believe she’d dare trust anyone again. Curaggiu who leaped onto our bed when one of us was sick and never left, even to eat, until we were better again. 

Some say in Heaven we’ll find no animals and I was one of them who argued, “No soul, no Heaven,” but now in my older years I think differently. I hope in our heavenly life we will hold long conversations with those pets who loved us unconditionally.

Maybe we need to simply throw our hands up in surrender and gather in all of God’s creation and love it with all our hearts. Animals lack intellect and free will, but more than make up for it with the uncanny ability to forgive and forget. Can human beings say the same?

Listen carefully to what your cat purrs to you. Delight in the dance of your dog when he sees you. Sometimes I think angels reside within them and wear these cats and dogs the way kings wear ermine. 

Isaiah speaks of Heaven in his prophecy, The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child will lead them” (Isaiah 11:6). 

All that God has created is worthy of our admiration, even the inanimate mountain stones, the unthinking snowfall, all that we disregard in our walk through life. If visionaries have reported witnessing fields of indescribable flowers there, why not animals running through those fields or sleeping in the Light of Christ? 

Only in Heaven will we finally witness the elusive peace so unattainable in this passing world. As in the lost Garden of Eden, we who named the animals will reunite with them.

Pope Francis said, “One day, we will see our animals again in the eternity of Christ. Paradise is open to all of God’s children.”

Long gone to pet paradise, Curaggiu and Spiranza visit me in dreams, where they speak a rather good English that even in the roaring gray forests I can make out every word. 


#

UNCLE RON SAID THERE AIN’T NO HELL



 UNCLE RON SAID THERE AIN’T NO HELL

Below the city’s cobblestones it shifted, restless and hungry. I could feel the tremor beneath my feet. At first I thought, Earthquake? A sinkhole? An inferno blazing underground that would yawn fully awake to demons flying loose from the fires? Again, the cobblestones rattled beneath me.

Then came the rumble like mountains wrenching free. I was certain now it had to be the end of the world. All around me uprooted trees shot through the air like giant wooden arrows of war, shattering glass, demolishing cars that only moments before were parked motionless against the curb. 

Stepping lightly but quickly over the moving stones, I spoke aloud the defeatist’s mantra, “I’m going to die.” I had no doubt of it. 

Then I managed to calm myself, suspecting, not the world’s end, but the rupture of the time-worn underground water pipes each incoming brood of politicians promised for so long would be replaced. But contenting myself with realistic possibilities was short-lived.

The clamor of cars and houses spinning in maelstroms, the screaming bedlam of the fearful and the victims buried under whatever broke free of the speeding circle and then crashed down into rubble.  

Uncle Ron told me when I was a boy not to believe the Sisters of Charity who taught us about Hell. “What kind of charity, is that, to keep a kid up all night worried the devil’s gonna come snatch him into the fires?”

Now, as the scaly creature, slobbering blood and flesh from its huge mouth, ascended from the cobblestones, I wondered where Uncle Ron’s last peaceful sleep led him to. I doubted Heaven; Hell was not a far stretch. Just because he said there was no Hell, didn’t mean there wasn’t one. And here, climbing out of the fiery pit? One of those minions of Satan? A space traveling extraterrestrial here to collect a few human beings for the return trip home?

I hid in the ruins that hours before had been St. Mark’s Church. 

And I prayed.

#

LOVE ALONE IS NOT ENOUGH

LOVE ALONE IS NOT ENOUGH
                                     
Love is a phantom unless fattened by
selfless deeds, life-defying aerial walks
without the safety of a net below.
I remember love, the smile she beamed
in good times and bad, the way she held my hand
in darkness and light. Love now is a phantom
chasing shadows empty of lovers
who drew timeless lines they would not cross.

Love became two ghosts haunting the past
in search of shape and form, but it’s too late
for second chances, love’s rebirth, joy again.
Love is a phantom, liberated,
unfettered by the chains of everyday vows.
It began. It ended. Still, we sit
in the corner of our regrets, remembering.

#

07/22/2017