Tuesday, July 31, 2007


Got only five minutes
to write a poem,
for in five minutes
my grilled cheese sandwich
will be done.

Toasted under the broiler,
organic sharp cheddar cheese,
whole wheat baguette
from Italian bakery.

Hot day today,
Though not so humid,
I keep a scrunchie
round my wrist,
to quickly make
a ponytail, when
walking under
hot Auld Manhattoe
summer sun.

Sunday, July 15, 2007


Courage in short supply,
I sneak peeks at what is real,
Endings, emptiness, something gone,
and when gone, a space appears,
open for my own timid gaze.

Cowardly cosmonaut, I squint
my eyes, turn every which way,
try to recapture what was familiar
and dear, all to no avail.

For a moment or so, fleeting grace
of simply beholding the open space,
knowing it is harbinger of the new,
tempting me to let go
of what has already ended.

During those small moments
I feel wonder and curiosity.
Alas, only small moments,
amid a sea of clinging and grasping.

Oh, to be brave
And jump right in!
Like kamikaze cosmonaut,
Glamour adventuress,
Heroine of the unknown!

Ha ha ha.

Saturday, July 14, 2007

Fashion Memoirs

I performed an informal experiment
in Auld Manhattoe,
Oh, it was around a decade or so ago,
maybe even longer.
I wanted to see how many
Big Apple Fashionistas
Wore colored shoes --
not brown or black, or even red,
But green, or blue, or pink, etc.

And it was hard going,
I don't recall seeing any woman
wearing colored shoes.

Metropolitan black,
that was the fashion of the day
for so many years, even in the summer.

Such style, the hip New York woman had
a look all her own, easily identifiable,
from the Upper East Side to the Village.
From tailored designer duds to
Avante garde self made fashions,
Color was for the provincials,
And Metropolitans wore black.

Then came the weird summer of 2002,
When color exploded in Auld Manhattoe
like stealth bombs.
Not just colored shoes, but
extreme coordination like girls
playing dolls.

Everything matched, handbags,
shoes, skirts, blouses, jewelry,
cosmetics, like a wild blooming garden,
wildflower women, mad compensation
for all those years of monochrome modalities.

And then there was the summer of 2004,
when sequinned handbags and skirts
embroidered with tiny flashing mirrors,
or flouncy white petticoats,
transformed Auld Manhattoe subways
into strange gypsy caravans.

And now, oh seems we're back in
1950s kodachrome kitchens,
full skirts, patent leather heels,
so high that women totter,
giant handbags the size of suitcases,
textures from lace to silk, in gorgeous
colors and patterns, ballet flats,
skirts with fake petticoats,
and cheap Nine West espadrilles.

No hats, though, which I find strange,
due to dangers of the millennial sun,
though sometimes, in Astoria,
I see ladies walking in the
hot sun with umbrellas,
and it makes me think
parasols might one day
come back in style.

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

He Said

He said: to transcend
all fear of the true meaning,
that is the only patience.

Vast guidebook
in a few short words.
Difficult endeavor
for the fearful.

All my desires, wishes,
all my mad plans, schemes,

Subjective, objective,
the panoramic view, ah,
Seeing each
and every moment entire,
in all its blazing glory.

The view above,
below, from all sides,
inside, outside.

All the ways this
very moment
is experienced
by each
living creature.

Something real,
not real,
not there,

gazing, unfraid,
into the unknowable.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

My Fire

Rising, burning
funny, how a little information,
printed words, can cause
the heart to blaze.

Weigh the words on
the grayscale, weigh them
carefully, neutral like
high court judge.

Well sure I'll do that,
I'll make sure to find
the inner truth and all,
weigh it all on the grayscale.

But now's the time for fire,
glowing hot white, blue on the edges
now's the time for the fire,
burn my heart clean.

My fire,
gave it away,
oh can't get it back,
ah hell, you never caught a rabbit,
and you ain't no friend of mine.