Auld Manhattoe

One

2011-03-04T15:55:00.001-08:00

Black marks on a page, you said,
how was that important?
You had discovered the writing
of the universe!

Five senses
somehow
woven in alchemies
beyond transformation,
after the gold,
long after.

All the finest
and most repellant
objects
of the senses
recognized,
in panoramic views
of unity.

Dolphins of the Mind

2011-01-25T17:23:00.000-08:00

Brief moment of leaps
disporting among waves

medium of water,
medium of air,
pure play

So this is pure land

2010-11-27T13:31:00.000-08:00

All dharma all the time

I heard a lama say
if you like
You could think oh, being 17
and all the music is rock and roll

In any event ...

mystical unions
of love and sacred space

eagle flies
lion roars

for a short while
blonds really do have more fun

In any event ...

pure land
path laid by kindness
love strength wisdom

no need to reinvent the wheel

Deer.

The Pleasures of Samsara

2010-11-14T15:34:00.000-08:00

Listening to
Bodhisattva Morrison
Soft Parade

Milarepa danced with dakinis
and flew on tigers like
they were birds

maras mermaids, muses
glammers of glam
dakinis in drag.

Mandala

2010-07-17T17:45:00.000-07:00

(credit)

At the beginning
I saw I had stumbled into
an inconceivably
beautiful garden,
and was received
by a holy master
who was already
in conversation with
another holy master.

And I knew
I was only in the
outlying garden,
on the perimeter,
that their laughter,
so precious and good-natured,
at the same time
spelled the journey
over obstacles
unimaginable.

Now I find myself on occasion,
consciously imagining the scene,
memory of beginnings,
memory of vast gifts
continually bringing light
to darkest corners
of samsara.

Beauty Spirit

2010-05-20T20:13:00.000-07:00

She applies coral, pink, red,
to her lips and not
just color but smoothest
textures and glosses and
outlines in soft tinted
pencils

And so on with the face
the cheeks the eyes
the eyelashes and eyebrows

A pale reflection
of dakini splendor
as spark is to flame

Yet sincere,
and close to
enlightenment

In scent offerings
and color offerings
and offerings and offerings

Doom

2010-05-18T19:48:00.000-07:00

So the meaning
is that even if
I'm feeling this is life
on Atlantis
about to drown

There still are
things to do.

I can write
a list in sounds
repeated to the
click of lotus seed
beads

Or turquoise, amethyst,
pink quartz, hematite,
bone in skull shapes,
carnelian, sandalwood.

Repeated and repeated
over and over again
like milk churned to butter

Vibrations of rainbow tone
through dullness and
dim, wild clingings
of aggression it is good

It is good through
all the shifting mood facets
and illusions,
can't stop the flow.

Rope Trip

2009-11-14T15:10:00.000-08:00

Homage to compassion

Can you just allow it,
without frantic search
for magic protections,
just let the rope
be a snake
and realize
this is how it feels
when you think
a rope is a snake?

Do you really need
charms and potions
to learn
that simple lesson?

This is a little note
to myself so I
don't forget.

Covergirl

2009-10-21T08:16:00.000-07:00

Sweet girls come ‘round
to mend the fabric
In warps and woofs
Of high insight emotion,
Formal admonitions to be kind,
Seductions of lace curtain redemptions.

Rapidly covering blasted terrains
With layers of kind concern
Manufactured in workshops
Of their caring hearts,
Insisting on heirloom value
Of long laid paths.

I suffocate beneath their veils
And have no quarrel
With stark shards
Of broken convention
The harsh atmospheres
Ionized by quarrels and angers.

No need to cover the emptiness
Or costume the desolation
In gaudy colors of denial.
Let the destruction be revealed!
It will emerge regardless
Of frantic attempts
To reweave rotted remnants
Of illusory social fabric.

Real

2009-06-02T17:00:00.000-07:00

He told her there was no reason
to fear clouds would
destroy the sky,
or trees weigh so on the mountain
that it would collapse

not that she said
that was her fear
but I saw it that way

as is said,
it cannot be
stained by confusion
nor exalted by
realization

so why do I find myself
yelling at the clouds,
losing myself among
the trees?

and why do I find myself
thinking there's any
problem with doing so?

what I love
cannot be hurt
by my mad dance.

Overheard in Bruce Lee Movie

2009-03-15T17:25:00.000-07:00

And I heard him answer
the wise old white bearded
Chinese teacher
(whose voice was overdubbed
with scary Western intonation)
when he asked the young warrior
big spirit question.

And I heard him say
"There is no opponent."
And he said a lot of
other things, too,
before he flew off
to battle a whole slew
of people.

I dig those scenes
where the collision
of yin and yang
knocks my brain out,
TKO, TKO,
and another
consciousness
arises.

For Valtin

2009-03-07T16:43:00.000-08:00

Because I came to post
after a while of nonposting
poems, that is
and saw
your question

good question!

shall I be a bard?
something heavy
for heavy times
ha ha
not likely

nor even a troubador
come from troubled plague-ridden lands
to sing their lives to kings
who for some reason
wanted to hear them.

poems for now when
ecstacy and despair do
braided dances
shall I join in
the sarabande?

You, mad warrior
who defends the sacred psyche
in bold words of rue and rage
in puissant tears
and stony silences
amid the rubble.

Fires are lit in the spring
on strange and lonely
fields.

Beat Evolutions

2008-07-28T18:19:00.000-07:00

imitators
spontaneously
obscured them

form trumped
substance
so

you'd hear
wall street
suit and tie man
saying "far out"

see children
in junior high
wearing
blue jeans
and smoking dope

madison avenue
pounced upon it
like hawk on
dove

suburban housewives
viewed sex and
janice in feathers
with dismay

while human
manifestations
on the haight,
in East Village,

on roads
across america
in every small town

beaten and bludgeoned
and fired like ancient
porcelain

flashing through america
with young legs and
long hair

their stories
still untold.

Other than Blue

2008-07-26T23:55:00.000-07:00

Three ayem ,
feeling
worn out as
old shoe.

Red satin,
rhinestone
stiletto heels

That kind of
worn out shoe.

Got my burden,
like every
living soul's,
it grows heavy

Violet clouds
and emerald
leaves on
summer laden trees

Beat
but
other than
blue.

Up and Up and Up

2008-05-29T16:24:00.000-07:00

Up and Up and Up,
the three of them sang,
it was all the same to them
welcome or not

he told them to leave
and so they left!

someone else told
them to return
and they did!

up and up and up
they walked,
back to where
they started out.

a fine time
either way.

Memorial

2008-01-29T16:40:00.000-08:00

Beat, oh hammered and beat like brass like brass cymbals, those big ones, I saw a movie about Charlie Parker, Bird, they used big brass cymbals making their big brass sound for some symbolic artistic meaning, about how he was treated, beat like brass like heavy cymbals, hammered into the mortal form, why not?

Towered over with skyscrapers and cloud formations in the blue, rattling in subways through dark tunnels and on broken sidewalks in big crowds, ascending in high speed elevators to luxury carpets of the workplace and to Duke's deli on 51st Street with big steam tables and giant salmons both hot and cold, beat by the metropolitan hammers of modernity with new TV screens in the high speed elevators seducing the attention with stock market reports and showing eastern standard time, hammered and beat like brass cymbals clashing metal sounds of neverending mortality.

Unadorned

2008-01-05T18:16:00.000-08:00

not polished stone
with bright reflections

but rough and ragged rock
of its own nature,

unadorned by intent,
rich in dominion

it does not
catch the eye
in magpie tinsel

of more than that
I cannot say

(Inspired by Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche's video teaching, http://www.shambhala.org/teachings/category.php?media=video "The Ice Cubes of Bodhi")

Seasonal Ribaldry.

2007-12-24T14:17:00.000-08:00

Wrote a tune the other night. Work hard, play hard, all that. Here's a gabcast version (reminder: turn down sound to avoid distortion caused by phone recording - and yes, again, no music, just me, sigh - choose "episode 6").

Gabcast! Auld Manhattoe #6

The Lyrics:
15 Men in 30 Days, by Nightprowlkitty

she was a terrible woman
the way she loved her men
she treated them like candy
oh yes, she did, and then

she'd toss the box aside
and catch another ride
and when I asked her
to explain,
she sang me this refrain

I want 15 men in 30 days
girl, you're asking me why?
cause I can get 'em
and I can love 'em
till the day I die.

I want 15 men in 30 days
And I'm not playin' you wise
cause I want 'em
and I can find 'em
like a crackerjack surprise!

She was a terrible woman
the way she loved her men
but when I listened to her story
I remembered way back when

I'd toss the box aside
and catch another ride
and when they asked me
to explain,
I'd sing the same refrain.
(back to chorus, etc.)

Is it ribaldry or ribaldery? And how does one pronounce ribald? rih'-bald? "rye'-bald"? Don't hear folks say that word very often.

'Course I am but a mere amateur in this field. Here is a maestro!

Bull Moose Jackson "Big Ten Inch Record"

Rachel

2007-12-12T17:35:00.000-08:00

The story so incidental to Akiba's that I had to look up her name, it was Rachel.

He began his studies late in life and he married her, her family had money and her father disapproved of slacker husband starting school at 40.

She saw something she dug in him. So she married him and suffered poverty as he wandered looking for teachers as was the way in those times.

She did stuff, who knows what she did, the story doesn't say much, I don't even remember if they had children. She had to make ends meet, I guess. I wonder if she had a reputation, here was the daughter of a wealthy man, probably had some sophistication, she did dig Akiba before he was even noticeable to be dug, she must have had a sharp eye for the wise guy. Though in the story it is a disapproving neighbor ridiculing her for her husband's 12 year abdication of tilling his turf.

And so he comes back to her after long times of study, and passing by the window before entering the door ("Honey! I'm home!"), he hears her respond to the mean neighbor (and what kind of neighborhood was it, I wonder, and did Rachel do anything, make anything, to make her place look or be different than the others?).

"Well if I had my way, he'd study for another 12 years!" Rachel's pride and woe and rue and glooms all poured into passionate renunciations and declarations and such, her annoyance at folks not digging what was so front and center to her, all that.

And Akiba hears it and goes back to study for another 12 years.

The story is sparse. Because in the end when he has won all the glory, wisdom prizes and entourages, and she reunites with him, he makes her contribution clear, two souls like two eyes seeing same vision, moving toward it on separate and solitary paths.

What happened to Rachel, I don't know, Akiba met a martyr's end, it was wild and savage times with occupations and empires and rebellions.

New Rich Text

2007-12-08T18:06:00.000-08:00

Turned the wheel
and whirled
into the karmic dance

having chosen this,
evoking the common spell
with my own pledge.

Still, I shall dance
with whoever asks,

Still, I am bound.

Now I add
this new picked
flower
to the
mad bouquet

And, decadent,
enjoy its
perfume.

Auld Manhattoe's December Jump and Jive

2007-12-02T14:48:00.000-08:00

Wealthy in the good life,
like owning palaces
in every beautiful
spot on earth,
Mad overflowing abundant
jewels and diamonds
overflowing golden chest
kind of riches,

While at the same time.
the wolf is at the door.

It's all love and the mad life
Dakini dance.

Audioblog - Lady Be Good

2007-11-21T19:17:00.000-08:00

This one's to kick off the holiday season, festive or not as it may be. I even scat -- not very well, but it is Wednesday, after all.

If you are going to listen, remember to turn the volume down, as this was recorded over the phone sans music and there is some distortion.

Auld Manhattoe #4

Realm of Desire: Part 2

2007-11-15T20:51:00.000-08:00

Strength of jaguar,
majesty of wild lion.
Sacred wrestling match
on lush battlefields,
in all seasons.

Garuda will fly,
soaring through
every conceivable landscape.
It is the journey
of wild yoginis.

Chutes and Ladders

2007-11-05T10:07:00.000-08:00

Funny trying to explain
Being in the moment
When I’m anywhere but
In the moment!
That’s how it goes,
And even to write about it
Would mean not being in the moment.

Though perhaps that’s not so.
Some writing is very much
in the moment,
Tibetan dohas, for example
Or Kerouac’s spontaneous prose

Like wading through water,
Thick, rich, awareness,
Everything is there and
You can want nothing more,
You can see it, like water,
Transparent, but thick,
Everything is there and
You can want nothing more.
And it’s always there,
Always there, but our awareness flees,
In terror or ennui or stubbornness

Read a quote somewhere, talked about
How we see a fish writhing about
On the hook,
We don’t see the hook,
Only the fish writhing,
And people are the same,
We only see the struggle,
We miss the hook,
And so we see others
All wrong.

In the moment
There can be no hook,
Maybe we like the hooks,
For we so cling to them,
Maybe we think
The hook is some kind
Of brass ring.
Ha ha ha.

Fourth Line

2007-10-21T20:05:00.000-07:00

Wind of confusion
hiding simple truths
I gave my heart to
long ago.

Not forgotten,
only briefly clouded
by floating dust
of old temptations.

And by tears
that blur my vision,
summoning fantasies
long abandoned.

I turn away,
in solitary stillness
of my own
free will.

Treasure found
yet never held,
only in the giving
is there joy.

Thirst

2007-10-12T19:59:00.000-07:00

When I was very little and got thirsty, I'd imagine I was in the desert, parched, staggering amid the dunes, aaaaah, for some water! I'd wait as long as I could and then fill a glass from the tap (my oasis) -- it was so delicious, so precious, and I appreciated it so much.

Still do that every now and then.

Audioblog

2007-09-27T20:48:00.000-07:00

Wrote a new tune. Title is "Carry On." I suggest that when you listen to it, you turn the volume down - it's a'capella and sung over the phone so there is some distortion.

Here goes.

Auld Manhattoe #2

Realm of Desire

2007-09-18T22:30:00.000-07:00

Wanting, wanting,
waves of desire,
and in its own fulfillment
wanting to want
yet again.

Caught in net,
useless struggle,
net tightens,
no escape,
no surrender.

Puissant wisemen
laugh at my tears,
seeing only
pure sweet
bliss.

Heart Moves

2007-09-06T11:45:00.000-07:00

easy to drown
in the sea of love,
wave rises high,
decending in force
upon the open heart,
and in the struggle
oh it's easy to drown
in the sea of love.

easy to flow
in the sea of love,
riding high wave,
resting in its wake.
rhythm of emotion,
rising and falling,
flowing free
in the sea of love.

Treasure Hunt

2007-09-03T21:54:00.000-07:00

Lay back on soft grass
and look up at the stars,
on a late summer evening,
hearing frogs and
cicadas, owls, small
creatures, music of the night.

Spacious ease,
vast vault of sky above,
welcoming earth below,
stars mesmerizing the eye,
such great nurture
and consolation.

And perhaps nearby,
the sound of water,
lapping at the shore
all the elements
laying richly
before me.

Seems so simple,
but here in eastcoast clutter,
not so easy
to find.

Piper

2007-08-31T18:49:00.000-07:00

High times, mad carousing and utter belonging, oh spiteful joys of the inside we parvenues from outside, grinning cruelty of our new coronations, he said "if only someone would tell me what I was doing wrong I could change," and we hated him for that, so freshly out of the despised life ourselves, and he was cast out.

Smoothing ourselves out we became mirrors glinting bright stars and in our sparkling hysteria we felt free as the bars descended upon us, fools in paradise, hearts grown hard and makeup thick, layers of velvet and brocade, oh finally the belonging and we were inside only by virtue of their being outside.

Breaking free, breathing cold air of disenfranchisement and possibilities, loneliness a balm, a guide, now all existence is mine, all belonging to everyone and everything rejecting nothing, accepting dirt and diamonds all the same, paying the price with my last thin dime.

Fatuous

2007-08-30T11:56:00.000-07:00

must be this damned cold
or whatever it is that's
laying me low

like two seasoned warriors
they argue over hopeless battles
where dirty deeds
were done

in mad queenly delusions
I throw my royal sash
to one I believe
the victor

in rhapsodies of
senseless lust,
over this hero
I roll my eyes,

yes, I throw my sash,
and it lies, wanly
on the ground,
unnoticed.

Toast Triangles

2007-08-26T10:14:00.000-07:00

Sick, head feels stuffed with cotton, can't think, when I was little my ma was my nurse, indomitable, nothing could hurt me, it seemed, as long as she was there, she'd bring me meals on trays and all I remember was she'd cut my perfectly buttered toast into triangles instead of squares and that would comfort me. Best toast in the world, cut into triangles.

Confusion

2007-08-22T21:16:00.000-07:00

ought to be asleep, it's late, the weather has turned goofy, cold days in August, makes me disoriented, knowing by the weekend it'll be back up in the 90's. good sleeping weather tonight, but here I am, awake, aah. this time so confusing, big loads of knowledge poured into me, not knowing whether it'll take or just pour right back out of me again, so many people, retreats and advances, oh I got nothing to write, just big confusions and encounters, esoteric conversations as he painted my white hutch red with white lotuses and green leaves, swirling blue waters, golden decorations on the corners, smells of turpentine, he left an empty box of pringles potato chips, I've never eaten them, they scare me with their perfection. I like my potato chips individualistic, each one different, like snowflakes. and today, on 51st Street I was having a smoke with Nancy, we were talking and all of a sudden we saw a big red tour bus, every seat filled with Santa Clauses. and later I saw 4 of them on the corner of 51st and 6th Avenue handing out flyers for the Radio City Music Hall Christmas show. I wish the seasons would not be rushed that way but the mad advertisers will not be stopped. my upstairs neighbor has a black cat, her name is Buster and I pet her through the spokes of the staircase every now and then as she wanders the hallways. oh confusion, wouldn't know clarity if it fell on my head and knocked me over. clouds in the blue sky, they are temporary but they feel like forever.

I Know Just How You Feel, LaVerne

2007-08-16T21:18:00.000-07:00

LaVerne Baker, baby ...

(All credit to funknroll at YouTube.)

So What?

2007-08-16T19:09:00.000-07:00

I heard him playing the piano
So what?
I saw him blowing on the horn
So what?
I felt the rhythm of the drummer
So what
I heard a tune all newly born
So what?

Jam session in big loft in what used to be the Flower District, Charlie couldn't play the sax worth shit but it was his loft so he played long solos with a great rhythm section bass, drums, piano, they didn't care and besides, Charlie composed great bebop tunes, the place filled with the sound, I was the only audience.

In smoky dim lit places, sometimes only a couple other people in the audience, sometimes only me, feeling like jazz queen at command performance, they didn't care, they played the same way no matter how large or small the audience, they could play for ten hours at a time in the recording studio and want to go for more, just to play, and after the best solo, Joe would always grimace, say he just didn't do what he heard in his head, after wailing on the barry sax until everyone was shivering.

I sat in and sang once at a gig when I had laryngitis, sounded so awful that Alan could barely talk to me afterwards, he was so angry I had disgraced him in front of his group, couple months later I sat in again and did one of our originals, sang it well, the guys were so relieved they overdid it complimenting me, Alan was redeemed.

Betty was the best singer, she'd get mad at me for lipsinking when she'd perform, I didn't care, couldn't help it, we'd write songs together on the telephone, Betty, Alan and me, we'd be hanging out at home in Manhattan, Betty would be in Staten Island, I'd be writing at lightning speed before we forgot the words, being whirled around in the creation, had to grab the lyrics fast before they disappeared from mind.

I'd listen to Charlie Parker and Monk and Miles, Coltrane, and then I'd read volumes of books about them, couldn't get enough of it. That sound, the times, the times, and I found out today that Max Roach died.

Beyond the Blues

2007-08-12T18:20:00.000-07:00

pulling up anchor,
setting sail,
chart to guide me,
a captain,
a crew.

far away,
from all I know,
sailing away,
beyond the blues.

Nightprowlkitty

2007-08-10T21:37:00.000-07:00

True story -- how I got my name. Wrote this a while back, it describes the birth of Nightprowlkitty in August of 2002, mad palindrome year when everything changed.

THE ALLEY

In the alley late at night
In the street light bright,
There's a fight at the site
But I'm all right,
Taking flight
In a sideways motion
To the back brick devotion
Of the alley.

In those places,
No faces,
And the spaces
Fit me like a deep black glove,
Strange love-a-dove
In the alley.

Then I heard a sound
All around, unbound
Made the ground pound
To a crazy beat,
Moving meat of the feet
Heat melt sleet slipping
In the alley.

Blue light beam
Hit the trashcan cover,
Made it seem like a theme
In a dream of wonder,
Not under, but
Way high, where the stars lie
Over the alley.

Like moth to a flame
I came, no shame
Right up to the blue
No name dream beam.
Didn't do much, just touch.
But such a fraction of action
Caused enough attraction,
To whip me up on a trip
To the hip spaceship
High above the alley.

There he was
King of the cats
Cool cat, no fool cat
Flying high
In the starlit sky
Over my alley.

Heard the rhythm and the beat
Where the narrow alleys meet
Not sweet like soda shop neat
Main Street.
Deep in bone of soul,
Rhythm & Blues
Rock & Roll,
The whole raw heart
Of the alley.

In his satellite mix
Got a fix
Like a needle in the vein,
Got a shot like
A hot tot of rotgut whiskey
On a cold gutter night
In the alley.

Came back down
To the same town,
Looked around,
Still heard the sound in the night
Felt right,
As I made my way
And vowed to stay
In the alley.

Heart Struggles

2007-08-02T17:00:00.000-07:00

No use asking
stars and moon
to grant my heart ease

No use looking
for miracles,
for magic

Or think
it reasonable,
to expect resolution

My heart will sail
its turbulent sea,
settling where it will

To cry the modernwoman
mantra of "closure!"
is nothing but a sham.

Love doesn't work that way.

Quick

2007-07-31T18:06:00.001-07:00

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.

Open

2007-07-15T17:24:00.000-07:00

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.

Fashion Memoirs

2007-07-14T19:09:00.000-07:00

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.

He Said

2007-07-11T19:25:00.000-07:00

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,
useless.

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

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

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

Imagine!
Something real,
not real,
there,
not there,

Imagine!
gazing, unfraid,
into the unknowable.

My Fire

2007-07-10T19:00:00.000-07:00

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.

Tell Me 'Bout It

2007-06-27T18:19:00.000-07:00

Rimbaud you were flamboyant
with your derangement of the senses!
But you got nothing on me!
Even with your wanderings,
through revolutionary cities,
with bad companions
and outrageous gestures,
ah, the outward show
of such social rejection!
And you certainly drew
all the slings and arrows!
(Oh I just saw lightning
outside my window,
heard big bangs of thunder!)

Yeah, anyway
you were all decked out
in detrius of cultures
long dead, still walking,
wrote your mad cryptic poems
to accolades of the avante garde,
how nice.

No, no, you misunderstand!
I am not comparing my poetry to yours,
my pen scratchings,
visions from high mountaintop
and low swamps.

No, but you still,
you got nothing on me,
I can arrogantly proclaim this
with full confidence and
utter defiance!

You knew it had nothing to do with art,
and so did all your goofy friends,
even Kerouac and Ginsberg knew,
it wasn't about art, it never was,
it was all about the
brief mad apprehension (ah, ah,
big lightning now,
crashing thunder,
the rain finally falls,
a good thing,
for the heat of the day
was oppressive in New York City,
I woke up this morning literally reeling from it.)

A Painting on the Wall

2007-06-14T20:08:00.000-07:00

The little boy is sitting
in a tipped over chair,
holding his admiral hat
in his raised right hand.

The chair is black velvet
with golden fringe,
he looks quite poised
in this tumbled over position.

What do I know of
cowardice or courage,
So easily confused
in funhouse mirrors
of desire and passion?

Or the difference between
deliberation and indifference?
Ah, there is no clairvoyance
in me, no special insight.

He sits upon the tumbled
black velvet chair,
wearing yellow and blue,
stiff ruff at wrist and neck.

Relaxed even in disarray,
I suppose he could easily arise.

Tools of the Trade

2007-06-06T20:33:00.001-07:00

I never wished to be
a scientist,
yet always gazed
with wonder
upon gleaming glass
beakers filled with
colored liquids
of mysterious recipe.

And although faint
at the sight of blood,
I thrilled to the
shine of surgical
instruments upon
immaculate mirror
of steel trays.

In childhood,
the contents of
my brother's leather
shaving kit
became my top secret
spy paraphernalia
as I would slink
through my home,
collecting evidence
of villainy and crime.

And oh, the frustration
of reckless shopping,
purchasing tools I
lacked the expertise
to employ, seduced
by appearance, blind
to utility,
abandoned
to disuse.

And now, oh now
I have golden statues,
jewel colored pictures
of great intricacy,
Small, heavy brass cymbals
connected by rawhide
thong, chiming
endless pure tones.

I have bamboo boxes
filled with precious secret recipes
of rare substances from
far away lands,
esoteric texts
of great antiquity,
and strings of fragrant
sandalwood beads,
that never
gather dust.

High and Low

2007-05-24T17:26:00.000-07:00

Kings and princes
Powers of principalities
so far above, they seem,
so far away, they seem.

And the one
who will journey
through the kingdom,
the one who will meet
his subjects, ah, oh,
that one is fated for joy.

Idols and gods,
Glorious music of the universe
So far above, they seem,
So far away, they seem.

And the one
who will pray and
offer herself as vessel,
and after, offer herself
to the people, ah, oh
that one is fated for joy.

High and low!
Oh, through the
confounding of fires,
confusion of waters ,
dispersion of air,
and weight of earth,
when willingly met, ah, oh
we are fated for joy.

Subway Story

2007-05-14T21:35:00.000-07:00

I hear their voices call out the stops.
They work, standing,
in a tiny room built into
one of the moving cars,
men and women, letting us know
"there's a train ahead,
we should be moving shortly,
please be patient,"
(tho it always annoys me
when they say "please be
patient," as I prefer
"thank you for your
patience," it's classier).

And they call out the stops
into the handheld
loudspeaker microphone,
in that tiny room
with its one window
and a metal door,
their wide ranging voices
making them seem
larger than life,
heard from every car
on the train.

And I always like it
when I get off the train,
to see the face behind
the voice, as they
stick their necks out
the window of the train,
to see what's up ahead,
and to let us know
the next stop.

Love in a Far Away Land

2007-05-08T19:42:00.000-07:00

He fell in love in Lviv.
I knew it as Lemberg,
site of a thousand tales
from an old book
I read as a girl.

He walked down streets
of old Ukrainian city, resonant
with history, unchanged,
unlike bland Soviet
architecture that had
erased the glories
of so many
old places.

He fell in love in Lviv,
and I don't know the season,
but it had to have been
romantic in film noir ways,
turn of head,
lift of jaw,
eyes meeting eyes,
the first kiss.

Ah, were they inside?
Inside old hotel room
redolent of history, with
chandeliers and faded velvet drapes?

Or perhaps
outdoors, in a park,
in green springtime
or in shining snow of winter,
perhaps in front of stately
and beautiful cathedral.

No matter, he fell in love in Lviv,
a city I read of as Lemberg,
many things happened there,
and love, ah no doubt, love, too.

The 10,000 Things

2007-04-23T19:40:00.000-07:00

Young women wearing ballet flats
and giant sun-glasses, saw
young man with brown eyes
reading something about America
written by a famous liberal,
while on the train to Astoria
at the end of the workday.

Outside it was warm,
Sophie said she just couldn't
come into the building this morning,
from such lovely weather, even
though she was early for work,
she just sat there, outside,
unable to move, ended
up ten minutes late.

Yesterday I pulled up
mint plants by the roots,
used a spade, loosened the dirt,
then pulled up the roots, I wore
a hat in the blazing sun.
The teahouse is going to
have outdoor garden seating,
Gwen is clearing the patch of land,
and will lay down small stones and
pots of flowers among
the plastic chairs, the
iron tables, and green umbrellas.

The smell of Bhutanese incense,
mixed with warm breezes from
my open window, ah
the intoxication of warmth
after such cold season.

Peekaboo

2007-04-11T10:23:00.000-07:00

So tell me,
should I pursue?
should I hold still?

Tell me,
will something happen?
not happen?

Full of questions,
you see, yes.
Was it my fault?
did I do something wrong?

Will I get another chance?
do I want another chance?

Noises form into
endless veils
hiding my heart.

Feels like iron walls,
but it’s only sound,
only noise,
thinnest of veils.

Yet it feels like iron,
two feet thick,
surrounded by
four feet of concrete,
within which my heart beats,
making no sound at all.

Tall Tale

2007-03-27T18:49:00.000-07:00

Trusting to himself
he traveled far, and
gathered many treasures.

He was given
the power he sought
and used it wisely.

Amid the multitudes
he spent the wealth of nations,
but never for himself.

Now he has
a further charge,
a different equation.

Exiled king holding
neither army nor treasure
yet still laden with challenge.

A puzzle and riddle
yet to be solved,
as in the very beginning.

And this is not
from olden times,
this story.

Even in millennial
modernity, there is
still the quest of kings.

Spring Rain

2007-03-24T18:00:00.000-07:00

Evening rain pattering against my tall window, soothing me with natural beat rendering indoor life cozy, earlier it was sunny and warm with fresh aromas of spring. Rhythms of rain send me deep into reveries, make me smile to think of love, rich and resonant, bestowed upon me in such mysterious manner, safe harbor, port in a storm, ah.

Illicit

2007-03-22T18:50:00.000-07:00

Dark wood vanity with royal blue velvet powderpuff ottoman and three-way mirror, sounds of a light cold early spring rain outside, streaking down a dim-lit window, mixed with scratchy rendition of Billie singing the blues from an old Victrola, clear glass tumbler halfway filled with dark amber liquid, scent of cigarettes, perfume, whiskey and face powder, ah, a dim shaded tassled lamp casting warm yellow glow, always of an evening, demarcation of day into dark shadows of passion and rue, mysteries and long yearnings, setting the stage, ruby velvet curtains with golden braided ties, ah yes.

Choiceless

2007-03-18T19:33:00.000-07:00

Sure, I could float above it all, get philosophical, dwell in the air of who cares, it wouldn't be a lie, I possess all the powers of flight in the realm of the mind, it wouldn't be false, no.

Sure, I could sink into the heartbreak of the vanquished woman, wail the anguish of loneliness, snarl and rage, hang my head and eat at the trough of grief, dead eyed, it wouldn't be a lie, I possess all the powers of penetration into the pains of existence, it wouldn't be false, no.

It is not the truth I am seeking, though that is a worthy goal, nor redemption, acceptance, deliverance, ah, while life courses through me I grow tired of seeking, reacting, expecting. I am a deep pool of water, a cold and icy spring, meandering, a cloud racing across blue skies, approaching the summit, the high places, where words fall away, heart and mind join in the simple act of apprehending what is there.

Yikes

2007-03-13T16:09:00.000-07:00

Oh spring is springing in Auld Manhattoe, mindless rages and tight buds on tree branches not yet showing green. I was walking through the gallerias on my way to 52nd Street and I see a buncha guys repainting the giant round terracotta orange planters that grace the fine weather outdoor dining area of the adjoining restaurant and one of the fellows just burst out in expletives about some boss or other, oh I had to laugh as he bellowed "fuck that fucking fuck!" and they saw me laughing and they laughed too, but oh the edginess, we all are hit with it.

Me, I got a gripe of my own, those damned new N trains with their obscene fake almost musical sound as they move, it's enough to drive a person mad, almost music, almost rhythm, but neither, just mindless awful sound, the seats aren't deep enough, they're a putrid pastel blue that has already become scuffed, the automated woman's voice that announces the stops is hideously cheerful and when she announces "Broadway," you'd think she was getting a lascivious slurpy lick or two from some mad louche lover.

For this is New York after all, we got real live folks on the trains who sound like the rest of us and they ought to be announcing the stops, not this creepy automated voice. Ah, yikes, rages forming, foaming, flailing, and spring is on the way, oh yikes.

Audioblog - "They Can't Take That Away From Me"

2007-03-07T20:01:00.000-08:00

Gabcast! Auld Manhattoe #1

When you click the above it'll take you to the gabcast website, where you can hear me sing a tune with no music behind me, so be forwarned.

Unrelated Things

2007-03-06T15:58:00.000-08:00

Looking out my window, I saw a woman walking down 27th Street, all in black, coat, hat, gloves, skirt, boots, except for a long pure white scarf.

And today, it was so cold, bitter cold, icicles hanging from the ceiling of the 57th Street subway station, saw the light of an oncoming train, praying it was an N and not an R, but no, it was the R train, the doors opened and I stepped forward to get a bit of warmth and there was a young fellow in a green jacket and blue stocking hat playing Mozart beautifully on nice looking old violin, he finished the tune just as the doors closed and I saw him bow to the folks in the car.

Right after that I heard one of the new N trains on the other side of the platform, going downtown, they make the strangest sound when they move, synthetic violin-voice playing eerie tune in full notes, up and down, one, two (minor), three, hold then one, two three going down in register, off rhythm, can't get used to it, and inside, the cars speak up in canned announcer voices with no distinctive New York accent telling the station, telling the time, so new and modern.

March in Auld Manhattoe, too cold but sun sets later, spring is coming.

Swan O'Clock

2007-03-03T11:13:00.000-08:00

Ah, busy folks say laziness is serene and calm but it ain't so, no, just thin veil over deep anxiety, wake up, no matter how early, feel rushing time roaring, like mad monster truck bearing down upon you on desolate midnight highway, can't catch up, can't move, plans are stymied, sunk, minutes and hours clack by with nothing done while time passes, passes, in nightmare noise, ah, you try to grab a minute and it slips away, gibbering.

I dream of a kinder sort of time, apart from the ones and twos of the marching masses, a graceful time that is friend, not enemy. I call it swan o'clock, gliding in harmony with human heart, seeking and finding level of least resistance, gliding like swan on lotus covered lake, a friend giving you a lift up, an arm to lean upon as the day is bestowed like a cheerful gift, night is warmly received like soft wool blanket, ah, swan o'clock, that's the time for me.

Woman

2007-02-24T21:54:00.000-08:00

I see it all
And have no doubts
That what I found
Is good and true.
And I have struggled
Won and lost
And with it all,
Who don't know
What a woman needs?

I have a lease in Heaven,
I wouldn't sign
On the Devil's dotted line
And I am a woman
So it don't matter at all
Who don't know
What a woman needs?

I'll do what's put before me
And stay where I belong
But just for the record
I'm a woman
And who don't know
What a woman needs?

So gods and devils, have your way,
I'm not so strong,
As to defy you,
But still I say
I'm a woman
And who don't know
What a woman needs?

Destiny

2007-02-22T21:17:00.000-08:00

I remember she did a Tarot card reading for me and it was then I first considered the notion of destiny, that I had one, it seemed awful grand and cinematic, big story with plots and characters, adventures and such. This was something I had never believed back in mundane midwest, oh that was for movie stars and famous folks, not for the likes of me!

Dazzled by the notion of my Grand Destiny, yes, I felt it like some psychic breeze ruffling my consciousness! Every now and then, I'd meet someone or something would happen and I'd know it was Destiny, something I could not change, but over time I realized it could be shaped and responded to with heart and spirit.

And now of course, oh all I can do is laugh and sigh, oh Destiny, yes, accumulation of all my mad choices, and the smallest events were the real pivot, not the grand dramas. Endless possibilities collapse into the narrow path, and regrets seem as foolish as pride, in the wonder of completion.

Phases

2007-02-21T19:15:00.000-08:00

Waxing and waning, my interest was always captured by new moon, full moon, but that has changed. I no longer resonate to full or empty but now consider the fragments, slivers, crescents and quarters, tonight a sideways slender smile glowing silver bright in the dark night sky.

One Blade

2007-02-20T20:06:00.000-08:00

Yeah, I hear their big booming steps as they walk by and their big fat booming voices rhapsodizing of spring, "oh look, the grass is coming up, oh I love that bright spring green!" as they tramp around destroying everything in their clumsy paths!

How could they know the agony of the struggle, as I, small, with no great strength, push through mud and dirt, pulled by light of sustenance, of promised nourishment, pushing through solid unyielding ground, such painful miracle, pushing upward, blindly, not knowing where I will emerge, and then just a bit, a tiny bit of breakthrough, mere beginning of agonies of movement, only to hear their foolish booming voices saying how sweet I look, as they coo in utter ignorance over the hard birth of spring.

Goddess

2007-02-19T16:43:00.000-08:00

Oh it was a strange night at the bars, back in the day, oh that dress, how could a pile of cloth create such an experience?

It was sleeveless, black lace over flesh-colored silk, low cut in front and back, they dared me to wear it, and I remember the feeling when I looked at myself in the mirror, it was skin tight and it looked like I was naked underneath the delicate pattern of lace, uplifted breasts so white and exposed against the black decolletage, oh mama! Made up like crazed harlot, a fringe of false eyelashes, ruby red lips, butterfly blue and green eyeshadow, rosy rouge, stiletto heels with black silk stockings, sparkling rhinestone necklace and earrings, elbow length black gloves, and we all gaily stuffed ourselves in a yellow cab, off to the midwest waterfront dive bar.

I walked in the joint and it was immediate, the hungry attention, everyone there eating me up with their eyes, I felt a jolt of power that was not particularly pleasant, didn't know what to do with it, yet it made me even more present to the room, and I felt the growing crowd circling me, watching me, lusting for me, to touch me, maybe even tear me apart in curiosity and desire.

And the energy kept feeding upon itself, their attention, my alarm, looping back and forth, I didn't have to say a word or do a thing, it was better not to say anything, do anything, just be the floating sex goddess, walking by, even my friends who knew me well were captured by this energy, not of my own making alone, no it was created by the whole group, it was intoxicating and disturbing and it was only afterwards I thought about it, thought, oh that's how they felt, those movie queens, sex symbols, they must have felt this way at first and then gotten used to the power, learned how to wield it, perhaps made Marilyn Monroe mistakes and were burned and destroyed by it, ah, what a feeling.

My Blues

2007-02-18T16:49:00.000-08:00

My man he loved me,
Loved me day and night,
Oh my man he loved me,
Loved me day and night,
When that man was near me,
Everything was oh so right.

Kisses in the morning
Made my day so sweet
Oh his kisses in the morning
Made my day so sweet
And that lovin' in the evenin'
Knocked me off my feet.

Then my man done quit me,
Never told me why
Oh my man done quit me,
Never told me why,
I guess I'll have to
Just curl up and die.

Yeah I'm livin' in the blues,
No place else to be,
Livin' deep in the blues,
No place else to be,
And I'll be waitin' for my baby,
Till the sun dries up the sea.

Riddle

2007-02-15T20:24:00.000-08:00

All the clues are scattered
Like puzzle pieces flung by
Great gusty winds.

And there is no guide
Save the common golden cord,
The knowing that resides within.

Through all bewilderment it abides,
The knowing, even within mad
and ever changing puzzles.

There is indeed a picture
formed, already complete,
needing no further search.

It is a riddle, a question,
An ever moving tide,
That finally meets the shore.

Country Winter

2007-02-14T21:41:00.000-08:00

Living in the big farm house, it was a holiday or some special occasion, ma cooking up a storm in warm kitchen and I go outside with my 3 brothers, big drifts of snow in the woods across the country road, there's an open clearing there, too, and I get myself all wet and messy hurling myself into clean white powder in ecstacies of cold discomfort, don't even recall what the boys did, I was covered in snow, moving madly to some inner rhythm, knowing warmth and good food awaited me, like small animal in mindless happiness, the white snow, my brothers near in case of monster attack, ma and my sisters in the kitchen, no chores for me, just snow and movement, spaciousness of time, oh joy.

Valentine

2007-02-13T18:06:00.000-08:00

A melody winds through my heart,
and does not stop.
Though love has not appeared
in quotidian form, it is here,
oh it is in my heart, and
once given cannot be returned.
That is the way of love.

My love is a foolish thing,
And my love is very wise,
A risk and a gamble,
tossed and turned every which way
I taste all the emotions,
sweet and bitter, light and dark,
and it is all love, ah.
That is the way of love.

I have regrets and I have none,
I am happy and I am sad,
I rage and I accept, I am
a woman with all the follies thereof.
And so my heart is full,
even as I have given it away.
That is the way of love.

Luxury

2007-02-11T19:34:00.000-08:00

Warm blanket on cold feet, the feeling of drowsiness just before you fall asleep, waking up knowing there's no work, the day is yours, ah, luxury.

Cool breeze on a hot day, flock of birds on the wing in sunshine against blue blue sky, hot chocolate made the old fashioned way and not from a packet, ah, luxury.

First moment of awakening, before cares and worries of life descend upon the consciousness, ah, luxury.

To eat a taco without any of the insides falling out, well maybe not luxury, but certainly a fine thing.

Puffy Jackets

2007-02-09T17:58:00.000-08:00

She wore a winter white jacket, all puffed with down or a synthetic thereof, soft white fur around the hood, the jacket was short and she wore a white sweater underneath it, looked so clean and fresh, pristine like new fallen snow.

And then there was the couple standing next to me on the train, a study in brown, his jacket was a fine corduroy, also all puffed with some insulation, hers was shiny satiny chocolate, she wore a black beret, they leaned in to each other, embracing, as the train moved and I saw her lay her head upon his shoulder.

Cold days in Auld Manhattoe, the sun shining brightly, no snow, but oh so cold.

Cold Snap

2007-02-07T19:48:00.000-08:00

So cold in Auld Manhattoe, can see your breath coming out in plumes of white, seats on subway that normally hold six now hold five due to puffy down coats and jackets.

After ascending the subway stairs I walk through three gallerias to 52nd Street, each one distinctive and lovely in their own way but mostly they cut the wind, jaywalk across the streams of cars separating the gallerias, then through heavy revolving doors, aah, warmth!

And I noticed that at the 57th Street subway station, by the tracks where there's always leaks and streams of water from rainy days, there were large icicles hanging down from the ceiling, rendering the place mysterious and cavelike.

Thirteen Poems

2007-02-04T20:43:00.000-08:00

I walked about, found a spot by a stream, if I recall correctly, it was nice outside, oh, so long ago, memory is hazy with only a few clear recollections, yes I think it was nice and the grass was green, had a bit of solitude. Wracked my brain, oh thirteen poems for thirteen years and each one to be written in honor of a family member.

And I had done this for all her four sons, written 13 poems to be recited by me in candle-lighting ceremony, 13 poems in a style not my own, yet my own words and thoughts, and yes, they would praise me, oh what a talent you have! My, my, isn't that wonderful! And I would smile and thank them, and no, I didn't mind doing it, why not do it, what else did I have to offer from my strange and silly life?

And I wrote by the stream, I think it was a nice sunny day, and I recall doing that, being in solitude and writing 13 poems and I did a poem each for various virtues and qualities, honor, love, courage, all that. Oh and yes, for the great event itself I wore a blue and white dress with full skirt, diagonal stripes of sky blue and white, I loved that dress, with white high heels and my hair was dark and long.

And it wasn't my style, nothing I'd ever write for myself, from my own inspiration, no it wasn't my style at all, but she said I had to do this, wouldn't be fair not to do it for all of them, so I wrote 13 poems and recited them aloud in my blue and white dress, to the flickering of candles, as 13 different honored relatives lit each one, in the temple, where he underwent ancient manhood rite of passage.

Uh Huh

2007-02-03T18:24:00.000-08:00

Oh I saw the wise ones, kind ones,
Uh huh.

Oh I saw the lonely ones, sad ones,
Uh huh.

Oh I felt the deepest love of the heart,
Uh huh.

Oh I felt the awful pain of loneliness,
Uh huh.

And the beauty of the morning,
Uh huh.

And the grace of twilight,
Uh huh.

And the terror of the night,
Uh huh.

It all goes round and round,
Ever changing, ever changing,

Yet within the eternity of change,
Even of the heart, mind, body,

Even within that spinning wheel,
There is a place,
Uh huh.

A place of peace,
Uh huh.

A still small voice,
Uh huh.

In all the pain, and
all the joy, all the
living and dying,
Uh huh.

So I Asked

2007-02-01T19:23:00.000-08:00

I asked him, what's up, and he told me many things. About treasure, yes, finding treasure and what to do, keep it, hide it in a hole somewhere, like mad pirate who'll need a stash by and by, or perhaps not, perhaps spread it around like Robin Hood, oh and somehow though both are bandits, I liked the notion of spreading it around, and he told me this was something people rarely do, and then oh, the blessings, for after all, he said, to bless means to help. So a big treasure, the diamond and ruby and gold kind, oh the wonders of beholding and oh the temptation to fall under the bewitching spell of all that sparkle and gleam, nothing prettier than treasure, after all.

And then to be wild and give it all away, spread it around like that, and what would happen next, I asked him? He gravely told me I would then encounter the path less traveled, indeed, one ruled by no convention or social acceptance, sounded spooky! Without possession or position, yet encompassing all of life, navigating the shoals of love always with an eye to the stars, the sun and the moon, oh he told me many things, the life of the outsider illuminated by his answer to my simple question.

Trouble In Mind

2007-01-31T19:38:00.000-08:00

That's what she sang, as she wailed, yes, wailed for her man, in unabashed heartbreak, she vows "sun's gonna shine in my back door some day," for in that wail is nothing but love gone wrong and troubled mind, the light and the dark places of the heart, and the sun's gonna shine, she sings it like hand waving high in a gospel choir, palm open, waving into the air above the head, reaching for the sky, reaching for heaven.

She knows love may never come her way, she knows and yet she wails the affirmation like a prayer in church, "sun's gonna shine in my back door some day," if not now, if not in this life, if not in eternity, don't matter, she wails it like a hand waving high right up to heaven.

Winter

2007-01-30T20:30:00.000-08:00

First snow of the season
here in Astoria,
falling gently
outside my window.

I listen to songs
from far away, from
cold mountains,
sung by kind men.

My heart beats
in its sad home
singing its own
quiet tune.

The Right Time

2007-01-29T18:16:00.000-08:00

And Ray sang "night time is
the right time
to be with the one you love,"
oh baby, yes he did, he
sang those words, and
others before him
sang them too.

Night time, in cold Astoria,
with fitful steam heat
and waxing moon
glaring balefully at me
from deep black sky,
as I entertain
a far different
guest.

First Contact

2007-01-28T11:07:00.000-08:00

Yeah, silly for a down and beat kitty to say, yeah, silly but true, oh it must have been fine for the ladies in the days of formal dances, meeting a fellow on the floor, to be touched in socially acceptable fashion, to fine music, to steps accepted and known by all, the waltz, foxtrot, tango, or earlier, the minuet, sarabande, grand waltz, ah, to meet a man on the floor, to move together for the first time, touching in breathless exploration, or in Western square dances of great intricacy, allowing bodies to move to the beat of the caller's voice, allemande left, allemande right, honor your partner, switching partners in reels and oh mercy, one may leave you wanting, the other leave you wanting more!

Important courtship ritual blown to smithereens by modern sexual revolution, oh the irony, rituals disdained, as false and brittle modernity papers over primal need with pompous sophistications, ah, the dance cards at the old balls, where one didn't know which partner would appear as the next song began, breathless anticipations, first contact, yeah that sends me, baby, just the very notion.

Circus of the Heart

2007-01-27T15:50:00.000-08:00

Funhouse mirrors, infinite images and who's to know which is real, drawn there by shiny reflections so easy to enter and difficult to leave? And there's freakshows of two headed calves and bearded ladies, luring easy marks with fascinating strangeness, cotton candy swirls of pink perfection so sweet to eat, high wire scares in the big top, white faced clowns with big red noses tumbling out of little cars.

And what is real amid this carnival profusion, oh minotaurs of mysteries, done went and lost that string, so wandering lost in circus of the heart, distractions of mad jugglers and painted wagons, thrown high on creaky rides with names like rocketship ranger and high dive heaven, stalked by roars of caged lions and tigers, victim of barkers offering commemorative china plates in exchange for bullseye hits, mercy, mercy, got no aim, but oh, ain't that a cute teddybear, wonder if that child over there will grab the brass ring from atop her painted pony, round and round.

Pop Ya Old Dustmop

2007-01-26T15:19:00.000-08:00

The mad years growing up with you and your infinite imagination, freethinker, storyteller, flatterer, stupors of barbituates and prune juice and frowns we would imitate with glee, master of answering a question with a question, slippery character, allowing freedoms that verged into license, ah, your Russian melodramas left us unmoved, extravagant professions of love more for your sake than for our own.

Traveled so young, from violence of Europe to midwest melting pot, you were a fighter when the gangs came around, got your nose flattened and flattened a few yourself, went swimming in January with fellow polar bear clubbers, a foolish life of doing not so much after big burnout in Acme manufactory, always reading and we never knew what you really thought or felt about anything, ah, pop you old dustmop, you went on and on how I would miss you greatly after you died, and I do miss you, tho not with the wailings you would prefer.

I gave your eulogy and my brothers cried, the rabbi took a copy, I wrote it for revenge, you would have approved.

Winning

2007-01-22T16:24:00.000-08:00

There was a time, a season, where we would play marathon Monopoly games, don't know why, it was a big passion. Choosing the little icons, car, train, top hat, thimble, dog, and then tossing the dice, going round and round the board. Endlessly fascinating, buying up properties, playing fast and loose with multicolored money, nope, rarely would I be the banker, being the youngest and all, and oh I loved the "chance" cards, never knew what you'd get, or lose.

One day as we were playing, I was winning, luck of the draw, I guess, and Danny, he got this look on his face, I knew something was going to happen. He took the board and turned it upside down, he said "I call it. I win."

Well he called it. And in those days you could call something and it would be so, like those magic abracadabra words. And I just sat there, bewildered, 'cause he called it, so he must've won. First time I realized the game could be changed! And really, he did win. For I've never remembered any other of those many many games, but I always remembered that one.

My Place

2007-01-20T06:59:00.000-08:00

It's got a big welcome mat, one of those dun colored things, wipe your shoes if you've been out in the mud, just washed the floor, yes, come on in, have a drink, relax, there are any number of things to do.

There's music to soothe the soul, and stories to tell and to hear, there's quiet for reflection, freedom to wander and do as you will, there's food and drink, games for fun, riddles and mysteries for spice.

Everyone is welcome, who am I to judge? After all, you never know who'll be needed for times to come. There's journeys ahead, hard journeys and hard tasks, destinies and fates, so come on in, only please make sure to wipe your shoes on the mat, cause I just washed the floor.

Kitty and Coyote (an American phantasy)

2007-01-19T12:21:00.000-08:00

I’m Kitty from New York City, I’m walking around midtown looking in the department store windows at wowed out mannequins in their fine couture clothing and all of a sudden a black and gold stretch limousine pulls up, a uniformed chauffer comes out, grabs me, and before I know it I’m in that big bad car and who should I see sitting next to me but Coyote!

You don’t know Coyote? Well I shouldn’t be surprised, but really, you ought to know him. Spent a lot of time over on that left coast, in the four corners region of these great United States bounded by the sacred mountains, Blanca Peak to the East and Mt. Taylor to the South in New Mexico; San Francisco Peak to the West in Arizona; LaPlata Mountains to the North in Colorado, hung out with the Navajos and helped develop their civilization. But oh, you know Coyote’s been around forever, I mean, man FOREVER! Like, since before anything!

So I figure I’d better enjoy the ride, because there’s no point in fighting such a powerful totem god. “What you want with me?” I ask innocently. “Oh Kitty,” Coyote says, “we’re going to Atlantic City! I’ve decided to teach you something about gambling.” And I say, “well okay,” cause I know Coyote is the greatest teacher of them all, bending boundaries, experimenting with the very cosmology of existence, and I figure well, it’s an honor, isn’t it, to be chosen to be part of his great curriculum?

Now we’re rolling along in this groovy limousine drinking champagne and eating big spoonfuls of caviar like gluttons, and in no time we arrive at the wildest casino this Kitty has ever seen! Alabaster marble mahogany silk satin inlaid ivory Persian carpeted, and in the center of the gambling room the biggest roulette wheel I’d ever seen!

I gather I’m gonna play roulette and learn how to gamble, but Coyote has different plans for me. I am going to BE the gamble, not do the gambling! All of a sudden I feel myself turning, changing into something … what’s this? I’m shrinking! In a snap Coyote has turned me into that little white plastic ball and the croupier tosses me and whee! I’m flying around the wheel and people are standing all round making bets. And I feel just fine and wonder where I’ll land!

But oh, it’s never that easy when you’re with Coyote. Cause just about the time I’m gonna land, a big hand snatches me off the wheel and I end up in someone’s pocket and next thing I know I’m back to being Kitty from New York City only now I’m in some gangster’s gambling pad waiting on tables for very little money and lousy working conditions and a really ugly uniform! -- and I’m not happy about this at all ! I’d like to just get ahold of that Coyote for one moment and then I’d really let him have it! This game was rigged!

But lo, once again I’m back on the wheel and the croupier is spinning again and whee! I forget to be mad at Coyote and am enjoying the ride like wild, oh it’s so fun to be spun! But once again someone cheats and this time I find myself in the Far East in some really divey horrible place of sin and squalor, and I don’t even want to go into what happened there, but let’s say it was quite a relief when once again, just as I’m feeling at the end of my rope I am transformed back to the wheel and finally, oh sweet Big Apple Mama, this time nobody grabs me and I land! I land just where I’m supposed to land, right on the slot and someone wins and others lose but I’m having the time of my life!

Then in a snap I’m back to being Kitty from New York City and Coyote and I are sitting at this giant midnight blue slab of alabaster bar drinking martinis and Coyote says, “Well, Kitty, how did you like gambling?” And I say, “well Coyote, I figure it’s not how you spin, it’s not how you fall, it’s just how you land!” And Coyote laughs his great big laugh, gives me a great big kiss and vanishes, leaving me with only a sawbuck, so I end up in one of those big busses with the blue haired ladies and finally get back to New York, but oh daddyo, I’ll never fear falling again or even being grabbed in the gamble, cause now I learned from the great Coyote and that’s why kitties always land on their feet!

Wantchu, Gotchu

2007-01-17T17:23:00.000-08:00

Got a boogie woogie jones, wanna hear that backbeat, yeah, wanna drink bad liquor, dance to smeared beats and pounding rhythms under dim dim lights, wantchu, gotchu, oh wantchu, gotchu.

Got a deep down crave for maximum drive, why do those words swing me so, wantchu, gotchu, I gotta laugh, yeah, gotta laugh, wantchu, gotchu, move to the backbeat, to the swirl of darkness of an evening, oh daddy.

I hear the music even in the silence of a lonely room, even in bad moods and worn out solitudes, feel the rhythm, it moves me, moves my hips to swing and my shoulders to shimmy, gotta laugh, wantchu, gotchu, gotta party real low down, oh daddy.

Before the New Moon

2007-01-16T15:31:00.000-08:00

Cold day in Astoria, steam heat hiss is a welcome sound, at last, at last. Thinking of warm Florida days, of breezes and ocean waves, bluegreen waters and open air breakfast, pink flamingoes and pastel houses, ignominies of American travel, homecoming, ah, it's cold today and the hiss is a welcome sound.

Preparations and packing, misgivings and anticipations, and now over, the relief, over, and emptiness, oh empty of thoughts and schemes, empty of confidence and will, the cycle continues, and the new moon is only two days away.

Visions

2007-01-10T16:40:00.000-08:00

Just a scene, a glimpse,
A large cave and in the cave
a still pool of water.
A woman stands
at the edge of the pool,
her face still,
traces there
of former cares and struggles,
and of battles
still to come.

But now still,
contemplating the smooth surface
of the water, empty of intent
Moment of absolute reflection.
Just a scene, a glimpse
That comes to me
Every now and then.

The Well

2007-01-09T12:31:00.000-08:00

All the creatures pushing and shoving at the well, each wants their share, lots of fighting and cursing, and it is strange, astonishing, that one would think existence is limited, that there's not enough to go around, all that shoving, pushing, snarling, yelling, scheming, all of it useless in the face of such vast provision, no one gets one bit more or less than the other.

Pleasure is hoarded and treasures amassed in big king of the hill games, all distractions, all ephemeral cloud kingdoms, so easily dissolved in the face of spacious existence, eternal glee of giving with no thought or care for return, endless replenishment and ease, oh ho ho, the well is never to be possessed, always to be enjoyed, play the games as we will.

Cinderella

2007-01-07T17:54:00.000-08:00

Living on the cheap in East Side Milwaukee student flat with other backward children, frantic to break free of quotidian and provincial surroundings, we played pretend with single minded furies of imagination, and yes one day, oh one day they transformed a very young woman, 18 years old she was, oh an egghead for sure, somewhat bent in the brain, wearing the inevitable 70s costume of workshirt and bluejeans, living somewhere in the vicinity of her head, not knowing there was a woman's body there, oh no.

And the flat was bohemian, or as close as it could get, artists lived there, and several mannequins graced the place, one named Jeanette, her costumes obtained from the Not So Far From Zanzibar second hand store, glorious relics from past ages of glamour, and one particular item a black lace corset, changed everything.

One night, bored, the artists persuaded the very young woman to play, and dressed her in the corset, two sizes small, gave a va va voom hourglass shape, curvy and sexy (cleavage she didn't know she had!) but then oh what to wear? For there was the ball to attend, of course, can't just go in a corset, oh at least not in those days. So a black dress was found, with padded shoulders and three quarter length sleeves, flaring skirt, oh Miss 40s, yep, oh and on with black seamed stockings and high heeled shoes, hair done up in wild style with a million bobbypins and red, red lipstick, the whole nine yards, oh and no one even recognized her, the boyfriend's jaw dropped, and off to the ball, a night of music and dancing and wild revelry, ah, the first transformation of many to come.

A Certain Evening

2007-01-06T16:05:00.000-08:00

On a mild and windy evening, oh hearing the sounds of the night, sounds evoking stories, stories shared by two hearts, stories by the fire, oldest comfort known to humankind, oh on this mild and windy evening, I am here, yes here in my little Astoria brownstone apartment, but I am somewhere else as well, yes somewhere else.

On a mild and windy evening, I am sitting on a porch somewhere, not alone, no, there's someone with me, and as we listen to the sounds of the night on this mild and windy evening, we tell tales, grand and mysterious tales set to fantastical natural soundtrack of of wild creatures, tree frogs, great horned owls, creatures that fly and creatures that crawl. And we tell our stories, shared by two hearts, the sounds and sensations of the mild and windy evening intoxicating our souls like fine old wine.

Welcome

2007-01-05T10:53:00.000-08:00

Dunno why, oh just daydreaming, about a place, somewhere down on the Lower East Side, oh not as it is now all gentrified, but as it was back then, any time back then, seedy and honest in its humanity, the good and the bad.

And a place, a big kinda space, with a kitchenette to make food and everyone is welcome, but the guests are poor, the winos and the bums, the misfits and the downtrodden, they are the guests and they find a friend here, and there's music, too, a whole big corner stage with instruments already there to be picked up and played, there's old time gospel music sung by wounded hearts, there's jazz and country, and everyone is fed.

And I know everyone there by first name and they know me, I run the place, see ... and I'm no sap, just a hard worker, making good food and a good space for all this joyous sound and fellowship, no expectations or judgments, just gathering for nourishment, body and soul.

Walk in the door, you are welcome, you will hear music that is real and without artifice, join in conversation that is plain as fresh bread, see the sad beat faces of humanity, hear their stories and tell a few of your own.

And oh my indulgence, yes, to get up and sing every now and then, or tell a poem, not for any audience, but just part of the day's work, no matter who is there, long as there's someone to play the horn or beat the drum or plonk on the piano, oh that is what I see, when I'm daydreaming, such a place, a fine place.

Memoirs

2007-01-04T08:13:00.000-08:00

Remembering, walking over snowdrifts, praying to invisible spirits, "oh let this be different." Cold day it was, don't remember the month. And yes, it was different, but not quite in the way I had asked.

Remembering way back, he wanted to say goodbye, going off to the army, I didn't want him to go, I was very young, six or so, I ran away, ran away to the shed, but he didn't follow, I didn't say goodbye, never saw him again, no, he didn't die, just never saw him again. That was different, too.

Remembering dark New York nights, big drama fights in dimlit after hours joint, I ran, oh but he followed, he sure did, kicked me right back to him, mercy. And still makes me laugh thinking of him, big dinner party in his Village lair, everyone there had been his lover at one time or another, but the food was good, so we all ate it, oh still makes me laugh.

Remembering the love letter, the post-hippie lure of sameness, quoting Paul McCartney song and oh, I was a gonner, just gone for that boy, now he's in San Francisco or some parts close.

Remembering the bars, though there was only one, but we still said bars, dunno why. Sitting there with my drink, lost in drunken reveries wondering who would stop by, oh eventually someone always stopped by.

Remembering millennial love affairs with sci-fi satellites and adulterous thoughts never spoken, marriage broken, youngmen tormentations, virtual passions, ah, the dance, such a dance, and here I am, suffused with memories as I wander through this mad life.

First

2007-01-03T16:34:00.000-08:00

First full moon
of winter,
of the year,
a cold clear night.

And I shiver,
wondering
why, it seems,
there's no ground
beneath my
feet.

Flight

2007-01-02T08:30:00.000-08:00

Dragon in the field,
moment before
powerful motion
sets him aflight,
moment of
wild equilibrium
then soaring,
flying high
in the firmament.

Little bird
emerging
from high built
nest, faltering,
flapping, then
oh, soaring,
flying through
the leafy air,
all the way
to the next
branch.

Guest

2007-01-01T19:49:00.000-08:00

Yes, come in,
by all means, take a seat,
It matters little, I know
You will visit
with or without
my welcome.

Ah, we have known
each other all these years,
so yes, of course you
are my guest, of course
I must let you in.

So, finally, let us talk
of all the things,
You came to say,
For I must have
invited you, yes.

Yes, let us talk
talk of all the times
you have visited me,
perhaps by now
we are old friends,
perhaps maybe even
some affection?

I'll bring you wine,
and you will speak,
and I will listen
for now I see you clear,
your words are
as they have always been,
soft and shimmering
with possible truths.

Yes, my friend,
my good guest,
take a chair, yes, please,
have some wine,
we have so much
to speak of.

Bakery

2006-12-31T16:55:00.000-08:00

Ah, clear cold
December day,
walking around
the Astoria scene,
always in view,
the Hellgate bridge,
Hellgate red paint
gorgeous against
clear blue sky.

And at Rosie and Joe's
Italian Bakery,
Standing in line,
a lady and her daughter,
smiles on faces, ordering
prosciutto bread
and canolli
and sesame breadsticks,
a few chocolate croissants
(the best in New York State!).

Behind me,
a young couple
he had a European accent,
they were discussing
whether they should
split a canolli,
as they looked
so creamy,
clearly freshly made.

Lovely flaxen haired
young woman
suggested they
split one of the
tiny mini-canolli.
And her lover
laughed and said,
"oh no, let's have
that big one there!"

I turned and
smiled at them;
and they smiled back,
it was that kind
of day; at the
friendly bakery
in Astoria.

Queen of the Jungle

2006-12-30T17:03:00.000-08:00

I am Shamooa, Queen of the Jungle! I live by the laws of the jungle, I take what I want and my subjects worship me for the taking, for I am very skillful in this law! And in return I provide well for my subjects, they do not want for food or shelter. I am a Great Queen!

So you can imagine when this strange white man appeared with many crazy notions of behavior that I was not amused! I instructed my warriors to bring him to me, and as I was not feeling cheerful that day, having lost my finest ebony haircomb, I was in the mind to have the strange white fellow severely punished, perhaps executed, which is one of my Laws of the Jungle.

"Oh, strange man, it is good you are comely, else I would have you killed immediately!" I pronounced, seeing some advantages to his tall physique, tho his fairness was quite a miserable sight.

He looked back upon me with equanimity, which only annoyed me, as I am used to awe and worship, a fit and fine response to my Queenliness.

You who attend my words as the sacred pronouncements they are, I shall only say I took him into my tent and many things occurred, many things indeed. After I emerged I made a change in the Law of the Jungle, a small change, really, quite insignificant, a mere token of a satisfaction of my fancy.

I, Shamooa, Queen of the Jungle make this proclamation on this day, seated upon my banana throne, attended by 70 lovely virgins! Henceforth we shall no longer sacrifice humans upon the pyre of Shamooa, enveloped in flames and screaming so delightfully. No, this practice shall be hereby ended. From now on we shall instead make offerings of cocoa nuts and fine firm bananas upon the flame alter of Shamooa. Thus I have said, and thus it shall be!

The Good Heart

2006-12-27T15:28:00.000-08:00

Ah, it's been said
so many times
the good heart is
loving and kind.
And maybe so,
yes, maybe so,
but my good heart
tells me something
tells me different.

Oh I get all Old Testament!
Mine enemies have
cometh upon me,
or some such thing,
and my good heart
feels neither loving
nor kind!

No, my good heart
wants to smash and rend flesh,
pound mine enemies
into the ground,
and laugh at their pain,
oh yes, neither
loving nor kind!

And what is worse,
I think to myself,
To lay bare the hatreds
of the angry heart,
or cover it with
phony platitudes
of compassion,
false compassion,
thinking somehow
this false stuff
will magically turn real?

No, no, the good heart,
is an honest heart, I say!
And if consumed with
the ugliest of hatreds,
let them pour forth
in all their bile,
let them be faced
and not conquered
but indulged
with highest glee!

No vengeance,
nor revenge,
but honest look,
with straight gaze,
to the heart of rage,
to see it plain.

And then what?
For hate sprung action
turns upon itself
and wounds the doer,
no, that is no fit plan
for my good heart.

No place else to go,
save deep into the
thing itself,
witnessing its contours
and evil ways,
finding the source
and using its own
strength, slay it!

Praise

2006-12-25T18:28:00.000-08:00

Oh and I was in a bad way,
yes such a bad way
And there was no hope to be found,
oh no hope at all
Not even knowing
how I arrived,
I found myself
in a schoolroom!

Oh I was in a bad way,
yes I was,
and there I was,
in this schoolroom,
didn't even know
who had brought me there.

And I heard them sing,
yes, voices loud,
a fine gospel song,
and no, I'm not Christian,
and I didn't know the words,
no didn't know 'em.
but I tried to sing along
just the same,
yes, just the same,

And someone had given me
something, some pills,
and I couldn't sing, oh no,
I couldn't sing!

But I heard them
and I sang out anyway,
in a mad croaking voice,
oh it did more for me
than any pill could,
that sound.

No other instrument than
voices, yes nothing but
voices raised in praise,
yes, in praise,
they sang it and I felt it,
even through the haze
of such madness,
being in such a bad way.

And that was a long time ago,
yeah, a long time,
but I've never forgotten it,
those voices, fine voices,
shouting out,
raised high in praise.

Breeze

2006-12-24T08:57:00.000-08:00

Can't see it,
yet it cools the sweat off your brow
on a hot summer day,
and though it is invisible,
you can see its effects,
in movements of
branches on a tree,
in store awnings snapping,
in feeling a cool
caress upon the skin.

And today, oh the breezes
are intoxicating, a clear
blue sky, abundant sunshine,
the breezes are playful,
whirling the few remaining
autumn leaves around,
bringing blushes to my cheeks,
clearing the sky of
clouds.

And all this from what
cannot be seen,
no, cannot be seen,
yet such visible effect,
oh a mystery,
on this mild early winter day
in Astoria.