Fast Day 104 May 30 2009 {Miracle of the Loaves}

Miracle of the Loaves

I didn't expect pizza with
crazy bread, too -
too many carbs I think
but the doorbell rang, hot 'n ready
and there was delivery guy
with oven mitts,
a determined campanologist
he rang and rang until I came
to the door and asked what number
he was looking for?
and it was mine
but I had not ordered pizza,
and certainly
not pizza with more bread aside.
I shut
the door
and he started to change ring
Double Plain Bob Minor.
So I opened again, and it was
like an angel there, who said
and said yes, no pizza -
and there was no bread -
and I don't owe him nuthin'...
he wanted to mark the hours
at the monastery, when
I looked around, and I was indeed
before the refectory door, and
heard a lector reading.
So I said yes.
And today he rang Matins, Nones,
and Terce - and tomorrow,
and all our futures.
The pizza never gives out, and when
I turn quick like I see monks
running to hide themselves
within my pantry...but the
garlic bread replenishes itself:
strange miracle of the loaves.

© 2009

notes:

Matins, nones, and Terce = 3 of the daily prayers of the RC Church observed in monasteries.

Fast Day 103 May 23 2009 {Blind Michael and Sidi Mahmoud}

Blind Michael and Sidi Mahmoud


Before the shrine of Sidi Mahmoud
blind Michael sat,
forest clearing,
sunlight,
mountains of the Lebanon.

Each pilgrim dropped a coin
into his bowl;
alms-giving,
magnificent,
pleasing to God!

Blind Michael said thank you!
munificent one!
oh, prince of gold!
oh, daughter of grace!
father of beneficence!

But when Joey and I came with
our aunt to the Sidi Mahmoud shrine:
falling coins,
flashing sun,
grass green in a magic circle...
thanks, oh, young hero of the clash
of arms
and rider of the neighing of stallions!
That was to Joey, and my aunt did not
like that name,
never having known blind Michael to wax
so eloquent over alms.

Then the rest of our coins,
I let my small coin fall:
Oh, Madeed! thanks!
Madeed al Halm....
far dreamer!
dreamer of welfare,
dreamer of far away dreams!
falling through the air
to bless us,
poor,
blind,
homeless...

My aunt gathered us and ran
all the way down the mount
and locked us in
the house.
The neighbors ladies swam into
view, within their pools of tea
and gossiped about mad Michael
and what madness all was that?

But Joey to the war did go,
and heard the calls of horses
and the clash of arms;
and I became a dreamer...
and both of us had to die
before we found our tongues
within that bush of ghosts
that spreads far beyond the creek
at the bottom of the gully
beyond the meadow of our youth.

© 2009

notes:

Sidi Mahmoud = a man named Mahmoud at whose tomb prayers are answered.
before entering, coins are given as alms to the poor.

The poor man bestows blessings upon all who give alms, but my aunt thought he went overboard one summer, when we were visiting.

Madeed al halm = literally: stretched out or extended (of) dream. It is not an easy translation.

Fast Day 102 May 17 2009 {The Final Video}

The Final Video

when Aunt Serena passed away
she had a video eye sunk
within her memorial stone,
which played the flash video she
had made years before, to everyone
who visited her grave, like an
ancient mariner's tale:
hello, there! I am in Beulah
and free from all my worldly pain!
it went on and on to all who cared.
And after that I came to visit
and when I darked her grave, she said
hello, nephew! and I ran like sixty
'cause i knew there was no" nephew" in
that flash memory video em-
bedded in that memorial stone!
I sat a long time at the river
to see if it were truly cool
beneath the willow trees, but
I crept back to Serena's grave and
she welcomed me again!
she said the dead are come again
to help their kids in times of stress, there
is no cutting of the line of life, the
lines of nurture...and here they are!
all your ancestors standing by,
gathered by the river here,
whose name is "runner", and who
goes to the "great-water" nearby;
the first stand of poplars to our south
is the "wide-eyes-gang", and they are
"height", "crest", "great-lament", and "bends-in-wind".
Wow, I thought, does God almighty
have a name for everything, for every
blade of grass: stick, shoot, sharp, tib, and scrim!
You'd have to be nuts to remember them all!
And, she said, to the north, how truly grand
the pines; the first is "clotho" ,
"the spinner" of fate, who spins
the thread of mankind's days; and who gave
birth in time to the middle pine,
"lachesis", or "the tailor", who measures
the length of of every thread; then
the third tree "atropos" who cuts the thread,
"atropos": "who-will-not-turn-aside"
in any wind or urging.
She said all named beings would
spring to our defense.
But what could go wrong, my friend? thought I
Cousin Joey was getting prepared
to visit Phantom Fury in Falluja, but
that was like shooting fish
in a barrel of water, wasn't it?
Was it not 2004? What predatory drone
was there that sought us out, rich as we were
and immense as is our proud tradition?
What had been spun,
what had been measured,
and what will be cut? what suits of many-colors?




notes:
Beulah land = heaven

In ancient Greek mythology, the Fates were Clotho, who spun the thread of life, Lachesis who measured it, and Atropos who cut it.

Phantom Fury was the second and final battle of Falluja.
After all the talk of Falluja, you probably have never yet heard that it was anciently Pumbedita, which was the site of great Jewish learning and where the Babylonian Talmud was formed.
"The days grow hot, oh, Babylon! 'Tis cool beneath thy willow trees!"

Fast Day 101 May 9 2009 {Mothers' Day 2009}

Mothers' Day 2009


Mothers teach us how to pray before we
go to bed, kneeling beside white sheets
and using the currency of our innocence
to try to set the world upright again,
and save us all from atom bombs
and things that go bump
in the night.

Mothers teach us how to dress before we
go outside - we who want to naked run
and throw our clothes in a thoughtless pile -
she buttons up the surrounding collars;
and orders the chattering teeth
of shameless zippers
to subdue!

Mothers bake yet are not bakers; mothers
heal yet are not doctors; they open eyes
to art, many never having held a brush;
design pillow forts, yet aren't architects.
the grace of God they
dispense, yet are
not priests.

Mothers are an ancient holy order,
taken vows of silence, crying why? but
never speaking, door keepers of God's grace
that beats upon our shut monastery door:
she bids enter! the divine
visitor to wash
and eat!

Mothers sit shiva upon their dreams and
never let us know the shipwreck of desires
they had for the princes and princesses
of their fruitful bodies, for mothers yet
may resurrect the hopes and dreams
of mankind grown old:
young harts leaping!



notes:
young harts leaping:
from the Song of Solomon.

Reprint for Levine {Culinary Succoth}

This is a reprint from Oct 2008 for Mr. Levine, who asked that I reprint it, since he could not go back and find it himself. You may be familiar with Mr. Levine, whom I refer to as der Engel Levine - a reference to a Bernard Malamud short story.

As a reprint, it is not this week's poem.





Culinary Sukkoth

We had a gingerbread sukkah,
resplendent in design;
the gum drops were from Wal-Mart,
the inspiration, mine.

Our harvest was enormous,
of wheat and tares combined;
gathering in by hands full,
hushing them while we bind.

Some we threw in fire,
some we threw in graves;
some we cast on water,
and some in silos save.

Some we kept in sugar,
to keep and crystallize;
to roof it as our skach,
and eat it with our eyes!

Fast Day 100 May 1 2009 {May Day}

May Day

It's Lady Day again! Come Spring!
Come all ye patience handsel blooms!
Bring forcing gardens' flow'ring quince!
Bring hot house bulb and lilies, too!
Bring Holy Mary's crown again,
a flow'ring diadem - come Spring!

The cold and rains of April past;
come unnamed flowers all!
together with your namèd kin:
the rose, the daffodil, and pink,
and sweet those fragrant dandies in
the lawns so newly green;
this crown of May will last!

May God Almighty bless us all!
Conserve us safe from harm!
And all the Saints step forth! Attest!
conjoined in joyful choirs and lit-
anies assembling, breaking forth in song!
Pray save us from our Fall!

Mom Mary strides forth like Orpheus
and takes hell's subway ride
to stand beside her faithful folk
in Time's still darkling fields of War,
to nurse the bleeding, wounded souls to health;
restore the World to peace renown!


notes:

handsel
a gift or reward; here a reward for enduring winter; a Scots word, I believe.
Sometimes I use it with the sense of mitzvah, or a blessing: a divine reward.

Orpheus

Orpheus descended even into Hades to rescue his beloved Eurydice.

So does Mary hazard all for her children.

The meter is odd and seems to change, the 5th lines lengthening in the last two stanzes.
I'm not sure why I did this. It's pretty much still hot from the oven, though.


Today I was helping my father with his gardening, a chore which he makes exhausting because the plan is in his head, but it comes out piece by piece, and there is a lot of walking about and talking about the ravages of winter, the harm the snow plows have done, the water level of the river, and so on.
So I have to pray for patience and humility, being by nature impatient and demanding.
While walking under the cherry tree, it dawned on me today was May Day. I stopped walking and he looked at me. He asked me what I was doing. I said I was praying to Our Lady, because it was May Day, and I had forgotten. I forget what the prayer was. I just stopped and prayed something or somehow - I don't really analyze it - then started back walking.

He is a church goer, but I don't think he's used to people suddenly stopping and praying.
When we had finished, I started to think about the poem for this week, and this came flying by - a handsel or reward for being a nice guy.

Fast Day 99 April 25 2009 {Scooby Doo Lunch Box}

Scooby Doo Lunch Box


My father was a steamer trunk,
my mother a valise;
and I was born a duffel bag
my mother back-packed about,
fed me fat on shoestrings
and white wine with soles.

My grandfather a garment bag,
Granny a bargello
carpet bag from the Civil War;
They were at rest beneath
a Pullman suitcase stone
with their names inscribed.

I met a cosmetic case,
so hard, so fast, so zip!
shiny as unbroken mirrors;
she had a silver lining
and a special treatment
to make her spill resistant!

I played loose and free
with a black portfolio
whose locking envelope flap
she'd open only for my curiosity;
and then she'd say do not
write that check you cannot cash!

I wanted to be a club bag,
so louche, so beat, so hip;
I sang McCarthy's Mare and bade
McCue to stop the wilfull horse -
my heart was spinning like a top-
and the devil in wheels behind!

I ended up an appartchik
briefcase full of pulp
and papers better left unread.
I'm folded in half and fastened, then
unfastened - ouch! my velcro eyes!
velcro lusts! and all my velcro members!

My God is a matreyushka doll
layered inside itself;
an enigma wrapped like mystic teas
in tins from Cathay's labyrinths;
a puzzle carried in a humble hod
all the way from old county Kerry.

Quickly, quickly, Oh! to be
a faience colored thimble
upon the prick of noon! Not too late,
not too early...it's time for lunch,
and peanut butter and J. on bread
from my lunchbox with pix of Scooby-Doo!



notes:
I woke up this way. So I wrote it all down.
Maybe it related to the tea parties of the clamorous hordes.
Maybe not.

Fast Day 98 April 18 2009 {Jimmy Tomorrow}

Jimmy Tomorrow

The morning news on the cable,
plasters over everything like snot
or whatever nauseating lubricant
of economic theory
foots the bills
today!
Conservative, bleached
blond bombshells sashay on screen
like Jessica Rabbit
and cover the news like cocoa butter
sunscreens with a rating of 15 or higher:
tea parties in Texas, and
who is Barney Frank?, and
criticise Obama, and
asian markets overnight, and
schemes and scams of
the poor and
the homeless, and
- for a breath she tarries-
another bank closing, and
the total is 25 for the year...and...
I go and shower and shave.
I don't need no news no more.
I feel which way
the wind is blowing...

..for when my daughter announced
she would wed her long-time friend,
I thought:
at last!
for just as this is
no country for old men,
it is also true that they need
to be
helpmates
to each other...
especially now when
I measure time
from the engagement ring
that would have cost thirty K-
paid for by the timely sale
of an extra Jaguar he had hidden
against that rainy-day when
he'd absolutely need that Jag!-
to now, when they sense they'll need
no such extravagance...
and from house hunting for a place
nearby her mother here, where he would
would ask his boss to transfer him...
to apartment hunting in Capitol City:
first two bedrooms,
and then but one...
no chance of transfer,
since they let other people go...
and placed four hundred on forlough;
he has to stay on to do the work of four...and
they're wond'ring about the honeymoon
and that problematic
Caribbean cruise.

It is a commonplace
one's parents are perfect saints
until that time when you discover
that they are no saints!...
they're not even
very good at Santa Claus
or the Easter Bunny.
And this is growing up.
And growing up can be sad,
as sad as I
who watches my baby and her guy
slowly learn that the stories
about princes and princesses
standing upon a peak in Darien,
Connecticut,
surveying the Pacific and Atlantic
wondering at the promises of America!
find the tooth fairy an old sea hag,
find Santa drunk with stolen loot,
and see Easter Bunny porno
on stage and screen and internet.

So I finished shaving and went to my job,
part time gambler and player
of black jack at the casino...I
got a system that can't lose.
When I get a bit ahead,
I'll go back and ask the boss
for my job back, and
they'll be glad to see me.
I'll stop by the cemetery
on my way
and visit my parents' grave...
but
now that
spring,
spring,......
....spring is here,
( a short staccato of sobs)
I'll follow the horses, yeah,man!



notes:
Jimmy Tomorrow knows the truth, but lives the pipe dream where he pretends to believe that things will straighten around, and he'll see his grandkids. But it is a dream that ends when he hears the sounds of slots, and lights of the Big Casino hit his optic nerve!

Fast Day 97 April 11 2009 {Ulysses}

Ulysses Coming Upon His Old Dog, Argos

Ulysses

i am standing by the water's edge,
here i am,
here i am.
i am waiting for the sun to rise,
here i am,
here i am.
i am feeling the wet upon my feet,
it is not cold and I do not wish to move,
for she said she would find me here;
and here i am,
here i am.

i have been gone one thousand years
but here i am,
here i am.
paler than the dewy grass,
here i am,
here i am.
i shall leap into her arms
like a hungry sailor shipwrecked
jumps into discovered isles;
there i'll stay,
there i'll stay.

the wind has dried my naked body
where i stand,
where i stand.
more a reed than any man,
where i stand,
where i bend.
i shall go now to my palace
and seek that scarlet tunic that i love
and let it warm me thoroughly!
where we lay,
where we lay.

Fast Day 96 April 4 2009 {Aunt Serena's Temple at Deir al Bahri}

Aunt Serena's Temple
at Deir Al-Bahri


Hatshepsut, she, egyptian pharoah
built a house of wilderness, a temple
like a folded protein, laced left-handedly
into the cliffs of father-mother Nile,
into the red face of the desert.

Ladies with eyes kohl-laden,
danced with intensity necrotic
at her father's wake; and when he was laid
to rest, all the sands of all the deserts
buried him and she, lady of barriya.

Serena honeymooned on the Nile,
lived in Shepheard's and loved erotic;
ate fustuq in the year nineteen forty-eight
while the fellaheen discovered
hidden temples of long dead queens.

Slim girls and passage to Egypt!
where flows the Nile's aortic
water from the highly placed heart of Ifriqiya!
and sail a felucca above the cataract
to visit at Hatshepsut's palace!

Now she descends into oblivion
and becomes an Alzheimer stuffed
toy to plop without much thought into a chair,
to sit all day, slightly askew,
slightly atilt, within an endless hall.

The hieroglyphs of temples!
writ large on limestone walls!
Serena now reverses the archaeology of time
and deconstructs and un-construes the sacred
words, reburying the Temple.

Where has Abu Simbel gone?
Drag the Nile for poor Philae!
All drowned, all buried, like forgotten memories
of Cairo in the postcards of her desire!
Every face is photoshopped.

The Ramesseum that was Serena
receives a cup of sand a day
to bury it again, no more to see bus loads of tourists
with her kohl-laden ancient eyes,
she dreams a language again unknown.



protein folding

notes:this is a poem on my Aunt Serena's experience with Alzheimer's. She had been in Cairo after WW II, having married an army fellow who had spent most of the war in Alexandria.
The image is the beauty of Hatshepsut's temple and all Egyptian antiquity is like the mind of Serena...and now we bury it into the oblivion of Alzheimer's disease.

Hatshepsut: ancient woman pharoah, who built the great temple at Deir Al Bahri . Deir al Bahri is usually translated as "northern monastery",but the name literally means "monastery of the sea".

wilderness: I read "bahri" as meaning "barri" , or "wilderness" - a pun

protein: the temple "folds" back from the Nile into the surrounding cliffs, as does a protein fold - left-handed or right-handed - like a biological fan.

kohl: eye make-up of ancient Egypt

barriya: wilderness again

fustuq: pistachioes

Shepheard's: very famous Brit hotel in Cairo

fellaheen: poor working guys, shoveling around the archaeological excavations

Ifriqiya: Arabic for Africa

felucca: a Nile sail boat

Abu Simbel, Philae: temples rescued from rising waters, and some not

Ramesseum: a temple, palace, or even a large burial place of the Pharoah Ramesses.
Ramesses is the Greek form of Ra Ms, which is the name of Ra, the god, and the root "m(e)s" which means "giving birth". It also is the root for the name of Moses, or Musa.

Fast Day 95 March 28 2009 {Intoxication}

A Poppy Field in France

Intoxication

Before Dionysos created wine,
before Gaia of the poppies

gave dreams in Crete of intense delight,
your love was the intoxicant.

Before Apollo's sunbright beam,
before the flight of Eos, who

shot arrows from a photonic quiver
your smile was the dawn.

Before the Sibyl's book.
before the Delphic sage,

and the sensuality of wisdom,
your touch was my intuition.

Before Atlantis sank,
before farthest Thule,

and caravans to Samarkand,
you were the unknown land!

Before I drink the nectar-draught,

before I sing my endless ode,

once more a weary nomad trek

across your lovely threshhold!

notes:

Dionysos was the ancient god of wine;

ancient Crete had a goddess - whom I call Gaia - who wore a crown of poppy heads;

The Delphic sage was the ancient oracle of Apollo at Delphi;

Thule was Ultima Thule, the most far away in the world;

Fast Day 94 March 21 {Marcy Forgot the Doritos}

This Super Bowl Sunday Marcy
Forgot To Get Doritos


the road runs above the quilt of fields
and cool whisps of fog are the batting
of this Super Bowl Sunday from dawn to dusk;
from lehigh to dresden is but a hen's race
and we'll be at the convenience store soon
to get doritos marcy fergot to buy -
she's only twelve years old - and some beer and smokes.

we wish the damned fog would lift, and the weather
would get warm; it hasn't been warm since oooh-8
and 'lectric bill run way too high
and consumer's cooperative power is mighty happy,
making money like the bank of han'over fist;
we can't make out the lights at brewster's store yet,
damn photon-pinchin' miser!

oh, the store is warm, is warm, and ole brewster's too!
and we're buzzed in the aisles of delights
and delicacies, see a packet full
of smoked oysters- imagine- smoking oysters!
like we'd eat in New York City - if we ever wanted.
and caviar at thirty bucks a snifter full;
no bigger than my chewin' tobacco tin!

great panoply of groceterías
whither flow the aquaducts of beer-belly:
jim crow an' old grand dad an' famous grouse,
and it doesn't ever cost much more than that!
we spaced out and didnot want to leave.
brewster got a funny look, and asked if we're ok?
the colors of the jujubes boxes were like eyes of newt!

brewster said, it's best time you'd be goin' an' kin
ye drive yersel'? we had the munchies and feared
the constant weep of rain and dark of clouds.
we looked for brother bill to come running across the
far fields, newly resurrected, his chest hot and
steaming with life, but no one came across them
fields no more...spittin' with life's full fury!

the roads piss out a marijuana fog from lungs
empty of all except the cancer,
and candles light the empty houses' windows like elmo's
fire, gleaming points of golden coins upon the eyes;
there be broke down tractors rustin' in the fields,
where willows rattle and rasp like hands o' glory... drove
back home for the superbowl- damn, fergot the doritos!


notes:

groceterias: grocery stores
bank of han'over fist: a bank making money hand over fist
a hen's race: not very far
jim crow and old grandad: cheap whiskies; the first is actually 'old crow'
famous grouse: moderately priced scotch
hand o' glory: hand of glory from the dark arts

Fast Day 93 March 12 2009 {Home Thoughts From Abroad}

Home Thoughts From Abroad

Oh! to be in America when the Bubble is in bloom!
and have a pension fully invested in bonds and equities!
To be in the Boom! A house with emblem picket fence,
round which chestnut, elm, and ash bud
in the rainy, juvenile spring
in America now!

And after the 4th quarter of 2008,
there follow the quarters of oh-nine;
I see the foliage of trees become as sparse
as my aging hair; trees victim of unceasing
flux, and blight, a full panoply of agent-orange
to drive the hedged row to extinction;
no bird stops to sing, save the dove in mourning.
Boom and Bust! Go hike, young man, in newly verdant
fields, and view nature gory in tooth and claw!
nature! - determined by evolution's invisible hand,
just as our markets optimized by Adam Smith
and his long dead throttling grasp! beware the bear
rumbling by, who hasn't slept all winter, and
who wanders to the stream, lean and ugly of no cheer.

farvos madoff ? play by the flowing bourne!
enjoy and fill your heart with joy, momento
mori, steal away before the Bust's return!



<<<<<>>>>>
notes

I guess one would call this comic or satire or something along those lines.
It is about the idea of capitalism being a system which cycles between boom and bust.
The poem is based on Robert Browning's Home Thoughts From Abroad "Oh, to be in England..." and sort of blew up from 18 lines to 22.

line 4. chestnut, elm, and ash are trees endangered by blight and disease.

line 10. agent-orange = Agent Orange the anti-foliant used in Vietnam.

line 16. Adam Smith, the Scottish economist, referred to the invisible hand of markets that efficiently determine prices. There is a parallelism here to some "unseen" hand that moves evolution.

line 17. throttling may mean strangling or to increase speed, the two opposite meanings reflecting boom versus bust. Sort of bi-polar.

line 17. bear - financial markets going down.

line 20. farvos madoff? why (are you) so (like Bernie) Madoff ? Neo-Yiddish for something like don't be a shmuck. It is bi-polar, like capitalism's boom and bust: it could mean to fly high as a financial genius, or to be a goniff and end up in jail.

line 21. a momento mori is an indication or symbol of death - a reminder that from dust to dust.

line 22. steal away: to escape and it also recalls the original meaning of madoff.

Fast Day 92 March 6 2009 {I Wish I Had a Poem}

I wish I had a poem
to write, to speak, and dance to;
a wide ranging poem about the world,
and all the life therein, the quick, the dead,
the men and the women, the loving, the hate:
whirling like a dervish upon the threshing floors of Crete;
Zorba - lightning - arrakh!
dark haired women and their music...
I wish I had a poem.

I wish I had a poem
to flaunt, to wear, and flourish;
a flash, trash ensemble catching eyes,
and turns the heads all 'round to look at it;
and drive adoring acolytes to kneel-
before my wind swept chest encased in leather tattoos,
drunk and mad and waiting
for the shirtless, pallid vision...
I wish I had a poem.

I wish I had a poem
entrancing like Astarte's
perfumed encapturing embrace of love!
who walked along Yonge Street one Sunday morn
and drove parishoners from their kirks,
seeking haloes antique of lovely goddesses and gods!
forswear, soul, do forswear
the throbbing crush, the madd'ning roar...
I wish I had a poem.

I wish I had a poem
that would relieve the world's pain
and save children everywhere from harm;
and lullaby sorrow, and wipe their tears
lest all their fathers should ever depart
into warfare's hungry substantial market place of blood:
haggling costs of our sins-
idolatry of precious metals.
I wish I had a poem.

I wish I had a poem
that would pick me up at Central Park
and take me on a trip to St. John Divine;
and stop to look at cherry blossoms
in the morn of spring after a storm
when sky and ground burst alike into pink petals
we spread our blanket and
even saints join our picnic...
I wish I had a poem.

Fast Day 91 For Peace And Prosperity February 24 2009 {Foreclosure}

President Obama's speech is tonight.

I shall be occupied through the weekend with other matters, so I am posting early. This is possible since I happen to have a poem. This poem was written between 4:30 and 7:30 PM, last night, Monday evening. I did a 3rd go-over this AM. For better or worse, here it is:



FORECLOSURE


nothing was forbidden now -
even drawing on the walls.
her rental space of happy time at end,
and the gaily painted crayon hours passed
in silken caravanserai of her dreams
and a children's beauty pageant!
she twirled her baton!

Julia Adams lives here;
take note: this is her room!
all you monsters and ghosts beware!
and whatever ills may come!

the house on cottageview haven
was bought with sub-prime money
and furnished without payment for three years;
she could walk to the school two blocks away,
beyond the inconstant traffic light seen
from her upstairs bedroom window.
how they loved that house!

Julia would run with dogs,
and snuggle with the cats;
go sledding on city park's hill of snow,
whip a fierce snowball, swim the swimming pool;
t-ball; soccer, and then little league;
and play xbox "resident evil" :
does something this way come?

Julia Adams lives here;
take note: this is her room!
all you monsters and ghosts beware!
and whatever ills may come!

that life died and was not buried
in the year of zero-eight;
the re-po man took back their joy, and then
the chifferobe of swollen, weeping eyes,
and all the wicker, wicker rocking chairs
to a dark uncharted forest
where the zombies dwell!

when foreclosure came to them,
the sheriff came to tea;
and alice-like, she cried: no room, no room,
until the xbox lay out at the curb;
she took poster paints and magic markers,
and on the wall above her bed embroidered
scream thread in crimson tears:

Julia Adams lives here still;
take note: this is her room!
all you monsters and ghosts beware!
and whatever ills may come!

Fast Day 90 February 20 2009 {Najeemy and James}

Najeemy and James

Najeemy sits in the restaurant.
She is the only African there.
On either side sit Maha and Alice,
thin and white enough to be ivory
earrings on Najeemy's head.

James stays with the children
wearing basketball shoes with neon;
He puts his right hand to his narrow chest,
the armoire of his heart and its desires,
and says that he is honored to meet me.
Intense Jamaican smile.

She met him in Jamaica.
She had an all-night party and returned
to her hotel at dawn to see him nude
within the reflecting pool, washing
as if he owned the place!

Najeemy could not speak.
As he dried himself off, and began to dress,
the boney lightning began to fade from view,
joining the black uniformity of
Jamaica's daytime streets.

They married the same year.
Najeemy sits with us in Al Ameer's,
with me and Maha, Alice and Miss Basheer,
and talks about the age of days and stuff
but wants to be so Sunni!

But a Sunni Lady never
extends herself to shake hands; she withdraws
her hands to rest within the sanctuary
of her breast, hands washed and pure - fluttering
like fearful hummingbirds.

Najeemy yells from afar;
she runs across the street to pick you up
and hug you in her great embrace until
you both are panting and out of ev'ry breath!
forgetting Sunni etiquette!


>>>><<<<<
notes:
Najeemy ( not her real name ) is a ebullient African-American lady with whom I studied Arabic.
She loved to read, wrote love poetry, and read tea leaves - among other things.
At one time, she wanted to be a teacher at an Islamic Academy. The academy was Sunni. The basic split in Islam is between Sunnis - such as Saudis, Northern and Western Iraqis, Egyptians, etc. - and Shia - such as Southern Iraqis and Iranians.
Both are pretty conservative.
We would tell her that she would have to become very conservative, if she were to teach. No more reading tea leaves, which would be very much frowned upon as fortune-telling.

Fast Day 89 February 13 2009 {A Trip to Les Cheneaux, August 2008}

A Trip To Les Cheneaux, August 2008


We went up north to dance nude on the sand
of a place of wonder and shameless trees;
blinded in the new moon's total darkness,
wearing only reeds and the tails of cats,
we heaved the floating dock
and heard our bodies' band.

The viole of your hips upon the chair,
softly played sweet music of unsung lips.
We run through the peninsular forest to
the erect hill of one recluse pine
whose wind swept brows curtain
our lovely Eden nakedness.

So did jump Adam's heart upon that day
he stood atop that limestone perch coniferous
and gazed at Eva's discovered beauty
and found they were alone, yet not insular;
and the eros of their smiles
and eyes would bridge the bay!

Let's forget the days of lotteries or
football, forget the joy of criminals!
O, unruly parliament of our desires,
each clamouring to catch the Speaker's eye!
standing on our benches,
yelling points of ardor!

Life descends from the genital Sun,
and warms the coldly libidinous Moon;
each light descends to the tidal pools where
we swim in dolphin arabesques of love.
This boundless horizon
no greed will harshen.

notes:

Les Cheneaux are in northern Lake Huron; all limestone, sand, and pines and cedars.

Fast Day 88 February 6 2009 {President Obama's Stimulus Bill)

President Obama's Stimulus Bill

The Senate's consid'ring the stimulus
package to jump start the economy,
to give help after the drive-by shooting,
or so I said, reading the B.B.C.
She laughed, "Now they sit in Washington
like untrusting customs agents, trying
and discov'ring illicit smuggled cash
for the arts." She shook her long hair, and said,
"It's a man thing: the metaphor of jump,
and hooking electrodes to fix things up...

like Frankenstein", she softly hissed, snakelike;
"Dig up th'industrial skeletons of old,
unnoticed from the mass graves of today
on the roadsides of our Burma Shave memory!"
She laughed loud, and sat up straight: "Scarey, eh?"
Yes, I said, to vampire and to zombie,
to resurrect and stitch the body of
our rust-belt past, like Re-Animator
or The Night of the Living GOP,
while we townfolk stand with torch and pitchfork.

Later we went to Grandpa's old Garage;
as old as Henry Ford it stood with eyes
of glass panes, like a bee's multi-facets,
broken here and there by boys' tossed stones,
the Tracker Brothers Trucking of right now.
We break the seals and open doors,
whose hinges protest: Go away! Away!
like Samuel's shade did protest the wicked
Witch of Endor, filled with resentment, yet
unable to prevent the enchantment
of determined Van Helsing intrusion.

Past the crescent noon of time we stood
and viewed the treasure house of our grandpa's
tools: thresher, binder, cross-cut saws and tongs;
a Fed'ral truck, and two floors of dusk.
A device of lunar breastplate iron
stitched together with cobalt rivets hung
heavily inert from a heavy hook.
Who is a tool and die guy? anymore?
Where's the engineers of these hieroglyphs?

To clean it up, we took brooms with besom
from straws of Olympos and Avernus;
bronze rakes from Benin, ponderously long,
forged from old cometary copper;
we scrubbed from east to wet, and north to south,
until it gleamed again, like auroras;
and with those rakes, the peoples of the world -

grasping with eager sinews their brazen shafts -
pulled cool drinks of darkness from the blist'ring
Sahel sun - the killing genius of the drought;
and alternately pulled warm draughts of sun
from the unyielding cold - killer by ice.

And when it was done, we had a party
to celebrate our secular novelty
with all the flags and pennons of the world.
No one got drunk, and no fights broke out:
and we were not so tired we could not love.

notes:
Burma Shave memory: a simple recall that floats by like the indicated signs.
Re-Animator etc: old horror films.
Tracker Brothers Trucking: an abandoned facility in Stephen King's Dreamcatcher.
Witch of Endor: asked by Saul to summon the shade of Samuel.
Dr. Van Helsing: entered the ruins of Carfax Abbey to destroy the evil of Dracula.
Olympos and Avernus: mountains in Greece and Italy, respectively.
Benin: country in Western Africa with a history of metallurgy. Together, Olympos, Avernus, and Benin refer to the influences of their respective cultures upon our country.
Sahel: African region south of Sahara desert, drought-striken for years.

Fast Day 87 January 30 2009 {The Loud New Neighbors}

The Loud New Neighbors

On Hearing through the Bedroom Wall

The midnight river of our ebb and flow,
meanders to the bedroom as we creep
to Hypnos' estuary where we sleep,
not seen by man 'til cock does crow.

Our dreamy ships with fare undreamed of,
we watch with eager eye of sleeping soul;
until the brazen bell of voice does toll,
of neighb'ring emnity or neighb'ring love!

We hear the threshing on Love's harvest floor!
or hear the yelling of demonic fight!
We wake from somnolence interrupted,
and wipe the sleep from dreams disrupted,
to hear symbolic coital acts at night
that drape the bed: lascivious decor!

River of Dreams

picture: George Grie

Fast Day 86 January 23 2009 {Voyage to the Islands of Cake}

Voyage to the Islands of Cake

Macedoine and Madeleine
cakes with fruits and jelly
like a tower in Dubay

filled with creamy meringuay
or a singapore delight
of tipsy cake and chocolate cream.
two cupfuls of sugar,
one of milk and one of butter
and four cups flour...
cinnamon and clove and

strange spices from the east,
brought by clipper ships
by trade winds blown;
a fist of currants,
a pound of citron
an dram of vanilla extract
from the bean growing
on the eastern side of
Boulanji east of Bali,
harvested by girls not quite of age...
blanc mange a la vanille
et bougainville
la reine charlotte et

le roi georges
l'arc, bonnet, et l'oiseau
sous les marquises de mendoze:
la terre de feu,

divisee en plusieurs isles

par differens canaux,

et une parallelisme hideux
des deux cotes et climats.

Fast Day 85 January 16 2009 (Detroit, Michigan In Winter}

DETROIT, MICHIGAN IN WINTER

Th'Encyclopedia of Wine and Spirits
leaps easily to hand, in as much as
I did seek the Oxford English Dic-
tionary, it will do for now.
A nonce desire, hardly formed, has
come into my head, and I withdraw
from you a while and put my
tranquil mind to bed.
Farewell, the undisturbed sleep
from whose duvet no one returns!
Havoc is cried once too much
and it is my job to obey
and clean up after hounds.

I went to the Panera coffee shop
with Tiresias and Cassandra;
he bought a USA Today, mumbling about
what's new, so I gave him a funny look.
Like he should know what's new.
He was munching a biscotti
and I wondered if biscotti was
singular or plural, and Cassie
read my mind and slapped me
saying stop it! stop thinking of her
naked as her birthday, so I laughed.

It snowed.
It always snows.
We long for the sun and heat of the plains of Troy,
beneath the towering walls of Ilium
beneath the boardwalk called broad
where we looked up a thousand slips!
Drunk as a bagel, following seas and
deserts laid out like scripts written
by genius writers of the day:
This is no country for old men;
The young scarce catch their breath
and frozen gasps of unbelief
bedeck once festive malls
like spears and arrows of outrageous holly.

Fast Day 84: January 9 2009 {Sunset Boulevard}

Sunset Boulevard

They're screening Sunset Boulevard again.
The faintest smile passes between the two,
a glimpse of catastrophic languor;

Bill Holden floating fully clothed, I the
director's eye beneath the algae covered pool;
and flipping channels back and forth is too
bizarre for words like Kato, pool boy,

and O.J. comes like a Chevy Volt
right at us as we drive to the restaurant
and salute the maitre d'
and eat our appetizers and pick our Caesar salads...
Strike the entrees. Send home the crew.
The food will sing and dance...No More!
The salad broods within its dressing room

like food noir, like mystery, spare and dark;
it cuts right to the bone. Mystery of lettuce,

and the Enigma of the Salad!
Go home and look at the magazine memorials
where Food was Busby Berkley,
dancing, driving up the spiral,
tapping on the top hat,
snapping to the cane.
They're screening Sunset Boulevard again
and our close-up is at hand!

--
notes

Detroit will have its revival.... in the meantime, there are various small "renaissances" which remind me of Gloria Swanson's "comeback" in Sunset Boulevard.

--

Fast Day 83: January 2 2009 {Gaza Crossing}

Gaza Crossing

Life is good, she said;
crazed old crone
cackling in her soup,
straining it through white hair
and the picket fence
of her lonely teeth.

It's better to be mad than dead,
better to be alive!
And upon the stoney slab to spread
a conjugate of love devised.

The mad men in a bedlam
testosterone bedewed
sheets and shirts
and dixie cups
where swallows live
and petrels brood.

It's better to be mad than dead,
better to be alive!
And upon the stoney slab to spread
a conjugate of love devised.

The sailors upon their ships
upon the silent sea
cannot inhale the saltiness
cannot speak their plea!
Eternity of drowned speech,
and dialect futility.

It's better to be mad than dead,
better to be alive!
And upon the stoney slab to spread
a conjugate of love devised.

Fast Day 82 December 26 2008: Christmas {The Houses}

CHRISTMAS 2008
The Houses


This will be my Susan's house...
but not in Toronto
not ostentatiously and aged
heavily stoned Victorian.
No. A Cape Cod upon a bluff
overlooking our ocean.

This will be my loved one's home...
but it will not be a cold house:
a drunk sipping at Toronto's margaritas
of icy streets with salted rims.
No. Each room a miniature of
Fezziwig's delight and
dancing young memories
apprentice to our love's custom!

This will be my Susan's refuge...
but it will be filled with light
inside as well as out,
and we shall have Christmas trees to tea,
and boughs and garlands
and ships from every land and sea.

Every corner filled with joy, and every
fireplace warms the soul,
and mirrors reflect the infinite delight
and damask curtains turn aside
the cold and draft
until exhausted dreams we fill!

Fast Day 81 December 19 2008 {The Trees}

CHRISTMAS 2008

The Trees

I used to be a tree,
and grew upon a hill;
I used to be arboreal
and deep roots immobile
I thought imprisoned me.
Then from a tangled thicket
I grasped a ring of lapis lazuli,
the joint of 2 bones, and pupil
of the brilliant eye, and was born
my parents most loved fruit
in a storm of heat at
the rising of the Pleiades.
Now...O, now, I see...
and I shall be
soon again a tree,
maenad queen of windswept hills;
pastor triumphant of animals
that flock the virginal
nativity's flash of light!