Fantastic Structures

I am not structure     nor am I form

But if I was I would be      A Fantastic Structure

One could walk me sideways      and climb my stairs upside down

My windows would be glazed with      Crystals from deep Bavarian caves

My womb would hide secret doorways     and be open on holidays

My pantry is not shuttered but open      for all to see the bounty I hold 

Steeples and Minarets twist and bend with the wind and clash with cumulus

Fragrant muted paint of Neroli decorates my 

consecration of concentric love mirrors 

who spiral round Thelonious towers and 

many stairs of Mourning Dove feathers

No gendarme guard me as my shingle is hung with an

 "Always open for business" sign

 that speaks pidgin english to all passersby advising them inmost

that what they see is  verite

I am not structure     nor am I form

But if I was I would be      A Fantastic Structure

dust

Dust falls

it falls everywhere

like snow in the forest

do you hear it?

silently it accumulates

patiently appearing

as if by magic

out of nowhere

then it begins its search

under chairs, behind bookcases

without foot steps

it creeps up and ensnares

hair: dog, cat hair, human hair

spider webs

skeletons of fantastic structures

I witness this

having also fallen

not able to move

with eyes slowly glazing over

slowly being covered

by the falling dust

nobody wins

What is this thing 

falling from the sky

a leaf to be turned

something new to lead me on

who gave this kindness          in a glance

and took it away

                            with silence

Christmas

good will and peace to everyone

Dark

winter solstice

                      shortest day of the year

turn off all the lights

supper is buttermilk pancakes

bathed in vanilla scented candlelight 

go to sleep early and dream divine

Light

Christmas

Solstice

the depths of Dark Winter

any light is revered

the Sun is precious

life is precious

a rose, a candle

and a smile

Winter Post

More Ducks than could be counted arrived via post

Dust colored and intent on destination

Meted out across the front of the card

They fly now in perpetuity across the mantle

Inside diminutive words of Christmas cheer

Outside the solitary pink rose resides

In the warm coastal winter of the wetlands

Through my window it communicates to me

And only to me as we are now allies —

Sisters waiting for Spring to arrive

just kidding

They found the device in a cave on Triton one of the moons of Neptune. I call it a device but it’s really a computer, the most sophisticated computer ever devised, but devised by whom … ?

Engineers developed an interface, a keyboard and screen that allowed questions to be posed to it. Answers to the most difficult scientific problems were returned in the instant that the last key was struck. It wore out all the scientists who came with worried faces and left with the appearance of bliss. They finally stopped coming. No one could think of anything else to ask.

I watched all this. I was just the janitor, by the way. After a while I became bored and I set down the book I was reading. It had given me an idea. I approached and typed in “What is the answer to life, the universe, and everything?” and hit enter. I heard a something that sounded like a belch. The device whizzed and gurgled, and kept on making sounds like it was chewing on my question. Minutes went by, hours, days. I fell asleep, woke, fell asleep, on and on it worked. My beard grew and grew. When my hair started to fall out I got worried. I dozed again but was woken by the chiming of a bell. I looked at the screen. Gone was the screen saver of Barbarella in various alluring poses. The words on the screen printed out “The answer to life, the universe, and everything is 42.” The screen went blank and Barbarella reappeared. She turned and looked at me and said, “Just kidding!” then the screen went blank again. The device turned itself off and could not be restarted.

The Peloponnesian War

 

With a Bang?

With a Whimper?

How does one face The Future?

Plans made and laid and paid,

The best of plans gone astray.

Hair piles up in the corner

Of the shower and you shiver

To think it is your own. Flit —

These thoughts down the drain.

Brave face skeets into the world

With fresh laundered raiment and tinkly

Bracelets. Little Louis Heels click

Across the Saltillo Tiles with purpose

And gentle might. Down the hall The

Peloponnesians are at it again, but no matter,

Whoever wins this war, they will need dauntless

Soldiers to carry the dead and mend the wounded.

the future

He rang the bell three times

     then four

and three again

it was the sign.

everyone waited

pausing into the stillness

of the blue morning

no birds sang and

insects were still

only the close sounds,

breathing, hearts beating

then at the crest of the brown hill

came the creak of wagons

the dull thuds of oxen plodding

measuring the road towards the town

“they’re coming,” one boy spoke

admonishing eyes turned towards him

and he shut his now trembling mouth

eyes turned back to the road

waiting for their future to arrive.

Thricely Blest

Once Blest are ye

who have limits

Once Blest are ye

who have none

Twice Blest are ye

Who know their limits

Twice Blest are ye

Who do not

And Thricely Blest are ye

who overcome both

Gymnausium

The metal double doors slam open into the cavernous room

thirty boys, thirteen year-olds charge out on to the floor

the goose flesh on their spindly legs

shorts and t-shirts stiff with dried sweat

worn again and again, seldom washed, the smell,

the squeak of running shoes

jocks and non-jocks

the ones running and those standing

arms around our middles to ward off the cold

a whistle and everyone starts to run up and down the floor

a sudden stop, turn around and run back

some boys seem to be able to keep this on forever

the rest of us are gasping after two rounds

the fit and the non-fit

some mouths smiling, others cannot be opened wide enough

there is not enough oxygen in this room to ease our torment

we hate this

another whistle and we’re divided into teams

balls magically appear

more running

balls bouncing passed then shot upwards

the hoops, the nets

most shots are missed then more running

the opposite direction

shouts of “here, here”

by now we’re bending over gasping

while others keep running and shouting

“how do they do that?”

now for the worst part

a whistle “off to the showers”

clothes come off, nakedness

the snickers, those with hair

and those without

Gymnasium

Standing at the metal double door

You can see them lined up

The Oral Polio Vaccine (OPV) was developed in 1958 by Dr. Albert Sabin. Sabin attenuated the wild type poliovirus by passaging the virus in monkey kidney epithelial cells. Trivalent OPV is characterized in vivo by efficient growth properties in the intestinal tract, unaltered immunogenic properties with respect to wild type progenitors, and attenuated neurovirulence after experimental intraspinal injection into primates. This means that an individual immunized with trivalent OPV induces long-lasting (frequently life-long) protective immunity of the gastrointestinal tract to all known forms of poliovirus.

Little hands outstretched

For consecrated sugar cubes

A year later Dr. Alber Sabin worked on a live-virus polio vaccine. In 1961 the American Medical Association endorsed the use of Sabin's oral vaccine. Upon the adoption of the Sabin vaccine, everyone in America was called back for immunization.

Changelings now, free from

Disease that paralyzed limbs

 The Sabin oral polio vaccine was made with a live but weakened virus, which gives the advantage of passive immunity for large groups (i.e. because it is easily passed on through the oral fecal route in households, schoolrooms, etc., even if only a portion of the community is immunized, everyone eventually develops immunity).

They walk out of the Gymnasium

Into the world: Soldiers of Immunity

Unca Bulgie (Uncle Otto)

He stood before the easel

brush pausing

shifting his weight

one leg to the other

swaying on his crutches

shaking his head

something was not right

he struggled over to the model

adjusted her arm across her leg

then back to the easel

picked up his brush and started again

since he was a child

crutches and heavy braces

he said “I’ve measured every staircase

in every house that I lived”

Jonas Salk had come too late

Betty Grable Legs

Sacha Tillier limps out of the trailer. Her neck is stuck in gear and she cant seem to remember which one, high or low. Her back aches and she knows her child sized bed will only hold up so long. In the dark of last night the sounds had scared her but when the apparitions appeared she closed her eyes and said, yes I am home. God wants me here.
She tidied up her camp stove and made some coffee, cowboy style. Drinking her first cup o joe with her leg propped up on the ancient sawed off tree was her usual morning starting point and the sameness while routine, gave her hope. Hope she will find some way to escape this place. Hope she was young enough to find another lover. She had been looking for escape for the past ten years. Every hidey hole turned up empty. No key to be found.
Making the best of it was her motto. She turned her face to the sun and ran her hand quickly down her withered leg. Dammit, she thought, I used to be known far and wide for my Betty Grable legs and now not even my confused raggedy ghosts wanted to look at them. A deep sigh seeped out from her, but as she was determined to be ever hopeful, she dreamt of better days for herself. She need only find the key and she would be free.

The Limp

There were eleven in all, three women and eight men. They all seemed unrelated. Some were tall others not so. Different ages, some overweight. A cross section of what, I couldn’t figure. But here’s the thing, they all limped. I turned and started to walk away from them. I picked up my pace but they were gaining on me. Why couldn’t I walk faster? It was then that I reached the gate. I turned to look back. They were almost up to me and they asked in unison, “Why are you still limping?” Sweating I turned and opened the gate. That was when I woke. The pain in my leg … the pain.

The Dark

It is dark as I slip my way up the isle
sliding and sticking to the old linoleum
I see albino ankles and arthritic knees
(just keep grabbing onto the light)
as I look up it is there like a crack
in the darkness guiding me to someplace else
anyplace but here will do
why am I here—how can I get free

Someone cranks their leg out
I slide back a few paces and land next to
a naked lady who is suffocating from the fumes
another lady who is scantily dressed laughs at us
I abandon them both and continue to go up
and am now covered in the sticky sickeningly sweet
fluid that continues to flow down the isle
will it never end—how can I get free

From just outside the door I see him
blood red and dressed to kill
he waves to me and I make a final jump
out of the dark and the things that cling to me
(bits of bad thoughts and fragments of love carcasses)
dry up and fall off of me onto the sidewalk
I take his hand and we walk for miles into sunshine
Reddleman blazes singsongy: Free from one is slave to another

Saturday Matinee

Mother gave us each a quarter for the show

       and a dime for some treat

my favorite was milk duds

my sisters and I walked about a mile to the theater

serial episodes, Rin Tin Tin or Flash Gordon

we followed them each week

my sisters were older so I walked home alone

it had something to do with boys

I didn’t understand what that was all about.

but it truly disturbed me

not so much about the boys

it meant I had to walk alone

alone past that house

set back off the street

dark shadows, dingy windows

rumors, gruesome stories  

I whistled, looked straight ahead

and thought of Ming the Merciless

Goldfinger

In 1964 I was 6 years old
somehow I found myself
in the movie theater

A large screen with wild images
What is going on?

The image of           The Woman in Gold
has stayed with me

shocked at 6
mystified now
                                The Golden Goddess
it stays in the recesses of my mind
So yes I do remember.

Sticky Floor

Do you remember?

I remember it every time

   I step on a sticky floor in the theater

it was a French film – Eric Rohmer

as near as I could tell

it was about paint drying

I couldn’t understand French

and the subtitles were just confusing

we sat in the back row – murky shadows

and we kissed, it was called necking in those days

kissed until our lips became numb

legs in pretzels

spilled popcorn

and, oh yes, my foot kicking your Coke

the sticky fluid running down

through the rows

Banana Split

Jab it

Poke it

Tear it

Rip it

Cut it

Slice it

Break it

or of course

you can

Split it

It all has the same ending

Banana Split

Banana peel

Peeling a banana

everyone has their own theory about this

I for one follow this procedure every time

jab my thumb nail in the base of the stem

then break its neck by pushing backwards

the separation is clean

then peel downwards each section

but not quite all the way

if any veins are left peel them too

grab the fruit and break it free from the tip.

Then there are the others

the ones that favor a sharp knife

it’s faster but of course more brutal.

Banana Seat

Greg straddles the Banana Seat

Suzy is pressed against the Sissy Bar

I squeeze into the Butterfly handle bars

We rode into the plum scented early evening

Far and Fast we screamed and ranged

Away from our homes

And all the attendant problems

Fearless, sailing past orchards and

Japanese green houses, skimming around

Elementary schools with cement play yards,

Teasing mysterious homes occupied by

Earthbound Ghosts of World War I

It all made sense

Way before the Treaty of Versailles

We children had made peace with our world

Lived in it completely 

and accepted all its weirding ways 

Whoosh

Whoosh – the peloton rounds the curve to the left

the air opening and closing around the group of cyclists

like a huge flock of birds or a school of small fish

all turn at the same moment

then whoosh, whoosh, single riders  

two lost souls struggle to catch up

I stand and watch

an astronomer peering at some distant galaxy

trying to make sense of it all.

Penny Farthing

 

These two sides exist encased in each other
Don't ever take one more serious than the other
To always have a smile is false and belies the truth
Remember: Buddha is an ideal not a man and he too trod dark paths

Why this fear of the dark? This fear of the light?
Both are human — both are God given — both have a place on earth

My brother tells me every face I see is my own!
We are merely reflections of each other
He channels all the light to cover his dark
The police know where He lives and visit with firm reprimands

As He climbs his high wheeled Penny Farthing
Dons his Out of Africa Hat — He pedals firmly away
Without even a glance over his shoulder
Where behind him stand The Women .... Disturbed and Devastated
Left to sweep all his Sub-Rosa Dark
under a carpet of Frail Gossamer Light
With the forgetting wind at his face He smiles and rides on

SJ

We stand on the shoulders

of giants and dwarves and

those others we call normal

in other words we didn’t get here alone,

he didn’t get here alone

those we love, those we don’t much care for

they are us, we are their face

I hold up my iPad

and someone uses it to slice cheese

Santa Cruz and Pain

And Santa Cruz is a kind of a Death with needles that prick your flayed skin
and light up the map with electric red dots that mark all the places you have tried
and gotten no where.
The sun never shines and all the women have iron in their hearts even at the bar after drinks you think you have a friend the next time you see them they ignore you.
The sun never shines and all the men dress like boys in short pants from the Victorian era with sun aged skin covered in tattoos of Micky Mouse and death.
They like each other way more than women and spend hours on the internet looking for herbs to cure impotency.
And Santa Cruz is too cool and they gotta keep it weird and there is so much pressure with that as you  gotta look the same and all be weird cuz weirdos rule and cool people rock and normal is bad and the sun never shines and opiates sprout from babies mouths so mama wont be in a bad mood or for gods sake normal, please not normal.
And Santa Cruz is a pain and a kind of a death for a lady that likes sunshine and tea with girlfriends and men who look like men.

The most normal thing in the world

Someone is shaking me awake

my groggy eyes look down the bed

sometime in the night they moved

     my bed to somewhere in Cambodia

this tiny woman wants to take my vitals

   blood pressure, temperature, O2 saturation.

I rebuild my confidence in the day

oh yeah, Santa Cruz and pain

she straightens my covers

“what’s this” she asks

then she pulls a full urine bottle

from between my legs

slept all night with that there

“didn’t spill a drop” she says, with a smile, as if it was

    most normal thing in the world.

Salmagundi

Sleep until the sun shuts down the night
with baby like eyes turn to the velvet dark
roll back the years and be still
while magicians plow your future

All the What Ifs are in a box
to be taken to sea and set adrift
with the other What Ifs and Happenstance
the dispensary is now closed to thoughts

When you awaken and shake the vaporous sand
off your bed and take the first wooly step
look careful to joy and inquisitive natures
as the salmagundi has now been served

Feathers and Buttons

The Princess of Feathers, given that name by her father because of her delicate curved eye lashes, reached across the table to her brother. They hooked their little fingers, as they had always done with each other in this fashion, since before they could remember. They had speculated that it had been so even in the womb for they were the closest of twins. He was called the Prince of Buttons, also by their father, because he favored hard things that joined the un-joinable.

Down the table was Harriet who was just finishing the last notes of her song about wallpaper. In her lap she held her pet echidna, Doris, who like to blow bubbles. It snuffled and tried to borough deeper into her lap. Next to her was her husband Arnold, not Arnie, it was not allowed to call him anything but Arnold. However Uncle Arnold was allowed, but just for them. He was a bartender by profession with the requisite bulbous red nose.

At the opposite end of the table sat the children’s mother, Morris. Morris and their father had hired a woman to bear them a child. To keep things from getting confused, their father and Morris had decided which roles they that would play. Father was not there, of course, because this was his wake.

Holy Underwear

Laying side by side
virginal, encased in
The Holy Underwear

Pinky fingers
lightly touch
then retract
like a tidepool
this dance
goes on all night

In the morning
as they get up
to face the elders
The Holy Underwear
( they discover )
has disappeared

the laundromat

A face is looking out at me from inside the dryer. I look around the laundromat to see if anyone else might find this a tiny bit odd. The only things that seem to be of interest are holy underwear, missing socks, and stained sheets. That’s when I notice the little girl standing next to me, fluffy hair, white dress, long white stockings, and white shoes. She says to me, “She wants you to be quiet,” pointing to the face in the dryer. I look back, blink hard, stumble backwards and fall out of bed.

Really?

Ham and Cheese?
Really?
Ham and Cheese?
What about Green Eggs and Ham?
Or Ham on Rye?
So and so is really a ham?
Ham and Cheese?
Really?
There is a Japanese Ham Sandwich pose in Bikram Yoga.
It hurts and I hate doing it, but I do it.
We have ham on Thanksgiving.
I worked in a Ham factory. Now that I really did.
But Ham and Cheese?
Really?
Ok, here then, here is my response to Ham and Cheese:

Ham and Cheese

“Come here and look at this.” Muriel shouted. She was definitely peeved about something. I swallowed hard as I approached her desk. “Look at this, can you believe this, someone has put what looks like a ham and cheese sandwich in my shredder and then added a pickle.” “It IS your favorite lunch.“ I added. She did not appreciate that at all. I crept further into dangerous territory, “maybe it slipped off your desk. Is there a diet coke in there and chips?” She picked some of the slobbery mess and flung it at me. I anticipated this and ducked. Gladys who was standing behind me didn’t. She shrieked and soon the whole office came over to see the disaster, all except Arnold who sat at his desk, his back to all this. His chest heaved in spasms of silent laughter.

degradation of memories

Standing in the Big Box sliding memories into the grey plastic machine
It is kindly and tries to treat me well
When it eats one it is usually a monument I want to forget

The machine will collate, replicate, index and transmutate
My memories into bits and then back into light
Disseminate them onto disks that will store and protect

What will not be taken into account
Is how the degradation of memories will still occur
Until someday my grandchild will look at a picture of me holding her
And ask: Who is that?

the envelope

The table top was covered with photos

he held up one to the light

examined it closely

passed it to his sister

their mother smiling slightly

then their father trying to be formal

then their mother and father together

no smiles in that one

just 4 by 6 pieces of paper

but more like spoons

stirring the pot of forgetfulness

he turned and looked at her

she nodded

they stuffed them back into the envelope.

wee wee wee all the way home

when I went to ask him
who loved you as a child
his back was already to me

heart black
genetics pressed in on him
a blanket of coal
to warm him frigid

"momma did"
mementos arrive quickly
flicker older brain cells
that rush together with
pictures of stained glass hugs

he is agile yet aged
pretends the neglect
is tolerable and normal
for the times

when he thinks of love
it is empty as empty
as the old trinket box
he keeps on his shelf

Cheap

Deddi, deddi, there’s a popcorn cart

Oh deddi, can we please have some!

it smells so wonderful, deddi

we haven’t had any popcorn in a so very long time

oh deddi, please, please, I promise to be good

can you turn around, please, please,

he looked at me as he started to turn around

and said, OK we’ll drive by again, slowly this time 

then you can have a really good smell

sep sep

ba deddy sep sep

ing cong gooly sep sep

ba deddy sep sep

siskel & ebert

sep sep

ba deddy sep sep

Ebert

sep sep

Organize

He leaned across the table to whisper in her ear, “Let’s stop this talk of drawers” She gasped. Her quick inhale told him that maybe he went too far. As much as he cared for her, he really didn’t want talk about her drawers. The artifacts of her life were too messy, too unorganized. He liked neat, tidy. This was all too much for him. His well ordered life made him feel comfortable. But then, what was it about this woman that stirred something in him? His heart beat a little too fast. His breathing was shallow, spasmodic. He drew back and stirred his coffee, anything to cool the conversation.

A single tear made its way down her cheek. When it reached her lips, her tongue darted out to drink in her sadness. She wanted to leap up and run for the door. No, she decided, she would not let him go so easily. She said, “But, I want you in my drawers. I want you to organize me,”  with such ferocity that he leaned back in his chair. The gale force of her desire tilted him backwards. Gravity took over and he fell to the floor.

Junk Drawer

My Junk drawer is full of crap

I mean some real god damn crap

it serves no purpose except

to aggravate me to extremes

up and down go my emotions

and my junk drawer quietly wins

It is on a high as high as Mt Shasta

corralling all my crap so expertly

and leaving me with nothing but

all the other stuff in my house

Loneliness pulls the skin from

my bones when I think of all

the crap I am missing out on

shut the drawer dammit

shut the drawer

yes that really is my junk drawer and my crap

detritus of our lives

He slid it open with some difficulty

every kitchen has one, the junk drawer

the detritus of our lives

useless bits of string, too short

rusting paper clips

rubber bands that crumble when touched

pins that once held a new shirt in its wrapper

an instruction book on how to operate a toaster?

who would need instructions for that?

the toaster itself long gone

little black pellets whose origin

he did not want to contemplate

an old three cent stamp

            “antiques road show”? no!

and there among the clumps of dust and sesame seeds

what he was looking for

a gold ring

In the drawer

In the drawer

it lies

no pretense to greatness

just a mass of hair

long with a band

still keeping it secured

after 20 years

and it still

glows with purpose

Once it fell across

her breast or lashed

her thighs delightful

now stilled — yet alive

who touches it now

what imagination

can bring you back to life

who knows a part of you

patiently lives in my drawer

the bow tie

I woke in the red morning

to yellow shafts of thoughts

ricocheting off the walls of my skull

bouncing and colliding

like on an unstable billiard table

it was carried on a driving 4-4 beat

the bass player and drummer

vying for dominance

off to the right a lean man

dressed in a white shirt, suspenders

and a bow-tie smiled

as if this all made sense

and seemed to be waiting for me to get it.

The X Factor

She was called the "IT Girl"

A Real Jazz Baby

Clara Bow

Actress

Flapper

Silent Film Mega Star

A True Beauty

New York 1922 was the place for films

When it shifted to the West Coast

Bow followed

Her first part was a Vivacious Audacious Flapper

It set her career aflame

Her brief 10 years in celluloid

Produced over 60 silent films

IT

The Plastic Age

Dancing Mothers

Daughter of Pleasure

Most of these have been lost or destroyed

Oh but those kisses she gave!

They send still a primal thrill

Lustful Deep

I could watch a film of just her kisses

She quit films when sound came in

Clara Bow did not like the confines of sound

She preferred to emote without the bother of words.

The X Factor aint got nuthin on her

eggs marks the spot

She stood there with X in her hands

X on her mind

X for Breakfast

Scrambled X

Poached X

X sunny side up

Walking on X shells

What am I X actly talking about here

Rotten X?