Jongeur:

Jongleur: 

A french juggler

a rondelle of

fleur-de-lys

de Francesco,

St. Frenchie

To bon vivants

Like Chersterton

And Anderson

Son of man,

Once a king

Song of brother

Sun and sister

Moons ajangle

Down the streets

With sticks

Keeping beats

To the steps

Of the feet

a fete of Juissance

The Don of Dawn

Dons dusk soon

Matins and moons.

Poem Du Jour

Poem du Jour

Woke up, read
David Mitchell's
"Utopia Avenue" in bed,
said goodbye to the kids,
walked a couple miles
with Genevieve,
talked about world strife,
the horror of Trump,
the even worse horror
in Palestine, all the things
that need to be done.
Then went to PS 122 to watch
8th graders perform
scenes from Romeo & Juliet.
Sofia did balcony scene
with Tony. I sat next to
Tony's parents, Tonna,
an opera singer
and big Tony, a director.
These kids have all
known each other
since kindergarten.
Now they are all
going off to separate
high schools. Because
I could not go home
until after street cleaning
was over I went to Costco.
It was a madhouse.
Costco is next to
Socrates Sculpture Park.
I wandered over to see
the new show. The artist
Suchita Mattai was there
still working on it,
There were giant balls
gorgeously embroidered
from Saris hanging
from the trees, meant
to represent the fruit
of Indian women's labor.
Afterward I sat on a bench
looking across the
East River at the city
while I listened to the
Ronnie Lane and Thin Chance
album recommended to me
by Flynndigger and friend
Lenny: "Anymore for Anymore."
Perfect album he said,
and it was. Went back
home and parked, 12:29 PM.
(12:30 street cleaning ends.)
Went inside, wrote my 40th
essay on Emily Dickinson
for the Prowling Bee blog,
on FR 726, a poem about
jewelweed. I was pleased
with it, light and sweet,
but with hidden depths,
like the poem, a blaze
flickering to itself.
Then played tennis
with Chris Casey,
a great battle. 6-5.
Girls came home
from school. Played
a Ricky Montgomery
song on guitar with Sofia,
"This December." Practiced
singing "Till There Was You,"
sang long to 7 different versions:
Marvin Gaye, Beatles,
Ray Charles, Jerry Vale,
Shirley Jones, Peggy Lee
and Sutton Foster.
Helped the girls make
grilled cheese for dinner.
Went to meet Gen's sister
Cat and her fiance, Austin
at Central Park to hear
the NY Philharmonic.
On the way ran into
Trombone Sam. We talked
about David Berman's
cover of George Strait's
Friday Night Fever,
the way he improved it.
On the train read
Peter Gizzi's poem again.
I'm glad to see it is still
adorning the trains:

"Sunday's Empire

The roofs speak
as light over
The scaped silence.

A cacophony
of shapes
kicks off into the sky.

People live here
in the quiet
a day undresses.

Tones shaking out."

Saw the actress Greta Lee
at the 86th 6 Train stop.
I love her! Walking into
the park I see a woman
wearing a tee shirt that says,
"Fashion stole my smile."
I asked to take her picture.
She smiled. Found Cat
and Austin in the sea
of concert goers.
They were with
Ecuadorian friends.
Perfect weather.
Beethoven's "Egmont"
kicked it off. This was
followed by Mendelssohn's
Concert in E minor.
It was a revelation,
especially with
the great Randall Goosby
on the violin solos.
Austin mentioned
that Felix was a great
name, and that there
really weren't many
famous ones.
We could only think
of three: Felix
Mendelssohn,
Felix Unger
and Felix the cat.
I think Cat and Austin
half decided to name
their first child Felix
if they have a boy.
The concerto was followed
by a work by 10 year old
composer, David Wright,
called "Tarzan's Rage."
It was big and full of
rock & roll riffs.
Awesome. Then
the conductor introduced
a piece by Carlos Simon
by saying, "Strap in
or go to church,
whatever you wish."
Last piece was
Rimsky Korsakov's
"Asturian Fandango."
I had the thought
that great music
like great poetry
lies in the tension
between the flow
that carries you forward
and the surprises
that clap back.
Finally there were
fireworks over the cityscape,
the new moon hanging
in the balance.
On the way home I passed
a window over which
was written,
"Angelina celebrates
120 years of delicacy."
While waiting for the 6
back to Sunnyside
I bought a cup full
of watermelon for $3
from a Mexican woman
selling fruit. On the train
I listened to Ronnie Lane
and Thin Chance's
masterpiece "Anymore
for Anymore" again.
Back home. Wrote this.

Poem for My Brother

 This was supposed to be poems for keeps, but I just keep writing new poems here. I guess they are all for keeps at this point.

Poem for My Brother

I was telling you about the guy in Golden

the shop teacher who shot himself

in the basement and left his kids behind.

Your daughter knows his I said.

Don't tell your daughter. 

Bad role modeling, you replied.

You quickly changed the subject.

"Have you tried Ghost?

The energy drink? 

I think I'm addicted to Ghost."

I remembered a dream 

from when we were little.

You poked at a shark

in a coffin and it jumped up

and bit your ear off. 

An earless portrait of you 

painted by Van Gogh

hung on the wall in memorium. 

I've been worried about you ever since.

Now you are learning to be a poker dealer.

Your marriage is on the rocks. 

Your children half hate you.

God. But I still love you.

I'm ready to put my body 

in front of that coffin

to keep your beautiful ear

from being shark food. 

You've read every Balzac novel

Proust, Dostoevsky, Mann

and the list goes on and on for days.

You are the best read man I know.

That all lives in you now, like Ishmael

coming home from the mad hunt

still in one piece to tell about it.

Or the Ancient Mariner. 

Give up the Ghost.

Put the poker away. 

Live to see another day.

--

found poems from TV

 I used to make conceptual art in the form of poetry. Or vice versa. Versa vice. poetry in the form of conceptual art. 

Then I stopped and just became myself reveling in the poetry of self. 

Boring?

Let's get back to it, seeing ourselves through others. Let's start with a series of found poems from TV:

Found poems from streaming series.

Palm Royale ep. 1.

Kristin Wiig as Maxine Simmons:

It's all a blur

a hazy crazy blur

"Try, Maxine!"

All I do is try.

All I ever wanted was to belong

to be a somebody in this world

But there's a catch

when someone wants

to be a someone in this world.

And that catch is:

Everybody else.

***

Andor ep. 10

Stellan Skarsgard as Luthen:

I’ve given up all chance at inner peace

I made my mind a sunless place

I share my dreams with ghosts

I wake up every day to an equation I wrote 15 years ago, from which there’s only one conclusion

I’m damned for what I do

My anger, my ego, my unwillingness to yield, my eagerness to fight

They’ve set me on a path from which there is no escape

I yearned to be a savior against injustice without contemplating the cost and by the time I looked down, there was no longer any ground beneath my feet

I burn my life to make a sunrise that I know I’ll never see.

***

Andor ep. 10

Andy Serkis as Kino Loy:

Wherever you are right now,

get up

stop the work

get out of your cells

take charge

and start climbing!

You need to help each other.

You see someone who's confused,

someone who is lost,

you get them moving

and you keep them moving

until we put this place behind us.

If we can fight half as hard

as we've been working,

we will be home in no time.

One way out! One way out! One way out!"'

First Two Lines From a Dream, Followed by Lines Written Immediately Upon Waking

First Two Lines From a Dream, Followed by Lines Written Immediately Upon Waking


Sweet leaf Keats drew my whole life over
It gave flesh to me

Tumbling over mountains over
rivers, through valleys
like a borg in heat

SHE stoned me
and cried for me

I let down my dress
and went to
heaven

Absolved of nothing
yet resolved to everything
I entreated the sun

Infrared rays reveal
astrological scars
amidst the ruins,
like a farmer's car
amidst faint
festoons of
pansies.

New song, with lyrics by Darin Stevenson and myself

The Puddle Piano

(set to tune of The Gatlin Brothers "All the Gold in California")


G She told some little children who never read her poems
That all the puddles in the world led to other D worlds...

like a puddle of G water with the sun shining on her
is full of the reflection of the shiner her D self

G or a puddle of jello in red or green or yellow
is molded like a meadow of cherry lemonlime D snow

chorus

Imagine a C piano arising from a
G puddle though, but there's only this room D really.
Even if it’s filled with G stars


G Suppose I got a piano? Bold in pianissimo!
and everyone came to listen. Or no one came at D all.

Let’s say, instead, that G judges came. or maybe some surveillors
a whole sea of assailers to D drown all the notes

Some dreams might be G inside me. And even the piano.
Some spirits eviscerate D Ancient urgen G cies.

chorus

C Imagine a piano arising from a G puddle though
But there's only this room D really.
Even if it’s filled with G stars
stars D no one.
could possibly ob G serve.


- words liberally borrowed from my friend Darin Stevenson

(first draft)

the piano puddle song (set to tune of all the gold in california)

G She told some little children. ( Who never saw her book tho)

That all the puddles in the world...Led to other D worlds...

G like a puddle of water, with the sun shining on her

is full of the reflection

of the shiner herself

G or a puddle of jello, in red or green or yellow

is molded like a meadow,

of cherry lemonlime snow

G Suppose I got a piano?

Bold in pianissimo,

and everyone came to listen.

Or no one came at D all.

G Let’s say, instead, that judges came.

or maybe some surveillors

a whole sea of assailers

to D drown all the notes

G some dreams might be inside me.

And even the piano.

Some spirits eviscerate. D

Ancient urgencies.

C imagine a piano arising from a G puddle tho

But there's only this room D really.

Even if it’s filled with G stars

stars D no one.

could possibly ob G serve.

Too best to love

Dream Party

Anahid you were standing there, next to the table, trying to say what Eternity was all about. I couldn't hear you, your voice was too low, like a whisper, but I could feel your breath. It was slowly arriving from the right, while in my left ear Paganini played through time and space into a bluetooth speaker. I was caught between the two. I asked you who the author was and you didn't know. It didn't matter, but I wanted you to know. You said the poem was about "being abroad." You said you didn't really know how to put it. You whispered, "it's about not putting all of your joys in one basket." The moment was eternal, yet I knew it couldn't last.

Clarice, I was leaning over reading when you walked up. You weren't shy. It was me this time, softly saying to you, "Eternity is about being abroad. I don't know the author." You were caught suspended it seemed to me between Paganini's ancient fiddle of fire, and my cool breath.  

Gertrude. On fire unfettered you show. The show you shew unfettered you, unshoes the fair notion of fire. The eternal flame is in the saying of the same. The fiddle of Pagannini solves the riddle of the speech, eternally. 

Frank, I knew I was going to have to Dick Tracy you in too, on some kind of retro-futurist wristwatch, which is just so yesterday. I'd rather hang out with you in Eternity, dear, while Paganini solves the mystery of Joe.