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Giuseppi Martino Buonaiuto Poem
We cross our bridges
When we come to them.
We burn our bridges behind us.
Why don't we just
Burn our damn bridges
When we get there?
Saves & lot of wear & tear,
N'est-ce pas?
Copyright © Giuseppi Martino Buonaiuto | Year Posted 2016
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Giuseppi Martino Buonaiuto Poem
"Another Fine Moist"
Underground with the worms?
It's another fine moist
You've gotten me in, Stanley.
N'est-ce pas?
"The night was moist," wrote Billy Crystal,
As the writers-blocked scrivener in
"Throw Mama from the Train."
You run into many old friends, here.
Here in the slime is where I'm at.
Let me show you where it's at.
And that's a fact, Jack.
My ROM brain is prewired,
Yet subvocal mnemonics filter thru,
A RAM cache, stored for future amusement,
But crossing over now, randomly.
Copyright © Giuseppi Martino Buonaiuto | Year Posted 2016
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Giuseppi Martino Buonaiuto Poem
"PRINCE"
Prince: truly a self-produced man;
“Purple Rain”—simply a masterpiece.
Sail smoothly sweet Prince.
May you find yourself on the
Big Stage, shucking & jiving
For Love & Honor of God:
“That’s entertainment!"
Copyright © Giuseppi Martino Buonaiuto | Year Posted 2016
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Giuseppi Martino Buonaiuto Poem
The actual pressure must be made more pressing by
adding to it consciousness of pressure, the shame must
be made more shameful by publicizing it. Karl Marx
Edward, Julian & freaky Chelsea:
Why didn't they hack Time Warner &
Give the People something useful,
Like a good 5-cent doobie,
Free high-speed internet & cable TV
Including Canadian hockey &
MILF porn channels?
Copyright © Giuseppi Martino Buonaiuto | Year Posted 2016
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Giuseppi Martino Buonaiuto Poem
"Padre Mio"
by Giuseppi Martino Buonaiuto
My father: all he wanted was a little,
Just a little, peace & quiet.
The War, that so-called "Good War,"
Had given him neither. And afterwards,
The peace & quiet he sought
Was mainly for his turbulent, disquiet mind.
No longer blowing up bridges, or killing Nazis,
He spent his post-war years in the building trades,
Employed by The Brothers Levitt—
Shrewd, Semitic Kings of Suburbia--
Leading the single-family housing boom.
He earned our daily bread
Hammering nails & sawing two-by-fours,
The Construction Site: far from quiet dawn to dusk,
Creating daily new acoustic trauma,
Canceling out all hope of either peace or quiet.
Given the cutthroat competition for jobs,
He learned a new kind of stress, as more &
More vets--soldiers & survivors like him--
Coming home, anxious to get on with the
Business of life, scrambled for paychecks.
He also learned sarcasm, his cynicism
Masking a failure to cope with Cold War hysteria.
And then out of nowhere came labor saving,
Electric tools, like the Skill saw, LORD OF CACOPHONY.
Decibels: whining, screeching & shrill.
No Quiet. No Peace.
Copyright © Giuseppi Martino Buonaiuto | Year Posted 2017
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