To my vision; all around some very good poetry, here abounds.'
Many born from 1950s and 60s express thoughts; emotions. That inspire no less!. Who were taught; by those from the
1920s and thirtys..My conjectue? Now on old schools qualitys i
Feel.' I Sense and so will venture. How many realitys caused this
Nomenclature? from a period quite challenging.' Iitself i beleive' I see
A very different manner.? Much more regard; for each other; a homelife
very focused on' by a father and mother, prayer at class
And full cream milk in your glass, fights in the playground
Unill teachers intervened at last; the piggyback rides and climbing trees, algebra caligraohy and math by rote, if you please,
Respect for the elderly was rammed down your throat.' Maybe
All was not perfect.? And i do not gloat! Yet such rich yeilds' From these people, and their ideals' it comes to me' that in all this essence grew; in many nations that their
Wide world knew' as Christendom, am i in error? Or is this all; historically true?
The bric-a-brac shop waits on Rue Nationale.
In a sleepy French town.
It opens at ten,
And closes at one,
Till three.
Then on till seven in the evening.
Madame opens the shutters
Before going to feed her little dog,
Hettie.
Hettie's toenails clip clop on the ceramic tiles.
Madame feeds her green beans and tuna from a tin.
Hettie barks.
Madame sits at her counter
And waits for mail.
A customer comes in.
"Bonjour!"
"Bonjour. Ca va?"
A deal is done on a 1920s doll.
Three hundred euros until Christmas.
A good gift for a collector.
But no more customer's today.
All is quiet.
Evening comes.
Hettie barks.
She eats and drinks.
Madame is always kind. Hettie knows.
She clip clops to her basket again.
Madame thinks about her man in England.
She smiles, but no-one sees.
She shuts the shutters and puts out the lights.
Another evening alone with Hettie and the TV.
Her man is waiting. Her man is waiting.
Sailboats horses and carts and canal transport
Whale oil lighting and candles, salt to preserve
Meat, limited sanitation and available running
Water, all are part of a formerly more static society '
Which kept people in their national boundries.'
The emphasis seems to be on returning the
World to a typology of the above.? This being
Part of ( green agendas ) wordwide.?
Why then? Facilitate mass movements of
Humanity across borders.? If its more
Desirable for a worldwude static existence?
That will be inherent in any return to above
Practices.'
Is it just ideas.? That some people have cooked
Up after obtaining a doctorate, or other credentials
To get a million plus payment from a slush fund.?
With no real plan on how to live this out.?
I am myself quite prepared to live with limited
Technology..Yet it involves more effort, which
Would keep humans fitter.' A balance can be struck
But I dont see any cohesive drive.? I see ( a i ) and
A move to even more tech, and so called outsourcing
More desire for matterial things more waste much less
Recycling than from the 1920s to the 1980s am I
Alone in these observations? I welcome any comments.'
Knickerbocker Glory
There's a story
How it got it's name
It originated in New York
In the early 1900s', so I've heard talk.
After a Hotel painted pink and cream
Gave rise to the Knickerbocker Glory dessert dream
The Knickerbocker Hotel sounds absurd
The Knickerbocker Glory is the name I heard,
It was a popular place
To embrace
Until the 1920s, when business decreased
And this glorious hotel deceased,
They made a dessert all pink and white
So every palate could delight
In the glory and the flavour
And savour,
Memories of times gone by
When people just like you and I
Wanted to preserve the Knickerbocker story
With a decadent sundae in all its glory.
I
You will not be flying very far for the rest of 2020
Say goodbye to globe-trotting entitlements
The airlines are flummoxed: they need you; you need plenty
Of leg room (Finally!) Six whole feet passengers!
II
Now, at work you may do with less than six feet
But you will not work as "normal." Remember Cal Coolidge?
He longed for "normalcy" in the 1920s (we, a century late)
Will say goodbye to NORMALITY, if I mind my English
III
Your eating habits will change; more of your own effort
The restaurants will be following stricter guidelines
Especially for transporting pizza & take-out. We may not adapt
But previous pandemics brought real repenting the second time!
** NOTE: The problems of asymptomatic, & generally atypical cases of infection, will challenge nations as to who get the vaccine, when, and HOW? Delivery will bedevil vulnerable folks getting meds on time, as with food, aid, etc., in the best of times. Scholars are saying "Normal routines are gone for good." (See NEW STATESMAN write 04/20 that says "Our civilization is now changed.")
The snow on the ground is aglow at midnight
A sheet of moonlight
Like a sketchpad with shadows
Stretched from tree limbs furiously penciled in,
A speakeasy dance floor from the 1920s
Mobbed and sashaying,
Doing the jitterbug,
With black arms and black legs
Pumping stutter-stepping,
Swaying forward then back
Hands risen as if polishing the air with praise
In a wind that creaks in these trees
Like kindling wood caught on fire.
Who is the ghost, here, in this freezing rhythm?
These poltergeist dancers?
Floating
Between now and then drinking gin,
Lit by a swinging winter lantern?
Or is it me? Weaving through the phantom crowd,
A traveler from the future,
Pardon me, looking good,
Carrying a tray of translucent light above my head?
Or is the celestial artist the true spirit?
The only one who really exists?
Yes, I think it is the brilliant artist,
The invisibly sketching Goddess bringing life to the long dead,
While lurking from her corner table, cold cigarette in hand,
Diligently recording history.
Oh oblivion of time and space I make my way to her,
A coming total lunar eclipse.
tease of wicked night
mimicking a Hallow's scheme--
dressed as Clyde's Bonnie
Halloween Senryu
16 Oct 2017
---Bonnie Parker ( Bonnie and Clyde)
was history's most nototious robber
and killer in the 1920s.
(Baldassare Galuppi was a music composer
in 18th century Venice. Johann Pachelbel
came a little earlier. Maurice Chevalier and
Mistinguette were vaudeville artists and
on-off lovers in Paris in the 1920s.)
Your filigree correctly fret,
those perforations, so correct!
And how I love that dying strain,
suggesting sadness, feigning pain!
A twisted, coloured paper chain,
a love both sacred and profane,
your melody's a silhouette:
imperfect pleasure, sweet regret.
Your sharp and sugared vinaigrette
is like a Pachelbel duet,
a sorbet made with fine champagne,
or raindrops on a window pane,
the fragrant soil of southern Spain,
a grief I still can't ascertain -
Chevalier and Mistinguette?
That wistful chime! I hear it yet!
When we love life so much
we hate to live,
she said,
nothing. And I was not about:
—to give in.
You drink death from a bottle
filled with nothing,
"Like" ashes that never left an ember.
And we had classes... on the river...
she said.
No need to wait...
I remember lotsa larfs; with you
too;
in pyramids deeper than a close
but not an older heart,
could swallow,
such a golden year that only two can render.
So I turn away from the costs;
and am sickened by the impersonal
bills paid by broken hearts made
by forgotten papers.
With you, she said, there's yet an interest.
Sharpened by knives that don't see each other everyday.
Put aside a few good years, and you will have
percentages based on broken seed encumbered.
Like the last word in a will of faith....
Left to pay the rent of sundered responsibility.
That was not love, if that's the taste of it,
she said, and read a poem of the 1920s.
We were left for more real things
than the truest love, betrayed, in its finest memories
could even pay a visit.