Frigid wind buffets the park’s lonesome bench.
It stoically endures as always
and wonders if anyone will venture
into its empty world this afternoon.
As it thinks of bustling, summer days,
while longing for sunshine’s steady warmth
and a view of laughing, playing children,
snow silently falls; no one comes today.
I like the words “you’re welcome”
they used to be heard in cafes, diners, and buffets.
This phrase is rarely heard any more.
“You’re welcome” has been savagely replaced by “no problem”.
No problem sounds arrogant to me.
It feels like they did not genuinely appreciate my thank you.
It sounds like they are “one upping” me.
I sure do miss “you’re welcome”
which sounded like they appreciated my appreciation.
(Note: taken from a diary of a young lady)
In memoriam of Jose` Maria
aged twenty, drowned.
I lounge on an uneven stone
under the uneasy shade
of an ancient carob tree,
away from the hot rays
of the summer sun.
I sit alone, abandoned,
I contemplate in vain,
for my thoughts wander on you,
who left me in the lurch.
I stare vacantly towards
the mighty sea that
like a cyclone of frigidness
buffets the darkened rocks
that form the inlet.
Wave after wave
enters the narrow strait
and rumble onwards
to the horrendous shore
throwing iridescent sprays
over the plaque of cold hard marble
that hides a tragedy of life.
Under the Iberian sky
prickly pears ripen
a stone's throw away
from the glinting shore
amid the green olive trees
slightly wet with sea spray.
The plaque seems to glow
in the hot summer rays.
I wonder what made Jose` Maria
swim in that turbulent sea.
Maybe he searched for treasure lost,
or hunted for the slippery octopus,
or mourned over lost love.
A life destroyed.
Am I not astray too?
I am so far away from you,
forsaken and unloved,
for you are like the sea, drowned
in a cyclone of frigidness.
The mighty wind buffets
And the trees cry bitter tears
I try to hang on to my limb
"Don't let go!"
shutting my eyes to the debris
I'm torn loose,
blown away
through the empty air
nothing to cling to
panic sparks as I'm rolled
over
and
over
pulled this way................................... then that
too much wide open space
I'm battered against something solid
breaking,
cru
mb
ling into dry pieces
I
fall
to
the
ground
into a mass grave
of mirror images. mirror images
mirror images. mirror images
Life's Menu
The world is a feast
hosting many beasts
lodging its beings
In a palace of bliss
Serving mystery meals
with knives and forks
tending to fangs and claws
Ripping through life’s menu
Feeding on scorn
Feeding on hate
Feeding on the love of men
Lavishly Catering out despairs
Stylishly rummaging
through the hopes
Spreading buffets
of selected illusions
spiced with chaos
Always hot plates.
Always refilling clean slates.
Always lots of food.
Always yummiest dishes.
Always the best of buffets
The full moon followed us here, there and everywhere with its madcap mischievousness, but brought us home safe and sound. — poet
Pleasure of pleasures to be home.
A pleasing treasure of the front door.
Opening, stretching, seeking solace.
Practically diving inside, turning
the faucet back on; releasing air
conditioning and oh…oh…the joy
of the showering spray, removing
the night before, the morning after
from Delta delays. Oh the laze…
did I say the laze…oh no no no…
working to unpack, just to wash
and refill the suitcases. Laboring
for a reunion in Atlantic City.
Mercy and mercy and fun, fun, fun
in the Jersey sun and buffets too,
and much talk talk talk…until
our threshold greets us again
with a chummy slap on the back.
Not gas, not oil, but leadership
Yes, it's leadership pipelines we lack
Young people coming up through the ranks
For their mentors' devotion giving thanks
It's every individual for himself today
That's the internet and social media way
Instead of bringing us together
Instead of inspiring us
All this 'technology' misinforms and divides us
So it's up to us oldsters who still know how to do it
To direct these youngsters, channel their raw vigor
For we sorely lack leaders, no Buffets, no Reagans
Let's get our youth in the pipelines ~ pulling leadership's triggers
From my window, I see him.
Squalls of wind wire his hair,
charcoal snaps and smudges
between his fingers.
The tide churns debris
to the sands.
He reaches for another piece,
measures
the rocks,
huddled together,
where tide meets shore
sky, the water.
The iron colossus of the pier
grinds in the gale,
gulls screech;
he paints their feathers,
soft, ethereal,
ghost-winged.
Paper buffets
in the breeze -
he nails it,
flapping onto a board,
with pins.
His skin’s
ruddy.
He wrestles
with the canvas,
a boy bringing in his kite.
My words
paint his character
submerged
below the surface.
He’s at one with this
corner of the world.
Words roll
with the surf,
then crash
and burn.
Suzy Davies, Copyright 2020. All Rights Reserved
poetry’s starved -
after days of bountiful buffets and open bar
beside the dirty wall there was a shadow,
the signs painted by some graffiti artist
made even less sense in the dark.
lying on the damp floor was the skinny dog.
stare into my bird's eye.
it seemed to say get out,
this hell is mine alone.
so I threw a piece of bread
that I had in my beak.
he salivated and snapped.
the next step was a caress with my wing.
was conquered.
so we made this kind of alliance.
now he follows me around town.
two savages without destiny.
but soon we will be three,
for the skittish cat meowed at us.
sure we will form legion,
let's occupy that hole in the hill,
coming down when hunger strikes,
then we will attack all the buffets,
scandalize the bourgeois,
co-opt the cockatiels,
the turtles and the badgers,
time to attack in pack,
this land will be ours again.
sandpaper savage today
buttermilk wavelength tomorrow
directions are like buffets in multidirectional earthquakes
yet and still i cherish the day
downward spiral clouded pepper today
scallops dipped in butter sauce tomorrow
arrows are like indecisive enthusiasts continuously banging their heads
yet and still i cherish the day
driving off of an embankment today
sucking nipples carelessly on a pillowtop mattress tomorrow
pathways are like emotional guessing games defiant to antiquated rules
yet and still i cherish the day
26/11 not just a calendar date
166 got killed, over 300 wounded.
Gun shots rattled pub pillar
Guzzlers gulped fear in lieu of beer
Patrons served bullets
While they were out for 5 star buffets
Commuters shocked to see firing of AK 47
While they waited for train at railway station
Hospital lay under terrorist scary seize
Terrorists not doctors took rounds of wards
26/11 since 2008
Is a Terror date ...
_________________
© Hitendra Mehta
An old friend died today.
I lift my head and look back,
Down the long fabric of my past.
I remember us at a party –
We partied a lot in those
“Salad days” of our youth!
At one another’s homes
Babies, bolstered with pillows,
Slept on upstairs beds.
Good-natured competitions
Produced late night buffets.
The 20-40 Club – surely we’d
Never be more than 40!
What skits we put on!
The picnics and treasure hunts,
Singing in Musical Arts
Concerts at Troy Music Hall,
New Year’s Eve – a dinner-dance,
Then on ‘til dawn and
Bacon and eggs
At the all night diner.
In later years we kept in touch –
Calls, Christmas cards, rare visits -
Time always dropped away,
And we were back there yet!
Even now I only see Leona young -
Smiling that wonderful smile
That would light a room –
And singing, always singing!
"Better days" Part Two
Down and broke. Had no mattress on the floor, sleeping on the tiles, got frosted and caught a flue.
Had nothing to eat, no Hope just chaotic predicaments, confrontations and a season of hard luck. Tears on granny' s face and no fees for the kids.
But one day!
It all changed, it was the rebirth of Jonah to David the Victor, the Survivor!
Those days gone, now a memento l cannot quite recall, it does not matter for today is a new day.
A new dawn, luck on my side, cloud nine my couch. No more hunger pain!
Pockets deep like the Pacific ocean.
'Every dog, has it's day.' That's what they say and it is indeed true.
Blessings on blessings, doors opening quick, swift decisions. Buffets, Barbeques and lots of treasure like a Lepacon' s layer.
Betters days!
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