The Chinese tend to take the long-term view.
They do things differently in Old Cathay.
A thousand decades, almost to the day,
have come and gone. There’s really nothing new.
While foreigners fixate on Fu Manchu,
The Eastern mind sees things another way.
While we pervert, prevaricate, parlay,
the “chink” prefers to chew, review, construe.
“Since Revolution’s what you like to do,”
some western wag asked Mao in sixty-two,
what of the French?” (Vendée, Charlotte Corday,
the sans-culottes, et cetera.) “Your view?
A triumph, or disaster?” Like Sun-Tzu,
Tse Tung replied, “It’s far too soon to say.”
my fourteenth summer. .
the son of a preacher man
showing me heaven
His teasing ways and his boyish grin.
How easily I was taken in!
I felt like a woman in my cute short culottes and wearing pink frost lipstick
that he’d kissed off my mouth before the night was through.
My best friend, with her guy, was in the front seat of the car.
My date, her older cousin, was my first sweet honey bee.
We made out in the back seat, but he never got too far.
I was raised to value my virginity.
But my youthful heart was wishing we could kiss eternally!
Written Dec. 30, 2015
for The Poet's Dozen Contest of Silent One
I was listening to oldies wishing the songs would not end
They carried me back to when time was a friend
A time when I wore a younger man's smile
Culottes, pedal pushers and love were in style
We rode our bicycles all over town
Put a flash light on the handlebars when the sun went down
Sometimes we'd gather in Dutch Hill Park
Play on the swings until well after dark
We smoked Luckies and Camels because we were men
Filters were for girls way back then
There were fights and laughter, sometimes a beer
A childhood lived without knowing fear
Mothers raised children, fathers worked hard
Wash was on clothes lines in the back yard
Somehow the bills got paid when they were due
Dads stopped on the way home from work for a few
Sometimes there were days without a penny to spend
Neighbors were family when time was a friend
We cherish those memories as we get old
Memories are more precious than silver or gold
I close my eyes say a prayer and to sleep I descend
Then dream of the days when time was a friend
Though he hasn’t got a penny
And he hasn’t got a pot
There is nothing in his pocket
He’s a man who’s sans culottes
But he’s really rather happy
Though he doesn’t have a sou
He’s got freedom and there’s no one
Who can tell him what to do
Sometimes an old song or an old movie can revive memories
If only we were able to reach back
Recapture the feelings, the simple joys, the dreams
To reach back and touch the moments
That first ice cream soda from the corner drug store
Peeling open a pack of baseball cards and
Trading with a friend for a favorite rookie
Frankenstein on the Late Show on Friday night
Dance in the auditorium, Hey! She’s wearing culottes
Sponge ball at the five and ten, up against the house
A small nail and electrical tape to fix the bat
The balcony on a Saturday night, keep dreaming
Chase tag, hide and seek in the street
King of the mountain in the old park
To reach back and have those feelings again
Pack of Luckies in the shirt sleeve
Hustling a game in the pool hall
Sunday ride to Grandma’s house
Free movie in the playground on a summer night
Keeping stats for a wiffle ball league
Wrap around skirts and pedal pushers
Bobbie socks and Bobbie pins
White bucks and Butch wax
Juke box hits six for a quarter
Slow dance, save the last one for me
If only we were able to reach back