STREET MUSIC
Manhattan, in nineteen thirty six
And a growing Italian population
Poor immigrants, no job no food
And so impossible not to intrude
Yet there was strong motivation
Out on the street, turning tricks
A barrel organ, four dollars rent
One could include a monkey too
Or even buy them, a block away
Earn a few cents profit every day
Maybe a wife improved the view
To make a buck was the intent
Street life could have been kinder
And intervention was never tardier
Yet a Mayoral ban, it would seem
Begging, not the American dream
So it was outlawed, by La Guardia
And New York’s last organ grinder
Categories:
guardia, music, society,
Form: Rhyme
It is hard to walk in the sand especially with boots and a heavy rifle.
Manuel and I would sit on a rock and watch the moon give birth to
a distant blue Africa.
Franco's Guardia Civil were not all thugs. A few were poets.
Manuel's father had worshiped the general and had blessed
the day Guernica 'that Marxist nest' had been flattened.
That was decades before he was born, yet Manuel still patrolled
the beach, weaving between sunbathing tourist seeking nonexistent saboteurs.
On his rounds the young conscript fell in love - often, but in winter
(when his sneering corporal was away), he would sit in the bar,
tongue curled like a snail shell, dedicating lurid hyperbole
to every female foreigner that had smiled at him, and to all
the Catalan girls that never did.
That night the moon seemed to translate for us.
He asked me earnestly:
if I thought Franco would ever lift the ban on bikini's?
"Never!" I replied, "The Pope and the Rightists are against it."
Manuel rose and shuffled sadly away, his rifle dragging on the sand.
That night the moon came close, to bask on Manuel’s beach,
and she without a stitch of cloud-cover over her matronly form.
Categories:
guardia, poetry,
Form: Prose Poetry
Left Tampa bound for home
And though all caution we exerted,
We've landed in Virginia
Since our flight has been diverted.
La Guardia said no more flights
Could land and so we skirted
The airspace that surrounds it,
All the pilots thus alerted.
Though naturally I'm glad that
Awful weather's been averted,
The passengers, including me,
Are rather disconcerted.
My hope is that the thunderstorms
Will somehow be subverted;
If not, you'll hear some curses
Which my lips will like have spurted.
Categories:
guardia, flying,
Form: Rhyme
On early Thursday morning,
Terror filled the New York sky.
And two engines were disabled,
By a flock of birds passing by.
Departing from La Guardia,
Bound for Charlotte, N.C.
US Airways flight 1549,
Departed at 3:24 from NYC.
And moments after departure,
A calm subtle voice was heard.
Stating to brace for impact,
Before the impact occurred.
The plane essentially became,
A 170,000 pound glider.
As the 58-year old captain,
Became the flights safety provider.
And in a controlled descent,
He steered the disabled craft.
Over the George Washington bridge,
And safely sailing it like a raft.
155 passengers survived as his,
Courage and heroism was outstanding.
On 1-15-09, the pilot of pilots,
Performed an amazing splash landing.
_________________________________
Inspired by the courage and heroism
of Captain Chesley B. Sullenberger, III,
for the Miracle of the Hudson on 1-15-09
Categories:
guardia, dedicationcourage,
Form: Quatrain
with my multicolored
bundle of
charismatic joy
Running back and forth
to and fro,
putting her "babies" to sleep,
"Wow, everybody's sleeping
Oh, I'm sooo happy!"
(she announces so simply)
with blankets and covers
on each one -
so ritualistic
and real to her
dropping them like
luggage
at La Guardia
on a shining Sunday afternoon
without apprehension or slightest
care of tomorrow,
Monday Morning
Categories:
guardia, caregiving, daughter, father,
Form: Free verse