the dining hall is half empty
because it is friday - shabbat
and good jews light candles at home
not such a good jew i am out
with my female friend both of us
dressed for the late winter evening
conversation is light, muted
mostly about the eggplant dish
i'm having or calimari
my elegant friend is having
while the wizened broad in the back
plays dulcet tones on the steinway
my mind drifts from the idle talk
as i think how at such a place
with the white tablecloths
quiet music and low lighting
they shot dead rosie rosenthal
when he stepped outside for a smoke
i half expect to get shot too
when at length the dinner concludes
and we rejoin the chilly night
with near regret i note i'm not
for they'd recall me like rosie
and i'd not wake up still alone
No longer Serves me
Dear Self am I resisting changes?
consistently exploring in this web
of deja vu of what no longer serves
me. Stages in my life have been
heartaches and heartbreaks similar to
a bow and arrow have more drawbacks
then ups now releasing and being carefree.
Hopes and wishful thinking seem like
cousins to disappointments broken
trust and disrespect that I will no longer
entertain no longer serves me, letting go
gibberish chatter, will I ever see changes?
hopeful thinking, will it cons to pass,
difficult to grasp am I avoiding the reality of
questions at hand usually cause of idle talk
bringing up one's past yet now I'm so
unbothered by things that no longer serves
or brings substance and growth I am
stronger than yesterday's things that no
longer serves me.
People make assumptions,
And that's not always good.
Instead of thinking just the best,
As one another should.
They'll often add to what you've said,
The thoughts in their own minds,
Changing what you meant to say,
To something less than kind;
Giving what you meant in jest,
An unfamiliar ring,
And something really innocent,
Becomes another thing.
It's easy to assume a thing,
And then go spread the story,
But when you do you carry tales,
And cause much undue worry.
Concocting things from what you've heard,
Is such a petty pastime.
It serves us well to check our thoughts,
And bring them all back in line.
Remember, don't believe the things,
That sometimes you will hear,
For truth or lie, it matters not,
The price you'll pay is dear;
For those who spread about such news,
Have naught to do but lobby.
Perhaps we should suggest to them,
That they pursue a hobby.
The end of a friendship
I sat in the kitchen of the flat mother had left me,
trying to write a poem, when heard my former friend
coming up the stairs, I had locked the kitchen door
didn´t want them in or talk to them anymore.
They knocked on the door, let us in Joe, we know
you are in there, I didn´t answer.
When the knock stopped, they stood in the communal
hallway, cursing me, calling me and much more.
Once I had been one of them drifting through life
that has no purpose other than sitting in cafes drinking beer
wasting time with idle talk.
The kitchen was my den, my interest was writing.
I had lost my train of thoughts and switched on the TV,
It was in black and white, turned the sound off watched
people on a stage being funny and people laughing
with the sound off, it looked ridiculous.
I fell asleep but woke up early, in the Nord the night
is short in spring.
I made a cheese sandwich, drank coffee, grateful that
I was not like my former friends.
Old Friends
Come, sit with me and share some idle talk,
Of cabbages and kings, of life and death.
Or else, perhaps, opining as we walk,
We could discuss some current shibboleth.
We’ll wile away the day just as we please,
While deconstructing pop philosophy.
No topic is taboo, we’ll shoot the breeze
With politics mixed with theology.
Together we will save the planet Earth,
Preventing climate change from getting worse.
And when we’re done with that, for what it’s worth,
We’ll solve the riddles of the universe.
We’ll talk the talk and talk the walk and then
Tomorrow we will do it all again!
January twenty-fifth
silver locks idle talk with
age comes wisdom an old myth
a dance holding firmly fixed walker
1/18/2020
Keep on “Truckin”
Or
Try Till You Die
Thoughts of Miracle Man
On 10/5/2018
As my tomorrows lessen,
My today’s find me mired in a sea of pills,
Which extend life, while inhibiting my living it.
Others utter the words, can’t, shouldn’t, and don’t,
But these words only incite me to be more determined.
Idle talk, idle time, and being cautious have never been me; why begin now?
Most thoughts are of things locked away in my past,
While I crave those things that now are memories,
My focus is on eternity.
Oh Feathered,
Feather
In my dream's
You spoke to me of change
And a guardian angel
Yet nothing since has changed
I am still the same
No lion's I have tamed,
Nor horses spirit's I have broke
I am I fear what i appear
A wheel without a spoke
One solitary feather set adrift in stormy weather
And all for this idle talk of guardian angels
please excuse me if I do not cackle like a giraffe
As I fear you have lead me up the garden path
to a house overgrown with weeds
So dank and bleak the floorboards creak
beneath the weight of passing ghosts and shadows
Of the remnant of the leftovers
Life is idle talk
Do you want to read my poem?
It is not available
Try again later
Life is idle talk
Do you to see me physically?
I am not available
Try never again later
Fallacious gossip idle talk
Soggy crackling on the Sunday roasted pork
Plunge me into an inspiral Vortex
Without a point or cortex
Scarlet letter's
Like love withered curt roses
Dance behind the misty tree's of palace courtyards
Bewilder me with remorse
Why?
Doth my Curiosity get the best of me?
The Totality of it all
Eviscerate this septic wound of failing marriage
Curiosity has rendered my cat dead
Tantalize me with
8 short well versed words
That speak to me
Like Bird song before early morning dawn's
As life carries on regardless
For John Hamilton's
8 word challenge - 7 poetry contest
They were sitting in an old-fashioned coffee house unraveling the beans
Little nuggets of wisdom not coated in sugar not creamed by distortion
Is the concept of minimal maxims truly axiomatic when we promise each
other to be of altruistic and selfless composure just discussing an argument
I shall buy you another round of caffeine infusion it helps to concentrate
on general truths like only finding solutions from rightful beginnings and logic
Existence comes before essence let us live to the fundamental potential of
talking the talk and walking the walk on that long road of questions and mind
Should we not metaphorically speaking assassinate that honest asseveration
persevere deliberate bite the bullet that fact lies in the eye of a sharp needle
I forgot to bring my nook split hooks today I feel naked can you not see it
The fabric of meaning is a bit stitched up today but the coffee hits home
Valid reasoning from a sound premise (the coffee house) to a grand finale
Whose paradigm what dictum which virtue or just idle talk brewing to where
SE PROMENER
Down by the River Seine, where light abounds
come take a walk with me, a sheer delight,
just listen to the distant flowing sounds
of Paris coming to another night;
to hear a distant concertina play
is magic to mine ears, c'est magnifique,
and only Paris lives, in such a way
that brings the love of which the poets speak;
to see this city shroud itself in glow
from all the love, of which we are a part,
is seeing birth that few in life can know
and all this love of Paris, is its' heart.
Je vais me promener--come join my walk
forgetting life a while, let's idle talk.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
GIRL AT CHAMP DE MARS
Beneath the girds of steel, rising to the sky;
where tourists go to watch the world go by;
the children come to play, and lovers walk
through myriads of life and idle talk,
this is the Champ de Mars where Paris goes
to show that side of life that only Paris shows,
with donkey rides and jugglers all for fun
where you'll forget a love, or meet someone
A troubadour will sing her memory
so you'll forget tomorrow has to be,
and people watching is the thing in style,
each painted face, each heartbreak, every smile.
Where madamoiselle forgets what she must wear
throws caution to the wind, lets down her hair
an orange blouse, and skin tight yellow hose,
she shows the world someone it never knows.
She's looking for that locking of her eyes
and touching of her heart, as time it flies,
and someone she has known, but never met,
the first kiss of her life she'll not forget.
And Paris knows, yes Paris knows what's real
the love she comes to know and love and feel
it never will leave her, as time goes by
and she will think on it, many times, and cry.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
Lap of fancy fills with flowers,
Just to think of her tonight,
This is not an idle talk,
I'm in good humor tonight.
I would not reveal my secrets,
To enchanting eyes of hers,
But she took away my power,
I could not resist tonight.
Beauty's garden I'm traversing,
Half-inclined to soar up high,
Heaven don't throw at the wings
Of my joy your rocks tonight.
I have no pre-occupation
But her deep mysterious eyes,
I am stealing black collyrium
From the eyes of deer tonight.
The heart's mirror takes its luster
From her splendor, may be somehow
Supplicant, it rubbed its face
On the feet of Love tonight.
My good thoughts are a reflection
From the scripture of her face,
In the vault of chance and fate,
I see evil shunned tonight.
Keeping far from grape's daughter,
And with good luck being in bed,
The first option I forbid me,
Second one my right tonight.
Reason, you think only of one thing,
The impossible, so leave me,
Don't you talk to me this once,
Of forbidden love tonight!
Qasem Ghazanfar,
Translated from the Persian by the author
Oh, my faces and image of mine,
They aren’t having some likeness of yours
I’m not prince I’m not master of mine
with the oil or gold, it’s not loss.
I won’t freeze on the pictures of glance
in editions of fashion and vogue
Royal parties won’t take off the suns
from my cheeks after their idle talk.
I’m the same as I was in the past
And the crows fly above my poor head
I don’t need their falsehood, I’m guest
in this show, save your crown for next lad.
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