I spent October inside, until fall had fled
Stresses proliferated, and a hospital bed
I missed the foliage on the Adirondacks high
Yellow, orange and red against the blue sky
I remembered where I had seen colors before
Just 40 miles from my cottage door.
An old Dutch Church, built in 1697
And the graveyard behind, a waystation to heaven.
I made my way south and walked up the hill
Between mausoleums were trees and the color would spill
copper and red and orange and gold.
I let it sink in, and peace took hold.
A stone path opened up a Hudson River scene
I was the only one there, it felt so serene
Then a cloud drifted west, colors lost hue
Like a muted repainting of that grave-framed view.
I've seen death before, and one thing I knew
The saddest words in life were "nothing more we can do"
I wondered if those words were sometimes incorrect
and I thought just coming for colors might show disrespect.
But many come to see the place, most for history
to see the resting place of Irving, Celtic cross of Carnegie.
And we all join the ranks; we all pay life's cost.
There's no going back, once the river is crossed.
All around, smoke ribboned from ashtrays
and mushroomed on the stained ceiling.
There, in the corner, F. Lee Bailey glared,
like a father watching his ill behaved children,
but, as children do, they ignored him.
Irving Kanarek leaned on the far end of the bar.
He was equally ignored,
as barristers sought their pecking order
in a gaggle of egos.
Over the bar a sign hung, "The Bench",
where ironically, the bartender, in jest,
would be asked to "judge" the winner of some petty spat.
Conversation was tediously interrupted as night progressed,
"Objection your honor,l he's badgering the witness"!
"Objection sustained" would ring out from behind the bar,
but amidst all the pseudo legalese, a pall hung ~
draping down the walls like smoke.
They must laugh for sanity but
the killer set free, who would kill again
became the dragon in the room
that would follow them home...
Note: F. Lee Bailey defended the Boston Strangler. OJ Simpson and others
and Irving Kanarek defended Charles Manson
Perhaps he's crackers
to embrace glitz
(to paraphrase Irving Berlin)
'Putin on the Ritz'
tho'
'Sometimes something is better than nothing'
went the writing on the wall
yet
'Too much of nothing'
(wrote the Zimmerman)
is really no good at all
and
'Everything comes to those who wait'
an optimist put in prose
but
Cole Porter said it best
when he wrote, 'Anything Goes'
" I'll be loving you Always. When the things you've planned, need a helping hand, I will understand Always" Irving Berlin "Our Song" ~~ The Poet~~
Last night you held my hand as I fell asleep,
Calming me as I drifted off without a peep.
There you were in my dream smiling your smile,
Caring and selflessly being my mum all the while.
Its only in my dreams I see you now, I miss you so.
I seem to hear that pretty song everywhere I go.
The one we loved, it was bright and showed me the way.
And I would give the world if I could hear you sing that song today.
"There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love." -Washington Irving
When the light fades from my eyes,
Weak and frail before it dies,
Light a candle to remind
Even though my eyes be blind,
Love still abides in my soul,
Love, the kind that makes one whole!
emagi=a digital reverse ekphrasis
Tea for two by Irving Caesar
T 4 2
I'm dreaming of the sandy beaches
Just like the ones I’ve seen before,
Where the surf is rising,
With lovers surmising,
While kayakers skim along the shore.
I’m dreaming of the sandy beaches
With every poem today I write
Hoping you have good weather up here
If I think of you,
I’ll shout a quick “Good night!”
[Repeat]
I'm dreaming of those sandy beaches
With every poem today I write
Of my presence here please do not lose sight
And may your holidays be bright!
Written December 10, 2022
[with a special nod to Irving Berlin,
a parody of his "White Christmas"]
It's not a prerequisite, of course, but if a piece of writing is any good, chances are it's probably offensive to someone. (Paraphrasing John Irving-A Widow for One Year) So, writer beware...
Words are a writer's stock in trade,
To ply it well requires a versatile,
Not volatile, vocabulary.
With words a writer's claim to fame is made,
But words can have broad repercussions.
So when he writes
He should select them well,
Not just to sell,
But so they don't arouse the scrutiny
Of those guys who comprise Homeland Security
And become the subject of discussions
Of the FBI, the CIA,
The DAR, the DMV,
The IRS, the IRA,
USPS, the EPA,
The PTA, SPCA,
AARP or AAA,
Twitter, NAACP,
The NFL, the MLB,
The LGBTQ community,
The NRA, the PGA,
NASA or the BBB,
Ellen, Oprah, Dr. Phil,
An ad hoc Sunday sermon bill,
Or his city, county, state constabulary.
Quote by IRVING BERLIN
I knew you as a brilliant light
Shimmering joy, hope and insight
Laughing with wonder at the stars
Breathing a smile through our memoirs
Your song played - is soft dreams and peace
Inviting love that will not cease
A life ended, but love is ours
Breathing a smile through our memoirs
The melody shines on the soul
With time, it lingers to console
On hearts with a moment in jars
Breathing a smile through our memoirs
Keola Secret Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: William Kekaula
January 18, 2022
*Image of Presentation on Three Stooges by Coshocton Tribune.
Curly and Shemp
*Jerome Lester Horwitz,
often dimmer than your wits,
famously known as Curly Howard, one of the three stooges,
his slapstick comedy split our sober from laughter like being in centrifuges.
*Samuel Horwitz,
a mind filled crackers, no ritz,
Lithuanian Jewish mom says "Sam" with her accent came out "Shemp",
like the original three, ad-libbing and wisecracks, **filled baby bro's shoes as his temp.
*Five brothers; Irving, Benjamin, Samuel (Shmuel), Moses (Moe), Jerome (Curly)
**Curly's ill-fated stroke caused Shemp to return as his original stooge self or Moe and Larry comedy series would have ended.
2021 September 29
*2nd Place*
Clerihew 2
~~Joseph May: Judged 2021 October 29
The Three Stooges
Lofty sorts tenement;
Residential entitlements;
Homeward bound ;
Lost in town,
Logistics Irving bound;
Summers call;
Legitimate hall;
Tournament crawl;
No mortgage though;
No rent termites eating bossa wood;
Lying on rough wet papered floor;
a homeless man lives alone and a cardboard boxed home!
8/30/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
asking for a sign
a wild peculiar joy~
with my name on it
*Irving Layton, A Wild Peculiar Joy
Selected Poems 1945-89
Signed by the Author, To Maureen
If you look at ol’ Bram Stoker,
Irish writer of Dracula fame,
it can be quite hard to believe
that any remember his name.
At first just a civil servant,
then he managed a London stage,
doing books for Henry Irving,
a great actor of the age.
Then he somehow writes a novel,
of a distant, cruel vampire,
the critics liked the way he wrote,
but the book hardly inspired.
Sales were steady, but most thought it
a good thriller, nothing more,
if you said it was ‘Literary’
their jaws would’ve hit the floor.
But the book kept going steady,
it has never been out of print,
Hollywood put it on the screen,
and the studios made a mint!
It codified a sub-genre,
has defined the vampire’s ways,
when modern minds think of these fiends
they see Dracula to this day.
Henry Irving is long forgotten,
but Stoker we appreciate,
modern horror is in his debt,
you never know who will be great.
To the rock
That wished to fly
Like a butterfly
Sent skipping along
The mirrored sky
Bearing a Layton sigh
Do you feel alive?
*Skipper: a type of butterfly
*Layton: Irving Layton 1912-2006
Canadian poet, author of "Butterfly on Rock"
Once again our nation…our world…is mired…in a sad and gloomy fog
as 11 more people have been massacred in a Pittsburgh synagogue…
11 innocent people praying one minute…the next ceasing to exist
11 innocent people added to a long and growing list.
Once again we are filled sorrow…once again our grief we can’t disguise
Once again we feel for the families…once again the whole world cries…
Yes, once again we’re crying as more of our innocence drifts away
because tears are all we have left…when we have no more words to say.
Joyce Fienberg, 75
Richard Gottfried, 65
Rose Mallinger, 97
Jerry Rabinowitz, 66
Cecil Rosenthal, 59
David Rosenthal, 54
Bernice Simon, 84
Sylvan Simon, 86, (husband of Bernice)
Daniel Stein, 71
Melvin Wax, 88
Irving Younger, 69?
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