Summer swimmers began to depart.
Waves were no longer calm but rumbled with unease.
Kiosks and bar dismantled their wares.
It made me sick to see all gone.
Where was my Cynthia whom I loved so much?
Disappeared without a trace or a good-bye.
She had forsaken me without a reason.
I packed my things and went back home.
Seattle began its blasted drizzle.
Autumn is back with a vengeance.
Leaves changed their greenish hues
into brown, russet, or golden themes,
a kaleidoscope of prismatic colours.
Trees turn bare only slippery grass remained.
I wandered round the wet streets,
I wondered where my Cynthia were.
I entered my favourite coffee shop.
And there she was smiling impishly.
She served me a latte and gave me a kiss.
Leaves flutter slowly to the ground,
a carpet strewn all over the paths
that zigzag through the lonely gardens
or long forgotten forest trails,
whilst fragrant flowers wilt and wither
Yet it was the birth of love.
An hour in the waiting room –
You look around and see
All kinds of folks in varied states
Of some uncertainty.
The old and feeble being wheeled
By aides providing care
And little babies, so you wonder
Why they’re even there.
The TV blasts and kiosks wait
For people to check in,
Anxiety on all the faces
Like a second skin.
And one by one, the names are called,
Abandoning their seats,
To shuffle off while new ones come;
The cycle then repeats.
It’s rare to see a smile
Or an expression of relief,
For stress and fear combine to form
The waiting room motif.
My father lent his car to me,
My driving skills brand-new,
To take a weekend trip with friends,
Which I was shocked he’d do.
We went upstate and stopped for gas
Where we were most surprised
To find the pumps for serve-yourself
Were cleverly devised.
We laughed and posed for pictures
At this novel fill-up way.
Though that was fifty years ago,
I thought of it today.
At Michael’s crafting store, with not
A cashier to be found,
I used the self-check kiosks,
Noting how things come around.
What once was such a novelty’s
Become the way things are.
In future years, there also won’t be
Gas for any car.
We went downtown for a movie
Near an upscale place for food
Filled with kiosks, booths and dining
For whatever suits your mood.
I tried ice cream made with squid ink –
Smooth but black as darkest night,
Also cold-brew coffee flavor
On a cone, a pure delight.
But attracted by some singing,
We walked by to check it out.
When we saw a huge menorah,
We knew what it was about.
For tonight we light a candle,
After sunset, for the start
Of a holiday called Chanukah,
Which sets the Jews apart.
But New York’s the home to many,
Lots of whom were gathered ‘round
To join in the candle-lighting
And the songs which did resound.
It felt good to be a witness
To a most amazing thing –
Total strangers linked together
And the joy that it can bring.
Heritage enclaves of my memory
dissolved away ...
Disappeared the night my freedom died
I woke up the next day,
my liberty completely necroticized
Seeing my new reality
thru dead tyranny zombie eyes
No more freewill;
just a mindless shuffling along,
doing whatever the public broadcast loudspeaker says
Eating maggots of putrid propaganda
rotting in empty kiosks
The whole democratic terrain
looking like burnt out, overturned dumpster bins
Trash of former protests strewn everywhere:
Posters, T-shirts, lots of trinkets
Sad scenes of survivalists giving suicide embraces
to each other in CDC issued blankets
A virulent strain of fascism has swept the land,
a democracy eating pestilence
Airborne swirls of tattered newspaper —
remnants of an extinct free press,
drifts windward towards the sky
As I look uncaring
with dead tyranny zombie eyes,
having no recollection of the day before
Not remembering the night my freedom died
Invitation to a Valentine Bash
(Direction to the Venue)
I live on the Heartland Estate
across from the Elysian Fields,
At the corner of Lovers Lane
and Pure Passion Boulevard
in the town of Romeoville.
If you are taking a midnight train
Get down at the Juliet Junction;
Catch a bus to the Break-heart pass
and get off at the Harem Heights stop.
You'll reach my Pleasure Palace
before the break of day.
Flying of course is not advised
as it is impossible to dodge Cupid's arrows!
But if you are planning to drive,
Take the highway to Elysium.
You might have to stay
overnight at the Erotica Inn,
famous for sensual simulator kiosks.
After some luscious nibbling
at the Casanova Cafe,
You'll arrive before lunch
at my enchanting Chateau.
Bring your lust luggage,
Loads of love potion
and lots of charm.
Running amuck is strictly prohibited.
There will be plenty of time
to cuddle and coo
at the Pleasure Point hill,
Loll in a pool of honey and wine
and soak in the sensual glow
of a bohemian moon.
RSVP: A week shy of Valentine's Day
Or, please call 666-PASSION.
~12/25/16
for Mystic Rose contest
Dusk, prone for a head-on collision
For the trees brace themselves
Huddle as tribesmen to swat away
The human dirigibles taking laps
Around this pathetic attempt
To rape nature for commerce
With intimate kiosks acting as
Mini brothels looking to get laid (and paid, at 70% off)
I hear the trees whimper slightly
Marginalized for the margins and cracks looming
Inside each retail fish* tank
Let's choose to ignore them
Let's oxidize together
For the trees need this more than us
Because guess who's left standing
When the brothels close
From diseased indulgence
And reddish overuse
When the game's over
After last rites granted
And the lights go out
When we simply need to gaze
Towards the heavens and
Honor these angelic trunks
Of tantric glory.
(10/23/14)
*replacement word; actual is not allowed by site standards.
The kiosks selling Christmas trees
Shut down on Christmas eve
With many evergreens unsold,
Much more than you’d believe.
The workers start dismantling
Their temporary bowers;
Not many customers come by
In these remaining hours.
The trees nobody wanted
Get wrapped up and placed in piles.
They’ll never showcase ornaments
Or manufacture smiles.
But bargain hunters may pop up
To commandeer a tree
Which, after all the sellers split,
Is obviously free.
Not every fir or spruce on hand
Will find a welcome home
And so I will acknowledge them
Right here, within my poem.
(Direction to the Venue)
I live on the Heartland Estate
Across from the Elysian Fields,
At the corner of Lovers Lane
and Pure Passion Boulevard
in the town of Romeoville.
If you are taking a midnight train
Get down at the Juliet Junction;
Catch a bus to the Breakheart pass
And get off at the Harem Heights stop.
You'll reach my Pleasure Palace
before the break of day.
Flying of course is not advised
As it is impossible to dodge
Cupid's arrows!
But if you are planning to drive,
Take the highway to Elysium.
You might have to stay
overnight at the Erotica Inn,
Famous for sensual stimulator Kiosks.
After some luscious nibblings
at the Casanova Cafe,
You'll arrive before lunch
at my enchanting Chateau.
Bring your lust luggage,
Loads of love potion and lots of charm.
Running amuck is strictly prohibited.
There will be plenty of time to cuddle
and coo at the Pleasure Point hill,
Loll in a pool of honey and wine,
And soak in the sensual glow
of a bohemian moon.
RSVP: A week shy of Valentine's Day
Or, please call 666-PASSION.
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