Long Albany Poems
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anticipated Albany albatrosses
buried bumpy bugs beyond the bay
creepy curious cats dug them up
dinner for dogs they said in disgust
even the dogs turned up their snouts at the bugs
frenzied finicky felines are crazy they barked
giant crows arrived and devoured the gruesome bugs
helping themselves to six or eight at a time
I am glad these raptors showed up said the dogs
jealousy in no way entering their heads
kilt-wearing albatrosses happened along
lingering close to where their bug stash used to be
mad now, they marched menacing around the meadow
no need to be upset, the bugs escaped, lied the dogs
opportunity to be peacemakers always taken by pups
pacifists and problem solvers
quails and quackers put their six cents in
raising the ire of the miffed albatrosses
sixteen sparrows sauntered in to stir things up too
they had heard there was a show-down
ugly words were tweeted and chirped
verbs and vowels best not repeated here
wrens and warblers were shooed off by the fray
‘xact ‘xchange never ‘xamined or journaled
you are lucky you escaped this melee
zealous birds can become dangerously ugly.
The grand, half-ruined Parthenon,
once a sublime, Doric grace,
Even now, in broken, stone blocks,
always takes my breath away.
The rich, classical detail,
fluted columns without plinths,
to imagine what it once was,
the mind can’t even begin…
That towering Coliseum,
the great masterpiece of Rome,
even half gone it’s staggering,
to be so tall, but made in stone.
Go down to the domed Pantheon,
still so perfect to this day,
these are not just random buildings,
they stand with something to say.
And those long, Gothic cathedrals,
so ornate and yet so light,
stained glass alone is enough
to make these churches a sight!
But all of that fine tracery,
those magnificent cravings,
the rows of flying buttresses,
inspire the soul to sing.
The Byzantines and their tiles,
Tudor masonry and wood,
Romanesque with its arches,
Art Decco looks oh-so-good,
Baroque with all its fussiness,
Victorians with their quirks,
Renaissance sports Italian flare,
Palladian’s subtle pleasures…
And yet in Albany, New York,
there stands the featureless ‘egg,’
That’s its name and its resemblance,
I am not pulling your leg.
No decoration, no windows,
as it stands there in the sun,
people call it ‘modernist,’
I call it ‘concrete abortion.’
Worse is the post-modern trash,
theaters shaped like hunks of cheese,
painted pink, spattered with portholes,
a mad-man’s monstrosity.
That is the product of our skills?
That is how we would inspire?
By building things that look like they
have been melted in a fire?!
They bulldoze down our heritage
to throw up more of these things?
And the big-wigs who approved this,
what the hell are you thinking?!
If these buildings of the future
are to have no beauty or class,
then you can keep ‘modernity,’
I’ll gladly live in the past.
II.
Days passed slowly, Amos didn’t return,
Mary Bairns now had to reasons to weep.
Her son was gone, there could be no mistake,
and her daughter, half-mad, didn’t sleep.
She packed up their things and traveled east
to just outside the town of Albany.
There lived Uncle Ike, who heard the sad tale,
and to take Mary as wife, he agreed.
Things quickly became quiet, if not okay,
since Amity’s belly soon began to swell.
Mary and Ike knew she could not be a mother
2ith painful memories leaving her unwell.
To make it worse a rumor had come
from where they had once made their home,
that poor Amity had a run-in with the beast,
many versions soon became well-known.
But Mary and Ike, they formed a plan,
and with the help of some padding,
forty-two year old Mary claimed a miracle,
after all this time she was ‘expecting.’
When Amity’s baby came into the world,
Mary told all that the child was her own.
The rumors soon cooled and the child thrived,
raised up in a true, loving home.
They called him Warren, and he grew tall,
broad of shoulder with much body hair.
But a nicer man the world never knew,
he was a big, old, gentle teddy bear.
He grew up and took himself a wife,
and served proudly back in Eighteen-Twelve.
His children just scoffed at the crazy rumors,
which faded off but were never dispelled.
As generations turned it became folklore,
a fun tale told to entertain the kids.
The Bairns even sometimes play into it,
dressing up and telling the tale to tourists.
But one day in two thousand thirteen,
while on a drive through central New York,
Scott Bairns saw a farm that he had to have,
with a barn, fine house, and fields to work…
CONCLUDES IN PART III.
Next day
A beautiful woman
Drove me to near Chicago
In a red mustang
Might have been
The girl in the song
Took it easy
Digging her vibe
She invited home
But was not sure
If her estranged husband
Would welcome me
So, I am being foolish
And inexperienced with women
Did not go to her place
And always regretted
That I had lost
My chance that day
Then on to Chicago
Several rides later
Visited friends
Hit the road again
A series of uneventful rides
With truckers
And others
And a week later
I ended in New York City
Slept along the way
In cars
In truck stops
In high way rest stops
Always moving
Always going
None stop talking
And lots of free weed
And beer
And conversation
One more memorable ride
Occurred outside Albany
On my return to Chicago
A middle age creepy looking man
Picked me up
In a brand-new Cadillac
He was he said a dynamite deliverer
For the Mafia
Went to various places
To blow up ****
He hated a lot of people
Particularly hippies from California
And Jewish people
Looking at me to confirm
That I was both
I told him that I lived in New York
And had never been to California
And although I might have looked Jewish
As I what was called back in the day
A “Jewfro”
I was not Jewish
Many years later I discovered
That I am indeed part Jewish
But then I did not know
And I felt a bit of strategic information
Might keep me alive
Then I realized that he was just jiving with me
And we relaxed
And he pulled out some weed
And beer
And we mellowed out
But I believe that he really was with the mob
Perhaps not a dynamite dealer
A real made Italian made mafia member
By Chicago
I had enough
I called my Dad
Told him what had happened
Wanted a ticket home
And he sent me a ticket
And 500 dollars
And I went home
I told him I would tell him
My tales some day
But never did
I learned so much
About my fellow Americans
And the strange vibe
That was 1975
And now it is too late
But I wanted to finally
Tell the world
Of my hitchhiking tales
In search of America 1975
end part two check out my poetry blog https://theworldaccordingtocosmos.com for this and other poems
the Government gives developers and corporations huge tax breaks
but the workers only get poverty wages and public funds they need to take
to earn $8 dollars an hour on which to raise a family
I don't know about you but I think that's an absurdity
we need prevailing wages to be set in the work place
what those companies are trying to pay the workers is a disgrace
Albany get off your rear ends and do the job for which you've been elected
for as sure as you're in that position by the people you can be rejected
you've lost the people's trust and New Yorkers are in an uproar
stop all the filabustering and get some legislation passed into law
Justice in the Work Place that's one of the reason you were sent to Albany
Justice in the Work Place for the workers and their families
The line of people out the door.
The queue that snaked around the floor.
The building's sleek art deco style.
The carpets' faded plush red pile.
The "Coming Soon" in convex frames.
The "Showing Now" and big star names.
The James Bond pose in poster shots.
The tickets from the kiosk slots.
The heavy doors that often creaked.
The seats on springs that always squeaked.
The fan shaped lights along the side.
The screen that stretched up high and wide.
The smoke that swirled inside the beam.
The shapes and sounds of Pearl And Dean.
The adverts that had overrun.
The trailers for the films to come.
The feature that would come on first.
The sudden pangs of extreme thirst.
The usherette's cool ice cream stint.
The fancy names like Midnight Mint.
The expectations in the place.
The action of the opening chase.
The talking scenes that went nowhere.
The plastic cup beneath my chair.
The glance at watches in poor light.
The stunts and guns and final fight.
The seats that sprung as credits rolled.
The exit doors and night time cold.
I awoke this morning
To a brand new day
The sun was shining
Neighbourhood children played
Then i heard on the news
That made my hair stand on end
The Reapers elves
To our world they descend
Dressed in black
These creatures of death
To take earths life
It's very last breath
With them he marches
Dictating who dies
Enrolling the weak
As he casts his eyes
First Toronto and Buffalo
Near these beautiful falls
Cities, towns and villages
In darken deathly maul
They reach Albany
Near route 87
Many people are praying
As they look towards heaven
They are now in their thousands
As they walk with the dead
The discarded are left
In bloodied stained shreds
Our countries are in cry
For a saviour so strong
To turn this dark evil to right
Cast them out, to where they came from
Semaj is summoned
Once again
From his Kingdom in the Highlands
Master of, the Mountains and Glens
With Etto his droid
New York they reach
To call up the followers
In world wide preach
He summons the Knights
And hero's of old
To rise for the right
And join his fold
In Churches and Cathedrals
All throughout our nations
Burial vaults are opening
Civilisations salvation
Even the gargoyles
Leave their resting places
To join the fold
Their faces now grace us
To the North of New York
The old and the new stand
To rid this evil
From our righteous free lands
The Reaper cries
Hell is for hero's
As King Richard replies
Hell is for zero's
Both armies clash
In bloodied spoil
But there's no spill of red
On this free countries soil
Where all around
Lie fallen elves
The Reaper on his knees
For this is where he fell
Semaj stands over
This evil of the dark
With his claymore he strikes
We are now worlds apart
The clean up begins
As they are gathered en-mass
With the divine waters
This evil has passed
The very next day
All the old hero's have returned
To their place of rest
For on this day they have earned
Nations stood together
To fight all evil, as one
The corner has been turned
A new world has begun
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-10.php
From hills and orchard row to the Queen’s chain
plume the toetoe, the ponga’s silver gild -
in planted grove and fertile dairy plain
droved is the fatted calf and the earth tilled.
White breasted native wood pigeons cooing
leap bearing fruits and leaves to feed among,
and up above in splendid chorus wing
the tui, bellbird, and grey warbler song.
O’ to see that autumn sun’s gentle fade
on the dew shine of fallen crown of leaves,
and macrocarpas betwixt light and shade
when April rains fall its bowers and eaves.
Soon the solstice will a changing invoke
and idle woodfired stovepipes fill with smoke.
Written: April 1996
Surveying
northern autumn afternoon
Pitcherelli, ex-marine, body-builder,
Lussier, long-haired father of three dark-skinned children
and myself, sharp-edged loner, ex-lover of a fair share of women
are belly-laughing in the dying sun. Clouds.
The crew, in timber.
Laughing
over recent visits to marvelous cities where
we could not keep ourselves from touching the terminal buds
of numerous exotic trees
and attracting ridicule of stylish girls and tame boyfriends.
Pitcherelli before the Albany bus station
shaking hands with a red pine planted thirty years ago.
Lussier, one hand in a child's hand and the other
feeling scabrous bark of urban woody plants.
Myself among partially shaved heads and leathery aromatic jackets
getting close to the hairy bud of an unidentified poplar or sycamore.
People
laughed, but we laughed best
back on our mountain
under the blackening weather.
Blue Moon tonight which is very rare
It happens on New Years Eve once in nineteen years
Will you be watching to see if it peeks through
In New York City, Albany, or Calimazu
Maybe in Ormand Beach, Florida
Utah, Alaska a state so fair
How about in the United Kingdom
Africa, Asia, Malayia, or Bonnie Scotland where
It may shine on ice and snow
Or rain reflecting streets
Somewhere on the desert plain
Where the sidewinders sleep
Will the clouds part for just
A short time for you and me
So we can see this phenominum
That will be such a treat
I will be watching and hope
For just a peek, if only for a moment..
That would be so neat
My day will be filled with excitement
As I watch and wait
This could be the night
That I might stay up late
Sit out on the porch in the cold
Hoping to share with you
A night of anticipation
Of a moon that is blue
Will it cast a shadow
On my gray gray hair
Or hide all the wrinkles
That shows my character
So that youth is reflected
On this night so fair
On this night so rare
On this night to share
On this night be there
(Some explanation of Blue Moon. (1) Earth close to sun-so earth gets more sun and moon
will be brighter. (2) Moon will be closer to earth so seems larger. (3) Full moon rises to a
point nearly opposite the sun and because sun is low this time of year the full moon will rise
particularly high. Blue moon is not blue in color but two full moons in one month because we
do not use lunar calendar but one devised by man. Last blue moon on New Years Eve was
l990 and next will be 2028 or every 19 years.) (There are several explanations how the term
came into being but I will let you look it up.)
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