Long Albany Poems
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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
We went away heaps of times, to busso, gerro, freo, york, bunbury and albany
I remember most the latter and how you wrecked my bike so horribly
I carried it up a hill, while you went to get the ute
But after awhile I decided to cycle the damned route
We found a little restaurant called HK's
Not sure it will be so cheap nowadays
We went to see the natural bridge and the gap
It was so scary it made us crap
We've been to bussleton quite a few times too
You learnt how to dive, and I was so proud of you
Every moment with you I cherish in my heart
I never thought we would ever part.
Our love was beautiful and so strong
Things went bad when you parents came along
When they vanished once again
You found your love hard to sustain
Babe, I love your smile and your laugh
You gave me a time and a half
I love the way you smell
makes me think we came from the same cell.
Stand by me when the days are dark
Soon we will be able to reignite that spark.
My plans for you were always sincere
I got lost somewhere tying to make it clear
Hey babe, you were my true love
You fitted my slipper like a glove
But time was always my enermy
It ran out and so did my tenacy
I worked real hard on my legal case and house
Preparing for our future like a mouse
I worked so hard to make it real for you
But on the journey you threw me your shoe
Oh babe, I wish I could turn back the clock
But the bloody thing just goes tick tock
I will never love again
memories of you will ensure it is never quite the same
I know no-one is really to blame
But I wish I could deal with the pain
You will find someone whom you like
I just hope you don't go for a dyke
oh my darling darling girl
why can't you give it one more whirl?
love george (you will always be in my heart)
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.
Considering all the people there, it’s a big state!
Many members from New York have talent that's great.
Poets hail from Syracuse, Rochester, Albany,
Plattsburgh, Scarsdale, White Plains, or Schenectady.
They may come from Niagara Falls or Binghamton,
or one of the five boroughs such as Bronx or Brooklyn.
From Long Island Sound, to as far west as Buffalo,
the poets from New York are the ones we should know.
These folks can write up a storm of impressive poetry.
Their fanciful works defy comparability.
They live anywhere between Yonkers and Utica.
The numbers of their great poems are a plethora.
So we salute all our members from the Empire State
You are the people everyone can appreciate!
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.)
Form:
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.
I received a letter from Toronto,Canada...
stating that I had won the De-Lotto North
American Sweepstakes in the amount
of $ 150,000.00 US dollars! Oh, I went bananas!
So I called the office line with much surprise:
1-416-939-8265 and a gentlman,
with an accent, answered the phone;
I asked him if the winning was real,
and he replied," Of course it is! "
I thought to myself, " It sounds like a scam! '
This morning, my bank returned
the forfeit check to me,
with a return fee of ten dollars;
and I was furious and mad
to have fallen for that scam!
But the good news is:
they didn't get any of the money,
the tax amount of $2,850!
Cringe your teeth,
you miserable thieves:
you are being exposed
by someone who's fearless and outraged!
Today, I have sent an e-mail
to the fakecheck.org in Albany,
telling them about the scam letter...
alerting the other would-be-victims anywhere,
so they don't go singing to their bank;
I hate to see them cheated out of their money!
These unscrupulous people, stealing your identity,
should be persecuted to the full exent of the Law,
and when they're caught, I like to be in the judy's row:
I'll stare at their deceitful faces and read the verdict loudly!
Mr. Greg Peters And Brian McDonald,
whether your names are real...
and wherever you are right now:
remember, you can defraud others...not me!
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.
In a old old rambling structure
Down on the street called Broadway
Upper floors that had been deserted
For many and many a day
Lighting a fire
Starting to pondering
Things from long ago
Remembering songs and legends
Stories that I had been told
The fire light began to flicker
Then undressing for the night
By only a little candle light
Once in bed down under the covers
Slowly going to sleep
Off to dreamland I remembered
Then something pulled at the sheet
Starting to hear chains rattling
Whining through the loosened glass
Then deciding it was nothing
Pull the covers up past my calf
No more than I had pulled them
When something or someone
Snatched them away
That's when I grabbed them
With my heart beating away
Up over my head and snuggled
Hoping that they would stay
But that was not possible
So up I sat in bed
Looking around was when I saw It
Footprints as big as an elephant head
I decided to start talking
Facing my fear straight on
Is when I discovered
Cardiff Giant ghost in my room
I told him to sit down
But then on second thought
Was going to say don't
When he sat, the chair
Fell ascunder and broken
Parts were over the floor
Pieces of tail bone and broken chair
Even a rib and wrist bone was there
Then sat on the bed and in a heap
We're on the floor
Finally I told him
No more, no more
Just sit on the floor
I gave him my red blanket
He used my chamber as a hat
Then we talk about his
Situation what do you think of that
I finally told him
That he really wasn't a wondering ghost
He was just plaster of paris
An imitation to trick folks
That he was really buried
In Albany and was haunting
A cheap plaster form of himself
So off he went in the darkness
Saying don't let this story get out
That I don't even know my own remains
As he laid the pipe on the mantel
Down the street he lumber along
(Idea taken from "A Ghost Story" by Mark Twain. Please forgive me Mark Twain because I
did not do this story justice and definitely not the poem.) (As they say there is a big
difference in having something to say and having to say something.) It did stretch my
thinking and creativeness.
Form: