Long Babushka Poems

AntiPoem 4
“Santo and Johnny”

(Poet’s instruction- Play “Sleepwalk” twice by Santo and Johnny while reading)

Santo and Johnny play Sleepwalk on Fender steel and bass
Just oozing out their mellow electric dream sound as the
Santa Monica Pier exudes...

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Nineteen twenty-four and the wind was cold,
When men in uniform entered our town;
Forced us to leave in their boxcars,
Made us believe that it was for our own safety.

With no time to fix our things
We hurriedly...

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The Butterfly


O butterfly, o butterfly
how and by whom did you come by
your name? Theories abound yet all
ring hollow and improbable.
Least credible, if not absurd,
it’s based on an Old English word
“buterfleoge” and is speculated 
to witches...

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Oh beautiful Gypsy,
I see you there, in amber campfire mist.
On the banks of a crystalline pool, a bronze skinned lovely moving with intoxicating rhythm to the strum of guitars.
Sable eyes, gleaming with wanderlust, transfixed on...

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Irene....My Mother and I.

I cannot believe I am her daughter!
She always dressed in the very best taste.
Very little jewelry, conservative
dresses, no slacks, are you kidding?
A white-gloved perfect lady,she.

Hats she wore yes, exquisite ones.
Never a babushka...

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Another loss.
 It's hard to explain, it just feels like an empty pit in my stomach where a smile once so easily crossed my lips.

A lady I once called “Babushka” was laid to rest after...

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Babushka


The whole village busy looking at the new star
*Babushka busy cleaning her house entire
So busy to tidy her house failed to hear
The sounds of the drums and pipes
She missed even the star to see. ...

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Over a bottle of Stolichnaya vodka
And slices of kalbasa…. and cold breeze 
Of first September, you proudly spoke to me 
Of Lenin; we sat beneath the apple tree.

I disagreed not, with your thoughts
Neither, I agreed....

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A horde of weary eyes
at the false fountain of youth
in demo against
the fading of the majestic night;
their hushed voice vibrates against 
my seat, as I enjoy the skyline
while the silver moon, secretly
sips my ice-cold compote.

That...

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About an hour later she slipped
Yuri Andropov into the conversation:
*“I have to drop off a blouse at the dry cleaners.”*
Suddenly it was May Day &
I’m back in Red Square,
Dwarfed beneath larger than life
Lenin, Engels &...

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