Take me back to that girl in the keyhole,
take me to my childhood vacation;
Take me back to the sand dunes,
take me to that old mini golf course;
I’d surely hit another hole in one;
Take me back to a Top Forty sound,
take me to the bliss before algorithms;
Take me back to the mid Atlantic coast,
take me back to a familiar shoreline;
For sure I’d find my feet again;
Take me back to that innocence,
take me to the ease of those days;
Take me back with a sunburn
then take me out for ice cream;
Take me back to the year in that keyhole,
take me back to a simpler time.
Neighborhood Elegy
There is now, and there is then
white washed woodwork
beauty, green, sky clear
hard working, hometown folks
a good buy.
Die or lie dormant today
cinders to sadness
pockets of politeness placed
particularly on purpose.
drug and drop heaven.
Night footsteps from the old orphan asylum
down the Rayner Ave hill
memories live in floors and darkness
the moon dreams of a parentless son born
to the sound of cobblestone streets
where youth lives in nursing home
dreams.
White crisp dresses
and salads drained from the duodenum
shelter the hopeless.
Alone you stand
amidst the gunshots and sirens
quiet heart within,
creaking floors from the weight of
vapor people.
Children of the golden age,
nursed their atomic nightmares
hugging close to the cold wall
wondering if home is still there
waiting for the bright flash,
crouching low.
So many sneakers, loafers, saddles,
crossed your shellacked stages
to life.
You were our first love,
skipping in sunlight to summer play
smelling the passion of spring
growing in the mid-Atlantic night became
your elegy.
3/20/17
Saragossa Sonnet
There is a place in the mid-Atlantic an island made of sea tare
and the mist never lifts sea and storm avoid this island
that in the middle has a pyre that must be kept alive and old men
sit cross-legged around the pyre and feed it dry bones
of sailors who have sought shelter but end up having their throats slit
hung up like stock-fish to dry on the eastern side of the island.
They never talk about this but it is well known that a salted thigh
bone lasts a week and is delicious with boiled sea-tare.
You can`t see the people who live there clearly they are sons
of mist and fog an unholy alliance sex without pleasure, but they
must go on the pyre must be fed, if not the sun will break through
and they and their home will disappear as it never existed
Saragossa Sonnet
There is a place in the mid-Atlantic an island made of sea tare
and the mist never lifts sea and storm avoid this island
that in the middle has a pyre that must be kept alive and old men
sit cross-legged around the pyre and feed it dry bones
of sailors who have sought shelter but end up having their throats slit
hung up like stock-fish to dry on the eastern side of the island.
They never talk about this but it is well known that a salted thigh
bone lasts a week and is delicious with boiled sea-tare.
You can`t see the people who live there clearly they are sons
of mist and fog an unholy alliance sex without pleasure, but they
must go on the pyre must be fed, if not the sun will break through
and they and their home will disappear as it never existed
To celebrate a fiftieth anniversary,
a convenience store is dispensing coffee.
The best thing about it is that it’s free.
It’s hot, fresh, and with a flavor variety.
Twelve ounce small cups are available all day.
I got mine this morning right away.
It was just what I needed to get going today.
You have to live in a Mid-Atlantic state
to take advantage of this offer that is great.
Of all the different convenience stores in America,
the one with this terrific offer is called “Wawa”.
An sgeir mhòr – the great rock stands
In mid-Atlantic far from shore.
It’s claimed the lives of many hands
From sailing vessels by the score.
And how the winds and waves did roar
Around the rock of Skerryvore.
There came a man called Stevenson?,
From watery grave brave souls to save,
To build a lighthouse, he’s the one,
Long battling with wind and wave.
And how the winds and waves did roar
Around the rock of Skerryvore.
With granite from the Ross of Mull
He manufactured giant blocks,
Transported them when storms would lull
To land them on the murderous rocks.
And still the winds and waves do roar
Around the rock of Skerryvore.
His team worked hard in every weather
Assembling blocks, dressed to perfection;
With dovetailed joint they locked together –
Precisely engineered, each section.
And still the winds and waves do roar
Around the rock of Skerryvore.
For thirty months o’er six long years
They laboured seventeen hours a day,
With common aim and conquered fears
And mainland safety far away.
All day the winds and waves would roar
Around the rock of Skerryvore.
On the Mid-Atlantic East Coast is where we are.
From Philly and New York, we are not too far.
We have theme parks, sights to see, and a great shoreline.
For a reasonable vacation, it’s a place considered fine.
This is my home where many fun times are reality.
It is the little wonder everybody knows as “New Jersey”
FACE IT ONCE AND YOU’RE FREE
Thirty years ago Air Canada
Flight 802 mid-Atlantic - March -
Stormy patch, high level thunderstorm
Wind, lightning, plane went dark,
Wings flapping alarmingly, seatbelt sign on.
You’d last two minutes in the water
If you survived the crash.
Ultimate stress moment:
Now no control over my life, got to face
Possibility of termination.
Had I lived a good life? Not entirely.
You can’t undo anything.
Figured I had at least spent my earth-time usefully.
Figured the main sin was wasting your life.
Had I tried to fill each unforgiving second with action?
If I could repeat, could I do more? No.
Figured I was ready. Wasn’t afraid to die.
Still not afraid of death today.
Face it once and you’re free.