Imagine
Just Imagine
Feeling behind the preparation
Thanksgiving destination
Morning rise
Dreaming being an actual balloon in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade
Held high by volunteers
No soar
Entertainment for sure
TV Camera lens, the focus, the movement throughout
Being the “POETIC REACTION – WORDS RESPONSE” balloon
A first, and certainly no last
Maneuvering overhead as spectators observe
A difference and joy approach
Through the Thanksgiving breeze
Winds that blow
Caution in being slow
Leading the way down the New York City streets with Santa’s arrival at the very back in parade finale
Kids wonder in captivation
Above all joy
The smiles and the laughter
Surging opportunity
The rush of unity
One’s own balloon dream
The thought in what it would seem
Asleep in the dream mode
A story tale Unfold
Awakened from sleep as if the dream was real
Feeling like a movie stream
Anticipation
One day
Who know?
It could become reality
In the meantime, let’s commence the parade
Sponsored by Macy’s made
As the British put it, “UP AND AT IT”.
New Year many times
This afternoon, I have watched many new years all over the world, in Australia, New Zealand, and other nations
it is all the same as a fireworks display (the Saudis has
the best and longest one)
I have, minutes ago, seen from the terrace the sky is afire, happy fireworks, and I hear the jubilation
Sometimes, we have to enjoy the moment, in Cascais
the sky looks splendid, and this is not the time
to say the moment spent on this frivolity could have been better spent on the poor
The TV camera is out taking pictures of the ambiance,
a lady tells us Portugal is great, one notices she is Brazilian and pregnant, and when her time
come, she will get an easy birth
There had been a long war, we stole potatoes from the patch of a Nazi farm, we stole an apple from those who had fruit in their garden, and we lived to tell the tale
1952, a new year's night, we stood on the terrace and enjoyed the display, not yet in colors, but it was a beautiful time; poor or not, we were proud we had survived the war, and the fireworks promised a better time ahead
Silver-haired generals
gather to tell us why;
yet they skip questions – salute
into the TV camera.
Mother askes:
“Who are these silver-haired gentlemen
wearing a uniform similar to your brothers?
“They are the Country Mom”, I say,
they are the men that appropriate
the exact number of body bags
so that there is never any waste,
for that would be a waste wouldn’t it mom”?
Mother nods then shakes her head,
as if trying to understand.
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