Monthly Archives: August 2008

Tonight looked as the Miramar did

Tonight looked as the Miramar did

Reading through the rages which twilight hid

Twinge of white and red bound together easy for sight

In that steam night of Miramar’s light.

Arabesques and arches resounding Caesar’s ring

In lands unimaginable by both Moor and King.

Wherefore is wood and wherefore the ardour

In this land of men rapt by endless plastic labour?

When the grasses sang a yellow-violet display

the swamp’s faeries rose from the ether to play

Whilst I discoursed long with holy prophet and stain’d ba’al

Till a new golden heat wrought out blue atlantic day.

The rolling of dew from a palm’s face embracing the sky

Watching a peacock’s violent beak clipped

And bleeding, cocking till it shall die.

The miramar’s sights bound red and in feathers iridescent.

East Coast Sunrise

The sea-fragrant air insinuates itself into your mind,
Wrapping itself around your waking dreams like a warm blanket,
Then gently touches your eyelids, your mouth, your body;
A lover’s caress, to bring you out of sleep.
Outside, foam-flecked waves rear snowy heads
The descend, emptying their essence onto the warm, waiting sand.
Undisturbed by the bustle of wind-blown clouds
The sun begins its daily trek across the sky.
You open sleepy eyes to a vibrant, verdant landscape bathed in beauty:
The chalky crests of nearby hills search out the heavens
While the springy mat of green grape-leaves invites your feet.
A taste of Eden.

Rain

English rain
Is not like Caribbean rain
Each pointed drop
Drills through the remnants of the warmth
You wrapped inside you
When you left home.
Just enough for discomfort
But without the honesty
To drench you.
Caribbean rain
Does not pretend
It wets you through and through
Leaving you soaked and annoyed
Yet knowing the sun’s not far behind
While in England
More grey days
With bullet rain
Wait to follow
The one that’s
Pissing down
Pissing about
Pissing you
Off.

(Originally published on RITRO)

Judge, not Judge-?

Ladies and gentleman. a prosecutor shuddered,
Fingering his rep tie and silk-wool vest,.
The girl murdered her mother. Her mother!
The least you can do is put her to death.

Evidence shows a single shot to the head
Killed the victim instantly. Pow!!
The accused and her sibling may not have been fed,
But that is not at issue. Remember that, now..

The victim was cruel, you heard witnesses say.
She whipped the two bloody. She shut them away.
Locked up and escaped to a bar a couple days..
Leaving them with little to do but pray.

I love my kids, the victim has been said to say..
Got things to do, don’t I!. Can’t say I spare the rod..
So I leave the odd mark on their hide . .hey!
I am human, not fornicatin’ God..

For the defense’s part, they took the risk
Of calling the accused to the stand. So blue,
She was mute, then sounded oddly brisk,
She sighed toward the end, I am human, too.

I knew it was a crime when I killed Mother.
I know I deserve the Chair.
But no one — no one — hurts my little brother..
She broke his arm! She pulled out his hair!

I tried to get someone to help. I did.
It was her or him, I swear.
Don’t try to hide when she blows her lid,
so I get out her gun and wave it in the air.

Mother caught me by the wrist and twisted,
and that is when I fired, and only then…
Brother a brother, right? Big sister, big sister?.
Can’t help but think I would do it again.

The jury tried and tried to decide.
Nearly all were parents themselves.
But all had been children at one time.
Empathy for the child simply overwhelmed.

Media pretended to be scandalized.
Commandments were waved in protest.
If only you could have seen her eyes —
that jury member said it best. . .except

I knew it was a crime when I killed Mother.
I know I deserve the Chair.
But no one — no one — hurts my little brother.
She broke his arm! She pulled out his hair!

Poetic Slavery of Language

poetic slavery of language

in a marble tide dreamlike

stones for rubies fossils for blood

the eye’s kiss is a sky

the innermost cypress bends

out of winds and rain is

a vanished monument

veined and hollow

that is turned into poetic words

under the sails into the depths of

the wind that blows the clouds

waving the young morning light

into submission

i play with language without accepting her own slavery

A Blanket Of White (poetic-prose)

Is it naïve to believe that beauty
Might last forever; that sapience
Could reign supreme; that life might
Blossom in gloriously unending colors?
LONGING for that special day to arrive –
IMPASSIONED when at last it does –
RHAPSODIC at times in our pursuits of the intangible …

Beguiled inexorably in times
Continuity; our lives ebb and flow to
Invisible forces around us, while deep
Within us the storm clouds quietly
Descend, and snow arrives on a
Whisper; a Blanket of White
Changing our acuity.
With every breath I pray for
Purity to arrive on the wings
Of love, justice, and honor, and
For Truth to flow as a purging
River through the hordes of
Darkened souls apprehended
By the razor riddled catamenia
Of never ending exploitation …

Such are the enigmatical histories of
Ancient civilizations; appearing briefly
As wildflowers on the scrolls of time.
The Anasazi, the Mayan, the Aztec, the
Zapotec’s, the Mixtec’s, the Rognvalds …
Traversing great oceans, living in the valleys,
Or within deep alcoves on varnished cliffs,
On high mountainous ridges, or in forsaken
Deserts — mystifying and baffling all those
Who inquire — ancient cultures enshrouded in
Underground caverns, along rivers, prospering,
Falling, but always leaving behind unique legacies
Of art, music, and words to ascertain, and grow, and
Learn from. Sadly these cultures, in all their nobleness
And mystery, are now only guidelines for exploitation
To a pandemic of self-centered, pandering, skeptical,
Greedy generations who use them as a means to
Further personal agenda and cause profit.

Notwithstanding our dreams and outlooks;
Or our unending propensity to misread the
Signs along the paths we walk; presuming
We have discernment in the first place, and
That our singularity of spiritual vision elevates
Us beyond the evolving tunnel vision of most
Around us …
All things remain firmly in the
Hands of a loving Creator whose ways are
Not our ways, and whose thoughts are far
Beyond our power to comprehend.
Still; we are all framed by freewill
And personal choices, and, where
We choose to plant our seeds will
Always demarcate the harvest that
Will inevitably ensue.

So . . . life continues to
Ebb and flow to invisible
Forces around us, and deep
Within us the storm clouds
Quietly descend and snow
Arrives on a soft whisper; a
Blanket of white encouraging
Our perceptivities and the
Perceptions of those
Around us.

"The Struggle, First Generation"

 

“The Struggle, First Generation”
Chapter One: The Beginning

      You find yourself beginning to lie back on your bed, your legs dangling off the side, in your bedroom. You have your arms folded around your head, your hands crossed under the back of your neck, while you are just staring off into space. Your bedroom window is slightly open to allow the cool breeze and the faint frangrances of honey suckle to permeate your room.
     As you try to relax, the palms of your hands are beginning to become sweaty and nervousness has ever so slightly taken over your body. You are hungry, but your stomach is in knots and you realize that if you were to attempt to eat something it would probably not stay in your stomach very long.
     Well, you decide tht it is about time to stand up and afford yourself the opportunity to walk slowly around your room first. Your walk around your home will come second and mentally you will take a photograph of every room. The realization that today will be the final time you will ever see all that has become familiar to you, is beginning to slowly sink in.
    As you slowly walk around and try to memorize everything that you are able to, you begin to pick up those items that have always carried a sentimental meaning for you.
    Perhaps a special carving that was given to you many years ago by a close family  member is one of those precious items that you would want to remember. Perhaps a sweater that your mother had knitted for you when you were a very young child has some sentimental value for you.
     Maybe it is a personlized blanket that your grandmother made for you with all o your favorite colors when you were a very small child.
    Well, these particular items will always have a special place in your heart, but they must remain behind. In your heart, you wish that you could have the ability to bring everything with you, but then the reality of the situation sets in.
  Then as you slowly walk around you happened to find a photograph with all of your family members. It is not a recent picture, but you are beginning to think tht this will do for now. You look at it and then you come to the conclusion that this is what you would like to keep with you for the rest of your life.
    Carefully you pick up the picture by the edges so as not to add any additional fingerprints than are already there. You place it in your shirt pocket until you are able to add it to all the other items that you will be bringing with you.
    As you walk down the stairs and begin to walk towards the kitchen area, the smell of sauteed onions is becoming stronger and stronger. Okay, you made your way into the kitchen area and there is your wife Constanza leaning by the stove with the beginning of your supper meal.
    You offer your wife some assistance with the supper meal that you will be sharing in a little while and together you begin the process of cooking. You begin to put a salad together while your wife is preparing the fish that you brought home a few days ago.
    Of course, Constanza already prepared a very large pot of tomator sauce earlier in the morning, which is now just simmering on the stove. The tomato sauce will be for the pasta that she will prepare later in the evening.
  The supper meal tonight will be a celebratory type of meal, as you will be having a few close friends and family members over to share in the feast that the two of you are preparing.
  Along with the fish, tomato sauce and pasta that your wife is preparing and the salad that you are preparing there will be a variety of vegetables, such a scorn, carrots, lima beans and broccoli.
There will also be small oblong baskets of assorted fruits, such as grapes, bananask, pineapples, watermelon and cantaloupe. Finally yet importantly, there will also be oblong baskets of assorted nuts, Italina bread and assorted cheese to pick on before all of you actually sit down to ejoy a well earned meal.
Your six year old daughter Concetta and eight year old son Mario are playing a game of catch the ball just outside the back door. Your wife has already given them a time, as to when to come into the house.
However, for now it is okay that they continue to play outside. Guess it is a good thing that they are preoccupied for the time being because otherwise they would be getting under foot.
The clock is ticking and it is almost time for everyone to begin arriving at your home. Your mother and father are walking up the walkway, making their way to your front door. As you open the door to greet them, you can also see your wife’s mother and father not too far behind.
Other close family members and a few close friends are also beginning to arrive to share in your supper meal. Each of them is bringing something with them for all to share during the afternoon and evening festivities.
You stop working in the kitchen. For a short period, you walk into your bedroom and check your dresser one last time. For peace of mind, you want to make sure that you have everything that you will need in order and ready to go. All of your paper work is still there on your dresser, but because you are so nervous, you just had to check again.
When you slowly arrive back into the kitchen, your wife asks you to call the children, as more of your friends and family are on their way. You open your back door and ask your children to come into the house, as it is time for them to be cleaned up and put on some clean clothing for the dinner that is about ready to begin.
The children come running in through the kitchen on the way to their rooms and they pick up the fragrance of all the food that is being prepared. They each hurry to be cleaned up and changed because they are getting very hungry and really do not understand what all of the fuss is about.
They both run up the stairs into their bedrooms and gather up what they will need to get dressed for the big event. Your wife had previously placed on each of the children’s beds, the clothing that they are supposed to wear for the evening.
It takes them about half an hour in all to get dressed and ready. They each make their way back down the stairs and into the kitchen where you and your wife are. Your wife stops cooking for a few minutes to brush the children’s hair and make sure they look presentable.
As each of your remaining family menbers and friends arrive at your front door, your children are right ther to give out the hugs and kisses. I guess they are they official welcoming committee.
All of your houseguests have now arrived and some of them are sitting down in your livingroom, while others are standing around in various locations. Everyone is mixing and mingling with each other and your children are right there in the middle trying to entertain everyone.
Well, time has finally come for everyone to find a seat at one of the tables that were set up to accommodate the large crowd of guests. Everyone is beginning to walk around the tables and sit down wherever they want. On the table, the oblong baskets of assorted fruit have been carefully placed townards either end of the table.
Towards the middle of each table are placed the oblong baskets of assorted nuts and assorted cheese. Round baskets of Italian bread and biscuits have been placed in various areas working their way into the center of each table.
The middle area of each table has been reserved for rectangle trays of assorted flowers that are a variety of colors, sizes and shapes. How decorative each table appears against the colorful snowflake designed lace tablecloth.
As everyone begins to find their seat at one of the tables that were set up, you get a sense of a bittersweet celebratory atmosphere. As with any type of party gathering, most everyone is taking turns with conversations that seem to center around reminiscing moments back in time. You do know exactly what I am talking about do you not. All of those remember when type of discussions.
Stories are discussed that range between when you and your wife were very, very young children through young adulthood. One of the stories that were consistently recited over the years was when you were about seven years old and you just kept getting under your mother’s foot.
It was one of those lazy, hazy hot summer afternoons. You just did not have the drive or motivation to be moving around too quickly. However, you being only seven years old did not seem to pay much attention to what the weather was. You were literally a ball of energy.
Your mother on the other hand was very tired, as she had spent most of the day baking in preparation for the church festival that was to take place later in the evening. There were two large fans running in the kitchen to compensate for the rising temperatures, both inside and out, but it was not very much help. There just was no other way to cool off the kitchen area so your mother just had to endure and get her chores done as quickly as she was able. You on the other hand were oblivious to what the temperature was. All you knew was that you wanted someone to play with you.
Mom baked one angel cake with a light sugar glaze frosting, one mayonnaise cake with a dark chocolate icing and one carrot cake with a cream cheese icing. She also took the time to bake one apple crumb pie, one blueberry pie and one very special cherry pie because she already knew that was your favorite.
If that was not enough for the church festival later in the evening, she also took the time to bake about six dozen chocolate chip cookies and about six dozen sugar cookies, for all o the other small children that would be attending the church festival.
While your mother was busy trying to clean up all of the bowls, pots, pans, dishes and cooking utensils that were used for the preparation she decided to persuade you to offer your assistance. You were just so persistent in the art of getting under foot.
She asked i you would carry each of the cakes, pies and four trays of cookies carefully and slowly over to the table that she had previously set up by the window and set them down to cool. Guess you think that this would be a relatively easy task for a young child to accomplish, right?
Well, mom just seemed to get lost in her thoughts while you were happily performing the requested task and I guess she just forgot all about you being there in the kitchen with her. You see, for the first time all day long, there was finally some peace and quiet and that was all she really wanted. Your mother was very hot and tired after all the baking she had done. She just wanted a little peace and quiet.
Okay, now she was able to concentrate on taking the time to clean up all of the bowls, pots, pans, dishes and cooking utensils that she had been using all day. She walked over to the sink and began to fill the basin full o hot water and soap. Of course, the last thing that she needed to be putting her arms and hands into was hot water. However, what are you going to do?
After she finished washing, drying and putting all of the bowls, pots, pans, dishes and cooking utensils away she proceeded to also clean the counter tops and then last but not least the oven. Now there is a chore everyone waits in line for, right?
All the while, she was just so deep into her own thoughts about the church festival that she just completely lost sight of what you were doing. She continued to go about her business, enjoying the peace and quiet while she finished cleaning up………….

*Are you interested in what happened next? What was it Vencenzo did as a small child that made this a memorable story worth repeating?

(from pages 5 – 10)