Posts for June 29, 2025 (page 11)

1
There was a fine signora in Louisa
on a visit from Italy on a visa.
She’d make a suggestion,
you’d ask a small question
& she’d say Sì, if you please-a!

2
There was a young pilot from Morehead
whose cockpit had a nuclear warhead.
No matter your gender
he’d make you surrender
& bombard you right up to your forehead!

3
There once was a gal from Cynthiana
whose favorite snack was a nice firm banana.
She had a special skill
& would give you a thrill
while humming the tune of Oh! Susanna!

take me back.

not too far,
just two-and-a-half(ish) decades
when I caved and agreed to have lunch with you

take me back.

not too far from where we sat that day,
but a lifetime of memories ago
when our conversations grew
like the mouth of the Hudson after the rain

take me back.

a walk through Central Park on a late summer day
homemade lunches remain untouched
tossed into a metal garbage can
with the Delacorte in view

take me back.

to the moment you remembered
to the moment you repeated what I said countless conversations prior,
to the moment I knew our love planted itself
in soil that would one day hold a towering oak

that we nurture(d)
that we grew
that we find with purpose as each season passes

take me back.

because I want you to see where it all started for me
because I want you to see how I see you
because I want you to see how I see us

you smile and say:

we have never left, my love–
as we sit hand-in-hand under oak-spun shade

Rabbits congregate
on dark lawns. Birds tune singing
voices. Audience
takes seats on dew-bent clover.
Sun rises like a curtain.

Black boys and white boys didn’t get along
those fraught first days of forced integration.

There were fights on the hour every hour
when halls were crammed and pressure-loaded,

bumping into one another led to standing toe-to-toe, 
chests out, taunts exchanged, fighter’s pose, 

spittle on a cheek, forbidden name, fist thrown,
the surging crowd rolling in close 

to urge the boy of shared complexion on. 
The fights, spirited, if not technically sound,

would only end when the principal
or basketball coach stepped in

and half-marched, half-hauled the boys 
off to the office and on to detention.

The white boys by and large held their own,
the black boys bowed to no one, 

the chants telling each boy to kill the other,
still ring in our ears all these years later.

Actions speak louder,
But words said between the lines
Are important too.
Observe them both with great care
Lest you misconstrue intent.

To Fanny Hawkins (ca 1855 – 1872)

I rushed and beat Demons to the pool
dusking, ready to shield you from the curse.
Let’s run, I begged, till the shadows disperse.
Gloriously clad, unforeseen, wishful

dreaming in the dead of a night cruel.
Uninvited, bearing blueprints and a thirst
for reunited state and golden verse
to hail the devils asking for your mule

and all you could ever have been, now rushing.
There is no deed good to turn the old law.
Your resolve crushed my complaisant flaw,
absolved the knight in the armor lacking.

In the bushes burning, deaf i cower
lest the whip-poor-wills might herald louder.

When they put him on trial,
he plead with the gods and judges,
she asked for it—begged
they turned their sneers to her:

What were you wearing?

When he dragged her to hell, 
and Spring vanished with the stars, 
rumors spread like legs
pried apart
And while she burned in that
fiery cage,
her Mother wept
and the Olympians criticized:

You should have raised her better. 

The seasons became one,
the sun blazed in the sky,
and everything pretty
withered with her
as they realized 
that Spring was lost—
never to return—
and without her
the world would
burn
burn
burn. 

And still,
no one searched
no one saw
all that was clearly on display.
None thought it strange
that birds no longer sang—
only mentioned how beautiful
it must be
to be immortalized—
an unwitting idol
for young girls to see,
whisked away to place
she never wanted to be. 

Her nos fell on deaf ears.
She wanted it,
he said—

but tell us this, gentle men—

why would we have wanted something
that left us

dead

You say you want to wear a kilt
of brightly woven tartan wool?
You want to wear the older one
and not the stitched and fancy kind?
You’ll need a length of eight yards long
with just beneath a yard in width.  

But if you’re tall, you’ll need more width
of tartan wove to wrap your kilt,
and if you’re wide you’ll need a long
piece, ten yards maybe of the wool
if you’re to wrap the older kind –
this is the more intriguing one.  

You’ll need a leather belt, just one,
which must be longer than your width.
You’ll want the thick and buckled kind
as it will be what holds your kilt.
There is no stitching in this wool.
To put it on will not take long.  

You lay your belt out flat and long –
a simple task. This is step one.
Now, on the belt you lay the wool
and fold the pleats along its width.
Not all the wool goes in the kilt.
We’ll do the sash-at-shoulder kind.  

I beg, if you would be so kind,
just take the end part here that’s long
and lay it up above the kilt.
You see the ease in making one?
Now, lay yourself across the width
and with the belt pull up the wool.            

Be sure you haven’t bunched the wool.
Cinch up the belt, and I’ll be kind
to help you straighten out the width.
I’ll tug it so it’s not too long
in this spot or another one,
and see, you’ve draped a fine great kilt!  

You had the wool, it took not long to wrap your kilt,
you clever one, with length and width, the classic kind.              

I need you when I wake in the morning,
and when it creeps, still—tardy evenday.

                Still. Done and tardy, ours the evenday.
                Crickets join the moonlit serenade,

moon’s sun-reflecting beams make serenade
and in time we share wood casks of wine.

                Soft, ruddy ocean with flows of wine.
                Wine pulls the rudder and the other.

By the rudder we lose each other—
parked along rivers I utter a great cry.

                Take me to the river where no more I’ll cry—
                I struggle always wherever I travel!

I struggle and wrestle, grapple and grovel.
I need you when I wake in the morning.