not sure how many words

[Angeline]

I like my beaches rocky,
the sea shading to gray
even when the sky
is brilliant blue, stuffed
with clouds inert
as a trompe l'oeil ceiling
meant to trick my eyes
into believing the horizon
has an ending.

I miss the fringe of pines
that lean into the wind
close by those quiet harbors
and dream of rugosa roses
that flutter briefly late
in Spring.

I dream of returning
but when I wake the beach
is still empty, the flowering
season long past and the gray
ocean that fizzes on the rocks
might as well be on Mars.

 

[Piscator]

I loved this, especially when I couldn't come up with much in the way of mammal names, even ignoring the implied time frame.

• Buffalo Springfield doesn't count, as that was a company name on a steamroller.
• Los Lobos is much later.
• Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band, maybe.
• Crazy Horse, Neil Young backup band, assuming it's not named for the famous native American.
• Def Leppard, though later and misspelled.
• Modest Mouse, way later.
• Stray Cats, way later.
• Arctic Monkeys, way way later
• The Monkees, of course, though even when they debuted it was later than the Airplane

Definitely showing my age but I have a well worn vinyl copy of the ]Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band's double album and used to know the lines of "The Shirt Event" by heart. No Monkees however, although I was impressed that Mikey Dolenz was well received by the Fermilab.

 

[Piscator]

only two words for this

I like my beaches rocky,
the sea shading to gray
even when the sky
is brilliant blue, stuffed
with clouds inert
as a trompe l'oeil ceiling
meant to trick my eyes
into believing the horizon
has an ending.

I miss the fringe of pines
that lean into the wind
close by those quiet harbors
and dream of rugosa roses
that flutter briefly late
in Spring.

I dream of returning
but when I wake the beach
is still empty, the flowering
season long past and the gray
ocean that fizzes on the rocks
might as well be on Mars.

"Damn Fine"

 

[Angeline]

"Damn Fine"

Thank you P'tor. My muse has been on a long vacation but I'm trying to bring her back with a little help from my friends.

 

[Tzara]

I like my beaches rocky,
the sea shading to gray. . .

I agree with Piscator that this poem is particularly fine writing.

 

[Angeline]

I agree with Piscator that this poem is particularly fine writing.

Thank you for the kindling.

 

[pensivepoet]

I miss the fringe of pines
that lean into the wind

Very nice, Ange
You blazed a lovely trail of a place desired, memories held dear, and the reality of what is

 

[Angeline]

I miss the fringe of pines
that lean into the wind

Very nice, Ange
You blazed a lovely trail of a place desired, memories held dear, and the reality of what is

Thank you.

 

[Piscator]

Special

I hesitated to say that what we
had was special, it was what it
was, we made it through and that
was enough.

Now that we’re older and reading
obituaries of old bastards, we
never thought would die, perhaps
there’s a place at the top of that
hill in the park we walk the dogs
in, for a bench with our names
on it where we can sit to look back
and admire the view while we’re
still around.

 

[Angeline]

My grandfather of blessed
memory who did not
die in the great conflagration
of our people, but instead
left the thin song of his shtetl,
walked away from family
and country eating barely
more than a dream, sailing
into a great unknown,
my grandfather of blessed

memory who never spoke
of what he lost, but planted
lilacs with me, shaping my hands
to the tender roots, who gave me
books who shared oranges,
who said it is always better
to give than receive I am sorry,
I am sorry I cannot shield you
from those who would crack
to bits what's left of you
in their hatred and ignorance.

If they only knew how sweet
you sounded when you held me
on your lap and sang you are
my sunshine.

 

[Tzara]

Mount Carmel Cemetery, Philadelphia

I am an atheist, so such memorials
to the dead seem pointless
except in how they shape the skin

of one's descendants—
how each places a stone that marks both memories
and faith, a small monument

to a philosophy
one's grandmother perhaps clung to even more
fiercely than her teeth.

Perhaps she was wrong to trust
that imperfect vision of a perfect life.
Perhaps I am wrong

to doubt her.
No matter. She earned her stone
in any case. For her God's sake, leave her alone.

 

[legerdemer]

My grandfather of blessed
memory who did not
die in the great conflagration
of our people, but instead
left the thin song of his shtetl,
walked away from family
and country eating barely
more than a dream, sailing
into a great unknown,
my grandfather of blessed

memory who never spoke
of what he lost, but planted
lilacs with me, shaping my hands
to the tender roots, who gave me
books who shared oranges,
who said it is always better
to give than receive I am sorry,
I am sorry I cannot shield you
from those who would crack
to bits what's left of you
in their hatred and ignorance.

If they only knew how sweet
you sounded when you held me
on your lap and sang you are
my sunshine.

Not sure where I should put this comment, so I'll put it here - a heartbreaking poem, what a tribute... (other poems of yours here are truly lovely as well, but this one... well...).

 

[Angeline]

Not sure where I should put this comment, so I'll put it here - a heartbreaking poem, what a tribute... (other poems of yours here are truly lovely as well, but this one... well...).

Thank you Mer. There was a bomb threat at the Jewish Community Center in my town yesterday and I had been reading about the vandalism in cemeteries across the country. I just felt overwhelmed with sadness and a need to express who at least one of these people was.

 

[Angeline]

Mount Carmel Cemetery, Philadelphia

I am an atheist, so such memorials
to the dead seem pointless
....

Yes. This is exactly the point to me as well and you've expressed it beautifully. We got a good synergy going here T-man. Grazie.

PS You know about the new Son Volt album, right?

 

[Angeline]

LTD knows
it's easy living
so he spools out a ribbon
of tone somewhere mid range
of heaven that blurs
all the sharp corners.

In 1985 he's still long
and tall like a tree
though stooped for winds
have blown through him
steadfast from those dying
days of swing past hard
bop and slowed his ballads
to molasses.

He drowns the room
in emotion born within
from the air the reed,
and the bass man walks
softly behind him.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uGTkaZnaVjg

 

[RubiDia]

Not a big fan of the music

 

[UnderYourSpell]

I loved this, especially when I couldn't come up with much in the way of mammal names, even ignoring the implied time frame.

• Buffalo Springfield doesn't count, as that was a company name on a steamroller.
• Los Lobos is much later.
• Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band, maybe.
• Crazy Horse, Neil Young backup band, assuming it's not named for the famous native American.
• Def Leppard, though later and misspelled.
• Modest Mouse, way later.
• Stray Cats, way later.
• Arctic Monkeys, way way later
• The Monkees, of course, though even when they debuted it was later than the Airplane

The Monkees 'I'm a believer'was the first record I ever bought (now that dates me!)with my own wages and as it was the only record I had I drove the family mad playing it

 

[Minervous]

Fan

He played guitar, so I knew the fingertips
of his left hand were worn smooth
from fretting steel strings

and bending notes
while playing rhythm and blues
in those small clubs along

the waterfront.
I used to wonder about his dexterity,
how some complex chords,

Csus2add#4, G5add#4, Fmaj7#11,
might teach him some special way to touch
someone who left herself open

to a thing like music.
I tried to catch his eye during a solo, but
he seemed to see his world

feelingly, as if the music
was his god, his love, and I left the bar
after one last Cosmopolitan, alone.

 

[AlwaysHungry]

I, too, have a guitar-in-the-bar poem that I wrote for another thread a while back:

Wading through the shavings
that infiltrate my pedalboard
the standby switch goes off
and I can feel the buzz
the gathering electrons
decibels waiting to be born

The bartenders scurry to and fro
they're hustling tips, and there's no rush
to quell that jukebox -- then they shut it down,
we take a breath and play.

There's a roar of sound
from this, our little corner of this dive,
Wedged between pool tables and the popcorn machine
We play some funk, the people come alive
They dance before our faces
(Jose Luis comes trudging in between
bearing a case of beer)
The blond girl and her giant boyfriend shriek with joy
when I turn up for solos
but the amazon with her pool cue is unmoved.

 

[Angeline]

When he played bass
he stood feet planted
on either side of the mic
and straight as a tree.

His eyes were closed
as if he were asleep
or in another world
where deep bottom notes

were a conversation
that always begins
with "Move your hips."
He never looked down

at his hands but I couldn't
stop watching his fingers
press the strings or slide
across the frets to tease

or cajole the sounds. Even
when he slapped that body
all I could think was how much
I wanted those hands on me.

 

[Tzara]

Little Wing

It seems I can't quite form that chord
anymore. My last left finger
will not curl

enough to fret the string I need.
I know, I know. Thing's got a circus mind
that's running wild,

and it's now riding on the wind.
But I sure to God wish
I could fucking bring that little finger home.

 

[Angeline]

All In The Family

We had a fine view:
the sculpted green waves
of the country club
and the western mountains
on the far horizon.

We set up two chairs
and a low table, tiny sanctuary
for reading and watching
the green shade to purple
as darkness fell.

"It looks a little Archie and Edith
up in here" you said and damn,
it did. Yet we sat there daily,
companionable and locked
in our thoughts, but had you

ever called me dingbat
I'd have clocked you
in a New York minute.

 

[todski28]

I never learned to play more than
a strum in embarrassed dicord
never knew the mellow soothe of worn fingers
nor the skill it take to dance the chords
to taste the music in tangible realms

I learnt more of earth and dirt than art and
high floating notions of beauty in sounds
a loss I'm sure standing there
alive in the chorus

but I can feel the notes in my blood
nod to the beat that draws
life in the air

it spreads like spilled
thinners and lit
I burn

 

[Angeline]

I never learned to play more than
a strum in embarrassed dicord
never knew the mellow soothe of worn fingers
nor the skill it take to dance the chords
to taste the music in tangible realms

I learnt more of earth and dirt than art and
high floating notions of beauty in sounds
a loss I'm sure standing there
alive in the chorus

but I can feel the notes in my blood
nod to the beat that draws
life in the air

it spreads like spilled
thinners and lit
I burn

When I longed for a piano
and told them symphonies
sing in my imagination,
they gave me an organ
with play-by-number keys
and two old songbooks.

I was a dutiful daughter.
(Some say no but I always tried.)

I learned America the Beautiful
and Ebb Tide, but my idea
of majesty became a dirge,
every time.

I still hear symphonies,
if somewhat fainter and burdened
by the weight of my knowledge
and musical obsessions,
but I expect I shall make them real
somehow, someday.

 

[Tzara]

ymphonies / sing in my imagination. . .

1965

Whenever I hear a symphony,
it's always with Florence and Mary
in the background,
doing those lovely little hip rolls
and moving their arms as if
gathering some of that stardust
streaming off of Miss Ross—
brightly lit incandescent gases
mixed with large chunks of ice
and not a few rocks—as she circles
through our television universe,
always, always facing the Sun.


.