Archive for February 2013

Letter Letter (From an Admirer)

February 27, 2013


Letter Letter (From an Admirer)

Hey “A”–
You make
my day–“O” there’s “B”–where would we be
without “B”?–But “B”
and “C” (for all its mimicry of “S” and “K”) are just not

Nor you.
My aching, awkward “A.”
My ass-backwards Affecter
of Able, my Aper of Avant-Garde Angst, my
‘ap’azard Artiste, ah-singing Ariator, Applauder at my ambling Audition (my sainted
Aunt), Alibi
for the Awful, Aviator of Away, Aspirant to
Amour, my Angle
on just about All of it, my Atoms of
Adam and also you-know-who, and, mon
Ami (so much more Article than
indefinite), the Apple, always Apple,
of my Aye–

Here’s a very draftish poem which I am posting from my apple iPhone as still without wifi (agh!) for Kerry O’Connor’s With Real Toads Prompt to write an “open letter”. I wrote mine to a letter. I don’t know that A is my favorite letter but it’s a good one.

Staying on couch

February 26, 2013


Staying on a couch in the midst of a move

It’s as if the apartment were unclothed;
I cannot put on enough blanket
To warm bared walls.
It’s as if my daughter’s Beatles’ posters had been
Fringed comforters, stacked bookshelves
Quilts, photos pilot lights, paintings
Hearths, the cozy chair a cozy

Remnants of tape crust surfaces–blank nails–
Fossils of sea creatures found in desert shale–I, unmoored, grow increasingly less sure
Of what to make of them; why were they
Here, who
Do they signify?
Huddle under the slump of remaining coverlet.

In the midst of a move and staying in my vacant apartment, which has inadvertently lost wifi, so writing and posting from the iPhone. It is a great device but has limits in these circumstances. For example, it does not heat a February-chilled space! (I am truly sorry to be so whiny but it is really really cold in here! I’m not sure why.)

Poem supposed to be for dverse poets open link night.

In the Black Hole

February 25, 2013


Of no Internet tonight!

(Thank goodness for iPhone!)

Yes, my addiction to connection is a bit ridiculous.

(Still, thank goodness the phone also has music on it! A bit hard to dance in cold silence! )

(And if you are both wifi-less and kind of cold–I am still in the midst of moving homes this grey North East February–there is really nothing more useful than a little dancing.)

(Do not try on thin ice!)

That Time of Year Again (Oscar Night)

February 24, 2013

I am not going to be able to watch the awards show tonight.  No TV and faulty internet.  But I did want to honor some great old Hollywood favorites!  (My apologies to those of you who have seen these pictures before – you have also probably seen the movies more than once! )

If you have a free moment during the award show- I expect there will be commercials –  please please please check out, my comic novel,NOSE DIVE,  book of poetry, GOING ON SOMEWHERE, or children’s counting book 1 MISSISSIPPI

Orange Who?

February 23, 2013



Photo by Izy Gruye

Orange Who?

And a knock knock–orange you glad I didn’t
say banana?
Which seemed uproarious
to me as young child, packed full of hidden
punch as in you wanna whole mess of
which poured out neon red
as dye number four–a liquid lipstick
we could sip and smack, our grimaces ad
libbed ad infinitum, all puns our thick
intoxicants–going down so slow
first go, but then, in repeated flares,
fire krispies that snapped, crackled, popped, oh–
pop! pop! as in Hop On, as in where’s
the beef, Waldo, fee fie fofana talk—
(Orange you glad I didn’t say–knock knock?)


A reading of the poem:


Here’s a kind of silly (sort of) sonnet for dVerse Poets Poetics hosted by Kelvin S.M., and inspired by his lovely orange painting, and also for Real Toads, fourteen line poem prompt hosted by Kerry O’Connor, and inspired by Izy Gruye’s child photograph!  (A lot of inspiring visuals here!)  Thanks to Kelvin and Izy and Kerry. 

Some quick process notes for those who did not grow up in my time frame in the U.S. — “Orange You Glad I didn’t Say Banana” was the last line to a very old (and one of my first) knock knock jokes (which involved answering banana to the first several knock knocks.) 

“Do you want a Hawaiian punch” was another pun in an old commercial for a fruit drink.  Red Number 4 was a very commonly used bright red dye.

Hop on Pop is a book by Dr. Seuss.  Where’s Waldo? a series of popular books, Banana fana fofana -was a refrain from a famous song called The Name Game.

A Sahara of Sorts

February 23, 2013


A Sahara of Sorts

The desert’s dessert’s a date; mine
came late, with hair palm-mussed
and blushes deep as sunburn stuttering
through the tangle of door and greeting.
We rushed to an encampment
of sheet–each, just late
of a “relationship” (as in
left high and dry) and
not yet willing to wade into any
true waters, but still deserving–make that,
desperate for–a firm moist warmth
that whetted (otherwise) arid lips and tasted
in night’s desolation almost


Here’s a rather silly, but I hope fun, poem for Hannah’s desert challenge on With Real Toads

Since initially posting, I inadvertently un-posted, so I am posting again.  


More on Graffiti (Flash Friday 55)

February 22, 2013


70’s/80’s Soho/East Village Walls

Downtown so dim back then
that any pigment shone starry–
but they gave more than just
a break in grim brick –  SAMO’s
crown koans, Haring’s sweet-crawling
both dead before
middle-aged, like so many
in that drawing/drawn 80’s
NYC;  graffiti art leaves me now
disheartened, pains brain bit
at forehead’s wall.

55 late words for the G-Man.  The above is my trying-not-to-be-too-much-like-Keith-Haring-picture.

Still thinking about graffiti after the dVerse Poets prompt.  Graffiti art a bit sad for me, living in NYC in and out of 70’s/80;s–the age of SAMO (Jean-Michel Basquiat) and Keith Haring, both of whom made themselves known on the streets before becoming famous in the art world.  Jean-Michel died of a heroin overdose at age 27; Keith Haring of AIDS-related complications at 31.

One strange announcement in passing – this is my 1500th post on this blog.  A very great thanks to all of you who have read and commented.  Your support (and virtual friendship) has meant a very great deal to me.

Apt Graffito

February 21, 2013


Apt Graffito

“I need a bath” stencils
the grubby; letters smearing
clear soft loops  in the caught crud of shield
or siding–

My sides ache suddenly
for the smart-fingers of that same wag–
someone who might snag
my spattered anatomy, signing the obvious
but somehow overlooked–
“I need a hug”  crude, but most likely
to be sharpied–
“I need approbation,” taking too much space
on face or forearm.


Draftish poem for dVerse Poets Prompt “Meeting the Bar” hosted by Anna Montgomery.  Anna urges us to get some writing energy from graffiti!  I have been moving and have had a long couple of days.  I started the whole process early, for those interested, so have plenty of time left to complete it, but I  transferred the bulk of belongings, including a piano (across ice)!  I have done a great deal of delegation to very helpful people including my husband and daughter ( thank God!!!!!) – but still feel rather drained.  Thanks for all of your kind wishes and sympathy.  

Head Household

February 20, 2013

Brain in Bed (With Dog)

Head Household

My home
is mottled grey; perhaps red/blue would
be better, chambered
rather than lobed–no matter–

Furnishings fuzz
to buzz; occupants (increasingly
occluded) defy
vacancies, sparks fry blinds that tilt
over streaked glass; you try
to knock, I don’t
always answer, rooms fold in
on themselves.


This is a very rough draft poem for Real Toads “words matter” (i.e. keep it short) challenge hosted by Mama Zen to write about a toad’s house.  (Toad as in writing participant.)

I am in the midst of moving; much was placed and transported today in an extremely cold truck.   I’m sorry to be slow in responding to people – I wrote this poem, more or less, while standing in the truck bed, guarding stuff.   A reposting of picture too – brain in bed with Pearl!  Not really suited for poem – but really, how often can you post a brain in bed!?  (I am writing of the metaphorical little grey cells = yes, I understand they are pink in pic.)

Note that I’ve edited since first posting.

Under-towed (Parking Poem)

February 19, 2013


All night I churn with the busy pens
of meter maids and meter men,
their dark slacks cracked with ticket books
they pirouette around nasty looks,
their growling tow trucks mastiff pets,
their spiked tails aching to drag Corvettes–
so strange to the New Yorker-me
who feels nothing but antipathy
for cars but has one parked today
and prays in dream it’s not gone stray–

As gusty winds wuther through the height
of jamb-slipped window through the night,
I twist till blinds show dawn-grey pleats
then hurry off to check the streets.
I scan at first a blank of tar,
oh where, oh where, are you dumb car?
Then realize that it’s not this corner
(and that there’s hope for this here mourner),
till finally I find some cars
(included in the line-up, ours)
that sit with the tranquillity
of the alternate side nobility,
their windshields clear as the just-confessed
oh space, oh time–you are the best–
for Tuesdays, A.M., so match-less.

Here’s a very silly poem for dVerse Poets Open Link Night.  I am in the midst of moving! So have had to bring a car down to the city for a few days (as well as rent a truck!), and have been living in the middle of boxes.  It is very stressful, even though, thankfully, I’ve been able to get others to do most of the work.  I may be slow returning visits for a bit, but thanks for checking in.