The following three poems are excerpted from my book, Real, True Things: A Collection From A Writer’s Life. Additional poems, musical memories, and family history from this book – newly posted on my blog – can be found under the “Book Excerpts” tab.
THE TREE
The tree is so naked
No flowers or leaves to hide
Its misshapen arms,
It waits for a gown of snow
To make it less ugly
Till spring.
PLASTIC FREAK
Don’t just stand there ignoring me
Under your breath. Do something.
You are love, child. Can’t I see it?
Yes, I see your long hair and your fringe
Like the shade on a fancy lamp. That’s out.
Someone told you to turn on
And you, freak, thought what he meant
Was in the pipe. Your old head is
Still there.
Don’t just sit there ignoring me
Under your breath. Come on over
To where I’m at, child. My flower is
Living. I’d like to share it with you
Like the LOVE that’s on your mirror. That’s broken.
I can help you see it
But you, freak, are still where it’s at.
Ah, you can’t know it unless you
Are there.
REMEMBER
There is still Hemingway
And the life style he espoused.
Ayn Rand people are not real
But we hope we are them.
Ismir harbor lights still twinkle at night
And the excrement still empties
Into it by day.
Shepherds bring their karakul herds
Through Kabul in spring
As caravans are passing through
North to the Oxus.
In remote villages of Iran
Women are tying tiny knots
Into fabulous rugs for us to buy.
Bricks bake in burning buildings in India
And the goat milk still must be strained
Here at Hampton road.
Jets leave every day
And passports are easier to get
Than someone to milk our goat.
London waits for people like us.
Victoria Station! The Bospherous!
The everlasting gateway to the world.