NUMBER 367

a very, very happy un-
birthday  to you
true one.
a very, unhappy fellow.
s——ounblue    to do.
may your undreamt dreams
fly like   weightless
diamonds.
it’s an unvery world,
it’s an unsmiling   oh!
if  we knew how we could
undance for unever.
take my hand and
hold it  or be
a something other
than unbeknownst.
unbewildered?
unturn me into:

ikcinreicop:

or

elauqsap

( for the GREAT AMERICAN GUITARIST
Maestro Pasquale Bianculli    ) 

          

   

NUMBER 366

as if all was all
as if everything
was one unit
all tumblers
bowed to each other—

there was no signal,
nobody sang
an anthem,
without a cue
silence began,
without a whistle
silence ended,
everyone touched
that
moment—

knew the possibilities
of peace

NUMBER 365

Sometimes when he was sitting
in the back bedroom,
staring at the flowers and the
shrubberies,
he would hear a high note
traveling through the window
like a rocket.
it subtracted 50 years
from his imagination.
he stood up like a Wagnerian hero,
his sword and spear
ready for battle.
he waited for the next note
but all he received
was one, precious, golden coin.
he wanted so much more
and so he allowed
his imagination
to travel back to the beginning
of music.
he looked into her endless eyes
and he was lost forever.

the first time he heard her sing
he knew that there was
something beyond special.
each time he heard her voice
there was a new color.
when she came back from Germany
it was as though
every part of her body
was taken out and polished.
her voice was so unusual
that listeners weren’t sure
what they were hearing.

impresarios wanted to use her
but she was a puzzle
they couldn’t comprehend.
they settled for someone
more
common.
after many years of hard work
she sang almost never
and only for friends.
she began to teach
because
she could hear the depth of
each voice
hidden within their souls.
the work she did with each person
took many years
but when it began to shine
the singer was filled with joy.
her students were unlike any
jewel ever seen or heard.

when they were asked about their
teacher, they would joke,
“Oh! I learned from a little
old lady who lives nearby.”
O—
“A magician who has no name.”
she was only known as a teacher.
her power was a hidden secret
her voice was a gift from Apollo

( for christie )

NUMBER 364

break me into pieces oh lord,
so that i may feel
the strength of everything
moving.

smash me like a boulder god,
so that i may know
the power of everywhere.

all has become brittle
pebbles,
let me sink
into the depth
of my soul.
let us speak universal silence;
our healing will span centuries.

NUMBER 363

i was so excited.
i passed
the qualifying
exams for a 4 semester
Shakespeare course.
the good sisters had done their job.
they taught me the value of grammar
“strengthen the foundation and you
will be able to understand

the difficulty of any word,”
i could hear the tone of each nun’s voice
and now I would hear the voices of
jesuit priests
opening the pages inside my head
ten hours each week.
but after four hours
i felt i deserved a medal——
a Polish person pushing against
the pages of the Bard.
during the fifth hour of class time
there was a soft knock on the door,
i was summoned by two priests, i was sure it was a mistake but
everything collapsed in seconds

my father had died
he could hear my objection f rom his new position
in the sky.
even in death, he understood my reluctance.
i had just jumped into a new ocean of excitement
and now i was surrounded
by walls of flowers,
constant whispering,
the everpresent soft sound of tears.
everyone wanted to return to their breathing pad
make money
make love
become more powerful.
my father yawned and sank into a deeper sleep

i returned home to a fatherless house and rediscovered silence.
i could listen to the movement of my mother’s
rosary beads.
she was satisfied with my attention .
while she slept, i had a huge chunk of time to understand Mr. Shakespeare.
my concentration floated through each chapter with ease,
as we approached the end of the first semester
my classmates applauded
my recovery.
my mother’s sorrow embraced eternity,
my father turned over in his grave
and never thought of Mr. Shakespeare again.

NUMBER 362

a tall, thin very old piece of driftwood
stood upright and watched its shadow
lengthening into the smooth, sparkling sand.
age peeled away as the shadow
stretched
and stretched until it could hear
the words of an adjoining figure.
they spoke to each other in a language
they had never heard
and became fluent
instantly.
they laughed and burst into a charming mazurka
and grew into a beach of dancing
singers.
every morning the beach was splashed with joy
and the story was whispered
and shouted continuously.
very few believed:
but the believers became forever——————

( for pipler )

NUMBER 361

i heard of them
before i was born;
i had never seen one.
none had been photographed.
at this moment
i was standing in front of one;
i was sure.
the sound had been described
in many ways.
i knew what it was
because of the unusual purity;
the scope was gigantic
and tantalizing.
as i turned into the existence
of unimaginable,
(a dark,chocolate,czeslaw cookie )
all my senses were bombarded.
i couldn’t pronounce it and so
i ate it,
and
fainted
through centuries

NUMBER 360

i know a man who loves food.
he smiles often when he is eating.
he eats slowly so he can taste deeply.
often he is overjoyed by food mixtures
in his mouth.
he turns his plate sideways
and licks what is left
or he wets his fingers and jabs
at the tiny, remaining specks of food.
he doesn’t notice that
people mumble, grumble and whisper.
as time hurries on he doesn’t eat faster
time is constantly s l o w.
he is one speed
the speed of chewing.
he is a champion in his own competition.

NUMBER 359

this violet is almost
its color is similar to
can be held in your hand
for as long as
this violet is leaning toward
purple is dreaming the deepness of maroon
can
dance with almost any
flower that dares to
be a flower:
in the distance
two soccer teams
heard the float
of multi violets
and kicked themselves
into gentle

NUMBER 358

my father never learned to read
never learned to write
held instincts in the depth of universe
he could feel the exact moment
a peony would burst into bloom
he is the flower king
an encyclopedia of dirt
an orator of growing
queen dahlia
shines in his shadow
jokers mime the movement of zinnias
blinding crocuses invite every season
he is the patriach of petals