LEAVE ME ALONE, a poem

          Please, please leave me alone 

          let me sit in quiet

          let me think my thoughts

          let me doze in peace

          My life is filled

          with dronery

          the dishes must be done

          the laundry is waiting

         

          Don’t follow me

          to my heaven

          don’t follow me

          to burning hell

          Leave me alone

          go your own way

                   (Dec. 21, 2017)

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THE ELITE, a poem

                 

                 Whether famous or anonymous

                  the elite soar from the plebeians

                  through their individual feats

                  of a moment or a lifetime

                 

                  The elite number in millions

                  beginning at the beginning

                  the first leader, fire maker,

                  bard, farmer, baker, artist

                  Among the undeniably elite

                  reflecting marvelous achievements

                  Leonardo da Vinci, Barrack Obama

                  Elizabeth Bishop, Willie Nelson

                  Jim Thorpe, Shalane Flanagan

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GLOBAL SHRIVELING, a poem

                  The rage of nature

                  the floods of Texas

                  the hurricane of Florida

                  the devastation of Puerto Rico

                  the fires of California

                  Earth’s revenge

                  grimly thrashes

                  with howlinge winds

                  with quaking earth

                  with leaping fires

                  Fecund world into

                  barren fields

                  empty seas

                  broiling suns

                  shriveling mankind

                  (Oct. 15, 2017)

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JOURNEY’S END, a poem

          I took the pen

          she gave me

          to write without

          looking back

          become the writer

          not the reciter

          I stand on the

          shore of the Styx

          to paddle without

          looking back;

          become the ferryman

          and the ferried

          I weigh the balance

          of unworthy debt

          no obolus beneath

          my tongue;

          become the creator

          of my golden bough

          (Oct. 10, 2017. This poem was written six years ago by the protagonist in my novel, THE ABSCONDER. It was inspired by a woman he loved, but was forced to abandon to escape the possibility of being returned to prison. In his new life he became a noted poet.)

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THREE KINDS of LOVE, a poem

          Body on fire

          with youthful desire

          Uncertain lips meeting

          in sexual greeting

          Ending unrequitedly

          The illicit kiss

          leads amiss

          The passionate connection

          thrives absent inspection

          Ending without joy

         

          An invitation to dance

          leads to romance

          The craving is sealed

          with a fulfilling yield

          Ending with lasting love

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LOST FOREVERMORE, a poem

          

          I want to go home

          the pathetic plea

          of the demented

          Caregivers sadly

          listen helplessly

          There is no going home

          the longed-for mother

          is gone beyond reach

          the childhood pleasures

          lost forevermore

          Going for a drive

          diverts attention

          For a while the plea

          is gone then returns

          I want to go home

          (Oct. 2, 2017. Seemingly common to all dementia victims is a hunger to go home to the nonexistent house where their mothers still dwell in their happy childhoods.) 

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Thoughts on THE NATURALIST by Andrew Mayne

       THE NATURALIST is a whodunit worth reading just to meet Dr. Theodore Cray, a college professor/scientist whose inquiring mind evolves him into a tenacious sleuth.

        Spurred by guilt feelings that his teaching might have led one of his former students, a brilliant researcher, into circumstances that resulted in her murder, Cray sets out to uncover what happened to her.

        At the outset, police consider Cray a suspect, because he knew the dead woman. He is quickly released when a perfuntory autopsy lead the police to believe a bear is the killer. The setting for this novel is Montana.

        Cray’s speciality is bioinformatics, which combines advanced computer programs with biology. As he says of himself: “As a scientist, I observe, I analyze. I make guesses.”

        With that background, Cray first decides a human not a bear killed his student. The police, of course, sneer at his conclusion. Then he sets off on a hunt with an extraodinary outcome, in this well-plotted, nicely-written whodunit, that is a pleasure to read.

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MY DAY, a poem

          

         What is there

          to say

          nothing happens

          in my day

          Evenings are much

          the same

          no one else

          to blame

          Treasure pleasure

          in taking

          life’s measure

          ignore the aching

                   (Aug. 22, 2017)

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A WOMAN IN WINTER, a poem

          

          Life has burned away

          leaving a body in disarray

          a woman grown very old

          suffering never-ending cold

          Every day is wintertime

          gone is the warmth so sublime

          no longer a promise of spring

          to make the aged soul sing

          Does celebration or doom

          await in the misty gloom

          no knows what lies ahead

          ignore all trivial dread

                              (Aug. 2, 2017)

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IN THE MOMENT, a poem

         

          Looking outward

          nothing inside

          shorted recall  

          lost synapses

          Locked in the now

          Without a past

          Without future

          Without recall

          Time goes by

          Life lingers

          Yes conscious

          But helpless

                           (July 27, 2017)

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THE JESUITS and DONALD TRUMP, a poem

         

          

          The learned Jesuits teach

          truth is objective

          Missed those classes, Donald

          or were you dreaming

          only of yourself

          The learned Jesuits teach

          essence and accidents

          Missed those classes, Donald

          or did unchanging truth

          fail to lodge in your brain

          The learned Jesuits teach

          the inquiring mind

          Missed those classes, Donald

          how could Fordham produce

          so empty a Donald

                             (July 24, 2017)

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An Ode to KEN PAFF

             Ken Paff

          you wear the honorable name

          that shames the Hoffa faction

          everything you are

          boy Hoffa is not

          Ken Paff

          you are courage and persistence

          standing bravely when few dared

          fighting the tyranny of thugs

          in the risky days of old

          Ken Paff

          You clearly have earned your place

          in the pantheon of heroes

          tougher than cold marble

          your monument is TDU

                                                (July 21, 2017)

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REUNION, a poem

         

         Sixteen aging men sat down

          to lunch at The Water Club

          drawn by memories of the prep

          urged to be there by Gerry McCabe

          the catalyst of the gathering

         

          They left Fordham Prep in ’52

          as boys those 65 years ago  

          some stayed close through the decades

          others, like me, went their separate ways

          yet reuniting again and again

          Gerry, a basketball star

          in his happy prep school days

          sitting somewhere in North Carolina

          is our facilitator

          and herald of our next lives

                                                ( July 7, 2017)

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RESUSCITATION, a poem

          Don’t resuscitate

          leave me to my fate

          the natural way for me

          stop the heroic treatments

          delaying the final act

          No curtain calls

          after the end

          what do you expect

          do tell the world

          if I appear

          But please never anyone fear

          enjoy a wine or a beer

          and think of me over here

          because nothing kills

          the essential soul

          (June 11, 2017)

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LOWERY STREET STATION, a poem

It began with a French kiss

on Lowery Street Station  

kindling infatuation

that burned into love

without likely end

Dancing in Greenwich Village

the Amato Opera

strolling East River Walk

sealed the relationship

into a lifetime bond

Raising a family

with three boys and a girl

dogs, rabbits, squirrels,

fish, birds, chipmunks

life worth living

(May 26, 2017. Ginger and I were returning from dancing at Gildea’s in Sunnyside on our second date in 1954. We were on the Lowery Street Station platform en route to Manhattan, to Cornell’s student nursing school residence at New York Hospital.)

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PRESIDENTIAL MEDAL of MUZZLING, a poem

Dan Heyman, how dare you shout

a question at Trump lackeys

giving the West Virginia cops

a chance to employ censorship

for an authoritarian America

Is domestic violence a pre-existing condition

the journalistic gall of you asking Secretary Price

so provocatively significant a question

as he strode in answer-avoiding silence

beside the alternative truthist Kellyanne 

Donald Trump would be in character

to create a Medal of Muzzling

with the West Virginia police

the first to be celebrated

for censoring our Dan Heyman

AN INTERRUPTED LIFE, a poem

Little did I expect

that after eighty years

the purgatory

of the interrupted life

daily awaited me

No more novels

will freely flow

from my fingers

creativity a prey

of this interrupted life

Having a brilliant thought

reading a riveting book

watching a serious film

seeing really important news

omnis relatio interrupit

(May 7, 2017)

PRISONER of DEMENTIA, a poem

The prisoner of dementia

listens to her meaningless rants

without end

endures  her rages

a helpless witness

The contract requires

for better or worse

so he is bound

by those sworn words

until the end

Occasionally she says

in a very sad lament

I don’t want to live

this way anymore

Neither do I

ALWAYS CONNECTED, a poem

ALWAYS CONNECTED

The Kahunas contend

a single simple touch

will join us

like twins with a filament

of ectoplasm forever

So the connection created

by any long loving marriage

or an extended relationship

must surely produce links

thick as ancient redwoods

Those heavy bonds survive

divorce or separation

with the once loved

ties never erased

always remembered

(April 16, 2017)

SITTING in SILENCE, a poem

SITTING in SILENCE

So many couples sitting

in silence in restaurants

We always spoke

engaged in sweet conversation

looking into each other’s eyes

Why an absence of dialogue?

their disconnected lives speaking?

We were joined

in lively discourse

reflecting our love

Having eaten and paid the bill

they exit to their dreariness

We connected again

in the privacy

of our lovely home

(April 4, 2017)

LOST LOVE, a poem

LOST LOVE

I loved you

You loved me

We loved each other

Now we are free

AFTER DEATH, a poem

AFTER DEATH

What can be expected

In releasing a soul

in death?

forever deep sleep

in constant blankness

Perhaps an hereafter

of infinite torture

the sour reward

for an ugly past life

Yet some merit better

An eternity of pleasure

to be enjoyed without boredom

in sensuous ensembles

of tasty food and good wine

and varieties of flesh

(March 30, 2017)

AFTERMATH, a poem

          Glorious fried egg I savor

          your unforgettable flavor

          disc of orange and white

          my taste buds soar in flight

          making my day so extra bright

          (Written in March, 2017. I thought I might try writing a limerick, but found it beyond doing at this time. I am not a funny writer.)

WILDCAT, a poem

           

          Wildcat, what inflamed such desire

          perhaps my naked ready body

          transported you into a female fire

          Memories of the Wildcat you were

          Still stirs my near ancient lingam

          The joy of having made you purr

         

          Your zeal for my source of delight

          Often pulled me from deepest sleep

          For thrilling joinings in our night

         

          The lovely touch of your sweet skin

          Withheld in the years of old age

          Reminds me of what once had been

          (Written in February, 2017)

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Go into battle with Gen. Jaroslaw Dombrowski and Louise Michel in my novel, BEN CONNOLLY in the PARIS COMMUNE.

The book will be available for free downloads from Kindle for five days this week, from Sunday (Feb. 5, 2017) through Thursday (Feb. 9, 2017).

Please read it, enjoy it, and review it.

DEATH and BEYOND, a sonnet

Let easy death be my painless surprise

In deepest sleep with an exciting dream

My expression locked in a look so wise

Even so I am sure my wife will scream

Will I be hovering above the deathbed

Listening to what those who gather said

What a wonderfully good man he was

If there is a godly judge awaiting

My hope is that the good outweighed the bad

The scales are worth extant contemplating

If I wait too long I may end up sad

Once I cross River Styx no returning

Maybe I will be in heaven and glad

Otherwise this body may be burning

(This sonnet was written in January, 2017)

Thoughts on NO GREAT MISCHIEF by Alistair MacLeod

     NO GREAT MISCHIEF  is a novel of change, the ending of tribal roots through intermarriage, the gap that emerges between siblings with a college education and without.

     Alistair MacLeod writes with a grace and warmth that is a pleasure to read; the kind of a book enjoyed with a cup of tea or a glass of wine.

     MacLeod’s characters are living in the late twentieth century in Canada while eighteenth century Scotland is a dominant presence in their memories; they still speak Gaelic as well as English. They are part of the MacDonald clan, driven by the English from the Highlands of Scotland to Cape Breton 200 hundred years ago.

     The protagonist and his sister, who grew up in the care of their grandparents in a loving home and are well-educated, break the links to ancient Scotland by marrying outsiders. They have suburban lives of material comfort.

     Their uneducated siblings are doomed to the dangerous and drone jobs of the blue collar working class. One is a wild man, who ignores the restraints of society, the little ones like driving without a license and the more serious of deadly brawls; he ends up in prison and as a drunk without a real home or his own family (meaning a mate and children).

     I would love to read another novel by MacLeod, but he wrote only one, NO GREAT MISCHIEF, and died in 2014.