July Featured Poet

July 2014-  Occasionally as I have done in the past I will feature a fellow Poets work that I admire. This month I’d like to recognize some very good expression from a trusted colleague and great friend Bernard Block. He recently was honored by an overseas literary website that has included a recent collection of his superb Muse.

All Hail in the Rubber Eden for Bernard !

(please visit for source link provided for more info)

http://levurelitteraire.com/bernard-block-29/

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Invitation to a Poem

Please bring tablet of gold
Fragile moon, sky unsold
Scroll of mirrors, reflecting sigh
The constant nymph, untold eye
Green room enfolding wall
A mogul, a martyr, the oracle

Don’t forget Romeo and Juliet
Texting, twittering, a room to let
And say hello guys to jiggly poem
The insomniac married to a SmartPhone
Bring a silver vessel, pestle and tower
Of babbling, boobling, the dangling hour

And hail to pilgrim, lullaby of leaves
Acid tundra, petrified trees
Once food, now garbage, swirling of fleas
The mutant, the Baron down on his knees
The molecule, atomic sneeze
Bring your skin, if you please

Bring BlackBerry, Apple and a ‘friend’
A menu, password, ‘face’ with no end
A cookie, an icon, mouse on a bend
A sailor, chat-room, virtual yen
A latke, hummus, unleavened yeast
A window, one tear, wind from the east

Castle of WonderWheel, unsealed and unpinned
East of Ode to the West Wind

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The Trumpet-Man’s Quest for Cornelia Street Café

In your Quest
For the Grail of Cornelia
You turned North
Instead of South
When you went out the door
You hit West Fourth
Then turned East
Could not turn back
As you tooted in a Thrall
Past Washington Square
Unaware
Of Dragons
In the Fell
Of the Fall
After all
You heard Dizzy
You heard Chet
You heard Miles
In a Thrall
You swept the wind
You heard a Wail
From the East
You heard the Call
Past Tompkins Square
Of the Wail
Of the Grail
In the Fell of the Fall
You heard Miles
Ebony Smiles
In the Fell of the Fall
Past the A’s, Past the C’s
Into the River of the Thrall

Some say you are still wailing
Past the Sirens of the Quay
Some say you are still wailing
Past the Mermaids of the Bay

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Chat Room

I entered the Chat Room on a dare
Digital digits lured me here

Etched above the Room in digits clear—

Beware, beware
All ye who enter here
Can never return to there

I was entranced, the voice of allure—
She asked me to dance, beyond the door
She asked me to dance, beyond the Law
She asked, asked me if I could fly
She wove a web around the sky
I flew to realms beyond the earth
Beyond my Death, beyond my Birth

She said, she said
She was a daughter of the Muse
I thought, I thought
I cannot refuse

And now I drift in Ether rare
Remember the warning—Beware, beware
Entranced by her voice, the voice of flame
Trying to remember, my name, my name

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The Lady of the Trapeze

Close your eyes
Even the stones come alive
Thinks the Lady of the Trapeze
Fire, air, water, trees

The man soaked in gasoline
The moon bathing in a dream
Dreaming fire, dreaming trees
Thinks the Lady of the Trapeze

Is an angel whispering in his ear
Telling him to disappear
Dreaming water, beyond the seas
The man is dying, hear him wheeze

Hear him mutter, child and wife
Hear him adding death and life
See the angel hovering near
Listen to the man’s one tear

One tear edging down his cheek
The angel urging him to speak
Speak of water, speak of trees
Thinks the Lady of the Trapeze

He mutters name of wife, of child
He sees the petals folding mild
He speaks of wind, he speaks of fire
He breathes the petal of desire

He breathes a petal, quiet as lace
He breathes of wind, he breathes of Grace
He is a leaf, he is a frieze
Thinks the Lady of the Trapeze

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I am Anthony, Marine, Back from Afghanistan

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Mom, I will always be that Marine in that photo on the wall
But somewhere along the line, Mom, I lost it, lost it all

I dream of loading, loading my rifle in the rain
Look down and see a needle, a needle in my vein
I wander, wander the Afghan plain
See a needle, a needle in my vein

I hear the train comes from Nowhere, Nowhere on the plain
I hear the train leaves for Nowhere, Nowhere in the rain
I heard Jesus saw Angels, Angels in a grain
I’m looking for that grain, Mom, looking for that grain.

Mom, I see a Crucifix rising in the rain
Its shadow growing black, black along the plain
I see Abel, east of Babylon, walking in the rain
I see Cain, lock and load, in the mist above the plain

I see needles, sharp as thumbtacks, driven by the rain
I see shadows wandering, wandering the Afghan plain
I see Jesus staring, staring at a grain
He’s singing an old song but I can’t remember the refrain,

I’m your son, Mom, your son Anthony, still hanging on the wall
I tell you Jesus, yes Jesus, is waiting in the hall
He’s singing, yes he’s singing an old song in the hall
And I’m listening, Mom, still listening, hanging on the wall

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Saying Grace

The Norman Rockwell painting, Saying Grace
Brought in $46 million at Sotheby’s Gallery
In the York Avenue salesroom, Saying Grace

The room went dead quiet, quiet as lace
While a tense nine and a half minute bidding battle
Played out for Saying Grace

A grey cloud crossed the skies
A maid folded curtains lined with lace
A child bent his knee, Saying Grace

A skull graced with flies
Lips of red, out of eyes
A grey cloud folded, folded lies

A spider spun a trace
A lace of light across the skies
A child bent his knee, Saying Grace

The wind whispered sighs
Whispered sighs lined with grace
Lace of clouds across the skies

Clouds of blue crossed white skies
Aisles filled with crowds of grace
Cheeks were red with fire of ice

Christ looked up, saw all in place
Crucifix shadow crossed the skies
A child bent his knee, Saying Grace

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The Crucifix Speaks

I speak to you as I must
Speak to you beneath the dust
I see the day as yesterday
They nailed him with the moon’s slit ray
Slit of palm, split the night
Acid moon, crows in flight

I did not choose the angled light
I had no choice, nor Wrong, nor Right
The men who split the light of dawn
Slit from root as I was born
Born amid the Alien Corn
Dust to dust as I was torn
Too late to mourn as I must
Speak to you beneath the dust

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There was a Quail…

There was a quail, yes a quail, wounded in the wing
Looking up in wonder at the Hunter and the Sky
There was a quail, yes a quail, forgetting how to sing
His flame bleeding back into the shadow of a sigh

There was a man, yes a man, wounded in the wing
Half in life, half in death, having lost the power to sing
Looking up in wonder at the Hunter and the Sky
Learning how to live, learning how to die

They came from the forest, they came from the hill
The birds gathered round to hear the wisdom of the Song
They leaned closer to his lips, but his lips were chill
And the Sky was deep, and the River long

He moved his lips, yes his lips, tried to murmur Song
But the Sky was deep, and the River long
Some say he murmured the Hunter is My Brother
Some say he murmured the Hunter is The Other

Some say they heard nothing, nothing at all

Some say they saw a tear, one tear
On a feather neath his eye
Some say this was a sign
That he would live—that he would die

Some say The Oracle remains alive today
Some say The Oracle has nothing left to say
Some say the quail is still wounded in the wing
Some say the quail will rise one day and sing