Po o’ the Month

November said Nada

November 2019- Starting off here with a good friend and guest contributor featuring recently published work by Poet extraordinaire Bernard Block.  Recent additions follow in suit below.

Fable of the Mermaid and the Starbuckers

A satiric riff on Pablo Neruda’s poem, “Fable of the Mermaid and the Drunks”

By   Bernard Block

All these Starbuckers were there inside

When she entered, nude.

She came from the East River,

She lost her way. Eyes came from faraway.

Wended her way between hookers and bucks.

No one noticed. Who was she?

Glided into Starbucks.

Did they see?

Gray faces, gray tables

White spaces, gray fables

Smell of coffee, smell of money

Ringtone tinkled Lovely Rita

Someone seeking Goddess Sita?

Fingers tapped Blueberry

Brains blogged Strawberry

Twitter blogged I-phone

Tarragonswiss gelatocone

Pointy heads cyberspace

MySpace  YourSpace

Beyond time and face

Eyes glazed laptop

Educated—Stop and Shop

Eyes—Wi-fied

Viral infection since July

Did they see?

No one asked

Who was she?

She did not know tears

She did not weep

She did not know dreams

She dared not sleep

She tried, tried to imagine

A pirouette

Did she forget

Did she forget

She did not know words

She did not speak

Eyes were birds

White and meek

Arms were topaz

Lips—coral light

Eyes were birds

Stripped in flight

Silence twined her glistening flesh

Blindness blanked her golden breast

Glided by

Who was she

No one noticed

Did they see

Suddenly, she left by that door.

She entered the river, gleaming

A white stone in the rain

Only hearing her refrain

Without a backward glance

She drew a breath

Swam toward never

Swam toward death

— Published in Thrive Global  August 19, 2018

*

All Souls Day

*

November shrugged at the time the masks slipped
Stripped away in the face of high wind warnings as if in this season begged advisements cautions

Still mild that morning fooling few to believe
That this day would pass swaddled in gray soft gauze
While the light diffused diminishing increments

Was that encroaching mist unraveling like a ball of yarn
To cascade down a slope of cotton
Falling needle pinpoints liquefied

There was this puncturing of scattered shallow puddles
Reverberating in sound wave concrete circles
Auditory auditions sharpening a deaf set of eyes

In these stains of ink
Lurk faceless memories I think
Past Persona gone non-grata

November shrugged at the time the masks slipped away
To reveal the naked face of high wind awnings
As if this season begged advisement cautions

Stripped away now in alibis and warnings

-Got Abstract ? 2014

*

Bright

Yellow weeping Willow

hangs her head

caught in the corner of my eye

waving goodbye

 

Long finger limps

strum the empty heaving air

moving in the tentacle string wind.

 

Cascading color

tangled water crest fallen

as stray estranged leaves

scurry across black gold

 

While the adjacent playground

is deserted of children

today

 

A lone fire hydrant

squats silently chipped red

not playing

not playing

at all

today.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

VQ Collected circa 2012

*

Are We really his Reality TV ?

When the vox populi

turns a moron into a sandwich and asks what would you like on this ?

Hero President or Nero

having at this instrument that was more that he had

bitten off-

and had to chew  – always some mouthful to swallow

and sleep between the sheets of a well when you make your bed…….

ci incontreremo quando i sogni si scontrano

as Rome burned

Uncollected VQ 11/10/16