Climate Change /
They should have taken
Better care of branding –
I'm thinking this on board
Of a November Airbus,
Taking me back
To warm Dubai
From Europe's faded green,
A semi-yearly dose
Of much more realistic
"Climate Change".
They did a good job
Getting rid of "Global Warming"
(Who wouldn't like a bit of extra warmth
In our cold lives, except the people
Stuck around the Gulf in August and July)
But "Climate Change"?
Why not the "Carbon Plague"?
Or "Climageddon",
Or "The Melting Doom",
You have to leave
some room for panic
In your naming –
If anything at all
's to be achieved.
@verse
15.11/21
They should have taken
Better care of branding –
I'm thinking this on board
Of a November Airbus,
Taking me back
To warm Dubai
From Europe's faded green,
A semi-yearly dose
Of much more realistic
"Climate Change".
They did a good job
Getting rid of "Global Warming"
(Who wouldn't like a bit of extra warmth
In our cold lives, except the people
Stuck around the Gulf in August and July)
But "Climate Change"?
Why not the "Carbon Plague"?
Or "Climageddon",
Or "The Melting Doom",
You have to leave
some room for panic
In your naming –
If anything at all
's to be achieved.
@verse
15.11/21
Fig bonsai (an obituary) /
We came back
A few days too late
And our fig tree
Has dried.
Damn.
I’m not sure
It will bear us
Dried figs…
@verse
We came back
A few days too late
And our fig tree
Has dried.
Damn.
I’m not sure
It will bear us
Dried figs…
@verse
I made a habit of publishing small collections of poems on my birthdays, but this year's harvest is both diverse and plentiful – and we're well past July 23. While I'm figuring out which of the 60 or so scraps of verse should stay and which will go, here are a few ghosts of Christmas past from the 2021-2022 season.
(P.S. For no apparent reason, I spent most of the past year thinking I'm 37 already – so this second year of 37 will be a strange one to live in. Deja vu.)
See @verse
https://telegra.ph/Five-Cities-07-31
(P.S. For no apparent reason, I spent most of the past year thinking I'm 37 already – so this second year of 37 will be a strange one to live in. Deja vu.)
See @verse
https://telegra.ph/Five-Cities-07-31
Telegraph
Four Cities
I spent the past fifteen years looking for stability – and ended up finding it in a castle built on sand, of all places. Yet, given the state the world is in today, I can no longer afford the luxury of pretending to be homeless.
Spirit of Napoli /
A seagull, hard at work,
Picking apart the rotten
Carcass of a pigeon.
Do as the Romans
When in Rome –
But when in Naples,
Don’t look down.
Or up – the buildings
Of this town’s majestic past
Just make things worse
By burying the “could have been”
In “has been”.
The first graffito
(Of twelve thousand)
That I saw, arriving here by train
Read: “DEATH
TO CAMORRA”. Five days in
I can’t agree more,
Maybe even go beyond
The humble statement:
It is not the mafia alone –
The city as a whole
Seems to be asking
For another blast
From its two-headed
Mountain (in the eyes
Of a trespasser, like myself)
But people fill its streets.
They shoot about
On scooters, like so many
Plastic herrings,
Scurrying around
The sharks of its Fiats.
They sit at open tables
Of cafes on permagarbage
sidewalks, kiss on benches
Next to barricades of trash.
They walk around in miniskirts
And shorts,
Displaying godly tans –
Or beastly paunches.
(And, I suppose, by night
They tag the shutters
Of these stores.) And hark:
They SING when begging
For a coin.
And they look happy.
And they make me think
Of all that I have lost
Over the years of living
In those other cities –
Where the past is a prelude
(And not an admonition).
Where you wouldn’t think
Of washing shoes
Together with your hands,
Returning home,
Where poems don’t start
With carcasses of pigeons,
Where the dark side
Tries to hide
And where the underworld
Has less successful branding…
Standing in these streets,
I see humanity’s revolting ways
And its redeeming joys
Of feeling happy and alive
Despite whatever garbage
Gods allot you.
@verse
A seagull, hard at work,
Picking apart the rotten
Carcass of a pigeon.
Do as the Romans
When in Rome –
But when in Naples,
Don’t look down.
Or up – the buildings
Of this town’s majestic past
Just make things worse
By burying the “could have been”
In “has been”.
The first graffito
(Of twelve thousand)
That I saw, arriving here by train
Read: “DEATH
TO CAMORRA”. Five days in
I can’t agree more,
Maybe even go beyond
The humble statement:
It is not the mafia alone –
The city as a whole
Seems to be asking
For another blast
From its two-headed
Mountain (in the eyes
Of a trespasser, like myself)
But people fill its streets.
They shoot about
On scooters, like so many
Plastic herrings,
Scurrying around
The sharks of its Fiats.
They sit at open tables
Of cafes on permagarbage
sidewalks, kiss on benches
Next to barricades of trash.
They walk around in miniskirts
And shorts,
Displaying godly tans –
Or beastly paunches.
(And, I suppose, by night
They tag the shutters
Of these stores.) And hark:
They SING when begging
For a coin.
And they look happy.
And they make me think
Of all that I have lost
Over the years of living
In those other cities –
Where the past is a prelude
(And not an admonition).
Where you wouldn’t think
Of washing shoes
Together with your hands,
Returning home,
Where poems don’t start
With carcasses of pigeons,
Where the dark side
Tries to hide
And where the underworld
Has less successful branding…
Standing in these streets,
I see humanity’s revolting ways
And its redeeming joys
Of feeling happy and alive
Despite whatever garbage
Gods allot you.
@verse
Poetic justice /
An artichoke:
The most poetic
thing that you can
choke on.
If they keep you up at night /
In cities,
every siren
means someone
got a chance
to stay
unharmed.
(P.S. In case you were wondering, nobody was choked in the making of these two completely unrelated bits of verse.)
@verse
An artichoke:
The most poetic
thing that you can
choke on.
If they keep you up at night /
In cities,
every siren
means someone
got a chance
to stay
unharmed.
(P.S. In case you were wondering, nobody was choked in the making of these two completely unrelated bits of verse.)
@verse
Voices of War /
What wicked times:
the voice of Paddington
concedes his country’s loss
of infrastructure, lives,
instead of making fun
of some imaginary robber
loose in London’s streets.
A sharp turn in the fairy tale –
and winter’s coming:
nudity, offensive language,
violence (extreme),
abuse of substances
(think: gas, oil, blood) –
it could be rated “W” for War,
but where’s the agency
to keep those aged
between a minute and a lifetime
from the screening?
@verse
What wicked times:
the voice of Paddington
concedes his country’s loss
of infrastructure, lives,
instead of making fun
of some imaginary robber
loose in London’s streets.
A sharp turn in the fairy tale –
and winter’s coming:
nudity, offensive language,
violence (extreme),
abuse of substances
(think: gas, oil, blood) –
it could be rated “W” for War,
but where’s the agency
to keep those aged
between a minute and a lifetime
from the screening?
@verse
Merry indeed /
What bliss it would have been
to know we’ve already been saved,
and all that’s left
is celebrating the occasion:
to “deck our halls with boughs”
and fill our malls
with endless variations
on the same ten songs;
to know the things that mattered
happened in the past:
the vast expanse of universe ahead –
a pool ball, rolling to a halt.
The eight is pocketed,
the shots all taken,
nothing left to call.
@verse
What bliss it would have been
to know we’ve already been saved,
and all that’s left
is celebrating the occasion:
to “deck our halls with boughs”
and fill our malls
with endless variations
on the same ten songs;
to know the things that mattered
happened in the past:
the vast expanse of universe ahead –
a pool ball, rolling to a halt.
The eight is pocketed,
the shots all taken,
nothing left to call.
@verse
Happy New Year from Kobayashi Issa. Although his new year would’ve started about a month later.
@verse
@verse
Tearing off the calendar page /
What’s a month to a year?
Less than a toe,
Less than a finger,
More than a tooth.
@verse
What’s a month to a year?
Less than a toe,
Less than a finger,
More than a tooth.
@verse
More of you /
It may be well that we don't have
a daughter – else my heart
could burst from seeing you,
condensed in a new being,
not entirely repeated –
but carried forward
with a tint of me
(some waviness of hair?
of somewhat lighter black?)
I don't think I could know
how to react without dissolving,
how to hold this in my arms
without imploding from the power
of another such existence.
MR @verse
It may be well that we don't have
a daughter – else my heart
could burst from seeing you,
condensed in a new being,
not entirely repeated –
but carried forward
with a tint of me
(some waviness of hair?
of somewhat lighter black?)
I don't think I could know
how to react without dissolving,
how to hold this in my arms
without imploding from the power
of another such existence.
MR @verse
Came up with this format for mike_ravdonikas on Instagram.
Tearing off another page /
Here’s to another month
Of languid, peaceful winter,
Only rarely windy,
Only slightly cool.
@verse
Here’s to another month
Of languid, peaceful winter,
Only rarely windy,
Only slightly cool.
@verse
A Cummings nocturne /
The night guards
disappear into the
darkness noise of their
devices scraps of football
voice a family with far-
away child or a gently dog
sounds village life
an ocean miles ago
Palms bitterly bright
outside the office building –
2AM white streetlight
A beached taxi
driver next to tire
phone lighting face:
pale cigarettes of this today
MR @verse
The night guards
disappear into the
darkness noise of their
devices scraps of football
voice a family with far-
away child or a gently dog
sounds village life
an ocean miles ago
Palms bitterly bright
outside the office building –
2AM white streetlight
A beached taxi
driver next to tire
phone lighting face:
pale cigarettes of this today
MR @verse
My life as a rat /
Yes, every city is a cage
of streets, seen from above,
but also – of your habits:
Paths you take (or don't),
cafes you frequent,
squares you pass
on your way home,
to work, to dance
on Friday night,
and restaurants
you might have dined at,
had they not been closed.
Oh, yes. A dozen roads
and fifteen hundred extras
would be enough
to film your whole
damn life on set –
and yet you need
a million people
to feel thoroughly alone?
Ten thousand destinations
to pretend you're cornered?
Five hundred thousand
square kilometers to stay
away from land in towers,
way above the 40th floor –
Ah, yes. A Universe,
to know: it's there,
outside the door.
MR @verse
Yes, every city is a cage
of streets, seen from above,
but also – of your habits:
Paths you take (or don't),
cafes you frequent,
squares you pass
on your way home,
to work, to dance
on Friday night,
and restaurants
you might have dined at,
had they not been closed.
Oh, yes. A dozen roads
and fifteen hundred extras
would be enough
to film your whole
damn life on set –
and yet you need
a million people
to feel thoroughly alone?
Ten thousand destinations
to pretend you're cornered?
Five hundred thousand
square kilometers to stay
away from land in towers,
way above the 40th floor –
Ah, yes. A Universe,
to know: it's there,
outside the door.
MR @verse
Off the Books /
God isn't a medication,
to take like the doctor said.
God doesn't have Terms of Use,
he's not in the fine print.
You know God in your heart —
yet let others explain
what God is, what God does,
what he wants you to do.
And when you believe them
they happily call it 'belief'.
MR @verse
God isn't a medication,
to take like the doctor said.
God doesn't have Terms of Use,
he's not in the fine print.
You know God in your heart —
yet let others explain
what God is, what God does,
what he wants you to do.
And when you believe them
they happily call it 'belief'.
MR @verse