my thoughts
finished
before I think
them
our words
tumble over
each other
in the rush
of familiarity
to say
I know you
an understatement
to say
I’ve found you
a blessing
here
alas adrift
a life jacket
in the immense
sea
other writing
dreams of Lyon Place
I’ve been sleeping
lately
looking for a dream
the place
familiar
my dog there
and my father
though neither knew
the other
both having lived
decades apart
my mother is cooking
I can smell her sauce
simmering
my grandmother
is kneading dough
for her cavatelli
Johnny and I
both get a piece
to roll
in our hands
before eating
my father stands
holding the dog’s leash
and before their walk
he pats my mother
on the ass
and says
that’s why
I married her
she giggles
like she always does
at that joke
and though it should be
Charlie
taking the dog out
it is my father
his white shirt sleeves
rolled up
my grandmother sings
some Neapolitan song
Harry is there
laughing
George Robert
my sister Theresa
is coming
later
with the kids
a holiday
maybe
or just Sunday dinner
at two o’clock
Uncle Mike
from New Jersey
is there
my cousin Carolyn
Aunt Mary too
and Uncle Frank
watching Westerns
on TV
though he was dead
long before
Uncle Joe
with his cigar
in mouth
is dealing cards
Aunt Bernie Cousin Betty
are setting the table
Uncle Dominic
is mixing gin rickeys
Charlie is reading
The New York Times
on the back porch
my Grandfather
picking tomatoes
in the backyard
and suddenly
all the people
I’ve loved
are in one place
one house
on Lyon Place
and we will sing
my mother will dance
to Lou Monte
Calypso Italiano
George will know
all the words
and everyone
will laugh
the whole day
long
on the LIRR
1
the blonde
two seats away
saying to her friend
I love Italian people too
but you have to appreciate
the differences
I just got over him
and I know if I went
to that house
I’d start seeing him
again
I get weak
in the knees
just thinking
about it
2
Saturday night
homeward bound
among swarms
of young LIers
heading in
to the city
they have recently
discovered
behaving typically
like young people
men with six-packs
women in short skirts
the din louder
than a Stones’ concert
and this one-time resident
wishing
he was home
several thousand miles
away
on sushi & sake: for Jia-ling, Jenny, & Fernando
sushi & sake
at a table
with friends
4 years
gone
too long
to go without
this
on shadows: for Steve
the world
has been reduced
to shadows
and though I sit
next to you
on the bench
you only see
a shadow
where my face is
the food
on your plate
the club soda
in your glass
are shadows
you know
the East River
is out there
can hear it
the seagulls calling
can even smell it
but it belongs
to a world
in shadow
that one day
will be black
and though you talk
of alternatives
there is fear
undercoating
your words
as the rest
of your health
slips away
into shadows
taking you
unwillingly
along
my apology
Hello everyone who follows me,
I just want to apologize beforehand if I am late in reading and responding to your posts. There are quite a few of you now that I follow religiously and I know you in turn follow me by our “likes” and comments. I appreciate all of you and though like you I spend a good part of my day reading your writing and viewing your photos &/or artwork (and I truly enjoy that time), I might be a little slow in doing so for the rest of this week and the beginning of next. I must return to NY for one of those in quickly and out even faster visits to go to the Turkish Consulate to get my passport stamped for my work visa. This is my second such quickie visit and will be even more harried than the last one since I’m sqeezing in two very old friends I couldn’t see last time and also some of my family as well as spending more time in The Strand picking up books not only for me but for my good friend Ali that we can’t get here in Turkey. I also intend to eat my fair share of Italian sausage (something I miss terribly here) and the hotel I am staying at is within walking distance of a favorite Thai restaurant of mine so I plan to indulge myself with people/things I have sorely missed these long years I have been away. Some of my family I have not seen for almost 10 years so it will be a long awaited reunion. Hence, the last poem I posted by Tu Mu. If you substitute “what were you doing” for “who were you fighting” than the poem applies beautifully to me.
So please bear with me if I am somewhat absent, ( though I have drafted a few poems to post later from my iPad) but it’s the reading of your posts I may be somewhat delayed in. I tend to do most of my reading from my yahoo inbox rather than The Reader since that is often unreliable, and that inbox fills up pretty quickly. But I don’t lose anything that way and will read them all eventually.
Now to have my last two sessions today at work before I go home to pack, pay some attention to the cat, and catch a few hours sleep before the Petkim driver comes to collect me at 2am for my drive to the airport and the beginning of my journey.
Till later, Len
on gardens
there are words
inadequate
actions
incomprehensible
feelings
misunderstood
some things are best
left alone
to wither
on their own accord
where blossoms
are impossible
to cultivate
enchantress
what’s in a name
one asks
then it is apparent
they are tags
to our lives
her name is
enchantress
her spirit captivates
a streak of fire
in her soul
there’s magic
in her smile
a spell
is being cast
so trend softly
Circe turned men
into swine
to keep a wanderer
captive
there are dangers
on this journey
called life
one-eyed giants
violent storms
sirens’ songs
one can ride out
a storm
plug one’s ears
to a siren’s songs
fool one-eyed giants
with a club
all it takes
is your wits
to hold onto
your life
but this enchantress
is more dangerous
she will snatch
something more valuable
which your wits
cannot protect
your heart
what’s left
you tossed back
your long hair
straightened
your shoulders
and said
later
what’s left is
your scent
lingering
in the air
your smile
etched
in my mind
your promise
engraved
on my heart
the corner of 12th Street & 4th Avenue
I’ve been carrying this memory
for weeks now
ever since I walked past
your old building
on my way back
from The Strand
your long dark hair
the way you moved
on top of me
those nights
in my loft
crouching there
half Cherokee princess
doing a dance
later in The Village
hearing Tracy Nelson sing
that voice
shivers down my spine
and you swaying
eyes half closed
your hand in mine
and I thought
I should never
let you go
but foolish me
holding the world
in my hands
and letting it
slip away
even your painting
of sunflowers
lost over the years
all that’s left
this old address
an image
slipping in and out
of memory
Leonard Durso 