like an old friend
with stories to tell
we sit together
remembering our past
associations
both together
and apart
we never met
but knew each other intimately
what you wrote spoke to me
and I read you
a connection was made
though years apart
having made your acquaintance
after your death
a miscalculation on my part
but you still speak
to me now
through your work
I carry
in every household I’ve lived
you have been there
and from time to time
like say now
I open you up
and continue the conversations
forever grateful
for having you
in my life
other writing
unexpected treasures: a tanka
treasures that we seek
often not what we expect
come unfamilar
in wrapping strange to our eyes
though there are wonders inside
when you speak
there’s a way you have of talking
a familiar sound of words together
and I know I should listen
when you speak
but I‘m too busy
watching your mouth
to avoid staring in your eyes
so as not to be lost
in their depth
only trying not to get lost
gets me lost
and whatever you say
skips over my head
like some stone
thrown by some kid
on a lake
and off I go
skimming on water
until I sink
lost forever
in you
on snow
ıt’s snowing where I was
but sunny and warm where I am
this leads me to think
life is better here
but we shouldn’t judge places
ordinarily by the weather
just as we shouldn’t judge people
solely by appearance
and so I find
for once in my life
I miss snow
things I shouldn’t do anymore
run to catch the ferry
another will be along soon
and there’s no one waiting
at home anyway
drink more than one bottle of wine
the mouth gets numb
and you can’t taste it
or tell if it’s red or white
spend more than 15 minutes
playing solitaire
and try not to cheat
but lose more than win
eat hot dogs
for breakfast
that’s why they invented
cornflakes and yogurt
tell stories at work
half the time
they don’t listen
and it just makes me
homesick for my friends
talk to myself
in public
someday someone
will know enough English
to punch me in the mouth
display so many of your pictures
it’s pointless to have them
staring at me
from the bookshelves
love someone unselfishly
because next time
I’m going to be a little selfish
and expect the woman
to love me a little bit, too
a peaceful evening: a tanka
Sicilian red wine
listening to Butterworth
popcorn in a bowl
while rereading Hemingway
the cat asleep in my lap
just like Prospero
every third thought
that’s what he says
at the end
before heading out
to contemplate the meaning
of it all
and lately it seems
that fine line
we all must cross one day
keeps cropping up
in my world
and though I am thousands
of miles away
I hear the bell toll
lower my eyes first
then raise my hands
palms up
toward heaven
and pause as another soul
passes over
to whatever lies
beyond
it could be worse
sometimes you stand still
rather than walk on
and it works out
maybe not quite like
the way you anticipated
but not quite as bad
as it could have been
a victory of sorts
in a world where victory
is not just infrequent
but fleeting when it comes
so thank whomever whatever
you thank when you give thanks
and check out train schedules
for early departures
the next day
just like Cyrano de Bergerac
I send my heart out
wrapped in tissue paper
a bow on top
the emotions spring forth
a river overflowing
these feelings I have
when your image appears
on the street before me
the way your eyes shine
when you tell an amusing story
the tilt of your head
when in conversation
your smile when you dance
your bold assertions
leave me without air
to twist and turn
unable to express
what must remain unspoken
and thus reduced to words
my inner character exposed
in what I write
in what I do
but never in what I say
I speak through fictional poses
to the one who exists
in my mind
hoping somehow you’ll hear
the song in my heart
what was that all about
there are those moments
in life
when someone says
or does
something so astounding
either in brilliance or ignorance
that you go
what was that all about
and today
of all days
as I was out wandering
on these ancient streets
I had such a moment
and thought
they follow me
these people
halfway around the world
to keep me on my metaphoric toes
no sleepwalking here
for this long island kid
you can’t let your guard down
not for a moment
even if you think it’s safe
no sharks in sight
the water warm and inviting
uh huh
sure right
Norman Rockwell country
here in Turkey
but there is no safe harbor
no sign of relief
and no matter how hard you try
you just won’t get
what that was all about
Leonard Durso 