f
a year passes
another notch
on the heart
the memories pile up
the overnight bag
once more expands
so many places faces
to encounter
stories to tell
to hear
crowd it all in
before the legs
say no more
but till then
a life lived
in transit
to the next horizon
farther on
the story of how
you got your English name
you told me one day
a native English speaker teacher
you had at university
couldn’t pronounce all the names
of your classmates and you
that Zhi especially being troublesome
so he put all his favorite names
in a hat
or two hats actually
one for boys, one for girls
and you all picked a name
yours was Rita
and when I asked
why didn’t you change it
to one you liked better
you said no need
I’m used to it now
I remember driving you all over
looking for countryside
so you could photograph animals flowers trees
for the 3 photography classes you took
at Columbia
you would take forever
focusing
before snapping the picture
and the one time in South Dakota
when that buffalo charged you
you got too close
you loved that trip
the herd of wild horses
in North Dakota
the hours you spent
taking pictures of prairie dogs
vacationing in Maine
you would eat 2 lobsters for dinner
never tiring of shell fish
and the weekly dinners
with the Taiwanese
Ranan Phoebe Jerome Theresa Joseph and Snow
my famous lasagna
your shrimp and chives & eggs
the karaoke nights
at the Taiwan Center
your lovely voice in Mandarin
reciting Song Dynasty poems with Ranan
or singing Teresa Teng songs
your kindness to others
the thought you put into each gift
your obsession with detail
in every part of your life
from home decorations
to your preparation for work
to the attention paid to friends
and how my mother loved you
your fried rice a hit
at every holiday dinner
and at NCC
your Saturday morning conversation classes
the petitions students wrote
praising your discussions
your qualities as a teacher
how you would steal my Santa hat
at the annual Christmas dinners
your only fault perhaps
your driving record
but one can’t be perfect
in everything
though you ever the perfectionist
certainly do try
and finally
it’s about values
what you deem important
who you associate with
it comes down to
that old Chinese saying
you told me
you either fly
with the eagles
or stay on the ground
with the chickens
and when I see you
in my mind’s eye
during lulls in my day
I see you soaring
high above this petty world
there is your sense of empathy
a deep understanding
of the foibles of the human race
reached no doubt
from your reading
your advanced degrees
your close contact with people
your ability to listen
as well as discuss
a wide variety of subjects
it always amazes me
the range of your knowledge
and though at times
your voice takes on the tone
of the classroom
and the professor in you
begins to instruct all
within the sound of your voice
it is never dull
and the warmth in your eyes
speaks volumes of your background
from the soil
of Italy
we were raised
and you embody all the qualities
that country stands for
compassion
intelligence
an aesthetic sensibility
you had strife in your life
an ex-wife who tried
though unsuccessfully
to poison your daughters
against you
and now you stand
a widower
mourning a wife you helped nurture
to academic success
a vast emptiness now
you are still struggling to fill
and you will
for women love you
you emit a musk
that they find intoxicating
it’s not charm like Chuck
but a sweetness
mixed with intellectual prowess
a safe zone to breathe
and you like to be the gardener
helping the women
you become involved with
to blossom, to grow
fulfilling their dreams
with your unconditional support
a Henry Higgins with heart
not a selfish bone
in your body
we had Chuck in common
who introduced us
and though I think the three of us
were only in the same place
at the same time
once
we always speak of one
when we speak to the other
my most cherished memories of you
are the dinners we had in The Village
at Hasaki
the sushi and sashimi
the bottle of saki
green tea ice cream for dessert
wandering the aisles of the Japanese grocery
up the street
afterwards
Rita and Barbara getting lost
among the rice bowls and tea sets
the food items
browsing among the shelves
at St. Marks Book Shop
which is not on St. Marks
but the corner of 9th Street and 3rd Avenue
recommending titles to each other
sharing poetry
bumping into Ren Weschler
tea at a tea house on 2nd Avenue
the conversation
the laughter
the warmth of friendship
the heart of Italy
in the smile
in your eyes
once upon a time
in a foreign land known as LA
Jimmy, Gordon, and I drew a line
and then crossed over it
to put in the physical universe
a place where words mattered
and thus committed ourselves
to the culture wars
both Jimmy and Gordon left
within a year
to do battle elsewhere
you came to take their place
and crossed that line
to join me
standing tall
there was also Bill
and various others in and out
for a day or two a week
but you were there 24/7
my right hand
moral support
over those turbulent waters
and though we connected years earlier
in BG
over our own writing
it was the shared commitment to
the written word
our god literature
that cemented our bond
there was a price
we all paid
in varying degrees
to our own work
our livelihoods
the relationships we had
through those years
leaving scars on our psyches
we are proud to bear
and afterwards
when that spot in LA
like the others in the same battle
George Sand, Papa Bach, Chattertons
Charlotte, John Harris, Cokie
warriors too
finally succumbed to commerce
the low road
which always wins over those
taking the high road
we went our separate ways
still writing
still maintaining integrity
in our work
in our lives
you through your painting
as well as your words
walking your own path
regardless of critics
perhaps fueled a bit
by whatever it takes
to get through the night
the day
and your other passion
that floating disc you love
to throw to catch
but old friend
compadre
you continue on your way
following your vision
into the sunlight
refusing to adjust to fashion
but holding your own line
with courage
in the face
of an indifferent world
an old rock n roller
who just doesn’t know how
to quit
so there’s the weekly conversations
when skype is working
about books music women life work
there’s the plans
the trips to Mission Ranch
where I stayed once
on your recommendation
Izzy’s Steak House
that New Year’s Eve
with Little Chuck
who is actually taller than you
but you’re still Big Chuck
in our eyes
the balloons floating toward heaven
that list of questions
we were instructed by you
to ask all available women
and lo and behold
it did lead to conversation
some of it even interesting
there are the magazines you lay out
the CDs DVDs books
you’re always listening to something
though you tend to watch the same movies
over and over and over
again
you are the kind of friend
whose picture is in the dictionary
under loyalty
and though opinionated
they are opinions worth hearing
you keep coming back to the Jesuits
and I admire that in you
your values
your belief in goodness
and charity
and the power of love
which is God in your eyes
there are the morning masses you go to
the opera
the baseball games at Giant Stadium
basketball at Stanford
you would be called
a Renaissance Man
in a different time
one that would appreciate you better
and though I don’t think
you should tell women which shoes to wear
you do it from love
as you do all things
for you are one of the kindest
most loving persons
I know
you could learn to cook
though
and you may be a bit too obsessive
about haircuts
but an evening at Bics with you
is never dull
your past is checkered
with different careers
you’ve been so many people
done so many things
bookeditorjournalistmusiccritictvproduceragentadvertisingexec
and you play a damned good round of golf
I think
however
you might own a dozen or so
too many polo shirts
but your two tone shoes are mint
you’re part William Powell
part Felix Unger
with a dash of Bing Crosby
thrown in
we’ve only lived in the same city once
a thousand years ago
when you tried to buy my book
for Avon Books
and we played pool to The Police Roxanne
lunch at the Getty Museum
you stayed with me in NY
in Lynbrook
where Charlie bought the beer
an act of kindness
you cannot forget
and in Long Island City
in Bayside too
and I stayed at your place
in Santa Monica
two places actually
in San Francisco
there was The Stones Some Girls on repeat mode
the long play of course
and Sinatra doing Summer Wind
for three hours
while we killed a couple of bottles
of Glenfiddich for you
Jameson for me
what were we thinking
and though I can say
you’ve led an eventful life
why you can’t find
a woman worthy of your heart
is beyond me
Chuck
old friend
you deserve happiness
we all do
of course
but I would forfeit my chance
to see you get yours
for you are a true gentleman
a prince
as they used to say
deserving of that princess
in that castle
in that kingdom
this lifetime
here and now
believing in happiness again
for the last time
and it pains me to hear
you stopped believing in it
these days
Chuck
old friend
these days will pass
and the sun will shine
in San Francisco
for you
again
he had a laugh
that came from deep in his belly
and a smile
that could light a room
he fell down my cellar stairs
drunk one New Year’s Eve
when I was playing Good Samaritan
not having been with them
but taking him in at the side door
they had nowhere else to go
Kevin said
please Lenny take Jack
and Jack wobbled
fell
no one holding him
blood coming out of his ear
the hospital
a concussion
he could have died
but he lived to work on cars
at Herman’s Garage
blocks away from my parents’ house
many years later
I found out from Herman’s grandson
that Jack was in Florida
a mechanic still
did he marry Concetta
does he still laugh from the belly
would he know what became of Kevin
my connection lost
by a few years
and several cars
I wonder some nights
I see the faces
of those I ran with
his cousin Richie giggling
Maryann’s dark eyes
Joey’s scarred face
Kevin’s muscles
Jack could have been the link
lost forever somewhere in Florida
and me with the ghosts
thousands of miles
away
he walked ramrod straight
a coat hanger still in his shirt
a face like some cowboy hero
he looked the part
walked the walk
talked the talk
but crumbled up with one punch
from Jimmy Johnson
over territorial rights to Margarita
Johnson picked him up
by his collar and belt
and deposited him in the gutter
another broken cowboy
at the end of his fistfight
at their OK Corral
he named us The Jesters
had someone design the sweaters
a coat of arms
the unofficial leader
but more inclined to follow
told stories of his older brother
and cousins the Cicero boys
with sound effects
galloping horses
gunfire
the roar of the crowd
a witness to my first car accident
almost caused my second
when the ashes of his cigarette fell
between his legs
one of the three of us
who actually graduated high school
attended college for a semester
then married
got a job
had kids, I imagine, with Lorene
his sister Maryann
the darling of our crowd
a teller at a local bank
there are some who never get beyond
the working class we’re born in
that was Vic
too good natured to have ambition
still on the same block
making crowd noises
for his kids
Mr. Cool
always had that been there look
in his eyes
the way he could casually slouch
into a room
his hands open
a brown belt in taekwondo
before it became the rage
he had one helluva roundhouse kick
and did hyeongs to impress the girls
in the middle of the street
daring cars to hit him
no one saw him fight
but everyone assumed he would win
the undisputed champ
until he made a play for Judy
Kevin’s girl
and Kevin knocked on his back door
Hanley giving a smug smile as he stepped out
barefoot
that roundhouse kick in reserve
only he never got to throw it
and Kevin left him broken
bleeding in his own backyard
he dropped out of high school a week later
just three months shy of graduation
and joined the navy
submarine service
four years in ports of call
looking for his lost title
Mr. Cool
in bars halfway round the world
he barely reached five foot six
and weighed 120
until he started with the gym
those protein tablets
the banana shakes every morning
muscle sprouting all over
a 44 inch chest
17 inch arms
he could really kick ass
and loved to sit in bars
his baby face nursing a beer
until some big guy started crowding
then he would swing into action
and always seemed to win
he cried once
high on airplane glue and Thunderbird wine
his older brother dead
some freak accident
and all the muscles in the world
all the victories in bars
couldn’t help Kevin live up
to the brother’s ghost
in his father’s eyes
Being Present for the Moment
Website storys
Illustration, Concept Art & Comics/Manga
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
An online activist from Bosnia and Herzegovina, based in Sarajevo, standing on the right side of the history - for free Palestine.
A place where I post unscripted, unedited, soulless rants of a insomniac madman
Dennis Mantin is a Toronto-based writer, artist, and filmmaker.
Finding Inspiration
Off the wall, under the freeway, over the rainbow, nothin' but net.
Erm, what am I doing with my life?
Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet by accident.
At Least Trying Too
A Journey of Spiritual Significance
Life in islamic point of view
Through the view point of camera...
L'essenziale è invisibile e agli occhi e al cuore. Beccarlo è pura questione di culo
In Kate's World
Leonard Durso 