Pins

On his lapel, stood pins of distinction.
Signaling fame, however ephemeral
cast in the communality of the iron of endurance
bred by those who walked before him.
 
He did not know them.
In fact, many have long since been forgotten.
As will he, when his pins are left discarded
in a tiny felt lined box
in the attics of memory
where the nuisances of [...]

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My Thoughts Escaped Me

As I yawned my thoughts escaped me.
Involuntarily trapped within my wishful thinking,
I’d kept them prisoners, lest my companions
appreciate I was someplace else.
 
Now summoned by my boredom,
some audible phrase of 3 to 4 words
left my brain and ventured into the airways of human discourse
to be treated disdainfully by my associates,
adsorbed in their own words –
startled by [...]

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At the End of The Day

 At the end of the day… 
 
The worries of the next arise from their daytime germination.
 
Content in the parched earth,
having awaited their opportunity,
now entwined in the synapses
until, like weeds in a garden
they choke out the rich hues of the evening sunset
shadowing the golden yellow flowers.
 
At the end of the day…
 
One last chance to pull the sprouts [...]

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Last Week

Last week  –
            between the bustle and hurry
the “late and soon getting and spending.”
 
Last week –
            preoccupied with living
            lost in the volumes of time.
 
Last week –
 
I did not notice –
 
I had forgotten until now –
 
that I stepped upon a caterpillar.
 
Ray Brown

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The Lady with the Pushcart

20-year-old young men
are not expected to be sentimental.
They are supposed to be young and obstreperous,
always thinking about sex and beer.
Families and growing old together
are things men are supposed to grow to appreciate
when they are three times as old. 
So when he gave his Italian fiancée,
for an engagement gift,
a figurine of a pleasant, elderly Italian woman
with a [...]

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My Father’s Hands

This poem was orginally posed in February.  It is posted again for Father’s Day.
 
I looked down when I awoke
and saw I had my father’s hands.
 
Last night,
my own had slipped comfortably into my gloves.
Would these?
For years I thought I could not fill his shoes.
 
These hands I now possess are so familiar. 
When I was young
I’d [...]

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Travel with Someone You Love

This is the sixth poem in a series called “An Italian Spring” chronicling a spring trip to Rome and the Amalfi Coast.
No matter …
            the beauty in nature’s pristine treasured sites.
            how the twisting path along the rock face
            leads to breathtaking vistas. 
No matter …
            the grandeur of the treasured art of masters,
            archeology sites where [...]

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Birds on Furlough

A patriotic resident of New Jersey
I put my birds on furlough. 
No tinkle of bird seed in the feeders on Fridays this year.
The first week they appeared on my window sill
no warm morning songs of greeting
questioning little expressions.
They had heard about these cutbacks
from their friends in other communities
their vacant eyes incredulous
if they could verbalize, would say  [...]

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Talking in Bed

This is the fifteenth poem in a series called “An Italian Spring” chronicling a spring trip to Rome and the Amalfi Coast.
Vacations are perfect for laying
and talking in bed.
Relationship reinvigoration. 
Back home
beds are for sleeping
or making love when we are not too tired. 
Back home
beds are for guilt trips in the morning.
We would not be caught in [...]

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La Ragazza (The Girl) Behind the Tent Flap

The tragedy of an earthquake in L’Aquila, Italy over Easter prompted this poem.
She peered out from behind the blue tent flap.
Just ten-years-old, her world had changed. 
A bitter spring cold
a blue pull-over Croce Rossa Italiana knitted hat
a white ski jacket
with a brilliant red execution post, with cross–bar, as the breast plate
and a hood.
A young Pionieri stands [...]

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