Saturday, July 23, 2016

Trump gets the nomination - Poem: Adirondack Chairs


My sister Donna was still here when Ivanka Trump introduced her dad as the next president of the United States.

So sorry, Ivanka, but I sure hope he doesn't get the nomination. 

We watched together upstairs on my bed. You could see both Trumps watching themselves on the monitors.

BTW, readers, it's not your imagination. I accidentally lost the entire post I spent half an hour on.

It's just words.

Image result for ms of famous book      Today I wrote one of my Facebook poems. Did my morning walk-around-block and saw white Adirondack Chairs. I repeated the phrase several times till I got home and then wrote the poem.

WHITE APPALACHIAN CHAIRS

Yes, dear, I'll have the Bud Lite
in the cobalt blue bottle, and, if
you don't mind, a pack of cigarettes,
any kind will do.

Oh, Freddie, I don't want you
smoking again. Look what it
did to your throat just before
you....

Please, Mary, I'm well aware. It's
just that I'm....

I know, I know, Fred, you're half
hysterical as am I at what our
thieving lying vain exhibitionist
son might do if he's elected
by the even dumber folks
who follow him.

Did you know, Mary, our son didn't
even know that Mein Kampf was
the German name for the famous
memoir?

Mind if I join you, Fred, with the
beer and the cigs. I've got a
bad bad feeling all the way up here.

***

 Wonder what the co-chairman of my Hahnemann psych program would think about Trump. Where was he arrested in the anal - power - phase - and why. He was one of three children, which probly played a role.

***

Two nights in a row I spent at Barnes and Noble. I buy a drink to slurp up and grow a bigger swaying belly and I read.

Yesterday found a book with this, well, unpleasant title

Image result for assholes about trump

Let's review it together.

THE book, tho, that must be read about Trump is Art of the Deal, ghostwritten by one Tony Schwartz. Read this terrific New Yorker article here by the excellent writer Jane Mayer.

When I returned tonight I had injected 14 units of insulin before leaving home. It was necessary to eat something before I passed out.

First I headed toward Dairy Queen for a peanut buster parfait.

Sadly I couldn't find the DQ.  Had the aliens abducted it for scientific studies?

There was only one place to go to fill up my greedsome gut.

Barnes and Noble where I was the third in line. Got something new. Vanilla Bean Frapuccino with two shots of espresso.

Such language!  Shots!  Starbux is so successful they have their own language, which folks all over the world understand.

This time I read Lapham's Quarterly Journal.  Topic was LUCK.

Authors were Plutarch, Blaise Pascal, and Alice Munro.  Super great reading.

The heat is really draining. Watched a simply horrible movie today called The Tribe, made by a Ukrainian filmmaker.

Roger Ebert's stand-in put the film in perspective for me. It was as if the camera was turned on - and just left on - until the director yawned and said, Okay, I've had enough.

When I got home from "the gorge" I walked a bit up and down my street, just as I'd walked for 8 minutes in the B and N parking lot.

Those wonderful stars were blinking in the sky. I leaned against Scott's car - he's fast asleep - and stared upward - for soon the Orionid Meteor Showers will be out.

When Donna was here, I drove her to Kohl's to return something. I parked near the door and waited for her, having my usual fantasies when suddenly a new thought arrived!

Just about every day there's a new shooting somewhere in the world. Yesterday it was Munich. So, what if someone would start shooting now outside Kohl's?

I'd simply take off as fast as I could. Like I'm doing now!

Wednesday, July 20, 2016

Deer or other personnel sent by God to delight us - Cheesesteaks - Poem: My Sister in Red

Image result for lankes woodcut  This is a woodcut by the famous artist J J Lankes.

Sherwood Anderson, author of Winesburg, Ohio, wrote about Lankes in The Virginia Quarterly Review.

Here I am awake at 4 in the morning. My sister Donna is asleep upstairs. She sent me an email asking me to turn down the volume on whatever I was watching. That was hours ago and I didn't receive it until she had fallen asleep.

When Donna is here I do things I wouldn't ordinarily do.

Did I tell you about the cheesesteaks?

Her idea..... Let's order some cheesesteaks from Silvio's in Hatboro.

Are you kidding, I said, and immediately got into cheesesteak mode.

I'll have a chicken cheesesteak.

What? she said. They can't be any good.

She was on the phone ordering them. Here's my chicken cheesesteak which was outstanding.


 Donna cuts the steaks in half, so we have one of each.
I drove us down and also took some choc chip cookies they had baked.

You don't want these, said Donna.

At home, she ate one of mine. I took a sample bite. Delicious! Figuring I'd eat the rest after I got home from a ND meeting.

After I had eaten my cookie, I put on my walking shoes and began walking around the block.

My, but I was exhausted, so I just went halfway down.

Donna is worried about Security in my house. Are you sure you lock every door, she asked.

We've been watching the Republican National Convention in our hometown of Cleveland, Ohio.

This pic was taken when Donna and I drove to Cleveland a few yrs ago. Wade Park near the Cleveland Museum of Art.

We joke about the trip. Was it just me - or was she included in what could've been a tragedy. Falling asleep at the wheel.

Scuse me a sec. Gonna look outside.

Just went outside. Able to see the myriad of stars. The "Buck Moon" had traveled to the side of the house.

No shooting stars.

Always look at the stars. And listen to the sounds of the night.

 Why oh why oh why-oh
Why did I ever leave Ohio

That's a song.

Why, we wondered, do the above coffee filters waste so much paper.
 Cheese omelet with olives.

 Much better photo... listen my laptop is screwing up... I'll leave the odd letters alone
Donna said she always sits there when she comes over

We went shopping at Walmart.

Why? Bc I wanted to return my GPS. The lady said it was not purchased there.

Oh, I said. I got it at Kohl's.

Said Donna, oh, Kohl's will take it back. Let's go now.

Too tired, I said, Don't forget I've got a meeting tonite and I've gotta take a nap. I nap downstairs where it's cooler and have choice of using whirring fan.

"Rosemary sits near whirring fan" was a woman I knew when I worked in Houston for Mr. Herbert Tigner. Talk about racists!

Boy! he'd say to the janitor.

Ruthie! Stay on track.

Donna and I each bought groceries at the Walmart. I cannot stand using plastic bags so I got a woman to give me small boxes that my groceries were put in.


 Chuck Close was just the cover story of the Times Mag so I thought I'd AGAIN try to sell this autograffed copy of his book.

Here's the Times story.

uck

 Oops, sorry Chuck...my aim isn't very good. Read story here.

 Years ago my family went to NYC for an opening at D C Moore Gallery of my cousin Mark Greenwold. Afterward we boogied on to Chuck's studio.

I honestly can't imagine asking Chuck for his book. Oh! I think he had extras so he gave me one. It's in Spanish.

I'll tell you something. That photo above of Chuck, the hairs on his beard and his old-fashioned glasses are simply gorgeous to me. I would buy that photo and hang it in my living room, yes sirree, Bob!

Mon dieu, did you see ole Bob Dole they dragged to the RNC.... they had to hold him up by his armpits.



Donna had a burst of energy and cleaned out the weeds from my front garden.

Now we've gotta get free mulch from the township to 'define' the spaces.

She removed the horrid prickers that I once thought - you damn fool! - were red poppies. Rick Collins, the gardener, chopped them down. You never forget murderers.

The prickers were so sharp they went thru my garden gloves so I put on a second pair and threw the damn things away behind my shed.

Hellloo! I yell when I'm back there.

Deer or other personnel sent by God to delight the earth.

Hard to make out..... calendar from Boys Town, which I keep beneath the laptop.

Now what should I do? I'm not even tired.

Suggestions gleefully taken.

MY SISTER IN RED - she had bought a red bathing suit at T J Maxx

No one is quicker than
my sister Donna. Soon as
I woke I was drinkin
her Starbucks Breakfast
Blend, good to the last
muddy drop.

She loved my cheese omelet
with olives but said, "I gotta
go" and left for a shopping
bo-nanza.

A red bathing suit, a cloth to
mop thy hot furrowed brow, red earrings
for her darling Nikki's birthday

You know, she said, if I could have it
all over to do, I'd be the mother of
young Nikki and Mel again.

Think on it, Dear Reader.
What would YOU redo? Nada's
my guess as the Staples Singers
press onward in the Glory
of the Lord. 

Monday, July 18, 2016

Catching up - Sarah will go to Rio - Poem: To Our beloved Stephen Jarrell Williams - Writers Group - Poems: Bastille Day - Dinner at Ada's


My daughter Sarah will go to Rio for the Olympics. Here's what her husband Ethan wrote on his latest blogpost.

Am not worried about her in Rio.

Image result for michael phelps   If Michael Phelps can go, so can Sarah Lynn.

 I asked Sarah earlier today if she likes to swim. She said Yes but not as much as I do.

Scott and I drove over to the Upper Moreland Township Pool yesterday, just beyond my old haunts at Village Green Apts.

The parking lot was mobbed. I may just join for the month of August. 

***

Something shook me last night. Stephen Jarrell Williams said he would post three of my poems, not on Calvary Cross, but on Dead Snakes. I'm waiting and waiting.

Turns out that for some reason he's closed down these two blogs.

Here's a poem I posted about him this morning on FB.

TO OUR BELOVED STEPHEN JARRELL WILLIAMS

Who knew your websites
Calvary Cross and
Dead Snakes
would vanish
with the morning light?

Fool that I am
I thought they'd
be inspiring us
for years to come
like your God
eternal!

Can you see me
Stephen? I've
said the Bar-ruch-a
over my cheese omelet
watered the garden
and howdy'd the birds

Yet my mind is
disturbed. Your
mustache quivers
in your online
photo. Unlike you
I am no bard nor
prophet, yet closing
down your mansions
does not bode well.

Keep your unblinking faith
Know that we who followed you
Will keep you tucked inside
and always remember your
emails, "You have been published
in Calvary Cross"
Cheers and blessings,
Stephen.

WRITERS GROUP AT B'S HOUSE

Kym Cohen returned. Drove over from Bensalem. She's doing remarkably well tho she has cancer.


Linda wrote a religious poem everyone loved.

 We thanked B for hosting us. Rem read another entertaining chapter from his novel. Note to Rem:  Forgot to return your ms with my feedback on it. It was quite good.

Kym wrote - and I don't have my notes now - Bright Promise - about her future.
Martha wrote a commentary on how a person writes a romance novel. Publish it somewhere I said. Outstanding!

Donna dazzled us with a prose poem.

 I wrote a short story called The Day Trip. It was actually based on a married couple - artists - I'm very fond it.
Donna's pancake brown is from the beach she and Denny went to. Her bro Bob wrote a nice remembrance of going to the beach as a kid.

 You know how I love my salads. This one has olives in it and chives from the garden.

Just got home from my podiatrist Ron Renzi. His office is connected to his house, just like our feet are connected to our legs. Nice home with oriental rugs on the floor. He wears a suit. Has a fantastic face. Very friendly. Let's see if I can find one online.

Image result for ronald renzi podiatrist     He sees very unhealthy patients with diabetes. But he speaks so kindly about them. They have difficulty changing their diet which of course may lead to complications of diabetes, which is why I was there.

I had a new pain in my upper left foot.

"I don't want to have any amputations," I told him. And mentioned my stationery bike riding. He said his patients are familiar with all this but are unable to change.


Scott and I finally used up my Wawa gift card. We went to the Willow Grove Wawa and waited in line for our supper for 25 minutes.

Did we do anything wrong, Scott asked me.
Was drinking some cold Dunkin with Mocha flavoring in it. Not delicious. Bought Haagen Dazz chocolate peanut butter ice cream.

Not great but impossible to stop eating. Maybe 6 bowls or half the carton.

There's nothing as delicious as a salad IF you like salads.

Do YOU? You can me the truth.

Here's a couple of leftover poems from FB. Asked Johnny Olson from Mad Swirl if he could publish the below poem but he said he's got a queue for the next couple of weeks.

BASTILLE DAY

The video showed them
running down the street
many on fire, burning,
like the unsuspecting
at Mount Vesuvius in
79 AD

Headlines screamed
84 dead, hundreds
wounded, as one loner
who never fit in
wreaked vengeance
and judgment on
his brothers
Stop the soccer game,
the time when the lump
went to your throat and
you felt so alone, unwanted.
Talk to someone! Your
father, your uncles,
your cousins.
More will follow. The
earth will be scorched
once again. Ashes
falling like tears
until the sun turns black.

***

DINNER AT ADA'S

Swim laps
Eat fruit off
toothpicks
Smell grill
firing up
Watch blue sky
darken toward night

Eat fat Hebrew National
hot dogs, two apiece, please
hot mustard and relish

Bush's baked beans
her pickled cukes
fresh vegetables
- Miss Reid at Mercer
insisted we pronounce
every syllable of
vegetable -

Brownies and
ice cream piled high
with hot home made fudge
sauce and what we
must do to vanquish
Trump, it's not
funny anymore, the
man who would be king.

Image result for brownies test kitchen    Scott and I are spending many happy moments watching America's Test Kitchen on NETFLIX.

We had no idea!

Tuesday, July 12, 2016

Helene and I chat - Poem: Dream about Dad

Here's Helene Ryesky when she and Aaron lived in their house in Maple Glen, PA.  An artist, she had painted her kitchen grey.

At the time I wasn't crazy about it. Today, however, I need one panel of my bright pink kitchen painted. It shall be grey. 

More than an artist, Helene was such a clever woman. You'd sit at the kitchen table and if you were short, there was a little step stool awaiting you under the table.

Also a box of Kleenex.

Called her bc I used her slotted spoon and bowl when


I made this frozen mushroom ravioli - Rising Moon Organics.
 
While it's good, the topping tastes like Lipton Noodle Soup from days of yore.

Helene goggled her name and found loads of photos of her by Ruth Deming. I thought she was gonna yell at me, so I quickly said, Isn't it GREAT!

She agreed but as a retired photographer told me I should take TWO PHOTOS of people.

We agreed that Obama's speech today in Dallas was magnificent. But we didn't know in what hall he had spoken. I couldn't find it anywhere online.

Symphony Hall. 

Scott now leaves for the train at 7:15 pm. They changed the time. We napped deeply to Criminal Minds and the PBS News Hour.

When he came over to say good nite, he saw the Maverick cigarettes on my table with 4 cigs in it.

Said Scott: I noticed these in the parking lot of Keystone Screw yesterday and thought, I'll bet Ruth's gonna take em.

Image result for helene ryesky    What did you have for dinner, I asked Helene.

Some type of soup, she said, and tilapia. The fish was too salty, so I didn't eat it.

Maybe they're trying to kill you!

No, she said. They just don't care.

Why did I wash off the front windowsill earlier today?

It was filthy and I couldn't stand looking at it.

See the philodendron in the middle. My friend Winnie gave it to me. I picked off all the dead and dying leaves and wondered, When is Winnie gonna pass?

She's in hospice at her sister's house in Glenside. Called her the other day. Her legs are very bad. Weak. Post-polio. She can barely stand. She's gotta be taken c/o like a baby. And is not seeing guests.

"Sorry, Madame," the footman would say when I'd drive up, "Miss Winnie sends her regrets."

Helene was interested in the Jewish Bible, probly bc Obama and others were reading from various bibles.

 Told her I had my dad's bible from WW 2.  She told me to bring it when I next come over.



Illustrations by one of his daughters.

I'd like to compose a new poem right now but I have no ideas of what to write about. It's now 8:57 pm. Gimme a couple moments and I'll come back with a finished poem.

On yer mark, get set... go offline. Brew some strong coffee from Iris.

Okay, fini.  It's 9:11.

After thinking about it, I decided not to use last names in this poem.

A DREAM

As I slowly woke up
in Scott's bed, I
suddenly remembered
My Father.

With eyes open I re-
membered the true excitement
I'd feel when I was with him.

He made life exciting. Everything
to him was wonderful - the original
Zen master - love and acceptance
flowed through him like a
glass of water.

His company Majestic was his
fiefdom. He told me everything -
the body odor of his secretary
Lois Stendor, the black folk he
hired, Beryl P and Paige
S. Jr, a slumlord's son.

He wanted to be a rabbi.
He was, in his own
way. Never have I been as
excited with any man - or
even come close - than I was
with the man I can never again
call Dad.