Finished THE BOYS OF SUMMER by Roger Kahn - Poem: I Saw a Cruelty Perpetrated from Scott's Bench

This is Roger Kahn, author of THE BOYS OF SUMMER. Finally finished the book as I sat on Scott's park bench under his covered porch.

It was published in March of 1972.

Was I at Goddard College then?  Or living in California?

Roger Kahn couldn't figure out what to call the book. An editor suggested The Team, a terrible name.

The name came to him The title of the book is taken from a Dylan Thomas poem that describes "the boys of summer in their ruin."

Before it was published Kahn had barely any money in his bank account. - 80 dollars. I can't find the dollar sign on my downstairs laptop.

Afterwards, he never had to worry about money again.

Kahn had a son who died of a heroin overdose, similar to his friend Jackie Robinson. 

We have had heroin addiction in my family.

I wrote a lovely poem about it, but doubt I could find it on demand.

Enjoyed my pea soup which I ate on Scott's porch.

Enriched with an egg for protein.

I did see cruelty perpetrated while I sat reading.

Colorful balloons appeared on Nancy's lawn, then blew onto Bob n Judy's lawn. A man and his two children were walking along and he said, Get away from them.

Why?

I SAW A CRUELTY PERPETRATED ON SCOTT'S BENCH

Children feel deeply, and learn from the ones they trust
Dad scoffed at colorful balloons blown by the soft winds of July
Get away from them
He pulled his little girl and little boy
Cruelty will dog them the rest of their days.

LISTEN TO ETHAN IVERSON'S TWEET HERE.

Turn up your speakers. 

Haiku for my newly painted bedroom

5
7
5

Syllables.

Got the idea from Ted Kooser's Poem of the Day.

My room is painted
Green, green as the Emerald Isle
Embrace me, won't you?

...

Took me forever to find the right combo of words.



Okay gonna continue with the disaster movie about THE HINDENBURG.

Happy Fourth of July - No wonder there was no mail today!

 Thanks Bob Walmsley for coming out today. Your previous client had cancelled.

 Sat on Scott's front porch to read this book. Also read GOLDA Meir, his mom had given me.

 This little black n white spotted spider makes house calls.

 Scott's feeders. The regal red cardinal, the squawkin blue jay, and the little teenies - sparrow and chickadee. They refused to pose. Perhaps I should have upped the price.

 Tried to get Bob's gorgeous garden. He and Judy work together.

 The Colombians' garden. Quelle beauty!

 This modern round lamp post was there when Scott moved in.

 So were my mirrored walls, which I wanted to get rid of. And so I did.

 It's 8:38 pm now and fireworks are going off in backyards everywhere.

 Dustin thanks for painting my red door Red, with Glidden matte finish. Easy to clean, said Scott.

 Blue-eyed Paul staples a Styrofoam beam onto the wall. THUNDROUS SOUND. Remind me to tell you when I worked at Bristol Bensalem and was giving a class on bipolar disorder and I accidentally stapled my thumb. I pulled it out while screaming inside.

 Preparing to photograph a deer.

 Hello! He and his brother really grew since the last time we saw them.

 Glad you survived starvation and the hunters.

 Clumps of Big Boy tomatoes rock on the vines.

 From my house next door I could smell Scott's BBQ. Chicken franks bought at Giant. One ingredient of these healthy franks is kale.

Member of the Clean Your Plate Club.

One problem with my bedroom. I can only see the glorious green when I walk in the room. I wanna see it all the time!

What shall I do??????

Happy July 4 - Fourth of July Poem by Ruth Z Deming

My free blogger reminds me that the new and improved blogger will be with us very soon.

Don't call me a Luddite, as the late Larry Schwartz, MD once said, but at my age, it takes me a while to understand.

Slept at Scott's all night as I didn't wanna inhale the fumes from my newly painted bedroom.

A brilliant green.

Paul presented me with a swatch pad.

Let's see if I can find it for you my faithful 16 readers.



Started rearranging my bedroom, while listening to Charles Ives.

In my day, the radio always played songs by Charles Ives. The Unanswered Question and many others.

Wiki, please give us a list.



Charles Ives as a teenager.



1874 - 1954

Fourth of July poem by Ruth Z Deming

Dedicated to the Hulmeville Inn, Hulmeville, PA

I have come to this peaceful café
to rest my legs and drink from
the bottomless pot of coffee
the waitress has set before me.

I am jittery and can barely pour
the cream without creating a splash.
This is to be expected on a day like today,
a red white and blue day that
proclaims the coming of the holiday.

The waitress glides by.
A swan on a ripply pond.
She has people to serve
in the other room,
the dark room,
the room with the bar.

She stops by.
Does she want to talk?
I watch the smoothness
of her neck for a signal.
Her devotion is total,
like an abbess to her flock,
bound to her plates and soup bowls,
her pitchers of iced tea floating with lemon wheels.

Just the coffee, I tell her.
The cream goes in with a splash.

Against the wall, a legion of
tiny American flags
proclaim their clean, laundered loyalty –
to what? I am not sure –
bringing to mind
the music of Charles Ives
I have listened to in my bedroom long ago.

Where is he now, I wonder,
that daredevil cockatoo?

If only we had a stereo,
we could hear him play.
You’d know him anywhere,
his strut and clang of his marching band,
so unlike Sousa,
straying lavishly off course,
but full and sure,
stars and stripes, forever,
stepping into realms unheard of,
notes colliding with notes,
seas boundless and green,
Misted-over emeralds mined from zigzag depths
in colors yet unknown.

You’d like him, if you heard him,
But – careful! – he comes in fast –

Gone in a wink!

Very strange vision problem that resolved itself - Poem: Strange Vision

Just got finished watching UNSOLVED MYSTERIES on Netflix. The head of a French noble family is wanted for killing his entire family and is now on the lam.

He fooled them all. About six years have passed.

Earlier today I was at Scott's. When I walked home, my vision was aberrant, very very strange. What was going on?

I explained all this to my sister Ellen who said I should call the doctor.

Why? Might they know? She said when Mom had strange vision and went to the doctor, the doc said your vision is fine but you're dehydrated.

I gulped down a glass of water after she told me. Then I finished watching Unsolved Mysteries.

It was as if my vision had other waves of vision, other scenes, like ocean waves, but not waves, lapping on the shore.

I am fine now, thank God.

The Times Chronicle had arrived and I picked it up when I came home from Scott's. It was still light outside, when all this happened.

Did I tell you I ate cucumbers with my new vegetable peeler? It really did the job. Then I took it to our compost heap, where I was having visions.

Maybe I'm the reincarnated Bernadette of Lourdes. Scott and I saw her shrine in Maryland. We could barely see as gnats or other insects flung themselves in our eyes.

When former boyfriend Simon was dying of a brain tumor, people brought him supposed water from Lourdes.

Okay let's find some photos.



Simon died in 2008.

The guy really enjoyed being alive. Flea markets were his thing. He may even have found someone to date! I'd be happy for him but certainly a bit jealous. From Simon I learned that Eggs have a very long life.

He and my mom were crazy about each other. She would make food he liked.

WALKING HOME FROM SCOTT'S MY VISION IS STRANGE

It's like I'm in a dream
the same words Dad said
when his brain tumor
grew unnoticed inside his head
a mushroom expanding

For me, waves surfaced
like on the beach, more and more
of these damn waves that
made no sense.

It was only after I got home
I thought What if I go blind?
What does it matter that I have
a beautiful house or a beautiful
boyfriend or toes that wiggle
at my command?

Grab a pretzel and run for your life.

Bob Walmsey rides into town with his son - Poem: One Life, One Yard

 Bob Walmsley, is that you? He'll do some work for me, like remove branches from the roof and clean the gutters . He noticed, as did Scott, that the rafters in my living room are loosening, so that's anudder thing he'll do.

In my bedroom I don't like the dark mirrored paneling, so he'll get rid of dat.

The Masked Man and I met inside.

 Spent great amounts of time outside, sitting on Scott's park bench on his porch.

BTW, heat lightning now. I expect a great downpour soon.

 My front yard replete with green frog on log and squirrel and wabbit on tother log.

 What a great book. Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in baseball and became a Brooklyn Dodger at age 26. Other black players could now join the Major Leagues BUT they were older, so their careers didn't last as long.

Baseball is a grueling sport. Every part of your body - inside and out - gets a workout, esp the pitchers. They're sposed to have 3 days rest after they pitch.

This is my crossed leg, which is how I read. Tried to snap the foto of this pretty little bug. What is its goal in life? Don't think it's a lantern fly.

Scott has three bird feeders. All day long they chirp and eat. We have our own little family and I suppose down the street other feeders have other bird families.

Cliques. One clique may not join another clique... territorial.

Bob has a lovely front garden, below, which didn't photograf too well.

Here is the Garcias garden, fantastic!

And that is all I have to say for now.

One more thing. I knew I was LO b/c I was hongry. Sugar was 67, not terrible. Took a TABLESPOON of Kiernan's COWBELL HONEY and then made my dinner.

I never can remember the name of the corkscrew shaped noodles I ate - oh, chick peas - and then I opened a can of maranara sauce.

Super delicious.

ONE LIFE, ONE YARD

Sitting on the park bench
I heard dialog from lives
of neighbors. I do not know
these people. Like a party line
from days of yore, where you
wonder, What's the back story
on that?

One young boy was very intelligent
should I be surprised?
I wanted to walk down to meet him
and sit on the porch with the family
drink lemonade with them and eat
chocolate chip cookies.

Best to put it in my novel.

July 1, 2020 - Poem: Our Dark Street

Just finished watching this charming film on Netflix.

I wanted to welcome July 1 with this post.

Did I tell you I watched C-SPAN? The guest, whose name I forget, has written books, magazine articles and is a teacher. He's gotten to be fairly old.

Roger Rosenblatt.

He lived in the basement for 22 years as his daughter had died and he and his wife took care of the children.

One of his books is called MY GRANDFATHER LIVES IN THE BASEMENT AND DOES NOTHING ALL DAY.

And of course I'm thirsty - all them pretzel sticks I ate - plus Patrick's honey - oh dear, there was only a tiny bit of water left in a tall water glass.

When I finished watching the movie, I turned out the light, so I wouldn't attract bugs, and wrote down the first lines of a poem, which I shall now finish.

Ahem! Clearing of throat, Gnashing of teeth. Flexing of arm muscles.

OUR DARK STREET

Nary a light is on.
Were I a night bird
I'd head for the dining room
of one of these black houses
and that would be the end of me.

We're so similar to one another,
though our species differ. Humans,
avians, and even bovines, moo cows too
might wander into the kitchen window

My solar lights guide no one in particular
up the side walk. I follow them with my eyes
making use of their phenomenal power,
the power of the sun, until several billion
years from now, they flash on and off
on and off and say farewell forever.