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THE WHOLE STORY
NOTE: TODAY’S POST FOLLOWS BELOW: Dear poetry-lovers, Thank you from the bottom of my heart for following my blog. Some of you have been daily readers since it began 9 years ago, some are more sporadic or more recent followers. Thank you one and all. As you can imagine, it takes a fair amount…
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SEPPUKU
It is difficult to acceptthat the glutinous blobcongealed on the plate beneaththe salt lick worthy pilesof ill cooked vegetablesand fried tofu now limpwas ever related tothe swaying stalks in neat rowsbetween flooded furrows,under the watchful eyea Fujiyama and theShinto gods residing there.What would the old farmerbent over by time thinkif he could see whatlay before…
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NOVEMBER EVENING
He sits calmly in the cornerof the restaurant redolent with curryand cardamom.He smiles, unseen,his third eyes staresdeeply felt on the backof my neck.Her eyes draw me inoffering a serenity,she smiles freelyand I recall the parkin the shadow of the mountainsthe soft touch of velvetand the empressalongside the fool.It is too soon donebut the soft furof…
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NOVEMBER EVENING
He sits calmly in the cornerof the restaurant redolent with curryand cardamom.He smiles, unseen,his third eyes staresdeeply felt on the backof my neck.Her eyes draw me inoffering a serenity.She smiles freelyand I recall the parkin the shadow of the mountainsthe soft touch of velvetand the empressalongside the fool.It is too soon donebut the soft furof…
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WITH THANKS
On his first business trip to Japan, what he wanted most, after buying the mandatory gifts for his wife, child and admin assistant, and being blinded by the neon lights of Shinjuku and deafened by the sound of the pachinko parlors, was to find Mr. Roboto and thank him. It was something he felt he…
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UNUSUAL
I recall it wasn’t as cold as usualthat early November evening, Iwas standing nervously on the small deckin front of the Indian restaurant.This was going to be my fourthfirst date of my lifetime, notsurprising in the abstract, unlessyou realize that put me on an averageof one every twelve years.Fast forward almost three yearsand I am…
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A HELL OF A CHOICE
But what if Heaven operateslike a restaurant, closedeach Monday, so you hadbetter die on Sunday, butthat doesn’t work becauseGod is resting and thereis no getting in on the sabbath. That leaves you five daysfrom which to chooseto die, but God also isthe ultimate physician,so Wednesdays the officeis closed, so that dayis out unless you canarrange…
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THE LOBBY BAR AT MIDNIGHT
Ann Arbor a certain diffidenceButte born of three rum CollinsCarmel the Gucci show windowsDuluth darkened, forebodingErie escalator rattleFairbanks a sound coffinGrapevine grand pianoHilo the restaurant emptyIthaca seeking dinersJacksonville by the exit signsKalamazoo conventioneers droolLincoln and slobberMemphis over the ankh necklaceNatchez girl cross leggedOakland engulfed in smokeProvidence the ficus droopsRehoboth in the shade of the barSalem…
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JACKPOT
I’m not a gambler,never have been, knowingthe house always had the oddsand every play wasa sucker’s bet for sure.I might kill an houron a business tripto Las Vegas going throughfour dollars at the nickel slots,one play for eachoriginal nickel, winningsset aside for rolling. Twenty-one years agotoday I hit the grand jackpotstanding nervously on the stepsof…
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COOKBOOK
As a youngster I thought I hadconvinced my grandmotherto one day entrust me withthe old family recipes, sincemy mother wanted little to dowith the kitchen and less withanything that came from “there.” It was a bit of a shock to learnyears later that grandma wasborn in London, that her mothershared my mother’s dislikefor the kitchen…
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an old writer and his words 