These Streets Part II

It was as goldenrod to a suburban day

the all masked busy minds stopping in for a try

I set down the blue kettle hearing instead the screeching knot of bus steel

my rattling attention clustered in the bloodstream, six a.m.

 

does it always happen this way?

the day churns to dividends and then 

to froth, wide gaped mouths fighting against the clock

white crude graffiti embellishing the unbleached brain

“This city is changing”, she chirps with concern

her old school voice filling my pockets in pain 

but therein lies the work and shall be done

 

Sipping on smoke I tear a little spark

an effervescent insidious howl of an unholy ritual

my temper again begins to speak

 

another hour shivers down to a f*****g squeal

I am floating through the glass bottom cage

O great eternal ashtray

floating high over the Brooklyn mist

I take another belly full of smoke

returning back to answers

 

another time, another place and maybe we’d all be friends

drive the hubris valley like a billion old rags

a beggar’s canyon is all we’d need

leave these shivering day-showered bones to the monsters

rattle away in an ole corvette

 

from the hidden miles of kitchen she asks me about the war in old Nebraska, the wheat fields where it rains the farmer’s daughter’s dress from death till dawn, I still remember and whisper when the burning lamp gets low

I gratify her rifling with a snippet

 

Again the bell jar rings and I begin to breach my filtering arm

bubbled clouds with mini intuition and the constancy of yin slash yang

the unseen operator squeezes me down to an unspoken philosophy

holding the poor man to the park

the best that I can do is die

as the rich ignite him by

and in finality comes a rupturing thought

and I know he’ll hear this knocking

“we are all here as all but one” I swim into the maudlin portrait

a smile from the ghosts as well as they can try

as I wonder where all the goldenrods have gone

Reviews

[Robert Trakofler]

occasionally i will read a line I wrote and this half chuckle half sigh erupts from nowhere like a long lost automatic stimuli response from a no longer used body function... And very very occasionally this occurs when I read another's line and a sense of oh yeah thats what I thought... eureka! happens well that just happened reading this damn fine conveyance and I enjoyed the stroll

[Perdition]

A pleasure to light whatever synapse set off that function or emotion of yours and hopefully brought a smile or connection with the "eureka!". Thanks for stopping by BB...always wonderful to see ya as I am an admirer. Hope to be back soon~

[barleygirl]

Brilliant imagery that paints an intense feeling of taking in the city streets. This is very different than anywhere I've lived (& I've avoided city streets, for the most part), but you immerse me so completely, it makes me want to be there. This reminds me of when I worked graveyards at a factory & it felt like the rest of the world was in a totally different realm from this noisy, belching, smelly, grinding monster that held all us midnight workers hostage. Maybe city streets feels a little like that, I'm guessing, after reading this. Love your off-the-charts originality when choosing details -- one little description brings on a plethora of feeling & understanding (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Perdition]

You are so wonderful to share your life and thoughts and input and as much more ...I love hearing what the poem brings to you..be it the "city streets" or the rise in realization to Jung's philosophies separate from our ego or love or shadow...or just a walk into the past of a grey smoke in the concrete hills. Someday we're going to have to sit around a fire and talk of cabbages and kings young lady ..lol. I'll bring the wine :) Thank you so much Margie and as always HUGS!! Be back soon...hopefully very soon~

[barleygirl]

Thanks for the invite! Very appealing indeed! *yum!*

[jacob erin-cilberto]

"the bell jar rings"
swimming into the maudlin portrait....all sort of plathian...
in a way....but also i love the contrasts here of country and city...especially since i spent my first nine years in the Bronx....but also spent those summers in Vermont...away from all of that...listening to birds and foxes and cows, not taxis, buses and subways...
and moved to Southern Illinois to be with the goldenrods...
forever.
excellent piece.
j.

[Perdition]

Sounds like perfect soil for a poet..
..Thanks j.