The Curveball

                                         They say
                                      a lot of guys
                                  with a lot of talent
                                            never
                          make it to the Major Leagues
                                           because
                                       they can't hit
                                the goddamn curveball.
                               They swing at it, alrught.
                                    But to get called
                                               up
                              you gotta put some wood
                                    on that hook, man...

                                      now, about her

                                  She wasn't a fastball.
                                   She wasn't a slider.
                                 She was one-hell-of-a
                                    f*cking-two-strike
                                           two-out
                                       bases-loaded
                                  bottom-of-the-ninth
                                       3-runs-down
                               thunder-in-the-distance
                                           Game 7
                               old-Giant juan marichal
                                         sweeping
                                       round-house
                                       high-leg-kick
                                     righty-on-righty
                                         curveball.

                                         CRACK !
 
                                 I'm in the bigs, baby



note: this was written LONG before
that Eastwood movie!







                            

Poetry That Works

             We were just getting to know
             each other.
             It was sometime in the first couple of months
             when i wrote her a poem
             and it was a pretty good one, too.
             Well.....she
             loved that poem
             a lot longer than she
             loved me.
     
            True story.

            

Top Sock Hop

                                                               When i breathed her
                                                                      it was like
                                                             inhaling the air of some
                                                                      other planet.
                                                                   A better planet.
                                                            I was a stranger there, yet
                                                               she welcomed me in

                                               and suddenly  " they're dancin' in Chi-ca-go "'
                                                            " down in New Orleans "
                                                                            and
                                                    " ev-ry-where... a-round the world "
 
                                                                         It got late.
                                                                   I'm feeling dizzy.
                                           I found my Flagg Bro. shoes w/the cuban heels
                                                                 and walked the slow
                                                                       walk home
                                                                   on icy sidewalks
                                                               from Brother Rice  H.S.
                                                                 into Mt. Greenwood
                                                                               on
                                                                    that friday night
                                                                  in the winter of  '67.
                                                                            Alone.

                             They advised me to  " just hold her in your lungs for as long as
                                                                          you can
                                                       and exhale her through your nose. "

The Balcony Scene

                                                            There wasn't room
                                                                   under her
                                                                    balcony
                                                               for a folk song
                                                                performance
                                                                     from a
                                                                  symphony.
                                                              no beat-nik chin.
                                                                   no figaro.
                                                             no Harvest Moon.
                                                                 no do-se-do.

                                                             There wasn't room
                                                                   inside her,
                                                                don't you see?
                                                           She was all filled up.
                                                                  At capacity.
                                                  Once,  their words were so pretty
                                                          then it got pretty mean.

                                       The curtain closed to save them the balcony scene.

leather handed

       In my neighborhood
       even if you never played
       any organized baseball
       growing up, you had
       a glove
       and you knew that glove
       You didn't have to print
       your name on it
       You KNEW it
       You knew how it looked on the end
       of your out-stretched arm... making
       a back-hander
       or how it felt... catching
       a short-hopper on hard dirt in a parking lot
       or how it looked
       just lying there in the grass
       in foul territory 
       when you were batting
       How it took to your fingers
       How to use it to block the sun and.....make the catch
       The style
       The lacing
       The make
       The pocket
        I used to like to throw my mitt, try to
        hit stuff.....a tree trunk a can or a
        cat
        when i wasn't using it for
        baseball work
        I used to like to stick my nose right up
        in the pocket
        and really sniff that leather
        Inhale it
        Bite it
        When it needed it i
        oiled it
        I maintained that glove
        It wasn't a pure-bred
        Nope
        not an expensive Wilson or
        Rawlings model
        It wasn't a celebrity
        Not like that one in Hearts in Atlantis
        or Opie Taylor's black and white mitt
        or even......
        whatever Roy Hobbs wore
        when he set Wonderboy down
        Ha, no tale like that to tell
        But we made some catches, me
        and mine
        We did.... for real
        Of course, there is no record ANY of these " got it " catches EVER
        took place on ANY summer day
         But one-time Oak Park apartment house
         neighbor john raad and his cousin
        were standing right next to me
        on the 1st base side, when
        i caught that *foul ball
        at Comiskey,
        the only real-game ball i ever caugh, did it
        Without my mitt
        Damn
        I never took my glove to a Major League baseball game,
        ever...sorry
        
                      * It was a hooking line drive in the
                           middle of the game by some
             veteran been-around on the Angel's that
                           batted right and let-me-tell-you that ball
         just kept coming arcing in this slo-motion split-second kinda way to EXACTLY
                       where i was sitting soon standing wide-eyed
                                                              breathless Oh Baby ,  i'm
                                        yelling out ....." got it "
                         
                                   man oh man oh man oh man      
        

know how shaky feel

                                                                                So, you
                                                                                  think 
                                                                  i'm a-cement truck flinging
                                                                           dust and gravel
                                                                                     or
                                                                      some back-road scribe
                                                                              creeping the
                                                                        rhyme less-traveled,
                                                                                  do ya?
                                                                                   Well,
                                                                               i think i'm
                                                                              just the guy
                                                              that you want behind the wheel.
                                                                       A poet that knows the
                                                                             shaky ground.
                                                   
                                                                        know how shaky feel




            

The Anatomy of a Puppet

                 It's those strings and things.
                 Those old tattoo's.
                 That cherry wood.
                 Those faded blues.
                 The eye that needs to be re-painted.
                 The nails and screws.
                 They keep his head inflated.
                 It's the time.
                 The cost.
                 Repairs aren't cheap, nor
                 the pharmaceuticals required to help a puppet sleep.

                 It's those strings and things.
                 Those skinny arms.
                 That colossal nose.
                 Those false alarms.
                 The act's the same... the same for years.
                The same audience, too.
                When the smoke disappears.
                 It's that loose hinge
                 and the tousled hair.
                 That dummy needs Intensive Woodshop Care. 

                 It's those strings and things.
                 Those yesterdays.
                 That scuffed-up suitcase.
                 Those metal ashtrays.
                 The anatomy of a puppet, man
                  or the remnants of a puppets plan.  
                  It's those strings and things.
                  The wear and tear.
                  It's the hand in the pants of puppets everywhere.







                           

Truth and Honesty

                                                                 how about a
                                                                 woman that will look you
                                                                 in the eye
                                                                 and
                                                                 tell you the truth
                                                                 and
                                                                 be real honest with you
                                                                 about that
                                                                 truth
                                                                 real honest
                                                                 how about that?

                                                                 how about that, huh?

Dorothy Boyd Maguire

                      Forget about that
                    " you complete me "
                         stuff and that
                       " you had me
                  at hello " business, too.

                   " I will go with you "

                        That's the line.
                        That's the girl.
There's your mission statement,Tom, er.....Jerry.

plenty of red hair with a calypso beat

                                                                     I want
                                                                 it just right.
                                                                     I want
                                                               her right there.
                                                             I want it real loud.
                                                        I'll watch... people stare. 
                                                             I got a half-smile.
                                                          It's half under-re-pair.
                                                               Now that you
                                                               know that, you
                                                           still wanna go there?
                                                                          *
                                                                     Beatle
                                                              songs all night.
                                                       " i saw her standing there. "
                                                          She plays 'em real loud.
                                                       She'll watch... people stare. 
                                                             She leans a lot left.
                                                          She calls it laissez-faire.
                                                               She's plenty of
                                                                      hipster
                                                               plenty of red hair.
                                                                          *
                                                                     I got my
                                                                     rag jeans.
                                                         She's quoting Baudelaire.
                                                                   We likes it.
                                                                    Real loud.
                                                    We'll watch... but we don't care.
                                                         Lets walk this half road.
                                                              Half under-re-pair.
                                                                        Hell
                                                                or mercy-bound
                                                         We're maybe.... half-there.

Little Dreams

           Little dreams
                of you
              last night.   
   Won't pinch or shock or
                  yell
                or  bite.
                    *
           Little  dreams
        wrapped real tight,
               from me
                 to you
                   in
            candle-light.
                    *
           Little dreams
               placed
            end to end.
           Much easier
         to comprehend.
                    *
          Little dreams,
             they soar
             and then
            misbehave
        as they descend.
                    *
          Little dreams
         that grow to be
               so tall.
             then fall
                  all
              over me.
                   *
          Little dreams
              of you
             last night
         on TV screens
      in black and white.
                    *
          Little dreams
        that blow away
      with one eye wink
        on one gray day.
                     *
           Lttle dreams
that whisper, " hey, that girls
             got curves
      like a '58  Chevrolet. "
                     *
           Little dreams
      these dreams of you.
          Small enough
         to squeeze right
                through.
                     *
           Little dreams
      that wish you knew.
      These little dreams.
          These dreams
              of you.

that old brown-glass Clorox bleach bottle was a gift

She said, " oh, Colors of the Sun? "
" No, " i replied,
" different memories. "

She said something else, but
i had lit a cigarette
and wasn't listening
anymore.

She didn't know.

It was a gift.

It was a gift.

pull that wool off

                                                     Walked into a wall i
                                                             did not see.
                                                  " Daddy, " said mommy,
                                                    " will you marry me? "
                                                            It is written.
                                                      A word to the wise.
                                                             baby-boy
                                                   gotta pull that wool off.
                                                         Open your eyes
                                                                     *
                                                   Nailed her picture to the
                                                             family tree.
                                                 Proud as the 1st time winner
                                                         of a spelling bee.
                                                  I thought i was holding the
                                                         blue-ribbon prize.
                                                              baby-boy
                                                   gotta pull that wool off.
                                                          Open your eyes.
                                                                      *
                                                         It turned cloudy in
                                                             late afternoon.
                                                          Change is coming
                                                         and its coming soon.
                                                         I awoke to the sound
                                                               of gone and
                                                                    sighs.
                                                                 baby-boy
                                                     done pulled that wool off.
                                                            Opened his eyes.

another chair collapsing

                                                        I can
                                                        hope
                                                    a lie is true.
                                                 Too bad i didn't
                                                 think it through.

                                                        I'll go
                                                         find
                                                   another chair.
                                                      One day
                                          you'll see me sitting there.

                                               You can say its you,
                                                        its me,
                                                 or its no one, but

                                                     I don't agree.

                                                  I don't think love
                                                     acts like that.
                                  Its pulled down low like a Russian hat.
                                      It wraps around you bear-hug tight.
                                                   It leaves a mark
                                                      and appetite.

                                                 It's the familiar feel
                              of your mothers laugh and your fathers shoes.
                                           man, it's the top of the world

                                               or it's Potato-Head Blues.

Made in Tibet

All of my furniture
was made in
Tibet.
All of it
and... hell no, it
isn't comfortable
furniture.
What did you think?
But it was made in
Tibet.
All of it
and it was
assembled by old-fashioned Tibetans
with the best karma
available.

beulah bondi

                                                                   I gave my heart
                                                               to beulah bondi, she
                                                                       mailed it
                                                                    to her friend.

                                                             " Thats the damnedest
                                                                          organ "
                                                              that friend wrote back.
                                                         " its broken from end to end "

                                                                  I'll sell my blood.
                                                         I hear they pay good money.           
                                                                & pass the blood $        
                                                                    beulahs' way.

                                                          " I can fix that heart " her
                                                                  friend confided.

                                         Make it " shine like a-niggers heel "  ma would say.

The Broken-hearted Goose

There he is.
Standing there.
Head turning
round
and
round
and
round.

He's seen that movie 20 times.
She has, too.
They could recite some lines of it
in dialect.

Had she forgotten?

Somewhere in Africa,
Denys Finch Hatten offered  " geese !"
   to Karen Blixon.