What do you do on a black curtain Sunday?
Listen to the self-proclaimed missionaries in Times Square.
Jesus in a bathrobe…
“Armageddon is coming!”
“You’re all going to die.”
Listen to the madness Joe.
Smoke your cigarette down to the filter,
Then ash it all away…
Watch Lady Beauregard drink herself to an early grave.
Life passes by like a blue flash on the subway,
Blurry like a December morning in New York.
The frostbitten fingers that trace my cheek,
Cold and tingling.
Your breath a warm contrast on my ear.
“Stay close my little snowflake…”
Hey Mariah...Birthday coming up soon and then....Christmas and you going back to New York.
I think this poem is a superb and animated visual of just how cold and lonely New York can be but you add the warmth of a full heart to it to give it more depth.
Love,
Mom
Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader)
Reviewed on December 14, 2004
Love this one. There is just enough mystery, coupled with romance and lust that make it deliciously sinful. Besides, you brought back memories of New York to me. Just loved the contrast of the frosty finger vs the warmth of breath. Good.
A further collection of poems, many from years in the Middle East, but also the California San Francisco and Central Coast areas (Santa Cruz, Carmel, Big Sur, Berkeley, etc.).
Using Calgary as a backdrop the author satirizes the self-serving nature of the public as it continues to fatten itself, not only physically, but egotistically as well.
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I think this poem is a superb and animated visual of just how cold and lonely New York can be but you add the warmth of a full heart to it to give it more depth.
Love,
Mom