Sunday, November 28, 2010
Just Once -- by Kim Ode
Just returned from visiting my folks in South Dakota, which recalled this moment, many years ago, when it was good to be a farmer..........
Just Once
We’re millionaires, my father said,
Then qualified his pride:
On paper,
This year,
Because it rained.
Still -- millionaires.
He couldn’t say it without smiling,
Disbelieving what he’d done.
We kids wanted it to rain coins
Like in Scrooge McDuck cartoons.
But the proof was in bank ledgers
This year
Because corn futures were good.
And so even with his second
C.C.-and-7
Slaking his dirt-parched throat,
The truth of who owned his victory
Crept into his eyes.
Still, we clung to the moment, imagining
New Barbies
Or Disneyland.
“On paper” was for grownups.
I wanted the Dream House
And all the breaded shrimp I could eat.
Later that night, Mom’s quiet pride
Must have kissed away our quest for proof
Because the subject never came up again.
Still -- millionaires.
Just once,
On paper,
This year,
Because it rained.
Friday, November 26, 2010
A Day at the Coliseum (an Easter Poem by Klecko)
In another lifetime - or maybe just a dream
I was frying mini doughnuts - at the Roman Coliseum
They were purchased by the Tribune - And, the Emperor too
But, when I sold out early - I didn't know what to do
I untied my dirty apron -And, tossed it on the ground
And, followed hot Phoenician chicks - while they walked around
Rose pedals fell from the sky - And landed in the street
Where a line of chariots rolled on by - for the audience to greet
Pilate proclaimed it time to start - until his lover cried
The race must be aborted - since the Corinthian driver died
Tiberius hiked up his toga - and formed a smirking grin
Somebody bring the baker - we'll make his ass fill in
The centurions pointed to my ride - And, said hop in if you will
And, when I asked what if I don't - they pointed to a hill
A billboard proclaimed Golgotha - the mountain made of skull
Its the worst place to get crucified - because their spikes are dull
I didn't like my options - I was being played by fate
So I finished my second Diet Coke - And, stepped into the gate
To my right were noble whites - you could listen to them purr
They belonged to some crazy Shiek - and a Prince who we called Hur
To my left stood Massalah - and his majestic blacks
He was a five time winner - and familiar with this track
Some have said the steeds rich color - held significanace
But, that was soon forgotten - when I looked up at the fence
Four Jackasses tethered - were staring back at me
Betty Crocker, General Mills, Doughboy and Sarah Lee
A motley crew for certain - but, we were still a team
Before I calculated odds - I heard the trumpets scream
Massalah sent praise to Jupiter - who granted all his whims
Which made me wonder hard and fast - why those razors on his rims
Nine times around the Circus - is what it takes to win
So no time like the present - I peeled out and took a spin
The rig from Macedonia - tried to vanquish me
But when I moved into 3rd place - his horses stopped to pee
Massalah and the Prince - saw me in their rear view mirror
And, as I closed the gap - they looked back and missed a gear
The 2 of them collided - and the Tribune hit the dirt
You shouldn't go commando - when your uniforms a skirt
His legs were amputated - they were trampled under hoof
If there would have been a ceiling - we would have raised the roof
The Physicians tried to save him - But, he was to far gone
And, just before he passed away - he warned the the race will still wage on
My donkeys were dark horses - yet we occupied 2nd place
We got so close to Judah - that I could see his face
He whispered that a man he didn't know - served him and he wondered why
Perhaps I am mistaken - But, I thought I saw him cry
As we turned the final corner - I finally took the lead
This pacified the savage mob - who were cheering out of greed
In a final stretch an image appeared - it was divine
And, told me to take heed - if I crossed the finish line
I began to shake and tremble - pulled my donkeys in reverse
After the Hebrew won - he claimed the laurel and the purse
Caesar checked him out - because the Jew was cute and trim
Then he proceeded to advise the crowd - that they should worship him
As the day proceeded - I became upset
I knew I really won the race - But, yet I lost my bet
I was glad the Hebrew Nation - had a reason to believe
But, what about us Pollacks - we always have to grieve
That's when Jesus appeared to me - in a slice of toast
And, promised to give me victory - so Impressive I could boast
In another lifetime - or maybe just a dream
I threw a tiny pebble - at a big old Philistine
I was frying mini doughnuts - at the Roman Coliseum
They were purchased by the Tribune - And, the Emperor too
But, when I sold out early - I didn't know what to do
I untied my dirty apron -And, tossed it on the ground
And, followed hot Phoenician chicks - while they walked around
Rose pedals fell from the sky - And landed in the street
Where a line of chariots rolled on by - for the audience to greet
Pilate proclaimed it time to start - until his lover cried
The race must be aborted - since the Corinthian driver died
Tiberius hiked up his toga - and formed a smirking grin
Somebody bring the baker - we'll make his ass fill in
The centurions pointed to my ride - And, said hop in if you will
And, when I asked what if I don't - they pointed to a hill
A billboard proclaimed Golgotha - the mountain made of skull
Its the worst place to get crucified - because their spikes are dull
I didn't like my options - I was being played by fate
So I finished my second Diet Coke - And, stepped into the gate
To my right were noble whites - you could listen to them purr
They belonged to some crazy Shiek - and a Prince who we called Hur
To my left stood Massalah - and his majestic blacks
He was a five time winner - and familiar with this track
Some have said the steeds rich color - held significanace
But, that was soon forgotten - when I looked up at the fence
Four Jackasses tethered - were staring back at me
Betty Crocker, General Mills, Doughboy and Sarah Lee
A motley crew for certain - but, we were still a team
Before I calculated odds - I heard the trumpets scream
Massalah sent praise to Jupiter - who granted all his whims
Which made me wonder hard and fast - why those razors on his rims
Nine times around the Circus - is what it takes to win
So no time like the present - I peeled out and took a spin
The rig from Macedonia - tried to vanquish me
But when I moved into 3rd place - his horses stopped to pee
Massalah and the Prince - saw me in their rear view mirror
And, as I closed the gap - they looked back and missed a gear
The 2 of them collided - and the Tribune hit the dirt
You shouldn't go commando - when your uniforms a skirt
His legs were amputated - they were trampled under hoof
If there would have been a ceiling - we would have raised the roof
The Physicians tried to save him - But, he was to far gone
And, just before he passed away - he warned the the race will still wage on
My donkeys were dark horses - yet we occupied 2nd place
We got so close to Judah - that I could see his face
He whispered that a man he didn't know - served him and he wondered why
Perhaps I am mistaken - But, I thought I saw him cry
As we turned the final corner - I finally took the lead
This pacified the savage mob - who were cheering out of greed
In a final stretch an image appeared - it was divine
And, told me to take heed - if I crossed the finish line
I began to shake and tremble - pulled my donkeys in reverse
After the Hebrew won - he claimed the laurel and the purse
Caesar checked him out - because the Jew was cute and trim
Then he proceeded to advise the crowd - that they should worship him
As the day proceeded - I became upset
I knew I really won the race - But, yet I lost my bet
I was glad the Hebrew Nation - had a reason to believe
But, what about us Pollacks - we always have to grieve
That's when Jesus appeared to me - in a slice of toast
And, promised to give me victory - so Impressive I could boast
In another lifetime - or maybe just a dream
I threw a tiny pebble - at a big old Philistine
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Minnesotan in New York - by Mike Finley
When I landed at LaGuardia
It was seventy degrees.
All I needed was a thin jacket.
For three days I walked the streets
Leery of beggars who seemed
to know something, and shadowy.
Figures lurking in doorways.
But when the temperature began
to fall and the canyon gusts blew
plastic sacks like ghostly luggage,
I came into my own.
I am more used to winter than them,
it is my element, walking into wind
swinging my computer case at my side.
All along 6th Avenue phalanxes of muggers
and murders part melted
from their purpose by sled dog eyes.
Urgent and cheerful on a cold,
cold night.
ODE.....this is the poem that Mike sent to me the week before I flew out to NYC to do the Martha Stewart interview. It really meant a lot to me, to have somebody else work become specified for my life. To this day I think Mike Finley is epic.
It was seventy degrees.
All I needed was a thin jacket.
For three days I walked the streets
Leery of beggars who seemed
to know something, and shadowy.
Figures lurking in doorways.
But when the temperature began
to fall and the canyon gusts blew
plastic sacks like ghostly luggage,
I came into my own.
I am more used to winter than them,
it is my element, walking into wind
swinging my computer case at my side.
All along 6th Avenue phalanxes of muggers
and murders part melted
from their purpose by sled dog eyes.
Urgent and cheerful on a cold,
cold night.
ODE.....this is the poem that Mike sent to me the week before I flew out to NYC to do the Martha Stewart interview. It really meant a lot to me, to have somebody else work become specified for my life. To this day I think Mike Finley is epic.
Under a Canaopy of Stars (Polish Kitchen) by Klecko
Sunday morning - after Mass
Grandma swears - Grandpa Laughs
Relitives - will be here soon
And we'll sit down - for lunch at noon
When we come together we're complete
Carry groceries - from the car
Little Debbies - Nutty Bars
Fresca, Tang - Quisp & Quake
Swanson's dinners - Shake and Bake
All packed neatly in Red Owl bags
Set the table - Then say grace
Pass the food - stuff your face
Aunt Jeanine - gets mad and shouts
Cuz Cousin Jack - hates Brussels sprouts
Everybody has to clean their plate
Broken dishes - stain on shirt
Arguments - before desert
Cup of Sanka - Sara Lee
Cribbage - and Monopoly
Grandpa stops to watch the evening news
And we don't want - the night to end
We don't want - to be apart
The stars come out - to - form - a - canopy
Everyone is comfortable
When they're not alone
Sunday evening - Kitchens closed
Say good bye - time to go
Weddings, funerals, holiday
Is the next time when we'll play
Grandma smiles - waving from the street
Cuz when we come together we're complete
Grandma swears - Grandpa Laughs
Relitives - will be here soon
And we'll sit down - for lunch at noon
When we come together we're complete
Carry groceries - from the car
Little Debbies - Nutty Bars
Fresca, Tang - Quisp & Quake
Swanson's dinners - Shake and Bake
All packed neatly in Red Owl bags
Set the table - Then say grace
Pass the food - stuff your face
Aunt Jeanine - gets mad and shouts
Cuz Cousin Jack - hates Brussels sprouts
Everybody has to clean their plate
Broken dishes - stain on shirt
Arguments - before desert
Cup of Sanka - Sara Lee
Cribbage - and Monopoly
Grandpa stops to watch the evening news
And we don't want - the night to end
We don't want - to be apart
The stars come out - to - form - a - canopy
Everyone is comfortable
When they're not alone
Sunday evening - Kitchens closed
Say good bye - time to go
Weddings, funerals, holiday
Is the next time when we'll play
Grandma smiles - waving from the street
Cuz when we come together we're complete
Monday, November 22, 2010
Pastry Chef Lost - by Debora Gilson
Wearing a disposable infant diaper
her cat lies on the bakery office floor staring blankly
He is at once ethereal and macabre
Mary Margaret rolls out the puff pastry across a long floured table
Plastic credit has been used to pay
For blood transfusions, the forced feedings
He is the mate of her soul and she will not see him dead
She says its that time of the month again, the flow heavy, the cramps painful
Customers have complained about the chocolate chip cookies
So, she makes a new batch, the same larded recipe of her grandmother
She tells them that these are made of butter believing they cannot tell the difference
She is the first of four Marys, the sisters to four Josephs
Slowly each cupcake is lifted
the frosting massaged over the top, again and again
She thinks this is the love, but its really the desperation
She moves across the kitchen, La Tortuga, her first steps sluggish and slow
During the long nights in front of the ovens
She drinks the boxed wine purchased to make the soup stock
The freckled Irish morning face has dulled and slackened
She says she's sorry she forgot to take the bread dough out of the cooler last night
The cat dies, the customers do not return in the morning
She lies drunk on the floor
The croissants crushed, the cakes in the pastry case upside down
She is bare, the contents of her stomach on the bathroom floor, left for the angels to clean
her cat lies on the bakery office floor staring blankly
He is at once ethereal and macabre
Mary Margaret rolls out the puff pastry across a long floured table
Plastic credit has been used to pay
For blood transfusions, the forced feedings
He is the mate of her soul and she will not see him dead
She says its that time of the month again, the flow heavy, the cramps painful
Customers have complained about the chocolate chip cookies
So, she makes a new batch, the same larded recipe of her grandmother
She tells them that these are made of butter believing they cannot tell the difference
She is the first of four Marys, the sisters to four Josephs
Slowly each cupcake is lifted
the frosting massaged over the top, again and again
She thinks this is the love, but its really the desperation
She moves across the kitchen, La Tortuga, her first steps sluggish and slow
During the long nights in front of the ovens
She drinks the boxed wine purchased to make the soup stock
The freckled Irish morning face has dulled and slackened
She says she's sorry she forgot to take the bread dough out of the cooler last night
The cat dies, the customers do not return in the morning
She lies drunk on the floor
The croissants crushed, the cakes in the pastry case upside down
She is bare, the contents of her stomach on the bathroom floor, left for the angels to clean
The Chef IV - by Debora Gilson
He tells you first thing, that he is a genius
He licks the cake batter from the tips of your fingers
He walks into the kitchen as though he is Louis XIV walking through the Hall of Mirrors
He uses the pastry cooler as a sound proof booth to speak confidentially
He will come for a hug of mutual support before the days battle
He rests a dead chicken foot on your shoulder for laughs
He stands in a stairwell to think about his crazy mother
He says he knows you better than anyone else
He states as a fact that which he wishes were true
He needs you to tell him that you have a plan
He believes in his mind that he is Marlon Brando in On the Waterfront
He smokes pot on his front porch after walking the dog
He carries your summer pudding up five flights of stairs
He kisses your cheek when you have done all that he asks
He lost the truth in his forest of lies
He's afraid of that look in your eye
He cries for you only once
He holds up the pill that keeps him sane
He throws it in his mouth, turns and walks away
He got you into this mess but he will not get you out
Kim....don't you just love this? Sequentially there are a few patters (and breaks in pattern that make this kind of (and I hate using the word) "organic"
Note how the first 17 lines are independent of one another, each could be the heading of its own story, but the last 3 pull together and not only tie together.....but close out the thought.
If you want to know which chef this was written about you'll need to buy me a drink. I would hate to pull a Carly Simon and rat out a brother in public.
He licks the cake batter from the tips of your fingers
He walks into the kitchen as though he is Louis XIV walking through the Hall of Mirrors
He uses the pastry cooler as a sound proof booth to speak confidentially
He will come for a hug of mutual support before the days battle
He rests a dead chicken foot on your shoulder for laughs
He stands in a stairwell to think about his crazy mother
He says he knows you better than anyone else
He states as a fact that which he wishes were true
He needs you to tell him that you have a plan
He believes in his mind that he is Marlon Brando in On the Waterfront
He smokes pot on his front porch after walking the dog
He carries your summer pudding up five flights of stairs
He kisses your cheek when you have done all that he asks
He lost the truth in his forest of lies
He's afraid of that look in your eye
He cries for you only once
He holds up the pill that keeps him sane
He throws it in his mouth, turns and walks away
He got you into this mess but he will not get you out
Kim....don't you just love this? Sequentially there are a few patters (and breaks in pattern that make this kind of (and I hate using the word) "organic"
Note how the first 17 lines are independent of one another, each could be the heading of its own story, but the last 3 pull together and not only tie together.....but close out the thought.
If you want to know which chef this was written about you'll need to buy me a drink. I would hate to pull a Carly Simon and rat out a brother in public.
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