Archive for July, 2013

To Leon

July 28, 2013

Oh dear Leon, you,

tu, who sought a delicate balance

between anarchy and military phalanx,

between democracy and egalité,

among the bolshevoi and the fraternite,

during that treacherous time between the

two War blights,

between interwar contentions of

Social lefts and Fascia rights.

Hey Leon, man of belles lettres,

don’t make it bad; just

‘take a sad

song, and make it better,’

we would have said,

before republican liberté got shot dead.

Your fined-tuned idea of Man’s

path to Justice was so,

oh so, exquisitely


until the fierce winds of prewar gahenna

somewhere between Paris and Vienna

overpowered your pure, postwar intentions,

decimated your Front Populaire coalitions,

obliterated, with wehrmacht destruct,

your Social political construct,

when the ancient god of Forces

dispatched his dread iron horses,

to explode your good intentions

and implode your fragile humanité


Oh Leon, merci for your short-lived

Premier swan chanson.

Quel est ce bruit lointain 

nous entendons? 

Oh Leon dear,

what is that distant noise we hear?


CR, with new novel, Smoke, in progress


July 24, 2013

When stock market volatility
moves to Feddish liquidility
then market reliability
morphs to questionable credibility.

Every market indicator
every demographic agitprop maker
every talking-head prognosticator
strokes the now rather than the later.

Boomers approach senility
as Xers court sterility
while millennials forfeit ability
to sustain sustainability.

Couch potatoes cultivate disability
while media props up stability;
Detroit portends inability
of longterm viability.

Just give ’em some assurance
of some systemic SS insurance
so they’ll feel this this crazy occurence
will not exhaust our Yank’ed endurance.

I was born on a postWar morn
before the Viet sheep were shorn,
before the American dream was torn.
Now here I lie forlorn.

Glass Chimera



I gots de Motown blues

July 20, 2013

I’ll never forget the day in 1955 when I, being four years old, leaped into the driver’s seat of my dad’s brand new Chevrolet station wagon. I was pretending to drive the gleaming whizbang motorcoach as it sat motionless in our GI-bill financed tract-home driveway. The car was a shiny beige color, with a brown top and chrome trim. What a dream, to one day grow up and drive such a machine!

This was in America in 1955. . . America, home of the yanks who had helped our Allies to drive the Nazis back into their German holes, and the Japs back onto their little setting-sun island. America, home of  Dwight D. Eisenhower, John Wayne, Doris Day, Elvis, Mickey Mouse, Lassie, Howdy Doody, and Chuck Berry. America. . . home of Coca-Cola, Bell Telephone, Lucille Ball, Jackie Robinson, Nat King Cole, Mahalia Jackson.  America. . .home of General Motors, Ford, Chrysler, cowboy movies, American Bandstand, Hollywood and freeways. America. . . home of the Corvette, the Mustang, the Rambler.  America, home of Motown, Smoky Robinson, Berry Gordy, The Supremes, Martha and the Vandellas, Aretha,  the Four Tops, and Sam Cooke.

America . . . home of the original Motor City of this world, Detroit!

America . . . home of Detroit, now deep in bankruptcy blues?

Aw, g’on! Who’d of thought? Say it ain’t so, Joe! Who knew?

This  couldn’t be the same Detroit  I remember, couldn’t be the home the Detroit Tigers, Ty Cobb, Al Kaline?    Couldn’t be the great world-class City that sent that gleaming, du0-toned Chevy machine in 1955 to grace our driveway? The same Detroit that put space-age fins on the 1959 Cadillac? The same Detroit that drove our Chevy on the levee? The same Detroit that built my first car, the hand-me-down from my parents Chevy II wagon, the one that had gear linkage that used to get stuck in second gear so that I had to jump out at the traffic light, open the hood and jerk the gears back into operation before climbing back into the driver seat while motorists behind me had impatient looks on their faces?

Detroit, in bandruptcy? Detroit. . . the high-energy happ’nin City that pumped up our automotive dreams for the better part of a century? That Detroit?. . . that fueled up our mojo since we wuz kneehigh to a Coupe de Ville bumper? Detroit?. . .that epicenter of Motivational gas-powered Motion that enabled our cruisin’ to the bebop drive-in for burgers n’ shakes on Friday night?

That Detroit? The great Motown that, decade after decade, was kept hummin’ by thousands, yeah I say unto thee probably millions, of line workers who were tightening bolts, turning screws, clamping body parts, body-slammin world-record productivity with infinitely sustainable prodigious wonders of automotive virtuosity?

That Detroit? Those workers? Those pensioners who are now left behind wondering What the hell?

That Detroit? now to be rescued from pension failure by Judge Rosemarie Aquilina?

Good luck with that, as we say in Ameica. See ya!

Glass Chimera

Fidelity is the way to go

July 12, 2013

A man cannot

love all the lovely women of this world.

What’s best is to choose


and love her well.

Then she is satisfied, and he is taken care of,

while God is pleased and

society hums along more contentedly.

Oh and btw,

along the way

children are born: this is the real


The sacrifice the man makes, being faithful and


becomes a tribute and preserver to his own ongoing


and the children’s

stability. It is a win-win

for everybody.

You see, the man would go crazy trying to love all those beautiful

women out there. Really,

The only way to love all the women of this world is

to love one woman well, and smile at

all those others. Then say to them:

Peace be with you.


Glass half-Full


July 10, 2013

Where earth has poured out its magma heart

onto ocean’s sphere, things begin to happen


Then stony solidity challenges watery


and blocked kinesis thrusts


patterns onto the wavy deep.

‘Tis then the great fluid finds its


and the waves their wobbly wanderings.

‘Tis then

the splashy sea find its unsettled voice,

lending boisterous mayhem to the world:

Islands become frontiers of landed life, and

continents become monuments of tectonic


and mankind finds itself at home there.

This is a fair place to spend eternity,

if it were so,

but if not, there is a better world

to which we go.

Don’t ask me how I know;

it is the substance of things unseen

to which our faith doth flow.

Glass half-Full

Kai kai Kauai

July 10, 2013

Surfy shimmer late afternoon slant light

hath revealed glimmering

truth that midday overlooked,

as each wave topples in from aquamarine bliss

blasting gold and magic disappearish foam upon the beach.

Silvery rumpled water plane retreats back to sea

leaving sheen that descends into coarse brownsand,

mottled with micro rivulets crisscrossing intersecting

as multiple mini-sandstorms settle from their infinite mini-maelstroms

upon this shore,

racing, streaking wavelets o’er the smoothness of ancient speckled sands

where sandstonish texture takes over as crystalish water is disappearing

constantly and forever

and ever and amen

according to shapeshifting strand line as erratic as

a dowjones database

Jackie Paper will sail no more on this particular


but the sun sets down its golden splashes same as

it always has since

God only knows when.


Glass half-Full

Kauai kai

July 8, 2013

First is the sunshine, everywhere

bright on this deep Pacific blue; way out there

Puff blows up his silver-whites

and pushes them into distant cumulus piles

onto absolutely flat


From there afar sapphire stretches at me

rolling into nearer aquamarine

then clearer azure.

The ocean surfs in, tossing frothy white

o’er brown-gold beach, sloshing


everywhere, all the way up

into micro wavelets of universal energy;

they flatten

in sine shadow lines that skitter across the cosine sand.

Eons away from any continent

and far far far from any heckled world

in a land called Hanalei,

Hawaii and Thee

I see.

Glass half-Full