Sonnets for '58
1
’58, the year he’d come a thousand miles.
From post Olympic Melbourne
setting new records for broken homes,
babies began to boom.
The beaut Asian wore pink socks, spoke
great English, knew her brandy-lime-and-soda,
read Das Kapital in secret.
Her mentor the opium professor
got himself fired by the embassy of correctness,
qualified as Best Man and wrote a novel.
The year Dad fell in love at the Victory Monument
the Generals burned the pipes,
the year of the bantamweight champ
of nineteen fifty eight.
2
She dreamt of long journeys, by ship & caravel
to the birthplace of Marco Polo
the chalets of joie de vivre
the mansion of savoir faire.
she woke around sunset, bicycled the black canals
& headed for the fairy lights, Pat Pong.
She became his precious object, a waiting game
when war was cold and recreational.
After the last tête à tête Uncle Ho had said
there was no turning back, when she engaged,
the ship tied up, weighed anchor
in measureless fathoms of mud, from which
the gorgon’s knot of water hyacinth
grew such pink & purple flowers.
3 Golfing News
Who were the other men, & and why should we know?
Father’s Agfachrome plots a mystery,
the bikini dream sipping champagne
from a silver golf trophy.
A dark haired banker with good quads
by her side, not touching the merchandise.
Neither posed, nor casually exact
as the compose, then tilt, then veer away
from text book convention.
Well, I like the way the bikini’s frilled
& Dad’s out of the picture
like an inferred God
taking this, as usual, before I was born.
All that ’fifties Adam & Eve stuff.
4
Her sister, my aunt, Head Matron
at the anti-venin unit in Wireless Road
took her by the hand.
Remember me, sister.
They stood by the flared throats
of bronze King Cobras
sunbaking in concrete pits
that stank of piss and reptilian self-loathing.
Older Sis was one for pills:
Here, take these, and remember – hygiene.
poem by Adam Aitken
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My Sister, My Friend
You came along in 75
“A sister for you” Dad said on the drive
Little did I know just what that would mean
But to find out I was keen.
When you arrived home all wrapped in pink
A beautiful baby I did think
You were a couple days old and I was two
I was your big sister and I loved you.
There was the time when you were two
Words were few but you did what you had to do
I was only four and in strife
But from the fire you saved my life
You started school in year one
You and I had such great fun
I was older in year three
But the age gap didn’t matter to me.
When you were 10 you got sick
I thought you’d get better really quick
Unfortunately it didn’t go my way
But you were an inspiration everyday.
The way you took it in your stride
It was just the start of your bumpy ride
You handled it better than expected
Your role as a sister you never neglected
Dialysis, hospital beds and infections
And fears of kidney rejections
Pills, tablets and medication
But still as a sister you showed dedication
As we grew older and life got tough
Just when I thought Id had enough
Forgetting your problems willingly
You were there to comfort me
Little gifts you gave to me
Thinking of me unselfishly
The fridge magnet is in its place
And the sister book in the bookcase
You’re not just my sister you are my friend
We’ve been through so much there is no end
To the love that I have for you
I am sure the same for you is true
So this poem for you I write
With a little hope that I might
Give back some of the love and care
I’ve gotten from you and more to spare
I guess just what I am trying to say
Is I thank the Lord everyday
For giving me the best sister I could hope for
And someone to look up to, love and adore.
I am proud to call you MY SISTER, MY FRIEND.
poem by Jayne Jones
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Medley: Hallelujah / Last Month Of The Year
(l. cohen/traditional)
Hallelujah was originally contained in leonard cohen's various positions, while last month of the year is a blues traditional. on the cd booklet this song is credited only as hallelujah.
I heard there was a secret chord
That david played and it pleased the lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
Well it goes like this :
The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift
The baffled king composing hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah
Well your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrough ya
She tied you to her kitchen chair
She broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah
Baby i've been here before
I've seen this room and i've walked this floor
I used to live alone before i knew ya
I've seen your flag on the marble arch
And love is not some victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah
There was a time when you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show that to me do ya
But remember when i moved in you
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was hallelujah
Well, maybe there's a god above
But all i've ever learned from love
Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew ya
And it's not a cry that you hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah,
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah...
[and here starts last month of the year]
Tell me what month was jesus born in
Last month of the year
Tell me what month was jesus born in
Last month of the year
Got january, january, march oh lord
Got april, may and june lord
You got july oh yeah
September, october and november
Got the twenty fifty
December is the last month of the year
What month was jesus born in
Last month of the year
What month was jesus born in
Last month of the year
Got january, february, march oh lord
Got april, may and june lord
You got july oh but
September, october and november
Got the twenty fifty
December is the last month of the year
(thank you melbourne)
song performed by by Jeff Buckley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Will You Remember?
Will you remember the dress I wore?
Will you remember my face?
Will you remember the lipstick I wore?
This world is a wonderful place
Will you remember the black limousine?
Will you remember champagne?
Will you remember the things that weve seen?
I will return here again
Will you remember the flowers in my hand?
Will you remember my hair?
Will you remember the future we planned?
The world is not waiting out there
I wont remember the dress I wore
I wont remember champagne
I wont remember the things that we swore
I will just love you in vain
Will you remember?
Will you recall?
song performed by by Cranberries
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dear Old Friend
Dear old friend,
How far back does your memory span?
does it go through last year?
or before marching band?
Do you remember nail fights
do you remember seeing me cry?
do you remember not seeing me after
do you remember understanding why?
Do you remember cuddle puddles?
Do you remember the tickle war?
do you remember stealing my stuff
and then trying to get back from you on the floor?
Do you remember when you were to high to stand?
do you remember me being there until i could be sure you were okay?
do you remember competitions we went to
playing a rigged game of cards along the way?
do you remember how much fun we had?
do you remember when it ended?
when nome left and things fell apart
making us do things that offended?
I remember
I remember a time when I was at peace
I remember being happy all the time
i remember your hugs
that always felt sublime.
I remember our friendship
I remember what you said
I remember this year that
is now gone and quite dead
oh my dear old friend
what has happened in this year?
what has made things change so
that I am not considered by you a peer?
well there is little
more for me to say
now that I'm done
I'll go away
just think about
the things said here
and know at least
I still hold you dear
My dear old friend
poem by Jack Harris
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The Bikini
Dressed in her bikini,
sipping a martini
she drew the looks of every roving eye.
A white sandy spot,
the sun so hot
her skin was burned by and by.
Stripped of her bikini,
still sipping a martini
she saw her mirrored image in the night.
Two strips of white appeared,
her skin had been seared.
Her natural bikini was quite the sight.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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April Tenth
It was so cold in hell
I remember it well
It was so cold that year
It was colder than hell
Things haven't been good
So you leave for a while
I was off on a tour
I hadn't heard
Eve dropped in
With the letter he wrote
And I read it aloud
To prove that I could
The neighbor boys laughing
Cause you know anwar
We never thought
Quite enough good
We thought that we knew you
And I guess that we don't
In heaven no more
To repeat the past
We called you the black pen
Remember that?
The sea is wide
The streets are long
And there's blood on all our hands
And the cat is gone
And only what's left to us
Is history built on dust
There was sweat on a cold source
Of missions and governments
Supplies and victories
Good girl and king to please
The still keys are everywhere
In a thousand yard stare
We all end up the same
Like little lambs to meet their end
song performed by by Garbage
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Merchandise
To the merchandise of gold,
To the merchandise of silver,
To the merchandise of bronze,
To the merchandise of ivory,
To the merchandise of precious stone,
To the merchandise of brass,
To the merchandise of pearls,
To the merchandise of cars,
To the merchanidse of bauxite,
To the merchandise of fine linen,
To the merchandise of houses,
To the merchandise of wine,
To the merchandise of oil,
To the merchandise of luxuries,
To the merchandise of weapons,
To the merchandise of coffee,
To the merchandise of purple,
To the merchandise of wheat,
To the merchandise of sheep,
To the merchandise of timber,
To the merchandise of cattle,
To the merchandise of iron,
To the merchandise of horses,
To the merchandise of fruits,
To the merchandise of frankincense,
To the merchandise of cocoa,
To the merchandise of scarlet,
To the merchandise of precious wood,
To the merchandise of silk,
To the merchandise of chariots,
To the merchandise of commercial planes,
To the merchandise of slaves,
To the merchandise of private jets,
To the merchandise of marbles,
To the merchandise of war planes,
To the merchandise of scented wood,
To the merchandise of fine flour,
To the merchandise of incense,
To the merchandise of cinnamon,
And to the merchandise of fragrant ointment;
But the day comes when we will all cry.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Morning Sky
The morning sky
was one of those
cold January mornings
with redness
up there
amongst
the off white clouds
and she said
I dreamt of you last night
And you came into my room
and into my warm bed
and even my sister
didn't know
you were there
and you said
I dreamt
of Marilyn Monroe
and entered
into her room
and tried to get
into her bed
but I didn’t want
to disturb her sleep
so just sat
and watched her
like studying some
fine work of art
then I woke up
to a cold morning
and she said
you were better off
in my dream
where we kissed
and cuddled
but then
my sister woke me
and you disappeared
into the cold morning air
and you said
yes I remember
I dreamt
of being there.
poem by Terry Collett
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Tete a tete
The choice i made was good,
My wounds were healed,
The secrets i sealed,
It was better though mild,
Understand me please
Come for tete a tete
Dont put me in a corner my love
Im wrong i accept my love,
Whose tear should fall,
Lets have a talk my love,
Tete a tete be it
You are evrything i need,
Im everything you both need,
Its a dilemma,
I need a tete a tete
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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Older Sister
(carly simon)
She rides in the front seat, shes my older sister
She knows her power over me
She goes to bed an hour later than I do
When she turns the lights out
What does she think about?
And what does she do in the daylight
That makes her so great?
Oh but to be, oh but to be, oh but to be, Id like to be
My older sister
She flies throught the back door, shes my older sister
She throws french phrases round the room
She has ice skates and legs that fit right in
Shes wicked to all the beaming dreamers
Wholl later boast of an evening
By her fiery side
Oh but to be, oh but to be, oh but to be, Id like to be
My older sister
And in her black gymnastic tights
She runs into some elastic nights
Sophisticated sister sings for the
Soldiers of the soccer team
Their silver i.d.s and sororities
They tinker with love in their model ts
Oh lord, wont you let me be her for just one day
She turns everybodys heads
While I wear her last years threads
With patches and stitches and a turned up hem
Oh, but to be, oh but to be, Id like to be, just once to be
My older sister
song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Daughters for Your Sons
I am the slave hand that rocked the cradle
back and forth gently as my pink son slept.
While on a dirt floor, my brown son crept.
As I catered to masters' mood, my black son wept.
The year 1712, by a lake, grandma heard it.
Willie Lynch, his word; she cried as he spoke it.
This is her story, she told as a mother;
each one her son, each one their brother.
Grandma looked kind of sad, recalling tales by dark waters.
She spoke of her sons as she spoke to her daughters;
rear them up to be educated, leaders of men.
Teach them to fight; not with sword but with pen.
You are the black women who'll rock the cradle;
back and forth to sons in every coloration.
Light, brown, or black, educate each generation
Side by side with fathers, set a strong foundation.
I am the slave hand that wiped the nose
blown in and out softly as my pink son cried.
Outside in hot sun as my brown son was tied.
By old masters' hand as my black son died.
Celeste Butler-Mendez
Copyright ©2005
poem by Celeste Butler Mendez
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Lydia
There was life before us
my sister and I discovered
looking at photographs
we shouldn't have been looking at
of the English girl my father
was engaged to during the war.
Here she is right in front of our eyes,
the woman before my mother,
in a black lace cocktail dress,
a cigarette in a holder,
pensive, earthy—waiting
in front of the carved wooden radio,
for news from the front.
This is the war, after all,
and here she is again, somewhere
on an English beach, draped
across my father's shoulder
all of her silky skin radiant
above the soft folds of sun dress.
They stand in front of a sign
that reads 'Seaside Cottages,
two dollars.' And here she is
again, painted onto the cockpit
of my father's plane with hardly
anything on at all, and here he is
in his flight jacket, looking
in fact, happy. My sister and I each
lift our pencils like cigarettes,
taking long sultry drags to puff
out invisible rings. They rise
in the air like silver nooses
that will catch our father
and hold him to us.
poem by Geraldine Connolly
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The review
At the review he was to give a 'preview' of his book
He wore crushed purple velvet
To create a distinguished 'celebrity look! '
He bit his nails for the first time
He was nervous
And as writers often do.....he 'chainsmoked'
And despite being teetotal he drank...
First shorts...then wine...
One day 'Champagne ' he mused
And feeling clumsy and confused
He stumbled to the podium
Almost missed his seat
There was a literary agent he was anxious to meet
Then foolishly he began
His dedication was exact
'Before I begin I would like to thank my cat
Tabs wrote this book,
called 'kitty meat'
A novel about a hungry cat with nothing to eat
Who kills its own mother and sister and brother,
Then the audience stood to their feet
He got a standing ovation
Then his dad told him the sad news
His cat had got run over in the street
During all the reviews
yvette smith sept 08
poem by Yvette Smith
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Pink Rose
Somewhere
Upon my doorstep
A pink rose
Lay dying,
Although I never meant to hurt anyone,
All I could do was to pluck it from its branch
Not to give it to you –
Or to anyone,
Moreover,
Though-
It now lies haphazardly, and awkwardly
Alone in the grass in a graveyard
Withering –
All of its life has been usurped,
And-
All that is left alive is one thorn
Upon its stem,
Sticking into my side.
I cry out in pain,
But death never makes me weep, only laugh-
I know your father died some year’s ago-
Pink roses were laid upon his gravesite-
Everyone mourned, except for myself;
I placed my hand over may mouth and giggled.
I pick flowers, most often roses,
Wherever I walk,
Knowing they cannot live, when broken form their branches.
I laughed at your father’s funeral last year,
And picked a hundred pink roses form his rose garden,
I believe,
I am so sorry,
I was just being me,
I never meant to hurt anyone.
Claudia Krizay
poem by Claudia Krizay
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R.I.P. Aunt Tammy
Dear Aunt Tammy I know your in a better place now but it is still hard.
The last time I have seen you was at your grave and i can't get over it.
I need you, i need you by my side. I dream about you every night and I
dream about the past when you would hold me i would stop crying when
I was a baby but still i stopped. And with you gone its like the end of the
world. You were the third one of the pattern and what i mean by that is
the first person that died was three years ago and that was uncle pat.
Then it was great grandma hover a year later. Then you a year after her.
My live without you is a living nightmare now and i know you won't be
able to read this but im still writing it.
poem by Angelina Sabia
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Maps And Charts
For part of your voyage, Captain
I was there at the helm with you,
So young, and the world had flowered,
I caught my breath at the view;
But you stood grim, determined
And saw what I could not see,
You spoke of the storms and tempests
That I had coming to me.
Your words took shape, exploded,
Then burst at my head and heart
Like shooting stars in the sunset,
Like embers, glowed in the dark,
I lost so much of their meaning,
Ignored so much that was said
Your thoughts flashed bright on the water
Then dimmed, went out – despaired.
You tugged at my understanding
Set course for the verities,
I stood for so long behind you
That you merged with the skies and seas,
The breeze snapped long at the mizzen
The spinnaker billowed and flared,
I questioned the ship’s direction
But I doubt if you even heard.
We parted one brave morning
When I took a ship of my own,
Then you drove alone at the sunset
While I made sail to roam,
We’d each glimpse sights of the other
At sea, and in seaports new,
When we’d spark our flints together
As my understanding grew.
Then my storms and tempests claimed me
As you’d said they would at the start,
And sparks came back of your warnings
As I set my course by the stars,
And I tried to grasp your secrets
That had glimmered and glowed in vain,
But you’d set a course for the sunset
And never came back again.
So now in my darkened cabin
I pore over maps and charts
And I set each course for the helmsman
To look for your many parts,
I know that the journey shortens
As the planets wheel and turn,
And you wait for me at the sunset
Where our maps and charts are burned.
26 December 1994
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Not A Precise Report
my sister said
Minnie said
her friend's son
fell off a moped
near Rochester
on a country road
then a car
killed him.
'how old was he, ' I asked.
'twenty-one or twenty-two, ' my sister said.
'I can't remember.
anyway
what's a year?
after you're dead.'
poem by Charles Chaim Wax
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Funky New Year
Went to a party just last night
Wanted to bring the year in right
Woke up this morning I don't know how
Last night I was a happy man, but the way I feel right now
It's gonna be a FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
Ooo, Ahh, got to be a FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
Can't remember when I ever felt worse
Nothing matters and everything hurts
They were passin' round the bottle, made me feel brand new
Trouble with the new man he wants a hit too, hit me
FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
oooooo, it's a FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
Lord, mmm, FUNKY NEW YEAR
Nurse I'm worse FUNKY NEW YEAR
I got to perk up a little FUNKY NEW YEAR
My hair hurts FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
A party baby
Never again FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
Who's shoes are these FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
Party hardy baby FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
What year is this anyway?
song performed by by Eagles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Day In The Life
I read the news today oh boy
About a lucky man who made the grade
And though the news was rather sad
I just had to laugh
I saw the photograph
He blew is mind out in car
He didn't notice that the lights had changed
A crowd of people stood and stared
They'd seen his face before
Nobody was really sure
If he was from the House of Lords
I saw a film today oh boy,
The English Army had just won the war
A crowd of people turned away
But I just had to look
Having read the book
I'd love to turn you on
Woke up, fell out of bed
Dragged a comb across my head
Found my way downstairs and drank a cup
And looking up I noticed I was late
Found my coat and grabbed my hat
Made the bus in seconds flat
Found my way upstairs and had a smoke
Somebody spoke and I went into a dream
I read the news today oh boy
Four-thousand holes in Blackburn, Lancashire
And though the holes were rather small they had to count them all
Now they know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall
I'd love to turn you on
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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January in New York
Black ship of night
sailing through the world
& the moon an orange slice
tangy to the teeth
of lovers who lie
under it,
sucking it.
Somewhere there are palm trees;
somewhere the sea
bluely gathers itself up
& lets itself fall again
into green;
somewhere the spangles
of light on the ocean
dazzle the eyes;
but here in the midnight city,
the black ship of night
has docked
for a long, dark stay,
& even the citrus moon
with its pockets of juice
cannot sweeten the dark.
Then the snow begins,
whirling over the Pole,
gathering force over Canada,
sprinkling the Great Lakes with sugar
which drowns in their deep black cups;
it is drawn to the spires of New York
& the flurries come
scampering at first,
lighthearted, crystalline, white,
but finally
sucked into the city
as into a black hole
in space.
The sky is suddenly pink-
pink as flesh: breasts,
babies' bottoms. Night is
day; day is whiter than the desert;
the city stops like a heart;
pigeons dip & veer
& come to rest
under the snow-hatted
watertanks.
poem by Erica Jong
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