Ritter’s Diner is an establishment in Pittsburgh.  It’s a 24/7 diner, closing only for a few hours every Christmas and opening again for dinner Christmas night.  It is a favorite hangout for me and many of my friends.  I am not sure, but this very well might be the first poem about them.

Here is the December 15 poem for the poem-a-day project.

Breaking a Heart in 3 Easy Steps
(a found poem from the Ritter’s Diner table jukebox)

     1

You caught me at a bad time, singing a blue note,
the new kid in town at the Sad Cafe
so I’ll tell you little lies as long as you follow,
I’ll sit in the chariot even when it rains;
I’m an uneasy rider, but that’s the way it is in America.
Who do you love when you talk too much?
Angel-doll, can we retrace our steps, the error of our ways?
My sweet dark lady, save up all your tears.
Sooner or later, we all sleep alone.

     2

I was riding with Motown Philly to the end of your road,
a friend of the devil for one more Saturday,
gardening at night in a radio free Europe,
trying to get the feeling again even now.
The girls’ gone wild and it’s too far to turn around;
I won’t paint it black when time is on my side.

    3

Only the lonely cry when its over.
I ain’t the one to go searching when Tuesday is gone.
Old friend, we are standing at the crossroads
and all I do for your love is my redemption song.
I think about the way we were and I ask you to trust in me,
every picture tells a story and you give me a reason to believe.
I ride the train to Deadwood Mountain drinking about you,
wondering who you’d be today; somebody to take me home.

I’ve been great about staying on task and writing a poem a day.  However, I’ve been bad about posting them on my blog.  So anyway, here’s a bunch!  They are short so it won’t take me (or you I hope!) very long to catch up.  Will also post again tomorrow so there’s not so much reading at once.

12/11/2012
Autism, circa 1980

In my dreams, the girls would tease,
laughing as their weightless buyont bodies
would take wing, helping them achieve flight
as they skipped in a circle faster and faster,
holding hands with their pockets full of posies,
their feet getting lighter and higher
toes gently scraping the ground until
the wind held them suspended above the earth,
their dimpled cheeks curved upwards
as the cupid mouths screamed “catch up!”
and even though I threw my body into the air
I knew I never would.

12/12/12
Anthem for a Muse

Her song eases the burden of love;
Her song touches dreams,
touches body with slick cool wetness.

Her voice carries the weight of poetry;
Her voice is electricity, is creation,
washes body in light and diamonds.

Her music is imagination and words;
her music is ebullience and anguish,
gives birth to body in psychosis and suspense.

Her art is in the singing, in interpretation;
Her art is the darkness of soul and the tremble of joy,
it is the quiver of the body, the “yes” of what you’ve always wanted.

12/13/12
Question

She asked me not to read
anything that would keep her up at night.
What is wrong with being nudged and prodded,
being rolled and held by a lover’s words,
being nipped and plucked by
surreptitious syllables falling from the tongue
that will lash and lick at you,
leaving you weeping at the beauty of the dark?

12/14/12
Sentinel

The guardian angel
constantly disquieted
porcelain face darkening
in hues of uneasiness
appeasement whispered
on a perturbed temple
clearing away the wreckage
of an insensible mouth
quiet breath and lip
looking all the more
like a child of heaven
the halo a diffused light of tears.

The poem-a-day project for December is going very well, and I love when my friends give me words/thoughts/phrases to work with.  The Muses for this poem are my friend Suzanne (who has made the list twice so far, this time with the word “quixotic”) and another friend who wished to remain anonymous as he’s a shy private person.  I will say about the subject that it was inspired by his spirit and his brilliant philosophical mind.

Core and consciousness
 
 
Moving in a mysterious pattern,
veiled and vaster than
anything I have known,
radiating, glowing, shifting
like its own universe, orbiting
at an inexplicable speed,
complex, quixotic, extraordinary,
immeasurable depths, unplumbed intricacies,
I want to explore every part as
it continues to excite, expound,
and there is always so much more to see.

This poem was about a particularly haunting incident early on in my professional career.  For some reason, I thought of it this morning.

Papers

I brought them to the house

to be signed, a stranger

entering a vigil,

surrounded by shiny eyes.

I walked behind a preteen boy

who skulked like a lion,

he bristled, his grief an open wound

that could not scab over.

She sat listless across from me,

and the little man took her arm

so she stood, terrycloth robe falling open

spilling the remnants from the funeral.

We walked to the table in silence

as the boy collected her dignity, neatly

tying the robe in a graceful silent move

as the papers were fanned on the table.

Two short ones, inspired by the cold rain.

Creeping Death

Fear, unknown
Fever, gnawing
Quaking, uncertainty
Leaning, inward
Crushing, bones
Penetrating, viscera
Piercing, duodenum
Pressing, organs
Squeezing, lungs
Heart, arrested

In Plain Sight

Its easier to hide behind
hyperbole and metaphor,
mask myself in allegory,
ease the ache with a parable.
Words are simple when they are written
and yet confound and ridicule
when they need a voice.

Fear

Another entry for the December Project. The Muse for this poem is an old friend from college, a sweet girl who sings like an angel and speaks Japanese (which I think is wicked cool.) Here’s your poem, Jessica:

In the by and by

Green is what they were
and they were too young to be
any other color.
In an alternative dimension
they would have been
exploring the slope of
the other’s shoulders,
comparing the respective curves
of their breasts,
filling their hands
with fleshy hips,
tasting their own sweetness
on the other’s lips.
Instead they looked on
with eyes of green
into pools of longing,
mouths filled with unspoken green
hearts girly pink and flecked with green
for green is what they were
and they were too young to be
any other color.

Got a little behind on the project but catching up tonight, it certainly gives me an excuse to write. The important thing is to get back to the goal and my friend Suzanne gave me the pep talk I need. The inspiration, thinking about the color red and it went all stream of consciousness. So….here it is, and its a bit saucy.

It wasn’t at all like the movies,
fists tight like round red balls
on either side of the thrashing head
and the red shirt was not removed as
the wrists were held down
so the button fly was released
with the use of arching limber hips,
the toes gripped and popped
and hooked themselves on the waistband,
freed the cotton Hanes
emancipated the erection,
shimmied the jeans
down the back of the thigh and calf
until they collected crumpled
around the ankles and tennis shoes
with a “Whoop!” of surprise
and the gossamer silk gathered
at the navel, one hand still holding
the willing wrists, the other
pushing aside tights and
a sheer slip of satin,
plaid and pink silk
slick and sticky with sweat
clinging to their chests
and they made love on the floor
with their shirts on.

It seems my musician friends are great at giving me writing prompts.  This poem for my December project is courtesy of Suzanne Levinson, a flute player.  She gave me a great list of words, and I may draw from them again later in the month. 

This poem is very short, but when I stopped to pause, it seemed complete somehow.  I think it needs a title, but I can’t think of one just yet.  I am open to suggestions.

Anyway, without further adieu, here is the December 4th poem.

The mix of snow and slush

falls like bullets in a war zone,

distorting the view of faces

looking through windows

as their train passes by.

The flickering facades

blink out like dollar store

Christmas lights, a moment

of shimmer, a flash of blue

and green, then gone.

If only the light could be held

or this moment transfixed,

this small blaze of ordinary,

faces on a train suspended

in rain, caught in mid air.

Here is my poem from December 3 for my personal poem-a-day for this last month of 2012.  The writing prompt was courtesy of Cynthia Dougherty, a talented actress and knock-’em-sock-’em powerhouse vocalist that I have had the pleasure of working with in Pittsburgh.  She gave me the word “epitome” and here is what I came up with.

Epitome

There are moments

so exquisite, so precious,

they are locked away

in the quietude of a heart,

tucked secretly

into the dark corners,

folded like expensive silk

to be kept for good,

and those fleeting minutes

continue on like burning coals

long after the fading fire of the night

Here’s the second entry for my poem-a-day for December 2012.  This one is courtesy of Robyn Peterson, a good friend of mine that I love to sing with.  She gave me some great prompts, which I included in this poem.  Not to mention, I think this really captures who she is, and I’m glad to know her!

For Robyn

Don’t hide

and let every thought you have

be luscious

and let every dream you have

be exquisite

Don’t hide

and let every feeling you have

be decadent

and let every pleasure you feel

be like sapphires.

Don’t hide

and let every idea you have

be unapologetic

and let your creativity

engulf the air around you.

Don’t hide

and let your love and genius

guide your own world.