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The Horse’s Mouth
Once a wooden horse,
no Trojan he
for his arrival
had been strictly legit,
no Vaudeville of the mind,
no jugglers, no dumb acts,
nothing trivial here,
no Ethel Merman, no fear
just a muddy track to pursue
with no particular challenge
to find or not to find --
its your choice so take it.
Hobby horse put out to pasture,
burrs cling to my shiny pants --
signs of voyages to lands
both domestic and exotic,
Quixotic ways hard to tame,
a whole horse is difficult
to eat, the cost of horse
meat being what it is
but that was another time
and nothing comes of it
and is nothing for a jockey
to sneer at, peering as he is wont to do
at the vast horizon -- that blue
nothingness that awaits us all
such folderol at the finish line
(Darling be mine before its done.)
Oh, but that’s a horse
of a different color --
a houndstooth born
of a checkered past.
But on this day I placed a bet
upon myself – not to place
but to win, chagrin
falling by the wayside,
the slippery sun slip slip sliding
behind the silvery moon
only for a moment as I --
having it made in the shade --
sip sip sipping on a freshly made
homey lemonade
and gliding along like
a toy sailboat on Central Park Lake,
no dancing in the dark,
a Charles Ive’s symphony thrashing
suggestively in the background
(found objects making a collage of sound),
ground swelling suggestively
beneath me, I charge forward
upon noble steed, reins held in check
(there’s that check again)
then slowly I retreat
not knowing of what I speak
knowing only that
I have always loved you
and always will even after
my fateful spill
falling off the horse,
then getting on again, knowingly,
knowing, knowing, knowing
very well what it is truly all about --
that there is no finish line -- this
direct from the horse’s mouth.
FD.10.20.15
Razzle Dazzle Day
This is not an advertisement,
nor an admonishment
but rather an acknowledgment
of something greater
than the sum of its parts --
an artifice so simple,
a gliding upon the surface
like a slick water bug
upon a summer’s lazy day
not to be mistaken
for some deeply considered thought
wrought by years of consternation
for the formation of this idea
was but a millisecond in formation
an overcoming of rationality --
a challenge to habitual reality
almost Zen like in its perfection
of a moment in time
that slips by if one is not
paying strict attention
being one’s own guru
so to speak or rather
not to speak but to
shout out in silence:
Say Hey! Say Hey! Say Hey!
like Willy Mays playing
baseball late into October
parlaying a mere game into
delirious wonderment
and that savage ineffable thing
called joy in living -- Good Morning,
Morning Glory (As my mother used to say)
But back now to my story,
something rather superficial
and I must confess that
I am a bit embarrassed
to say that only
the most profound
feelings are aroused
by something so simple:
A beautiful young woman’s smile
at me – yes me, old gentleman
that I now am in a Subway
sandwich place no less,
a worker speaking marginal,
mongrel English, no finishing school
for her but she dazzled as she
took the six inch white loaf
with roast chicken, spinach, lettuce,
onions, tomatoes and such grace,
I could hardly contain my face
with her razzle dazzle way
of doing almost nothing
and damn if she didn’t
make my day -- Hell,
she made my week.
FD.9.15.15
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