The Birth of a Poet

3rd grade class
PS 159 Brooklyn
vocabulary quiz.

Anthony, use ‘ample’
in a sentence.

I have ‘ample’ apples.

All the kids laughed.

Hail and Farewell

“Because I could not stop for Death
he kindly stopped for me.”
Emily Dickinson.
--------------------

I am dead.
Dead.

Gary, Gary,
I call-out to my lover,
Can you hear me?
All I get is a blank stare.

But, hold-on-there-you,
if I am dead
how can I,
think/see/hear/feel?

AH, you will never know;
Wait,
you will know one day.

Of course, Days won’t matter.

OH NO, what if I have been dead for years?

This Image,
What if it was the last I saw
before I died?

Gary, my eternal love:
Ave atque vale.

TP.

Gays of Yore

Once upon a time,
there was a Gay Culture.

Where outlaws roamed
the west side of cities.
Where towel-clad patrons
roamed dark corridors.
Where closets held more
than suits and skeletons.

Where Marriage was your parents.

Queer was a pejorative pronoun.
Broadway tunes were laced
with gay double-entendres.
Queens came out after mid-night.
Bears hid in dark corners.

Drag was Camp.
Leather was a statement.

Bespoke Dandies were ridiculed.

Gay bars announced themselves with one word “OPEN.”

9 to 5 was Straight.
6 to 12 was Gay.
12 to 4 was Trick.

We sashayed only on gay avenues.
We slinked into gay venues.
We were alone in the crowd.

We led double-lives,
afraid of being double-crossed.

TP.

Lifeguard (YMCA-1999)

At the pool
trunks and Tee.
In the pool
Speedo.

You move with
feminine grace, with a masculine physique.
You swim so effortlessly, powerfully,
strokes to laps.

With ecru skin and a boyish face,
peaches-and-cream,
you cross gender boundaries.

I get restless watching you,
forbidden fruit, eye candy.
You are more than meets my eye,
you are youth and masculine beauty,
as near perfect as Nature intended.

I only know you from afar, outward glances.
I hope you also possess an inner beauty.
Oh, Mother Nature, could you be so kind,
to form that more perfect union.

As you mature,
and leave your boyish charms poolside,
to reflect:

On days that will never return,
to dwell on a moment in time,
when Nature blessed you.

I also
will have a memory
of that moment.


TP.

A Poet's Nightmare

I was asleep or dead (you see.)
T’was night and bright
and quiet and quite
crowded with people
mouthing non sequiturs.

Bach and Rock
oozed from tube
like tooth-paste
candy cane striped mint
bland on brush,
Brandenburg and Beatles
between bated breaths.

Hazard Hawk perched
peering through leafy shadows
swaying in the silent bower.

Waiting for: What?
My command, to take wing
and shriek sounds
that I interpret
as sentences?

My Muse in feathery flight?

I write furiously
all that has transpired
for meaning and rhythm.

I have it all.

I awaken.

I forgot.

TP/MMXIV

Kings County (Brooklyn 1959)

Zip Gun on hip.
Black-Jack in jacket.
Switch blade in slacks.
Car antenna as whip.

Cops were avoided.
Silence a virtue.
Family was all.
Pain tolerated.

Pubescent Wise-guys;
punished by Precincts,
penanced by Priests,
picked-on by Punks.

Street-smarts kept you alive.
We survived.
Some of us,
anyway.



TP/MMXV

Wedding Belles

Florida, Sunshine State
we placed our marriage Banns.
Goodbye to crummy wait
on the beach getting tans.


This year of fifteen
in my Tux of white.
I will make the scene
and squeal in delight.

My lover will be,
husband, wife or spouse.
I promised, on my knee,
to make a home of house.

To all, family, friends,
please wish us well.
As the Sunshine State bends,
to ring our wedding bell.

TP/2015