Tag Archives: poetry

Poetry: The Blue by Billy Collins

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THE BLUE by Billy Collins You can have Egypt and Nantucket. The only place I want to visit is The Blue, not the Wild Blue Yonder that seduces pilots, but that zone where the unexpected dwells, waiting to come out of it in the shape of bolts. . I want to walk its azure perimeter where the unanticipated is coiled, on the mark, ready to spring into the predicitable homes of earth. . I want to stroll through the pale indigo light examining all the accidents about to rocket into time, all the forgotten names about to fly from tongues. … Continue reading →

Poetry Wednesday: 11/28/2012 Sign in and take the tour

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  Cats Took Over My House by Susan Margulies Kalish Cats took over my house! Cats took over my house! I never sleep; They tickle my feet. The couch I mourn; The leather is torn. The run and they zoom by the light of the moon. There’s never a day They don’t want to play. There’s nary a mouse, just my fur covered spouse. Cats took over my house! There’s 9-Lives always, and Friskies Buffets. The rub my leg; for turkey they beg. I cry and I blink when their box starts to stink. They knock over clocks while tossing … Continue reading →

Thoughts before a storm

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NEITHER SNOW by Billy Collins When all of a sudden the city air filled with snow, the distinguishable flakes blowing sideways, looked like krill fleeing the maw of an advancing whale. At least they looked that way to me from the taxi window, and since I happened to be sitting that fading Sunday afternoon in the very center of the universe, who was in a better position to say what looked like what, which thing resembled some other? Yes, it was a run of white plankton borne down the Avenue of the Americas in the stream of the wind, phosphorescent … Continue reading →

377. NYC Photo Journal: A visit to Katz’s: Send a salami to your boy in the army OR I’ll have what she’s having

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After our visit to the new High Line park last week, we ended the day perfectly; got back in the car and went from the Lower West Side of Manhattan to the Lower East Side of Manhattan. This was the area where many immigrants (Jews, Irish, Italians) began their life in America. They found themselves living in cramped railroad-flat tenements with little air or light, but lots of street life. They shopped form pushcarts below, children played in the streets. When they had the money they moved “uptown” or left Manhattan for The Bronx or Brooklyn. [photos can be viewed … Continue reading →

377. NYC Photo Journal: A visit to Katz’s: Send a salami to your boy in the army OR I’ll have what she’s having

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After our visit to the new High Line park last week, we ended the day perfectly; got back in the car and went from the Lower West Side of Manhattan to the Lower East Side of Manhattan. This was the area where many immigrants (Jews, Irish, Italians) began their life in America. They found themselves living in cramped railroad-flat tenements with little air or light, but lots of street life. They shopped form pushcarts below, children played in the streets. When they had the money they moved “uptown” or left Manhattan for The Bronx or Brooklyn. [photos can be viewed … Continue reading →

270. Travel Part 3: So Vat’s Nu, dahlink? Yiddish, anyvun?

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Day 2 at the National Yiddish Book Center: Funny Jewish Women >>So go here already! But don’t forget, there are more trip things before this! >>Go here! Part 1 >>Now go here! Part 2 So DO it already!!! Now for some delightful memories. 1. Episodes of the 1950’s series, “The Goldbergs,” featuring Gertrude Berg. I was able to find a comparable video for you to enjoy. From my childhood, I can still hear Gertrude Berg yell out the window (vinder) to her neighbor, “Yoo hoo, Mrs. Bloom! Get S.O.S.! I’m tellink you, with more soap it’s loaded!”   2. Here … Continue reading →

269. Travel part 2: Poetry to Photography: The National Yiddish Book Center

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click here for Part 1 of trip. Photo from 2007 trip along with first slide show and poetry. Before I proceed, I would like to offer a little information on the Yiddish language. The most basic description would be a mix of Hebrew and medieval German with a smattering of other languages. It was spoken by the Jews of central and eastern Europe. The photos show the outside of The National Yiddish Book center, which houses over a million Yiddish books that were rescued from extinction. It also is a cultural center where Jews from all over the world come … Continue reading →

342. Poetry: Overheard In The Love Hotel: Robert Polito

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Robert Polito, born 1951, is from Boston and lives in New York City. He is an academic and poet, director of the writing program at The New School, here in New York City. He holds a Ph.D in English and English Language and Literature from Harvard University. He received the National Book Critics Circle Award, and an Edgar Award for Savage Art: a Biography of Jim Thompson. From the anthology: Poems of New York Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets This poem takes place in Manhattan’s Meat Packing District. I grew up on East 14th Street, this area is at the other … Continue reading →

25. Part II: Dyre Avenue Days

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Click here for an introduction to the poem Dyre Avenue Days ©2002 by the author, all rights reserved Windows black with soot: Try to look through the paths etched by rain at a sky forever attempting to be blue, never passing gray, as you stand within the elevated 120 decibel train, ironically known as the subway, the number 5; the Dyre Avenue line. You are the voyeur of the balloon lettered spray painted buildings, of the subliminal flashes of factory workers all named by the Caribbean, tied together with threads colored Carmen, Marisol, Maria, Chica, as the train races, singing … Continue reading →

488. Poetry Wednesday…new work in progress

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        Poetry Wednesday Revisited I have had a few poems cooking and this is a first draft. It’s been a long while since I had the time or inclination to write; there’s been too much going on in my life. I began the poem last night and have edited it about 20 times so far. It’s never finished! Friday Night on Bell 1 Muni Meter The Muni Meter was broken. No need to feed coins or cards said two young women, long hair and busty. They were on their way up Bell to hit the bars. What … Continue reading →

364. POETRY: The key poem for book: The Cerebral Jukebox

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It is done. I felt that my book should have a featured poem that would reflect the title. This was weighing on me for months. Then it hit me. In 1968 I studied writing at The City College of New York. I finally had the space in my schedule, and I registered for fiction writing with author, Mark J. Mirsky, and nonfiction writing with the author, Eve Merriam. They were cool, smart and funny. Both liked my work. But I was a kid, had so little experience to draw upon. I realize now how living and learning is key to … Continue reading →

469 Your book review: comments here, please

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Please leave your comments here. I’d love to hear your reactions and feedback. Please let me know if you have a favorite poem. [mp3j track=”ascension.mp3″] With gratitude. Sans Souçi             39 CommentsChronological   Reverse   Threaded reply sanssouciblogs wrote on Jun 21, ’10 Mazel tov, cuz! I sat on my porch this beautiful afternoon with your book and read it cover to cover.  I found the autobiographical poems most affecting, maybe in part because I’m familiar with your cast of characters.  The memories of Stuyvesant Town and childhood friendships are so vivid.  I particularly admired the story-poem … Continue reading →

164. Poetry: On Leaves

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My last year working in the school system before retiring, was a year of transition; I actually didn’t know what I was coming back to.  I had been out of the classroom for 16 years testing children for special education services and writing educational prescriptions.  But suddenly 1,100 of us in that capacity lost our positions when the budget was cut and the education system went under a business model.  It was a nightmare.  We had to return to the classroom.  I lost my office, my balance, my grip.  But it ended up being a delightful year as things began … Continue reading →

317. Poetry/Photos: Before The First Frost

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Before The First Frost 11/17/08 The rose bush produced one final beauty, fighting against time. I cut it. Brazenly, with a scissors from the desk. Tiny thorns tried to fight back, and its thin stem maintained a defiant posture. What makes a rose still want grow in November? Do roses fear dying? It was standing tall, proud, alone, still spunky from summer, maybe a teenager, peachy, against crisp brown, smelling of citrus and attar. It missed curfew; it mocked the season. It’s supposed to get quite cold on Wednesday, the first frost: I scurried around bringing in what I could. … Continue reading →

361. Poetry: Couples Series: 8. Nicole and Rich: Stones: Final in series and book

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This poem was just edited and is the final poem of the Couples Series in my book. Other poems in this series can be found on the index of my blog under Original Poetry Index 4. This, like all my work, is true. Nicole and Rich, 2006 Stones He gave her a princess-cut diamond. She wore it on her left hand. When she was a child, she learned that she was a little princess, and she dreamed about her prince—as girls do: The prince finds you, he looks upon your face with adoration, and he falls in love with you. … Continue reading →

326. Poetry: What The Birds Know

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What the Birds Know ©12/12/08/srk/poetry and art Through the back window, the apple tree stands, rooted and bare, beseeching the sky for the sun it recalls, reaching with black arms, dripping with cold rain. It wears the bird feeder; I hooked it into an old vacant wound, like one bohemian earring, and to it go fat, crested blue jays, bright cardinals– the females in drab. Small brown sparrows and red robins, feed from the soil below; the squirrels, wide-jerking-tailed, and gray fluffed, yank and pull, and spill the seeds, changing the bird dance, manipulating the food chain, and creating a … Continue reading →

311. Poetry Wednesday: Somebody’s Mother/Mary Dow Brine

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When I was 11, and in 7th grade, we were given a project to set-up a poetry book. In it we were to include any poems we liked and any original work. I remember thumbing through a poetry anthology while visiting grandma and aunt Florence in Brooklyn. Aunt Florence was my father’s sister, (she’s in her 90’s, outlived everyone), and she never married. In a mahogany bookcase with glass doors there were the likes of “Sex and the Single Girl,” to Shakespeare, all with stickers that said “Ex Librus, Florence Margulies.” I found the pocket book of poetry and borrowed … Continue reading →

283. Poetry: The Cricket Convention

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The original illustration by Sans Souci was in gif form: the crickets were animated and appeared to jump on the page… click to enlarge The Cricket Convention ©2001/post 9/11 I How comforting to hear the din of the crickets’ convention at 4 a.m. The joy, chatter, purring, singing, rowdy white noise at the grey hour between night and day. Lie awake and marvel at their fearless innocence. I think: How lucky they are. II November first and it is five a.m.; I awaken and hear the call of one lonely cricket who hadn’t the sense to hide from the world … Continue reading →

289. Poetry: Mary at the Tattoo Shop

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After doing a little research, I found that the author is 26 years old, and has achieved one of my dreams~publication by the esteemed New Yorker Magazine.  That’s where I found this poem. Background… From Toledo newspaper, The Blade By Ryan E. Smith BLADE STAFF WRITER Marcus Jackson couldn’t wait to get his hands on last month’s controversial issue of the New Yorker, the one whose cover caricature of Barack and Michelle Obama set the political world abuzz. It wasn’t the cover that interested the Toledo native, though; it was a piece of poetry – his poetry. Tucked within the … Continue reading →

254. b The Poet Speaks: Maureen and Don (read second)

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Though we had never met before, we were comfortable with theatre talk; playwrights, directors, actors, subscriptions. They were a handsome couple in their 50’s? 60’s? Unselfconscious about their appearances yet well put together, even-tempered, humorous, endearing.   They sat to my left: The first thing I noticed about Maureen was her lilting voice and red hair.  She said she did commercials and some acting. Don jiggled his legs as he spoke; he too, articulate, with a good, strong, voice We sat in the dark and laughed together; The play was well written and well acted but at times complex and … Continue reading →