The Woodoo Man Plays With Pinwheels

The Voodoo Man P l ay s With Pinwheels

A l s o B y R o b e rt H a rr i s R o t h c h i l d c ata l o g

Fun, Fine Art And Fantasy: The Robert Harris Rothchild Collection Paintings, Drawings, Collages, Watercolors, Graphics, Photography, Posters, Sculpture, Art Of Carousel, Decorative Art and Folk Art

T h e V o o d o o M a n P l ay s W i t h P i n w h e e l s

T h e C o l l e c t e d P o e try 1963-1976 O f R o b e rt H a rr i s R o t h c h i l d

Andreyev’s Production, Inc.: Project Director: Vladimir Andreyev Editor: Robert Rothchild Designers: Vladimir Andreyev, Alexsander Malyshev, Robert Rothchild.

Copyright © 2013 by Robert Harris Rothchild All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of Robert Harris Rothchild. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data The Voodoo Man Plays With Pinwheels, The Collected Poetry 1963-1976 of Robert Harris Rothchild. ISBN 0-9853-7851-4

Pubished in 2013 by Andreyev’s Production, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission from the publisher.

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For Dany, My Son Whom I Love More Than Anything Or Anyone Else In The Whole World.

R o b e rt H a rr i s R o t h c h i l d

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1963

P r e fa c e I was preparing this book of my poetry when I realized that my mother, who tragically died in an accident when I was only eighteen months old, had written poetry in the form of letters to my father during the latter part of the Second World War. Only four of these poems are extant, but I am excited and privileged to be able to include them here as the preface to my writing. My parents wed on March 14, 1943 while my father was in the United States Army and stationed in Virginia. He was deployed to Alaska to serve in the Army Air Corps soon after the wedding. My mother promised to write to him on the 14th of each subsequent month and often did so in the form of rhyme. The “Thanks For The Memory� letters from 1943 were written to be sung to the tune of the popular song of the same name. The other two poems were written in 1945. These four poems reveal a sense of humor and an enjoyment of word play, as well as a romantic and adventurous nature. They also document the love shared between my father and mother.

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I Got Another Beau I think it’s only fair, That I should let you know That since you went away I got another beau. His uniform is wrinkled And shiny in the pants But when I see him coming My heart begins to dance. I love him with a passion That you could never understand Yet he never made an advance Or even held my hand. He never calls me up to say That he is on his way But when he doesn’t show up It’s strictly a wasted day. He always brings me presents Which is why I love him so But the gifts are not his doing And it doesn’t cost him dough. This guy that I adore In uniform so blue Is just the little “mailman” Bringing letters, Jeep, from you.

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I rv i n g R o t h c h i l d ( c i r c a 1944)

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M a r i o n R o t h c h i l d (1922-1948)

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“T h a n k s F o r T h e M e m o ry ” J u ly 1943 Thanks for the memory Of getting up at four, Rushing out the door, You might have been a headache But you never were a bore, Ah, thank you so much. Thanks for the memory, Of dancing all night long To our favorite song, We laughed a lot Loved a lot Who cared if things went wrong? Ah, thank you so much. Remember our weekends, honey? We always spent all of our money. Memories like that linger on, dear. When these days have passed We’ll look back and laugh. Thanks for the memory, Of whispering in the dark, Kisses when we’d park, That joy we knew We will renew When you return, sweetheart. Ah, thank you so much.

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“T h a n k s F o r T h e M e m o ry ” A u g u s t 1943 Thanks for the memory Of lobster Cantonese, A kiss and then a squeeze, Of moonlit nights Mosquito bites And a soft Virginia breeze. Ah, thank you so much. And thanks for the memory Of a piece of pumpkin pie, Some ice cream and then rye, And that look of worry As you did hurry In answer to my cry. Ah, thank you so much. We said goodbye with a kiss, dear, Courage like that just can’t miss, dear, For we know our future is bliss, dear, No tears, no fuss Hooray for us. And thanks for the memory Of a wedding night with quests (But weren’t they little pests?) Those times we knew Were never blue, I guess you know the rest! Ah, thank you so much.

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Reconversion When bugles sound their final notes And bombs explode no more, When we return to what we did Before we went to war. The sudden shift in status, In the ladder of success, Might make some worthy gentlemen Feel like an awful mess. Just think of some poor Captain, Minus his silver bars, Standing behind a counter, Selling peanuts and cigars. And think of all the Majors With their oak leaves far behind And the uniforms they’re wearing Are the Western Union kind. Shed a tear for some poor Colonel If he doesn’t feel himself, Jerking sodas isn’t easy When your “eagle’s” on the shelf. ‘Tis a bitter pill to swallow ‘Tis a matter for despair, Being messengers and clerks again’s A mighty cross to bear. So be kind to working people That you meet where e’er you go, For the guy that’s waiting tables May be your old C.O.

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This book is dedicated to The Captain of The Kansas City Flippers - a symbol of all the beautiful and interesting girls and women that have given me unbounded pleasure and many wonderful moments as well as mountains of pain and plenty of sorrow and disappointment throughout the years.

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Authors’s Note These poems have been stored in filing cabinets for decades and I finally decided to organize them in a more accessible form. I have almost completely resisted the temptation to edit or alter them in any way whatsoever; thusly (with very few minor exceptions) they are presented as they were originally written. I have realized that these poems are documents of specific years of my life. The fallibilities, borrowings and sometimes unsophisticated posing of these poems are part of their beauty to me. I enjoy the images, the words, the melodrama and the memories. These writings are very personal, but perhaps some of my friends and readers can derive pleasure from them. Bobby Rothchild September 2000

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R o b e rt H a rr i s R o t h c h i l d

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1963

I n tr o d u c t i o n These poems were written mostly between 1963 and 1976 (with only three exceptions.) I believe that they illustrate a coming-of-age experience that evolves from the Early Poems through The Voodoo Man Plays With Pinwheels and culminates in Dedicated To The Captain Of The Kansas City Flippers And Others, Posthumously. The imagery evolves from the quixotic melodramatic mood swings of the Early Poems to a seemingly more sophisticated, ironic and allegorical posturing that is found in “Voodoo Man” and “Captain.” The young poet is grappling with his relationships with the opposite sex and his place in the world around him. The man in his late twenties is more sophisticated and at ease with himself and his environment than the sixteen year old adolescent boy. All of the issues, insecurities and questions are certainly not resolved, but a maturation process has occurred from the early poems to the latter works. There is an enjoyment of writing, rhyming, creating images, and painting pictures and stories with words throughout the entire volume of poems, but this sense of humor, black humor, sarcasm, irony and self-realization becomes more evident in the words and imagery of “Voodoo Man” and “Captain.” The poet creates his symbols and images drawing from many sources including poetry, literature, mythology, nature and art. He also uses images from popular culture and his environment ranging from the taverns of New Orleans to the old black and white horror films from Hollywood’s Universal Studios. The poems have a special meaning to the poet and he has certainly relieved his emotional tensions and purged his disappointments and painful memories when he wrote many of these poems. This catharsis has been extremely important to the poet throughout the era in which these poems were written. These poems represent a wonderful and exciting time in my life and I still derive much pleasure and information from them. My current state of being has partially been shaped by that most important era from which these poems come. Some of the challenges that I faced back then have been overcome and some have been elevated to different levels or have appeared in new disguises. I believe that I am more comfortable with myself now than I was when I put these poems and thoughts down on paper back in 1963 through 1976. Undoubtedly, I am still playing my part in “this ad-lib pantomime,” but I think that I have become very adroit at it and I am enjoying my roles immensely. It is a special treat for me to be able to share this volume with my mother whose only extant four poems have been included in the preface. I hope that the poems in this volume entertain and bring enjoyment to whomsoever will venture to peruse them. It is my honor to share them with you. Bobby Rothchild October 21, 2012

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T able

of

C ontents

PHOTOGRAPH of Robert Rothchild in a Black Sweater 1963 6 PREFACE 7 Original Letter Written by Marion Rothchild from June, 1945 8 I Got Another Beau (by Marion Rothchild) 9 Photograph of Irving Rothchild c.1944 10 Photograph of Marion Rothchild 1940s 11 Original Letter Written by Marion Rothchild from July, 1943 12 Thanks For The Memory July 1943 (by Marion Rothchild) 13 Original Letter Written by Marion Rothchild from August, 1943 14 Thanks For The Memory August 1943 (by Marion Rothchild) 15 Original Letter Written by Marion Rothchild entitled “Reconversion” 16 Reconversion (by Marion Rothchild) 17 DEDICATION 18 AUTHOR’S NOTE 19 PHOTOGRAPH of Robert Rothchild from 1963 20 INTRODUCTION 21 TABLE OF CONTENTS 22-25 ILLUSTRATION: Paradise Lost by Dan Griggs 26 EARLY POEMS: LOVE POEMS Heaven 28 Two In One 29 Love Is 30 A Ray 31 Eternally June 32 Love Poem 33 Life’s Path 34 Doubt And Certainty 35 The Goal 36 The Fire 37 The Twelfth Of Never 38

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Tragedy 39 After Parting 40 Lost Love 41 Arrival 42 Too Late 43 The End Of The World 44 At The End Of A Love Affair 45 Loneliness 46 Haiku 47 Watch Her Slip Away 48 Apparitions 49 Prophecy 50 EARLY POEMS: THE AWAKENING OF A SOUL Expose 52-53 Life 54 Dreams 55 The Wait 56 A Mistake 57 The Secret 58 The Question 59 Looking Through The Crystal Prism 60 Diversity 61 Referring To J. Alfred Prufrock 62 Lines Composed After The Movie “Ship Of Fools” 63 ILLUSTRATION: The Uninvited Guest by R. Kenton Nelson 64 The Decision 65 Salvation 66 EARLY POEMS: THE YOUNG ROBIN IS READY TO START HIS FLIGHT Awakening 68-69 Monologue 70 Product Of Boredom And Disgust (Mostly All Royal Kings Bend Over Backwards) 71 Walking By A Graveyard 72 Ode For An Old Lady 73 Lament I 74 Rationality 75 Pettiness I 76 Pettiness II 77 Syllogism 78 Lines For R.F.K. 79 Alter-Ego: Homage To Ken Haley 80-81

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Question 82 The Stop Before Insanity 83 Miscalculation 84 Promise 85 ILLUSTRATION: Waiting For Suggestions by Rafal Olbinski 86 THE VOODOO MAN PLAYS WITH PINWHEELS Memo To B. 88 The Monk Upon The Seashore 89 Merry-Go-Round 90 Proverbs 91 The Fool And I 92 A Quarter To Green 93 The Voodoo Man Plays With Pinwheels 94-95 The Joker And The Chase Conductor 96-97 The First Time That It Happened 98 Twentieth Century Crucifixion 99 Product Of Apathy #1 100 The Clown Prince Of Rainbows 101 Christmas Rhyme 102 The Wild Card 103 Another Look From Desolation Row 104 Phase IV 105 Just Desserts 106 Inevitability 107 ILLUSTRATION: En Rouge Et Noir by Alain Vilboux 108 DEDICATED TO THE CAPTAIN OF THE KANSAS CITY FLIPPERS AND OTHERS, POSTHUMOUSLY A Poem For You 110 Jackpot 111 Classically Elegant 112 A Happy Poem 113 A Poem 114 Ode To Southern Comfort 115 Waiting At Fat Harry’s 116 It Started At Tin Lizzie’s 117 Dialogue 118 Acid 119 A Simple Poem I 120 A Simple Poem II 121 July 7, 1969 122 To Get Off Fortune’s Wheel 123

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Lament II 124 A Melancholy Soul In September 125 For C. 126 Sometimes I Softly Kiss Your Lips 127 A Game 128 Halloween Poem 129 I’d Like To Send You Flowers 130 I Walk Under Ladders 131 Panama Red 132 It’s Not “Now” 133 Exquisite Corpse I 134 Exquisite Corpse II 135 Exquisite Corpse III 136 Exquisite Corpse IV 137 Carolina Woman 138 Give It Up Girl 139 The Candy Girl 140 Triumph Of The Pessimist 141 The Tragedy Of Loving 142 The Alleged Rescue 143 Dona 144 Exorcism 145 Miss Candy Bar, The Movie Star 146 Decayed In Time’s Refrain 147 Poem (After J.J.W.) 148 Thinking 149 Not Merry In England 150 Mindbenders 151 Is It Jealousy? 152 The Plan 153 Close To The Edge 154-155 Rue Morgue, House Number Six 156-157 The Party 158-161

ILLUSTRATION: Untitled Photograph by Vladimir Andreyev 162 The Last Poem 163 INDEX OF TITLES 164-166 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 167-169 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 170

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Empty shelves, opened doors and empty drawers. A broken doll`s head and a discarded toy gun - the remnants of childhood left behind and the cabinet waiting to be filled with the new experiences of early adulthood.

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E a r ly P o e m s Love Poems

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H e av e n I’d like to play among the stars With silver moons and golden cars And feel the bliss of ecstasy My spirit fleeting – formless, free. Love has His kingdom way up there, You ascend the diamond stair. The diamonds glitter happiness, Ideal love reigns with sweet caress. To be out of the flux of time, To live in the world of art and rhyme, To drown ourselves in Beauty’s sea, And you and I will be just we.

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Two In One Cry and weep yourself to sleep, And pray the Lord your soul to keep, And if you die before you wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.

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Love Is Love is an intense longing for something that is heard by the stars in the furthest universe.

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A R ay In the normal occurrences of life, Disappointment, pain, anguish and strife, There may appear a ray of gold, A moment of magic, of bliss untold.

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E t e r n a l ly J u n e The golden sun shines brightly everyday at noon, At night, the light is echoed by the silver moon. Nightingales soar eternally and sweetly sing their tune, Flowers blossom everywhere and every month is June.

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Love Poem Bliss, joy, love and tears, Will stay with us throughout the years. We’ll have many a fear and many a doubt, But we’ll be together; it will all work out.

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L i f e ’ s P at h Life has many paths that I may take, And many things that I can see, But my heart knows what step I’ll make, And I know which path is right for me. I’ll head toward you; I need you so, And never, ever, let you go.

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D o u bt A n d C e rta i n t y I am just a mortal man, I have my doubts ‘tis true, But there’s one thing of which I’m sure, And that’s my love for you. I do not know what I will do, Nor what road I shall take, But there’s a thing I know for sure, If you leave my heart will break. So stay with me through good and bad, Through that thing and through this, And I’ll promise you forever more, A life of eternal bliss.

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The Goal As I lie on the distant floor, A voice cries out to me, “Nevermore.” But in my heart I have my hope, So I’ll try to escape and grasp for the rope. If only with this rope, I can reach, The light that shines upon the beach, Then, instead of plunging in the knife, I’ll take true love for all my life.

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The Fire A fire A fire A fire A fire

burns within the night keeps us warm blazes dazzling bright keeps us strong.

Dirt is shoveled onto the fire to put the fire out. Black, muddy dirt covers the fire And people start to shout “Out fire!” “Kill it.” “Put it out!” The fire burns on… Water is poured onto the fire Water gushes all over the fire Water engulfs the fire to drown it. Water flows through the fire. The fire gets wet The water gets hot. The fire burns on… Blankets try to smother the fire. They envelop the fire They cut off air They choke the fire They suffocate the fire. Blankets crush the fire, The blankets go up in flames. The fire burns on… A fire A fire A fire A fire

burns within the night, keeps us warm. blazes dazzling bright, keeps us strong.

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The Twelfth Of Never The Twelfth of Never is tomorrow, We’ve reached the rainbow’s end today. No one can help me make it through tonight. There’s little else to say.

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Tragedy There is a melancholy tree standing alone. Its branches are swishing in the soft gentle breeze. The swaying leaves are a richly carpeted green. The tree is tall and proud, and mighty and powerful. But the tree will soon die – it is in a desert.

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A f t e r P a rt i n g The surging foam, the dark blue sea, is filled with life; it’s not like me. My flame went out, when I had to leave, my love at home, and now I grieve.

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Lost Love The strongest winds the wildest surf the crashing waves the trembling earth. The lonely beach the misty night the empty room the harbor light. The barren field the sun scorched plain lost love will never come again.

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A rr i va l Flying in from Denver On flight 2-3-7-4 Thinking of the time When I’ll see you no more. A ripped up heart, A shattered life, A passed up passion, A forever lost life.

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T o o L at e You took love for several years. You gave love, you shed some tears. The boy loved you – he loved you so, To him your love you could not show. You think of what you could have said. It’s too late now, the boy is dead.

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The End Of The World The fire-breathing sphere nears the Earth. The clouds burst open and regurgitate storms. The death-like wind uproots the trees. The blood-dimmed tides are loosed upon the world. Freed tempests rage. The top blows off. The play is over.

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A t T h e E n d O f A L o v e A f fa i r Tears fall just like rain ‘cause the heart is in pain. Why smile? Why feign? Love will never come again.

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Loneliness Loneliness is a mysterious dark cavern deep within the earth. Loneliness is the bare desert of the world in the blistering sun. Loneliness is a solitary island out in the midst of Neptune’s waters. Loneliness is me.

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Haiku The laughing dancing singing prancing clown has gone down to cry.

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W at c h H e r S l i p A way Fading, slowly fading, fighting fiercely with the foam. Hoping, clutching clinging, craving not to be alone. Unexpected, unrejected, yet alone to face the wind. Undesired, uninspired, yet expired in the end. You wanted one thing; got another, Now you cry like winter rain. You sought happiness, but got sorrow, Now you must endure the pain. Crying, sorely sighing, as you watch her slip away. Aching, almost breaking, as your heart needs her to stay. Raging, fighting bravely, although vainly all the while. Seeking, searching sifting, looking for her and her smile.

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A ppa r i t i o n s I see someone walking I think it’s her I reach out… I call her name, And each time that I do these things The result turns out the same. A strange look, an indignant scorn, I curse the day that I was born, But then I see another girl, I think it’s her – I’m in a whirl. I call her name I smile a smile I reach out to touch her hand, But again it’s not the one I meant, I’m looking for a penny in the sand. Maybe one day I’ll be sitting here Looking at the clear blue sky, And maybe she’ll come up to me And maybe then I won’t cry.

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Prophecy I am like Achilles Lying in the dust His glory’s all forgotten His golden armor turned to rust. He fought valiantly and bravely But he could not conquer Fate He succumbed to his prophecy Now someone calls him great. Now reaching across the centuries From Achilles to myself Is the terrible tortuous prophecy Of being forgotten on the shelf.

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E a r ly P o e m s The Awakening Of A Soul

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Expose Can everyone be wrong and only one man be right? It never can happen. Don’t think that it might. The Earth was flat; Columbus was wrong. When he proved it was round, they knew all along. They made treaties with Hitler, his word was so true, He wouldn’t cause sorrow, everyone knew. And after the world was bleeding and hurt, They never trusted Hitler, his word was like dirt. Now our politicians are an honorable set, They don’t lie, cheat or steal, or gamble or bet. They’re truthful, they’re honest, they never do sin, As long as they’re sure of enough votes to win. We fought World War II to bring peace to our name. How can anyone say that we were fighting in vain? Now we’re living in paradise; each nation we trust. Don’t say anything too loud though, or we’ll be blasted to dust. The Black in this country has no right to complain, He can go where he chooses by air, sea or train. The emancipation of slaves was back in 1863. Who hears a bigot? “He’s inferior to me.” A boy loves a girl, but they’re too young they say, Everyone knows they’re acting out yesterday’s play. They’re wrong, they’re just babies; they’re foolish it seems, But they die with each other because they can’t have their dreams. Can everyone be crazy and one man be sane? Of course not! It’s different as snow is from rain. Don’t fight for your principles, it’s not worth the trouble. You might awake the world and save it from turning to rubble.

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Can everyone be wrong and one man be right? It never can happen. Don’t think that it might. “Of course he’s a hypocrite, ‘though I’ll never be one.” If they only knew, that life’s one big pun. Society is one big clown. It makes me laugh as it falls down. However, it’s a tragedy, That no one can share this joy with me.

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Life Life is composed of many dreams, many illusions and many disappointments. It contains much grief and much unhappiness. The only thing we can understand is the past. We do not know about the future, and the present is just a fleeting moment that is lost or squandered with a sneeze or the wink of an eye. There is a much greater quantity of unhappiness than happiness in life; however, the happiness is very highly concentrated and intense so that it over-balances pain and sorrow. If this was not the case, then death would be welcomed as an escape from life. Death, however, is thought of as a deprivation of life. Death steals precious, priceless, irretrievable life away.

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Dreams Dreams give meaning to the process of life. People dream throughout their lives and they pray that someday their dreams will come true. Dreams are an effective escape or interlude from the cruel, disappointing world. Through dreams people are able to face and cope with the world. Do not destroy or ridicule anyone’s dream. A dream, often personal, is very precious; an intern’s dream of becoming a world renown doctor, a scientist’s dream of discovering a cure for heart disease, a parent’s dream of perfection for his child, or a young boy’s dream of becoming a professional athlete. Dreams can be shared as in the case of two young men who plan to go into business together and become successful rapidly or in the case of millions of people who share a dream for permanent world peace. Dreams are very special because most dreamers realize that their dreams will probably never come true. Yet they cling to their valuable, precious dreams. So, no matter what age you are, cling to your dreams. Dreams add happiness to life. Do not laugh at the intern, the parent, the child or the two lovers who dream of love possibly without knowing what it really is and who dream of marriage knowing that it is improbable. Let them have their dreams and cling to your own. Don’t ever think that you are too old to dream. Who knows? Maybe someday, your dreams will come true.

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The Wait Cruel tempests within me rage. My soul is a wild animal cramped in a cage. People say it’s because I’m at a confused age. I don’t like my part; it’s too stereotyped a stage. Everything must be normal. Rationality is law. You are nibbling at the apple And never touching the core. Like a runner who is crippled, A fish washed up on shore, I can’t be satisfied, I am searching for more. I, like blind Samson, am chained and bound, But if I pull too hard now things will crumble to the ground. So I’ll wait, youth is long, but the cage will grow old. I’ll crash against it hard one day and the bars will not hold.

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A M i s ta k e I made a mistake For several months, That kind of mistake I’ll only make once. I thought I loved I thought I gave, But to my soul I was a slave. So I broke loose The bars did bend, And to that girl My regrets I send.

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The Secret A ten thousand ton crusher is pressing on my brain, “Fall in. Don’t ever think your thoughts again. Conform, conform, and free you’ll be.” But I’m not conforming, so throw away the key. Under this pressure, I’m freer than you all, I’ll stand up straight and proud and tall. And no one can understand why there’s a smile on my lips As the ten thousand ton crusher slips… slips… slips.

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The Question If the country is fighting to prevent destruction, Why are people striving to escape induction? I’m for peace – let’s ban the bomb And get the hell out of Vietnam! Americans are dying, Vietnamese are sighing, Widows are crying, Our government is lying… “Of course we’ll get out,” But first let’s send more, Twenty thousand men dead, “Of course there’s no war.” The die it is cast, The flag’s at half-mast, But I feel much misgiving, For this are we living?

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L o o k i n g T h r o u g h T h e C ry s ta l P r i s m looking through the crystal prism at the multi-faceted schism with its many colored faces blue dominates the kaleidoscope faded souls who lost their hope tortured by sorrows and memories eventually, black fills each position blue people call black “life’s physician” black comes – then the kaleidoscope turns red is seen in the next several phases love and hate with passion’s fire blazes life’s seeds are planted in youth orange appears in the next design passion is tempered by finesse and wine vivaciousness and enjoyment are reaped in yellow patterns we harvest treasure friendship, culture, knowledge, pleasure radiant autumn satisfies green designs signify serenity and peace restful contentment, strife does cease multi-colored memories bring joy one’s life has many facets many multi-colored designs one arranges his own patterns creates his colors and his lines your life is in the pattern you select looking through the crystal prism at the multi-faceted schism seeing life with its many colored faces

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Diversity An Eskimo builds an igloo And calls that house his home And the children all throw snowballs In the icy land of Nome. In Ecuador ‘tis different They enjoy the hot and sun And splashing in the water Is how children have their fun. Every single country Has a uniqueness all its own And every color of the rainbow Has its own peculiar tone.

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R e f e rr i n g T o J. A l f r e d P r u f r o c k I have been accused of indecision. Throughout my life It’s caused derision. But now is the time to reckon up. I have not measured my life out With a coffee cup.

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L i n e s C o mp o s e d A f t e r T h e M o v i e “S h i p O f F o o l s � The ship sails the whole world wide, In self-delusions the passengers ride. They can see for miles, but they are blind, And the smallest has the biggest mind.

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The Decision The door to __________ is open. Should you or should you not enter? At times, you crave to pass through the door. You are running swiftly toward the door, But you are afraid of what lies behind the door. You tremble with fear, you shake, you quake. You want to set fire to the door. The The The The

sweet fragrance of the door lures you to it. horrible heat of the door repels you. pleasant warmth of the door attracts you. foul fragrance of the door repels you.

Is Is Is Is

the beginning or the end? temporary or is it permanent? to be cherished or to be scorned? black or white or even grey?

it it it it

The answers lie within ourselves. The door to __________ is open. Should you or should you not enter? Will you or will you not enter?

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S a lvat i o n Love is life’s salvation, Human kindness too. If you crave to save yourself, You better pray to you. Your temple is your body, Religion is your mind. Introspect a little bit, “Seek and ye shall find.”

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E a r ly P o e m s The Young Robin Is Ready To Start His Flight

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A wa k e n i n g I I wish I could die I wish that could be No one gains happiness By knowing me I don’t know what’s wrong I know that it’s there I should not be living It just isn’t fair I wish like a dead leaf That withers in Fall My young flesh could dry up And that would end all I’ve ruined lives of many I’ve helped lives of few I don’t want to keep living There’s naught I can do I love life so dearly I cherish sweet breath I enjoy that I’m living But bring me cruel death

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II I I I I

touch a flower and it dies touch a baby and it cries take success and make it fail take the rainbow and make it pale

I I I I

try try try try

to to to to

do it, but it’s made help, but can’t give aid soothe, but cause an ache give, but always take

I think I love, I think I’m good Then I think my heart is wood Am I so bad? Am I so mean? The answer yet is still not seen. III Should I leave those I love alone Crawl in a hole and bury my bone? Has my star already shone? And left my field unreaped, my seed unsown? To hell with Death, to hell with Chance I will make my life a long romance. To hell with grief, to hell with Pain For me there’s joy and all to gain. So bring on Sorrow, Heartaches, Tears I dare to come all Pains and Fears. I’ll bear them all with laughter and song I’ll love and live – I’ll right each wrong. I’ll reap my field, I’ll sow my seed. I’ll scan the garden and remove each weed. Above the star is shining bright, The young robin is ready to start his flight.

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Monologue Written in homage to Robert Browning Of course, I missed you my dear When I was far away Don’t fret about your childish fear Our love is here today. You ask how long I’ll love you To that I can only say I might love you forever Or perhaps just one more day. I do not contemplate the reasons Or concern myself with the formulae I live only for the seasons I’ll burn brightly and then die. I’ll reap passion and reap pleasure From my life at any cost I’m married to imagination And from rationality I’m divorced. I’m trying to escape from the clutches Of the dictating society machine Where everyone uses crutches; A quite sad and pitiable scene. The skylark soars unbounded Away up in the blue But now I feel surrounded By questions asked by you. Love should be an instinct Felt by the heart and mind. In ideal love, the participant Is gentle, sweet and kind. Love’s presence is known by the body The mind can feel it too I am sure if I’m in love And I am sure with who. No, I cannot control eternal things Though I don’t know who may. So I’ll live my life the way I please And concern myself with today.

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Product Of Boredom And Disgust (Mostly All Royal Kings Bend Over Backwards) Written in collaboration with Mark Miller It’s hot as hell on the tennis court We’re wasting time and life is short. Time’s bending cycles compass swings; We should be doing other things. The pettiness here is so appalling Our self-esteem and morals are falling. We worry about minutes instead of years Over seven and sevens and a few paltry beers. We’re trapped inside this self-made vault It’s not a single…but a double fault. We shot the ace and lost our point Now time and nature are out of joint. We’ve lost the set to our chagrin Get out of our way or we’ll do you in. We’re so far above you it’s not even funny So we’ll only go out with you – if you bring the money. If to town with us you chance to roam There’s no guarantee we’ll take you home. Let them play it any way they choose We don’t care if we win or lose. Apathy is our watchword, Indifference our aim. Love means nothing In our kind of game.

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W a l k i n g B y A G r av e ya r d I am walking by a graveyard The night is black and cold And though I have but twenty years My body feels so old. The howling wind is whistling As the snow begins to fall I must be standing close to home For I heard my master call. I gaze upon the cold stone slabs I think of lives passed by I follow my path home again, Oh, please don’t let me die.

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Ode For An Old Lady Written in reverence of Sarah Rothchild Oh let this poor heart stop beating And relieve this old lady from pain. Please help those sweet eyelids to closing Nevermore to reopen again. Oh let her sweet breath go a-fleeting From inside her sacred old self. Oh end her misery and anguish Lest another book will rot on the shelf. The bittersweet tragedy of living Is that we must die, then grow old. Prevent those dried-up fingers from moving, Dear fingers, whose worth can’t be told. She suffered too much in her lifetime, Her wounds were as great as the five. She suffered a multitude of sorrows In order to keep us alive. Oh Death take this dear sweet old lady, Treat her kindly for Life was so cruel. Honor, respect and reward her, For she is a most precious jewel. Her fire is still burning strongly. It blazes in our spirits bright. She directed each of us perfectly Oh give her a well deserved good night. Her memory remains with us forever. Her light shines eternal ‘tis true. Her life made this world somewhat better For him… And for me… And for you.

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Lament I I’m down on the street and I’m bleeding. Why can’t anybody see? I’m out in the cold and I’m dying. Doesn’t anyone want to help me? My veins have split open, they’re bursted. My brain has exploded with pain. My bones are beginning to crumble And my flesh is beginning to strain.

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R at i o n a l i t y Rationality often breeds ineptitude.

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P e tt i n e s s I Middle-aged people of today are characterized by their fanatic preoccupation with pettiness.

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P e tt i n e s s II One of the hang-ups that our younger generation suffers from is its appalling lack of concern with pettiness.

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Syllogism All things contain the essence of God. Therefore, the one who ingests the greatest quantity of the world is the most Holy.

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L i n e s F o r R.F.K. A bullet killed a friend of mine Initials – R.F.K. And made me dream of times gone by And not care about today. It made tomorrow non-existent In this corrupted place Where people change their clothing As often as their face.

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A lt e r -E g o : H o m a g e T o K e n H a l e y There once was a man-child His appellation: Ken Haley He rarely was wild Just a dozen times daily. With curly blond hair And blue beady eyes Skinny as a pole Doth dull wits despise. An excellent family man An example for the nation; Did you know my propensity For prefabrication? I do it quite often It’s all that I do But that shouldn’t diminish Ken’s halo’s gold hue. He’s clever and witty, Religious, refined, He’ll give you the fruit And also the rind. He’s a top-notch scholar, Artist, athlete and poet (If I spread it too thick I might maybe blow it!) He’s the kind of a person You’d be glad to meet In the wee hours of night On a dark dingy street. He’ll give you his sandwich He’ll give you his shirt In fact, he’ll give anything To avoid being hurt.

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He’ll flatter you unceasingly He’ll fulfill your desires He’ll grow on you increasingly As your life expires. However, after all this Is said and done, The best word to describe him Is rollicking “fun.” And you know that I love him He is my best friend. I can now confess this For I am at the end. Again I have fibbed This poem is not over. (I want Ken to see it But he’s rolling in the clover.) His wife, yes, she trusts him Alas the poor wench. (I’ve seen him not think of her In a park on a bench.) Now when to a party With Ken Haley I go, I always stick close to him He’s the star of the show. With marijuana or liquor With boys or with girls If there’s something tempting Ken’ll give it a few whirls. Now if you hear a roaring motor And a jaguar whizzes by, You’ll know it was Ken Haley If there’s spit upon your eye. Now I’ll cease this drivel, For I’m no better than he. And I bequeath the world the two of us To laugh at, touch and see.

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Question A very fancy dresser A well-respected man An extremely charming person An avid football fan. Quite a brilliant student Who speaks a lot in class He volunteers information And recites his facts en masse. He has his share of money He drives a shiny car His life is quite impeccable It seems without a mar. But far beneath the surface In the essence of the being Do we find a Richard Corey Or is it merely what we’re seeing?

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T h e S to p B e f o r e I n s a n i t y The last stop before Insanity Upon this subway train Is a place that’s called No Vanity Where there’s always freezing rain. The task of self-degradation Is this town’s main pastime So when arriving at the station Prepare your mind for the slime.

83

M i s c a l c u l at i o n You thought that you could handle her But soon you lost control That’s the victim in the mirror And it’s part of your new role You thought that you could win her And then laugh and say goodbye That’s a lovesick fool in the mirror And he’s just about to cry

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Promise Women all get ready For I will soon be free I’m escaping from the bondage Of a fond old memory. I’m wild, I’m free, I’m able Let’s have some fun and games Let’s intimately spend the evening And then exchange first names. The mini-skirts and mini-clothes Are going up to high Well mine are going down you know We’ll get together by-and-by. The gem-like flame was fading Almost washed out by the rain But now it’s burning bright again And I can feel no pain. The memory it haunts me An apparition in the night So I will never be alone When I turn out the light.

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T h e V o o d o o M a n P l ay s W i t h P i n w h e e l s

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M e m o T o B. A fire in an ice cube A soft and furry knife Killing in the name of peace The paradox called life. The clown is often tragic The joker knows all pain The roulette wheel is spinning Which ones will turn out sane? To construct a faรงade of beauty And repair it constantly To feel terror when it crumbles Then to turn around and flee. To So To To

approach an empty canvas clean and new and white apply your colors carefully do everything just right.

To read the clock upon the tower And see the minutes moving by To feel people all around you To meet Lucy in the sky. To walk upon the concrete Your mind swimming in lies To build the fire in an ice cube And to put on your disguise.

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The Monk Upon The Seashore The monk upon the seashore Is out of his champagne And the buzzards flying overhead Are driving him insane. The sun’s become his enemy The water too, his foe And yet the tide is turning But it’s turning much too slow. He thought he knew the desert He even felt at home But suspected something different when He didn’t recognize the foam. Now while bordering on insanity He eats a piece of bread And slouches off towards Bethlehem As Butler Yeats once said.

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M e rry -G o -R o u n d The joker in a fine new suit jumps on the merry-go-round While Medusa’s looking for her head at the local lost and found. As the ghost of Sleepy Hollow hops upon Pegasus’ son And Apollo’s game is over but this time Marsyas won. The clock up in the hayloft is counting off the hours While the bears are being skinned alive and those fisherman hold flowers. The lady ‘neath the clothesline is hanging up her dues As the perennial town criers are searching for some clues. Just then old Humpty Dumpty heard the hunting trumpet’s call So he gobbled up his ham and eggs and hopped down off the wall.

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P r o v e rb s “A wet band aid gathers no moss,” I heard the Wise Man say, As he was playing dominoes In the middle of the fray. “Better dead than sorry,” The Wise Man then exclaimed, And the moon was falling faster As the conflagration flamed. The Student heard these proverbs And digested every word, And it took him several hundred years To realize they were absurd. But the Joker accepted these proverbs, Just as if they were the law, And he threw away his apple While he kept the apple core. “An apple a day don’t keep,” Was the next gem from the mind Of the philosophical prophet Who, by the way, was blind. “One who hesitates saves nine,” The Wise Man told the crowd, And the Joker did a somersault Then stood up tall and bowed. Whereupon the Student called him foolish, The Wise Man called him “clown,” So the Joker packed his suitcase And took his carnival out of town.

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The Fool And I I looked into a looking glass A Fool looked back at me, I saw a confident smiling face, I wonder what he did see. I saw a youth with light brown hair And eyes dark brown and wild, But when I looked, did that Fool see A sensitive, unsure child? I saw a handsome face reflect, Was the Fool’s reflection the same? Oh, only if that Fool could speak, I would find out his name. The hair was long, the body lean, As I squinted my eyes to see, But as I squinted at the Fool He squinted back at me. As I turned my back on the looking glass, The Fool turned his back on me. I remember the image of the confident face, And I wonder where the Fool could be.

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A Q u a rt e r T o G r e e n The cross-eyed giant in a pirouette Is making love to his erector set As black-eyed Susans grow on the floor And mistletoe hangs on the door. The room is filled with chicken fat With light bulbs attached to a baseball bat As the cross-eyed giant constructs his life And Captain Ahab plunges in the knife. The polar bear clapped his paws and groaned As Goliath crawled into the igloo stoned And the clock on the wall chimed a quarter to green As the Clown Prince of rainbows appeared on the scene. The malaria mosquitoes are feasting on fruit While the big German shepherd wears a tailor-made suit. The parasites need me, my blood is their juice, They heard from antiquity that my body is loose. The African primitive shouts through the county “Beware Mr. Christian, there’s a mutiny on the bounty.” Just then a twenty foot pencil swims past the beach And yells “go get a razor and then shave a peach.”

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T h e V o o d o o M a n P l ay s W i t h P i n w h e e l s The Voodoo man plays with pinwheels The junkman is up tight Moses is licking Christmas seals While Apollo says “Good night.” Snow White recites the seven virtues As Goliath eats an egg The ocean is boiling over And the hobo is too proud to beg. Dionysus is chasing Daphne She’s not trying too hard to flee As Apollo watches eagerly From way up in a tree. Narcissus is in the graveyard He is looking for a pool Then he hears reciting, “To be or not…” The Carolingian Fool. Christ comes in with a black bandanna Wrapped around his mind And the banana yellow golden sun Is a work of art unsigned. I am like Prince Hamlet With my mind chained to a rock An eagle tearing at my thoughts My lover in a state of shock. I’ve saved up all my boxtops And mailed away for the prize But an elephant in pajamas Is running after flies. Alberti stares in wonder At the pole vaulting kangaroo While King Kong is rolling cigarettes And the Mad Hatter bums a few.

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The hypocritical losers All walk through the wrong door The hypocritical winners Can’t stand straight upon the floor. And now the movie’s ending It’s drawing to a close I’d let you have some popcorn But the popcorn lady froze. The characters are all fictional But their types are true to life They kill with words, With looks, with thoughts Or as adeptly with a knife. Now the next time that you’re dressed in white Look for your image in the wind And the next time you hear someone died Realize the cast has thinned.

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T h e J o k e r A n d T h e C h a s e C o n d u c to r The Joker was smiling sadly For a pun he was beginning to tell His companion was raving madly As he heard the mission bell. The chaos of the universe Is echoed on the face Of the Joker’s weird companion The Conductor of the Chase. Diana in the moonlight Is hunting for a fox But the Chase Conductor’s day is ruined ‘Cause he caught the chicken pox. Apollo was chasing Daphne While on a drunken spree But he never caught his prey that day For she was changed into a tree. Her leaves were very lovely But they did not match her breasts, So Apollo just gave it some water And caught the last stage headed west. Ulysses sought his homeland For many days and nights, But now the Joker envies him And on the rainbow, sets his sights. Jesus chased Utopia But wound up with his signals crossed And when the final card was thrown He knew that he had lost. The Archbishop of Canterbury Became the Joker’s guest, But after several hundred years He became the Joker’s pest. Meanwhile the Chase Conductor Has recovered from his spell And he went off chasing maggots At the bottom of a well.

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Then the Joker espied a woman Who thrilled him to the bone And his sad spirits were lifted When she left the dance alone. He cooed, he wooed, he won her, With a present and a joke, ‘Cause she loved her yellow yo-yo And her bright blue Batman cloak. She sneezed, she teased, she pleased him And then she played her ace, She turned her back and walked away And re-entered in the chase. Where the Chase Conductor trapped her And you know what he was going to do, But his plans were never realized As he was infected with the flu. The dance contest nears its end The Joker wins the prize But the Chase Conductor’s stolen it With his seductive lies. Now the joker is going wild And the Chase Conductor runs amuck And the chase goes to the corner of the cosmos And through a lot of muck. The Joker grins before a mirror As he grooms his long green hair He’s visiting the nearest hospital For the Chase Conductor’s there. He had a serious heart attack But he’s doing nicely now They plan to release him in an hour or so And he wants to chase a cow. Now the Joker makes a fortune ‘Cause the Chase Conductor’s afraid to die So he pays his friend the Joker To keep an ambulance standing by.

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T h e F i r s t T i m e T h at I t H a pp e n e d The first time that it happened I was standing near the sun Others were uncomfortable But I was having fun. Now the second time it happened Was beneath the bright full moon Others thought it tedious For me the end came too soon. Well the last time that it happened I was eating curds and whey The others were dumbfounded But I knew what to say.

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T w e n t i e t h C e n t u ry C r u c i f i x i o n The man upon the crucifix Is not the One you know. I’d tell you who it is, except It’s now about to snow.

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P r o d u c t O f A pat h y #1 The countryside’s on fire As the joker runs on through While bombs are bursting everywhere And no one finds a clue. Those who care are disappointed Those who don’t are bored to death While mankind keeps growing older And becoming short of breath. Injustice and hypocrisy Are amuck throughout the land But freedom, love and justice Lie like dried leaves upon the sand. I’m rotting like a leper My mind is turning black But you can still buy potatoes In a brown potato sack. Now the blaze is burning higher And the joker’s getting burned And the leprosy’s almost killed me, Is the final lesson learned? Now the clues are still hard to come by For the bombs have had their toll And I crawl away so painfully To start in my new role.

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The Clown Prince Of Rainbows The clown prince of rainbows With his hang ups in a sack Smiles as he eats his lunch Upon the torture rack. And when his meal is over He straightens out his clothes And goes down to the meeting Which is where he’ll blow his nose. The people there are gathered To talk of what they wish Of philosophy and garbage And rotting tuna fish. The smell down there is rancid So the clown prince used his spray Of air-freshening cyanide The wicked tongues to slay. But I don’t wish to leave you all In the midst of all this death So be quite relieved to know They’ll draw another breath. The potion is not fatal As the clown prince knew full well And this episode in the sewer Has a thousand lies to tell. Now love and human decency And the force of common sense Have hidden in the clearing On the far side of the fence.

101

C h r i s tm a s R h y m e Right before the traffic light They ate a hard-boiled egg And gave a quarter to the beggar With the amputated leg. A soldier come home from the war His body crushed and torn His mind’s messed up with genocide His life’s become forlorn. The traffic light turned to green As they ate some tuna fish And the hobbled crippled beggar Made a very private wish. I heard a joke about his leg As the car went speeding by The snow was falling on the road When they heard the Joker cry. The strangest thing about all this Is that it’s Christmas time And the Joker sits with pen in hand And writes a foolish rhyme.

102

The Wild Card The happy carefree joker Glanced up upon the shelf Where he saw a hundred broken hearts Which he sculpted by himself. To him they didn’t matter And he called a spade a spade He just usurped their happiness And then no longer stayed. But now the carefree joker Is forced to join the club For he met a girl he cares about; To dream, ay, there’s the rub! And though the joker had a diamond And offered his life to share He’s still sitting in his empty room And playing solitaire.

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A n o t h e r L o o k F r o m D e s o l at i o n R o w Written after reading Bob Dylan

The Wizard is unwrapping the Egyptian mummy’s cloth while the High Priest is preparing some home made chicken broth. The fiery phony Pharoah exterminates the bugs while the Hindus are all flying on their magic heli-rugs. Dr. Filth is smiling smugly he’s increasing his clientele and all his sexless patients are going straight to Hell. His nurse, the local loser, has had a streak of luck, she dropped her marbles on Main Street and was run over by a truck. Michelangelo is in the tower blowing bubbles at the moon when Casanova comes in running humming a ragtime tune, with a white rose and a lily stuck in his lapel and King Arthur enters dancing screaming “Humpty Dumpty fell.” God the Father, God the Son, amidst the holocaust are looking for a sign “To Heaven” (for you know that they are lost,) when they spot Saint John the Baptist on the back of a United Fruit truck so they decide to stop for dinner and they order crisp roast duck.

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P h a s e IV Written after reading Leonard Cohen

In the chilly frozen moonlight I played with balls of snow But just when I was warming up An icy wind commenced to blow. My fingertips were freezing My toes were growing numb But I swore to stay in that same spot Until you would finally come. I saw you in that movie Just when my heart was turning stale And I had to abandon that Eskimo Though his blood was almost pale. You’re standing there so lovely Dear saint please take me in Just lay me on your crucifix And absolve me from my sin. Now my hair is filled with icicles While I’m waiting for you to decide Before the mighty glacier Begins its fateful slide. Across the surface of the universe Then you’ll be sacred no more For people will sell your blizzard of love At every ice age general store. In the chilly frozen moonlight I played with balls of snow But just as I was warming up An icy wind began to blow. When I saw you in that movie I knew what I had to do O please let me into your storm of love Before my extremities turn blue.

105

J u s t D e s s e rt s The cotton candy judge sticks in court The gingerbread soldiers guard the fort The marshmallow politicians near the fire The popcorn eaters nibble on the high wire The candied apple bishops are feasting fastidiously The jelly-centered industrialist wears a smile hideously The lollipop policemen lick their hungry chops The chocolate covered whores are sipping soda-pops The liberal reformers are eating curds and whey The conservative carnival clowns are stuffed with pink and grey The vanilla flavored virgins are stained with cherry syrup The peppermint dove of peace is just about to tear up The ice cream soda saint is melting in the glass The honey-tinted generals are choking on their brass The caramel common man is drunk with all the lies The child has a stomachache and in the night it cries.

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I n e v i ta b i l i t y A purple haze recedes into black A grey mist descends over all Droplets of sea water press against a face The scene is in a memory It’s a very common place. An eerie calmness stills the air The wind chills to the bone You stand a victim to the elements You stand there all alone. What once was solid, Now is fluid, Soon to vaporize to gas. What once was positive Now’s uncertain, To be negative too fast. The status quo is always changing The changing’s status quo. To do too rashly To do too cautiously Always too fast or too slow. The velvet blackness covers all There are no stars this night The ocean murmurs “inevitability” To err is to do right.

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D e d i c at e d to t h e C a pta i n o f t h e K a n s a s C i t y F l i pp e r s A n d O t h e r s , P o s t h u m o u s ly

109

A Poem For You I’d like to write a poem for you That’s what I have tried to do But I can’t write poetry anymore Like I was able to do before. I have great trouble finding rhyme Let alone trying to keep all the rhythms of the words in time. I can’t decide form: prose or a sonnet So the page where I work, has confusion upon it. I blot, scratch, erase, then begin over again I know I’ll create, but I’m wondering when. If it’s when I’m eighty, decrepit and gray You might not be around to read what I’ll say. So when you’re not reading my poetry And have nothing to do, Just think of me fondly And realize I love you.

110

Jackpot Popcorn, pinball, Jack Daniels and beer. Those comfortable nights With you sleeping near. The Joker has had some good fortune Next to a pinball machine one fine day. He met a pinball wizard named Katie And asked her if she’d like to play. The clock on the tower struck midnight, The silver ball rolled up and down, The colored lights flashed and blinked brightly And love there is what the Joker found. The two frequently got together for dinner. They dined on Jack Daniels and lights. Their life was all popcorn and pinball, And no more long lonely nights.

111

C l a s s i c a ly E l e g a n t Your features are classically elegant Your attire is suitably neat Your body’s aloof and quite arrogant And you still will not kiss in the street. Your manner is friendly and gracious I’ll miss you when I go away And although I am often salacious I’d like this opportunity to say… I love you, respect you, and need you More than anything ever before For me nothing can supercede you And I’ll cherish you for evermore.

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A H a pp y P o e m Here I am writing a happy poem Even though soon I’ll be alone ‘Cause our love will be a bridge Across a nine hundred and fifty mile ridge. I’m filled with warmth when I think of you And I pray that you feel the same way too I believe in all my plans and dreams And I’ll wait for you in New Orleans. The drive here, the drive back, in my little car Was worth every second, to be where you are. I like your mother and your father too And of greater relevance, I really like you. I never thought that I could write happy verse And although my poetry was perhaps never worse, My thoughts are genuine and I thank you Katie For bringing this joyous feeling to me.

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A Poem I’m writing a poem that you can see A poem that reveals only one part of me. A poem that’s not happy, a poem that’s not sad A poem that I guess is the nearest to mad. And I hope as you read this, it tears through your mind And somewhere within it a meaning you’ll find. A poem about sacrifice, devotion and love A poem about sharing and God up above. A poem about passion and sorrow and hate A poem about agony, magic and fate, Frustration, pity, sickness and health, Accidents, garbage, sexuality, wealth. This poem’s about dying and also of life, This poem’s about strength and courage in strife. The blood pulsating through it Is the ink on the page, The energy behind it Is the blind poet’s rage. This poem deals with beauty Of machine and of tree, This poem deals with marriage This poem’s about me. This poem’s about bracelets and satin and lace, This poem’s about feeling cold wind on your face. This poem’s about two people who intimately relate This poem’s about arguments and the grief they precipitate. This poem’s about destroying defenses Then wondering if that’s right This poem’s about doubts Concerning what happened here tonight. This poem’s about a lot of things there’s no time to put down This poem’s about two people at the local lost and found.

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O d e T o S o u t h e r n C o m f o rt Southern Comfort warm my insides Burn my stomach, burn my soul Make me happy for a few hours Make me feel alive and whole. Southern Comfort you can’t help to Bring my lover back to me But Southern Comfort you can console me As I ignore reality. My girl has flown to Arizona About two thousand miles away Southern Comfort dull my conscious Help me make it through today. I am lonely without my angel Her body close, her hand to hold So I spend my life with liquor Sitting here and growing old. Southern Comfort I adore you So I’ll keep you always near And I’ll raise my glass and drink you Until the time my baby’s here. And if she never comes forever You and I will spend our days Drinking, thinking, crying, wondering Why we went our separate ways.

115

W a i t i n g A t F at H a rry ’ s Waiting at Fat Harry’s For my lost girlfriend to come Waiting at Fat Harry’s A lonely drunken bum. One part of me’s in Switzerland Another lost in France Waiting at Fat Harry’s My hand stuck in my pants. My parents are in the city The planes are at the gate And I sit at Fat Harry’s A desperado tempting fate. I drink a lot of bourbon I waste a lot of time I’m waiting for the moment And that chance to feel sublime. My love’s in Arizona My hate’s in New Orleans And I watch the girls go by Angels, whores and Queens. Waiting at Fat Harry’s For something to select Drinking at Fat Harry’s A lonesome derelict.

116

I t S ta rt e d A t T i n L i z z i e ’ s It started at Tin Lizzie’s It ended on the phone We started out together Now each one is alone. It was all fun and laughter Now is all tears and pain It was bodies close together But now is all restrain. It began as adventure Being happy, feeling good It’s now become a martyrdom Steel sticking flesh on wood. I started out as being cute And now am near distraught She started out as beautiful And now is come to nought. She began by taking cabs Jack Daniels Black, T.V. I began aloof and wild But absolutely free. She ended up by boarding planes To places far away I ended up by sitting here With an awful lot to say. It started in the Southland It ended in the West Whatever happens from now on I hope is for the best.

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Dialogue A: For one beautiful intense moment I thought that it just might have worked. B: You should have known better. A: Yes, but for that one bright exciting moment I thought that it just might have worked. B: You should have known better. A: She was such a beautiful person and we related to each other so well that for one brief moment I thought‌ B: You should have known better. A: I guess I should have known better.

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Acid I am going to burn the disease called Katherine out of my body with the acid of self-preservation

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A S i mp l e P o e m I It’s funny how the future Can pass into the past And how a very simple feeling Simply cannot last

120

A S i mp l e P o e m II It’s hard to write a poem about love When love no longer lives Yes, it’s hard to write a poem about someone Who takes and never gives

121

J u ly 7, 1969 Today I felt you slipping away from me. You were there, but you were not there with me. The special radiance was lacking; No warm smiles, no love filled glances. Why did you turn away? Why didn’t you sit next to me? Monday July 7th, 1969. The Tree of Knowledge is shunned. The Tree of Despair is climbed. Where is the Tree of Life? A paradise now lost to me, a thing of beauty gone forever, no more to be a joy. No reasons, hopes, or answers. Again, let me tell you the ironic, I love you. And more ironic still, You love me too.

122

T o G e t O f f F o rt u n e ’ s W h e e l A moment of happiness Against a billion years of tears; Those are the odds And everyone is forced to bet. If there are gods I’m sure they’re laughing. Pain, pain, pain and anguish Are constant companions through the days And the mind must suffer tortures In a myriad of ways. My tombstone eyes are now resigned It’s apathy towards death I feel When life becomes a hell on earth I’d like to get off Fortune’s wheel. It’s not with ease I write these lines But with bitterness and hate And through all my aches and tears Cruel Life I abdicate. When two lovers share the same warm bed And each one feels alone Then wretchedness flows in the blood An empty feeling gnaws the bone. And now I turn inside myself Wondering why I quit without a fight The moment of happiness has come and passed And I can only lose tonight.

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L a m e n t II My bleeding body begs for aid As lying here, I am afraid I have been stripped of my defenses And robbed of all the common senses. As layer by layer was peeled away The internal core became decay. Vulnerable now, I genuflect, Searching for my self-respect, Looking back in retrospect‌ A martyr no, a fool perhaps I turn to the impending end. Find me among the unfortunate ones Who sacrificed their dearest friend.

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A M e l a n c h o ly S o u l I n S e pt e mb e r A melancholy soul in september Existing, laughing, performing meaningless motions Veiled behind a thin faรงade of sarcastic humour Chances to encounter an uprooted spirit Disembarked from magic and contentment Not receptive to new restraints and frustrations. Cynicism, black comedy, defense mechanisms Slowly infiltrated by respect, trust, affection. Disbelief, confusion, positivism Challenges nihilism, indifference, security.

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F o r C. A chocolate fragrance in the air Candlelight reflecting on soft brown hair A voice is heard both pure and fine As Corinne sings I sip my wine. My belly full of beaujolis and steak Pleasure surmounts all previous ache. The room becomes a space of love As if God grants joy from up above; This exquisitely beautiful moment in life Supercedes previous pain, toil and strife. Time becomes suspended The rest of the world disappears As our bodies press closer We disregard our fears. Her beautiful body in its black ballet uniform Responds to my fingers as they contour to its form. As two human bodies into one pass We are holy like priests and perform our High Mass. Then when our tired bodies relax in embrace A mythological sleep comes over our face; The secure slumber with your lover beside Is as blissful as Solomon’s song for his bride. But my words are inadequate to express what I feel “I love you” seems empty, but my feelings are real.

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S o m e t i m e s I S o f t ly K i s s Y o u r L i p s Sometimes I softly kiss your lips While you sleep beside me unaware And your lips return my kiss As your body unconsciously presses closer to mine. I sense our bodies communicate I feel our essences embrace As the light plays over the surface of your smooth bare skin. It is an intimately rewarding moment That I share with no one As you lie there in unsuspecting silence. I enjoy these moments intensely Although you can not experience the pleasure too. Sometimes I softly kiss your lips While you sleep beside me unaware. I do it because of greed. I do it because of love.

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A Game I played a game today and I lost. The game was called how badly do you need me. You started out with everything and ended up with everything and I lost. I shouldn’t have played but I was bored and bored people play games. Besides it would have been so nice to have won… Anyway, I’m writing this poem because I’m still bored and bored people often write poems so they can speak to everybody and nobody at the same time. Anyhow I just wanted to say that I played a game today because I love you and I think I lost.

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Halloween Poem It’s Halloween time and orange and black decorate windows in front and in back. Skeletons, zombies and ghosts stroll the street and children are scheming to eat their next treat. There’s joy and there’s laughter in a strange eerie way my darling I love you it’s Halloween Day. The phantoms and goblins tear at my soul, my temperament’s black as number nine coal. I’ve been cruel and evil by demons possessed, my heart full of trouble and never at rest. Grief, pain and heartache I’ve drained out your tears with angry sharp words I’ve burned through your ears. The witch on her broomstick has gone for a ride, it’s Halloween Baby and I’m bleeding inside. I haven’t written in quite a long time, so while leaves fall and crumble I’ll pen you this rhyme.

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I’ d L i k e T o S e n d Y o u F l o w e r s I’d like to send you flowers But I can’t get past the thorns And I’d like to spend each day with you But I can not find the dawns. The Joker tries to help me But he only makes me laugh And when I tell him “Go away” My heart gets torn in half. For you I’d walk on water If I only could And probably climb upon the cross If you think I really should. My alcohol-ridden bloodstream Now is hooked on you And my secure and easy world Is infused with life anew. The Joker tries to warn me And I tell him that I understand But all such thoughts are meaningless When I begin to hold your hand. So I’ll try to send you flowers And avoid each goddamn thorn And I’ll hope that neither one of us Will ever feel forlorn. Now the Joker says he likes you And you know that I do too And I hope our wants are echoed By the desires of you and you.

130

I Walk Under Ladders I walk under ladders and break mirrors each week I misplace keys and money, my car windows leak. The car doesn’t start or I run out of gas And when I go walking I step on cracked glass. Black cats cross my path and my ice cream cones drip I use handrails on stairways or else I would trip. If I’m out in the park, I’ll be caught in the rain And when I spill something on me, it’s certain to stain. My tennis shots hit the net top and drop on my side While ice skating for me has more slip than slide. My records all skip and the radio’s broke And when I eat seafood on fish bones I choke. When I go to the movies the audio’s off And while sneaking behind someone I’m likely to cough. I open umbrellas in houses and my closet door’s stuck Whenever I gamble, I’m down on my luck. I undercook some foods and burn most of the rest And when it’s time to be gone, I’m not even dressed. I dial many wrong numbers and forget people’s names I’m quite absent-minded and mix up my own aims. Some say I’m unlucky, others say that I’m cursed And there are still others who take me for worst. But I must have been born under a favorable sign Because I have you for my Valentine!

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Panama Red One half a pound of Panama Red Has seeped its way into my head And now I’m flying eight miles high My hands reach out and touch the sky. My mind’s relaxed, my body too As I begin to groove on you. I’m in to other things as well Like Orpheus at the Gates of Hell. I play the flute, my music’s sweet But my eyes are blinded by white light, white heat. I’m mesmerized here upon the torture rack And too, like Orpheus, I turn to look back.

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I t ’ s N o t “N o w ” It’s Leonard Cohen and Coney Island And rainy nights in bed, It’s barbecues and picnics But it’s not “now,” it’s dead. It’s ice skating on cold afternoons, Snowball fights and sleds, It’s sunsets in Miami Beach With oranges and reds. It’s driving through the countryside In afternoons or nights, It’s dining out or staying in And watching Christmas lights. It’s drive-in movies, drinking wine, It’s peppermint schnapps with beer, It’s telling jokes and making love, But it’s no longer here. It’s tennis playing all day long, Potato chips and Coke, It’s laughing for three hours long At some moronic joke. It’s flowers, raisins, old rock tunes, It’s pictures on the wall, It’s catching rays in summertime, And it’s the colors of the Fall. It’s Ale House brews on Friday, It’s Paris, Christmas time, It’s Scotch and Sirloin New Year’s Eve And it’s writing down a rhyme. It’s sleeping in forbidden places, It’s buying something new, It’s touching bodies, kissing lips, It’s dinners just for two. It’s all these things and many more I could go on and on, It’s love, but more importantly, It’s not “now,” it’s gone.

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This poem and the following three poems resulted from a collaboration with Garrettt McCutchan using the Surrealist technique known as the Exquisite Corpse game. The first person writes a word or words on a paper and then folds the paper so that the second person does not see what was written. The second person then writes his word or words and folds the paper again. This process is repeated until the poem (or drawing) is completed.

E x q u i s i t e C o rp s e I summer image sensuous bare thighs velvet-like flowing hair to sleep softly home devoid of love

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E x q u i s i t e C o rp s e II Fire red flowers Crystal rifles And drums. Reflections roar Cavernous clatters still Crumbling come.

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E x q u i s i t e C o rp s e III glasses… somber tin boxes… tombstones… discarded toys… icicles… time enough… death… grows.

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E x q u i s i t e C o rp s e IV spirals infusing Spiro frothing Nixon seething despair-filled body politic all to create ANARCHY

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Carolina Woman Carolina cotton, Carolina food Carolina sexuality; Just never in the mood. Carolina silver, Carolina gold Carolina women; On the icy side of cold. Carolina comfort, southern if you please, This Carolina woman Has me floundering in the breeze. Carolina biscuits, Carolina magazines, Carolina chicken And home-grown Carolina beans. Carolina friend of mine He warned me not to fall. Carolina woman; Dark hair, blue eyes and tall. Carolina friend of mine Laughs as we drink wine, We share a Carolina joke And say “Goodbye Caroline.�

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Give It Up Girl Give it up girl, There’s no need to pretend. Give it up girl, The story’s almost at its end. Your false pretenses Your drunken senses It all incenses My sense of Fair. Your lost desires Your dying fires It all just tires My sense of Care. Your hidden feelings Your secret dealings You say I’m stealing, I won’t be there. All your interactions And dissatisfactions Give you no actions Except to be Gone. All of your tension Forced your suspension Of love’s intention; Poor girl you’re Old. So give it up girl And let yourself be free. Just give it up girl And your eyes just might see me.

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The Candy Girl The Candy girl is out of sight And I’m feeling kind of down tonight. She’s going out and having fun And she told me I was the only one. It was only one short week ago She was going wherever I did go. But now that’s in the past I see, My Candy girl is gone from me. I loved her more than words can say And I’ll love Candy come what may. But now my heart aches and bleeds As desperation on it feeds.

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T r i u mp h O f T h e P e s s i m i s t The pessimist’s back and he’s won. The optimist really is dumb. The clown never laughs, he just cries, And only the cynics are wise. The elephants are no longer pink, As I spill out the rest of my drink.

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The Tragedy Of Loving There’s not a woman around who’s sincere They persuade with a smile or a tear They will coax you with words That first sound quite absurd And they’ll crush you when you lend an ear. There’s not a woman in town who is true And even when she swears she loves you You will learn in the end (And on this you can depend) That she’ll leave you and find somebody new. This time I believed in love, come what may I felt in the optimist’s way, But she played her stereotyped part And wormed into my heart And changed her mind in a matter of days. There’s not a woman alive without lies And although I am growing more wise I still haven’t a chance Against a pretty girl’s glance And the thought of that pretty girl’s thighs. I believe that my point is quite clear It is that love will cut and will sear After being built up with hopes You’ll strangle in ropes And that’s the tragedy of loving I fear.

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The Alleged Rescue I thought that you would come to rescue me from the brink of oblivion. I thought that you would come to rescue me from my punishment of having to sit in the garden surrounded by Beauty and art, but condemned to only be able to feel the thorns and not swallow the soft petals of the roses. I thought that you would come to teach me about the beautiful colors of the cardinal and the blue jay and the other birds that I do not know by name. I thought that you would come to patch up the wounds in my heart and mind and to listen to music with me.

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Dona One day soon you and I will say goodbye forever Dona with one “N,” even though I love you.

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Exorcism The golden haired priestess exorcised my demon using a not-so-pretty party dress, a jeweled crucifix, a new boyfriend, silver tongs and dance music. She shattered the illusions and removed the rose-colored tint from my eyes. I don’t believe hallucinatory herbs were involved, but a fourteen month possession was eradicated in about five hours. Perhaps it was the snow or the runes from my ancient past or the magical chilled air from the sea, but it was quite a pleasurable experience.

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M i s s C a n d y B a r , T h e M o v i e S ta r Miss Candy Bar, The Movie Star Once spent the night with me, She soothed my head, and shared my bed, And together we were free. This Southern Queen, she had a dream In which we were wed, Reality, frugality, Now that child of love is dead. Miss Candy Bar, The Movie Star Spent many nights with me, It was long ago, a cancelled show, Now once again I’m free.

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D e c ay e d I n T i m e ’ s R e f r a i n Candied apples, Candy girl They’re both about the same, Sweet when licked upon the surface Decayed, in Time’s refrain. Sugared waters, Candy bars I’ve tasted them for many a day, I enjoyed myself while on that diet But now have tooth decay.

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P o e m (A f t e r J.J.W.) In the sunlight, in the moonlight, It’s always the same refrain, Saying he’s just a desperado And he’s waiting for a train. Sometimes he gambles, loses more, Wondering if he’ll go insane. Knowing he’s just a desperado Waiting for another train. As he sees her in his memory, All the poor boy feels is pain. For he still loves her, as he knew her, But he’s waiting for a train.

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Thinking These words that I’m writing are empty My spirit is dried up and old I’m sitting here thinking of poetry But my body has been chilled by the cold. I’m thinking I’m thinking I’m thinking So why am I

of a New Orleans lady of English girls too of a woman named Katie sitting here blue?

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N o t M e rry I n E n g l a n d I was in England all alone About five thousand miles from home I hadn’t even a telephone. The windy dampness chilled the bone. Once again I turn to poetry But again the rhymes don’t come As I sit here in my emptiness Drinking coke and rum. I wasn’t merry here in England It’s cold and gray and damp Just getting drunk in England And sleeping with some tramp. I cared for nought in England No friends, no love, no pride. Just a lonely boy in England Breaking up inside.

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Mindbenders I’m sitting here, my consciousness Is far too apt for pain. I’m in a pub, I’m getting drunk, I’m all alone again. The smoke, it burns right through my brain. The beer, it dims my eyes. A girl she haunts my memory. It’s the loneliness I despise. Gold label barley wine, It’s done torn up my mind. You mix the stuff with English beer And it treats one so unkind.

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Is It Jealousy? I love the girls I must confess. I love their hair I love their dress. Is it jealousy That makes me tell? I wish them all To go to Hell.

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The Plan My My My My

brain’s been baked and boiled in oil. bloodstreams filled with alcohol. hand’s been broke and still it shakes. heart’s been torn and still it aches.

The party, fancy food and wine Has been diffused by passing time. Let’s drink some tea. Let’s pour the ale. Let’s all become old, fat and pale.

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Close To The Edge The man peering over the hedge Is dangerously close to the edge And the white painted face of the clown Has been seen, now and then, about town. The blackness which hovers above Has enveloped the people in love And as blood seems to flow from their sides The cat creature stands up and decides. The convertibles all skid on past And the highway is quiet at last So the demons and perverts come out While dying souls rise up and shout. Meanwhile as we gaze at the beach The edge has come close to our reach And the man leaning over the hedge Has tumbled down beyond the ledge. Then the painted people on the street Near the table in order to eat And they stare in their mirrors at masks While drinking wine out of fiberglass casks. Soon the puppets re-open silk drapes While the sleepers repress the silk rapes And those still awake mix more drinks Of tears, beer and blood, and green inks. Finally the revelers all lie in repose Except those, of course, that have froze And the ones who have choked while at love In the blackness which blazes above.

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Then reds and golds that color the trees Merge with the nylon that covers the knees Causing the blood that pours from higher up To become a thick fragrant syrup. Now these images grow shriveled and old Like slivers of breasts that are gold They’re meaningless pieces of rhyme Just one scene from a vast pantomime. The creatures, the blood, paint and sex Form a puzzle convexly complex To be unraveled only by sighs As fingers caress knives or soft thighs. And the characters who live on this page Have worked themselves into a rage At the poet who is falling asleep Near the edge, over which the drop’s steep. And the man who fell over the ledge Is again peering over the hedge And the white painted face of the clown Is still seen, now and then, about town.

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R u e M o r g u e , H o u s e N u mb e r S i x Larry Talbot visited me last night We talked about his trek But as the night prowled on and on He proved to be a pain in the neck We had a little bite to eat But it seemed to make him sick It satisfied his appetites But he wolfed it down too quick Frankenstein walked through the wall To get a jug of wine But he just got all fired up When he drank the turpentine He turned a very eerie green And then became enraged I had to shock him back to life And now make sure he’s caged Now the Mummy seems to be enrapt By the High Priest’s ancient curse He’s undone some of the bandages And his condition’s getting worse He’s grown too old, he walks too slow His eyes see nought but gloom It’s because he spent three thousand years In that non-atmospheric tomb The Beast from Twenty Thousand Fathoms Was on Thirty Fourth Street with King Kong And it became perturbed when it Lost five games of ping pong The ape was far too agile And the Beast lost all its fans When he couldn’t manipulate the racquet (Probably because it doesn’t have hands)

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Now the Mad Ghoul was seen around town Digging up some dirt About the hunchbacked Igor Who had red stains upon his shirt And though Igor had a mixed up brain The Mad Ghoul grew quite grave He shoveled in some compliments And Igor ceased to rave Now the Werewolf of London With his clothes in a flight bag Arrived at Heathrow Airport Without his baggage tag He had memories of Texas And he chewed his way through how He lost his airline ticket ‘Neath the full moon near a cow Now the monsters have gathered together On Rue Morgue at house number six While the Phantom is performing an opera Before he unmasks his favorite tricks And the zombies have eaten the hors d’oeuvres And the guests have supped as they will But the entertainment is only beginning With a punch line that’s certain to kill For entertaining thoughts of suicide The poet’s near insane While Dracula is drunk again With too much blood upon his brain The creatures have been sterilized and woven together With words in a poem on this page And the poet has become incognito Between the Mummy and Wolfman on stage

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T h e P a rt y I’m gonna tell y’all here ‘bout the party That happened down New Orleans way It soaked up a lot of hard liquor And lasted for many a day The Host was a friendly debaucher Whose name slips my mind at this time He plays quite a good game of tennis But writes only passable rhyme He eats and he drinks like a glutton He likes the lead role in the show Brown eyes that beguile Silver tongue and warm smile His maturity level is low The Minstrel whose name is King Henry Creates tunes with his Spanish guitar Always singing and drinking And cooking and winking He never strays far from the bar When the Host and King Henry play tennis It’s a spectacle wondrous to behold They fume and they rage ‘Til they’re back in their cage Where the contemplate on growing old The Viking Goliath at the party Seemed to be quite a formidable foe As he began to unwind He proved child-like and kind Then enacted a large part in the show He bowed and he curtseyed adroitly He even mixed drinks in a pinch An eleven-foot frame And a face without blame Made hoodwinking a goddess a cinch

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The Goddess was long, lean and lovely Had character, money and class She seemed like the kind Who, when she made up her mind Would never keep off the soft grass The Magician’s there, his tongue’s in his pocket His machinery hangs out of his pants His tricks, jokes and the rest Entertain all the guests And he plays records so people can dance The Soldier came from South Carolina Southern Comfort spilling out of his ears He would arise and recite How he spent many a night With those South Carolinian dears The Soldier and Host were close comrades Ate many meals and drank muchly of wine It wasn’t long ‘til they found While staggering around That they really were two of a kind A couple arrived together With Bruno the three-headed hound They made love at the door And they made love once more Before the champagne was handed around Last, but not least, is the Master Of ceremonies and of the girls His bright looks, lips, and mind Are the fastest you’ll find When it’s time for collecting the curls He has trophies, he is the champion And he teaches the tricks of his trade (Now I’m glad to explain As I write this refrain This man’s with a beautiful maid!)

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The Master, the Host, and the Soldier Partied many a night, and in truth They drank and they swore They ate, played, and whored Their behavior at times was uncouth The food for the party was plentiful Fish, fowl, beef, assorted cheese and much wine Pasta and sauce Dumplings, of course Vegetables, bread, fruit, sweets and more wine The courts were reserved for an hour But the matches continued for years And the gentlemen ran Having fun, getting tan While the women all cried in their beers In the corner a lady from Kansas Was disguising her beauty with rags Drank Jack Daniels Black Label To help feel more stable Then searched for life in odd paper bags The belle of the ball was Ophelia Her hair it was butterscotch blonde She was sexy indeed But insatiable greed Drove her to the bottom of the pond Ophelia grew up at the party But too fast were her steps down the road She’d eat candy and drink Then eat candy and think Then more candy and finally explode The music at the party kept blaring ‘Til the booze began flowing like blood Then the guests all got cramped And the days they got damped And the tennis courts got spattered with mud

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The room turned black when the bubble blew up And the Gate Crashers came in with the burst Then the Wise Judges moaned And the guests all got stoned And then left with an unquenchable thirst The party was not recorded on film It remains clear in the mind of each guest I see the Host from time to time I’ve heard King Henry still plays rhyme And the Master is still probably the best I was told by a friend just in passing That the guests play their roles in new scenes Now they’re masquerading as sane But soon they’ll be on a plane En route to a party down in New Orleans

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The Last Poem

I’ v e B l u rt e d O u t M y P a i n A n d F e a r I’ v e W r i tt e n D o w n M y R h y m e A n d Y e t I S t i l l M u s t P l ay M y P a rt I n T h i s A d -L i b P a n to m i m e

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Index Of Titles Acid 119 After Parting 40 A Game 128 A Happy Poem 113 Alter-Ego: Homage To Ken Haley 80-81 A Melancholy Soul In September 125 A Mistake 57 Another Look From Desolation Row 104 A Poem 114 A Poem For You 110 Apparitions 49 A Quarter To Green 93 A Ray 31 Arrival 42 A Simple Poem I 120 A Simple Poem II 121 At The End Of A Love Affair 45 Awakening 68-69 Carolina Woman 138 Christmas Rhyme 102 Classically Elegant 112 Close To The Edge 154-155 Decayed In Time’s Refrain 147 Dialogue 118 Diversity 61 Dona 144 Doubt And Certainty 35 Dreams 55 Eternally June 32 Exorcism 145 Expose 52-53 Exquisite Corpse I 134 Exquisite Corpse II 135 Exquisite Corpse III 136 Exquisite Corpse IV 137 For C. 126 Give It Up Girl 139 Haiku 47 Halloween Poem 129 Heaven 28

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I’d Like To Send You Flowers 130 I Got Another Beau (by Marion Rothchild) 9 Inevitability 107 Is It Jealousy? 152 It’s Not “Now” 133 It Started At Tin Lizzie’s 117 I Walk Under Ladders 131 Jackpot 111 July 7, 1969 122 Just Desserts 106 Lament I 74 Lament II 124 Life 54 Life’s Path 34 Lines Composed After The Movie “Ship Of Fools” 63 Lines For R.F.K. 79 Loneliness 46 Looking Through The Crystal Prism 60 Lost Love 41 Love Is 30 Love Poem 33 Memo To B. 88 Merry-Go-Round 90 Mindbenders 151 Miscalculation 84 Miss Candy Bar, The Movie Star 146 Monologue 70 Not Merry In England 150 Ode For An Old Lady 73 Ode To Southern Comfort 115 Panama Red 132 Pettiness I 76 Pettiness II 77 Phase IV 105 Poem (After J.J.W.) 148 Product Of Apathy #1 100 Product Of Boredom And Disgust (Mostly All Royal Kings Bend Over Backwards) 71 Promise 85 Prophecy 50 Proverbs 91 Question 82

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Rationality 75 Reconversion (by Marion Rothchild) 17 Referring To J. Alfred Prufrock 62 Rue Morgue, House Number Six 156-157 Salvation 66 Sometimes I Softly Kiss Your Lips 127 Syllogism 78 Thanks For The Memory August 1943 (by Marion Rothchild) 15 Thanks For the Memory July 1943 (by Marion Rothchild) 13 The Alleged Rescue 143 The Candy Girl 140 The Clown Prince Of Rainbows 101 The Decision 65 The End Of The World 44 The Fire 37 The First Time That It Happened 98 The Fool And I 92 The Goal 36 The Joker And The Chase Conductor 96-97 The Last Poem 163 The Monk Upon The Seashore 89 The Party 158-161 The Plan 153 The Question 59 The Secret 58 The Stop Before Insanity 83 The Tragedy Of Loving 142 The Twelfth Of Never 38 The Voodoo Man Plays With Pinwheels 94-95 The Wait 56 The Wild Card 103 Thinking 149 To Get Off Fortune’s Wheel 123 Too Late 43 Tragedy 39 Triumph Of The Pessimist 141 Twentieth Century Crucifixion 99 Two In One 29 Waiting At Fat Harry’s 116 Walking By A Graveyard 72 Watch Her Slip Away 48

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I ndex O f F irst L ines A bullet killed a friend of mine 79 A chocolate fragrance in the air 126 A fire burns within the night 37 A fire in an ice cube 88 All things contain the essence of God 78 A melancholy soul in September 125 A moment of happiness 123 An Eskimo builds an igloo 61 A purple haze recedes into black 107 As I lie on the distant floor 36 A ten thousand ton crusher is pressing on my brain 58 A very fancy dresser 82 A wet band aid gathers no moss 91 Bliss, joy, love and tears 33 Candied apples, Candy girl 147 Can everyone be wrong and only one man be right? 52-53 Carolina cotton, Carolina food 138 Cruel tempests within me rage 56 Cry and weep yourself to sleep 29 Dreams give meaning to the process of life 55 Fading, slowly fading, fighting fiercely with the foam 48 Fire red flowers 135 For one beautiful intense moment 118 Flying in from Denver 42 Give it up girl 139 glasses 136 Here I am writing a happy poem 113 I am going to burn the disease 119 I am just a mortal man 35 I am like Achilles 50 I am walking by a graveyard 72 I’d like to play among the stars 28 I’d like to send you flowers 130 I’d like to write a poem for you 110 If the country is fighting to prevent destruction 59 I have been accused of indecision 62 I looked into a looking glass 92 I love the girls 152 I made a mistake 57

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I’m down on the street and I’m bleeding 74 I’m gonna tell y’all here ‘bout the party 158-161 I’m sitting here, my consciousness 151 I’m writing a poem that you can see 114 In the chilly frozen moonlight 105 In the normal occurrences of life 31 In the sunlight, in the moonlight 148 I played a game today 128 I see someone walking 49 I think it’s only fair 9 I thought that you would come to rescue me 143 It’s funny how the future 120 It’s Halloween time 129 It’s hard to write a poem about love 121 It’s hot as hell on the tennis court 71 It’s Leonard Cohen and Coney Island 133 It started at Tin Lizzie”s 117 I’ve blurted out my pain and fear 163 I walk under ladders 131 I was in England all alone 150 I wish I could die 68-69 Larry Talbot visited me last night 156-157 Life has many paths that I may take 34 Life is composed of many dreams 54 Loneliness is a mysterious dark cavern 46 Looking through the crystal prism 60 Love is an intense longing 30 Love is life’s salvation 66 Middle-aged people of today 76 Miss Candy Bar, The Movie Star 146 My bleeding body begs for aid 124 My brain’s been baked and boiled in oil 153 Of course, I missed you my dear 70 Oh let this poor heart stop beating 73 One day soon 144 One half a pound of Panama Red 132 One of the hang-ups that our younger generation 77 Popcorn, pinball 111 Rationality often breeds 75 Right before the traffic light 102 Sometimes I softly kiss your lips 127

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Southern Comfort warm my insides 115 spirals infusing Spiro 137 summer image 134 Tears fall just like rain 45 Thanks for the memory of getting up at four 13 Thanks for the memory of lobster Cantonese 15 The Candy girl is out of sight 140 The clown prince of rainbows 101 The cotton candy judge sticks in court 106 The countryside’s on fire 100 The cross-eyed giant in a pirouette 93 The door to ____________ is open 65 The fire-breathing sphere nears the Earth 44 The first time that it happened 98 The golden haired priestess 145 The golden sun shines brightly 32 The happy carefree joker 103 The joker in a fine new suit 90 The joker was smiling sadly 96-97 The last stop before Insanity 83 The laughing dancing prancing clown 47 The man peering over the hedge 154-155 The man upon the crucifix 99 The monk upon the seashore 89 The pessimist’s back and he’s won 141 There is a melancholy tree standing alone 39 There once was a man-child 80-81 There’s not a woman around who’s sincere 142 These words that I’m writing are empty 149 The ship sails the whole world wide 63 The strongest winds 41 The surging foam, the dark blue sea 40 The Twelfth of Never is tomorrow 38 The Voodoo man plays with pinwheels 94-95 The Wizard is unwrapping 104 Today I felt you slipping away from me 122 Waiting at Fat Harry’s 116 When bugles sound their final notes 17 Women all get ready 85 Your features are classically elegant 112 You thought that you could handle her 84 You took love for several years 43

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L i s t O f I l l u s tr at i o n s Photograph of Robert Rothchild In A Black Sweater, August 1963. Taken by David Maley in New York City. 6 Photographs of Original Letters written by Marion Rothchild to Irving Rothchild during the years 1943 and 1945. Taken by Vladimir Andreyev. Letter from June 15, 1945. 8 Letter from July 14, 1943. 12 Letter from August 14, 1943. 14 Letter entitled “Reconversion� probably from 1945. 16 Photograph of Irving Rothchild in the Army in Alaska. Circa 1944. Photographer unknown. 10 Photograph of Marion Rothchild from the 1940s. Photographer unknown. 11 Photograph or Robert Rothchild. August, 1963. Taken by David Maley. 20 Paradise Lost. Painting by Dan Griggs. 2000. Oil on linen. Photographed by Vladimir Andreyev. Commentary by Robert Rothchild. 26 The Uninvited Guest. Painting by R. Kenton Nelson. 2000. Oil on canvas. Photographed by Vladimir Andreyev. 64 Waiting For Suggestions. Painting by Rafal Olbinski. C.1995. Oil on canvas. Photographed by VladimirAndreyev. 86 En Rouge Et Noir. Painting by Alain Vilboux. 1999. Oil on canvas. Photographed by Vladimir Andreyev. 108 Untitled Photograph with Masks. Taken by Vladimir Andreyev. 162 Photograph of Robert Rothchild on the Jacket Cover Insert taken by Vladimir Andreyev. 2010. Carousel Horses from 1890s by Josef Hubner. On the Jacket Cover. Photograph by Vladimir Andreyev. All of the works of art, photographs and letters that are pictured in this book are from the Robert Harris Rothchild Collection.

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