Drinking Alcohol taught me how to fly
Then it took away the sky....

Friday, March 30, 2012

A DAY IN MAY




A DAY IN MAY

Nine birds, Nine
stuck on stick
of pine.

Breasts bursting
with pride? Or to
hide

from predator?
(Bite bee before
bee bite me!)

Sisters, brothers,
in land of "Peep”
When does one sleep?

Eight Peeps doze.
Far distant, guard sees
eighty-eight bumble bees.

She, fear-rigid, froze!
Flying in formation,
holy damnation!

They buzzed fast out of
brightest noonday sun.
She wanted to fly...run.

Eighty-eight bees
roaring, buzzing
like B-17Gs

Off went one bee
to flee bill, claw,
feathered Peep

One more, then another,
each buzzing creature
(for such is nature)

lost life, in dismay.
Bird-beaks were left bent;
stomachs, now content.

"Bumble Bee Mountain" (Spain)
so named in memory
of victorious day
in May

--steveroni
  
NOTE:
Similar to mosquitoes, but for different reasons, only the Bumble bee female has a stinger and can sting. (You DID know only the female mosquito bites? Right--grin!) 

About the photo, which was sent to me by artist-blogger-friend BELLA

Winning Image...Click HERE
Adult Category, European Wild Wonders
ORUGA DE PLUMAS, Avila (Spain)
by Jose Luis Rodriguez,
A group of European Bee-eaters on a branch on a frosty morning in May. 
Photographed from the car with a 500mm lens.

Monday, March 26, 2012

STORY OF TWO BIRDS

  "Winged in with wind
Rode out in style
Padre, I've sinned--
And loved every mile..."
--Steve E

TWO BIRDS


We slept on
Beach and
Bench
And tall building beams.

Bathed mountain streams;
Flew with friendly,

feathered beaks
quenched our thirst. 

Thereafter soared 
o'er highest peaks

Breathless, stopped for rest,
flapping wings and things.
Decided to make a nest...
...we there exchanged rings

Oh! My love, remember?
Darkness held no bars on

Sweetest night. December
full moon! 
And above.....
stars.

--steveroni


 AUTHOR NOTE:

Why
sometimes 
wondering, pondering,
to write one line of thought?

When on nights like these I use
but four minutes time of Muse,
for which an hour might have ought.

 Photo: The people in the attic 
by Muse1979 in DeviantArt
To Be posted for D'verse Poets Pub
- OpenLinkNight - Week #37
every Tuesday, 3 pm EDT.
 

Sunday, March 25, 2012

NO STRINGS







 RATHER 
HAVE  OATS





Don't let that horse
eat that violin
cried Chagall's mother
But he
                        kept right on
                                                 painting

And became famous

And kept on painting
                                       The Horse With Violin In Mouth

And when he finally finished it
he jumped up upon the horse
                                                     and rode away
                  waving the violin

And then with a low bow gave it
to the first naked nude he ran across

And there were no strings
                                                 attached


Published for Dverse
Pictures and Poems

"14" by Lawrence Ferlinghetti,
from A Coney Island of the Mind.
© New Directions Publishing, 1958

IMAGE:
Eye of the Violin
by Chris Sorbera
in DeviantArt




Thursday, March 22, 2012

FIDDLE MOWDOWN




LIMERICKS


 1.
Today I am mowing the grass
But weeds are up to my ass
In an old flower bed
Mowed myself instead
Now footless—shorter than my lass


2.
He plays the violin bad
It shrieks—sounds so sad
Fiddle won't sing
With a rusty string
He wishes a Strad* he had

*Stradivarius

--steveroni
2012 mar 22


Image:  http://captainredd.deviantart.com/

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

THE PREACHER

Come along to the  
Dverse Poets Pub
"The Preacher" is written for
Open Link Night--Week #36

THE PREACHER

Years ago stood a Peep on a
downtown street,
with a bible in left hand.
Back and forth
his short route, pointing to the sky.

Gray beard covered his mouth.
Were his words a recording?
Could hardly see his eyes...
sleepwalking?

"The kingdom is at hand"

I looked up to 'see'.
Others ignored
(Had he just snored?)

"Eternity is coming"

Well, I had believed Eternity is now,
that I and all are living
right in the thick of Everlasting.

"PREPARE yourselves"

OK, I'm ready! I'm ready! WHAT?
You say, to die?
Not quite ready for that, Bro—
I'm only a freshman at
Xavier High

"Jesus"

Well yes, my teachers are
named after him.
They're called Jesuits
and Jesus was the Son of God
Me, too, a son of God. But he and I
sure lived different lives. Whew!

"Gaw'duh will condemn you."

I was always wary of Peeps genuouseness
whether Pope or 'sidewalk Preacher',
who pronounced God with an extra 'd' tacked on. (Sounding like “Gawd'duh”).
There is but one 'd' in God, although I also enjoy
seeing it spelled with an extra 'o'
...as in 'Good'.
As in words of my old Auntie Thelma
Good God!”

"Sinners, repent!"

Possibly all well and good,
to have guilt, remorse...
how about change, amend?
Take on the cloak of
new behavior,
be grateful
be a savior.
Guard those gifts which
Good God gave...

"Fires--Eternal Damnation..."

Peeps! Help me!
If I do not stop
this onslaught
of thought,
you would see me
holding a bible!
Other hand raised while I shout,
"The Kingdom of Gawd-duh
is at hand! Be the one
In your land, to
Repent and be saved!”

As we meet
On the street

I wonder—
would it be all that bad?

--steveroni

Saturday, March 17, 2012

A HUMBLE HAPPY ANNIVERSARY

NOTE: I'm "humbly"--grin! publishing this one day early, 
because some Peeps, as this globe spins, 
are waking up to tomorrow

 "KIMSET 2"
Photo by my good friend in Naples FL, KIM

HEY PEEPS! 38 years ago this day, March 18, I had my last drink (which I vividly recall). The next night, a Tuesday, I walked into my first meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous (which I hardly remember!)--and have not had a drink of alcohol since. Thanks be to God!

The following is one of my favorite word-thoughts, and I put it here for whoever reads this, to meditate a moment...and know that: "humility" is not thinking less of myself...but thinking of myself less! 



Humility is perpetual quietness of heart.
It is to have no trouble.

It is never to be fretted or vexed, irritable or sore;

It is to wonder at nothing that is done to me,

to feel nothing done against me.

It is to be at rest when nobody praises me,

and when I am blamed or despised,

it is to have a blessed home in myself where I

can go in and shut the door

and pray to my Father in secret and be at peace,

as in a deep sea of calmness,

when all around and about is seeming trouble.

On a plaque atop Dr Bob's desk 
in Akron Ohio
these words are inscribed...
Dr Bob Smith, MD is a co-founder 
of Alcoholics Anonymous 

Secret:
I played "Amazing Grace"
on my violin--
seated on Dr Bob's tombstone
7 years ago


LOVE and PEACE to all us Peeps!
Live in JOY, No Matter What (NMW!)
--steveroni

Thursday, March 15, 2012

A DIFFERENT DIMENSION

HAPPY DAY BEFORE ST PATRICK'S DAY



MONKEYS AND BALLS

In the heyday of sailing ships, all war ships and many freighters carried iron cannons. Those cannons fired round iron cannon balls. It was necessary to keep a good supply near the cannon. However, how to prevent them from rolling about the deck? The best storage method devised was a square-based pyramid with one ball on top, resting on four resting on nine, which rested on sixteen. Thus, a supply of 30 cannon balls could be stacked in a small area right next to the cannon. There was only one problem....how to prevent the bottom layer from sliding or rolling from under the others. The solution was a metal plate called a 'Monkey' with 16 round indentations. However, if this plate were made of iron, the iron balls would quickly rust to it. The solution to the rusting problem was to make 'Brass Monkeys.' Few landlubbers realize that brass contracts much more and much faster than iron when chilled.. Consequently, when the temperature dropped too far, the brass indentations would shrink so much that the iron cannonballs would come right off the monkey; Thus, it was quite literally, 'Cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey.' (All this time, you thought that was an improper expression, didn't you.)

--steveroni

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

MY JEEP

 This poem is linked to dVersepoets Open Link Night, Week 35.
DVerse Poets Pub is a place where poets and writers gather to celebrate poetry.


In order to be filled
with happiness
a Jeep was all I asked.
Eternal gratitude for this gift
I promised.

Age 16, armed with
license to drive
and reasons galore
asking my father
I did over and o'er
implore
and more,

and begged until finally
assured, I knew a Jeep
was in my future.

The date of my birthday
arrived, all hired hands
and brethren inside for
farm breakfast. So I,
bounding into the room

Smiling, happy, sitting
at my place, I spotted a
1946 Willys Jeep CJ2A
under my cereal bowl
all of 1.5 inches in length.


Both tearing eyes and I
gathered remaining strength,
ran back through corn field,
asparagus patch, over fencing,
to apple orchard and beyond
into the woods, to favorite spot.

Rather die than not, I lay and wept.
Far below Ohio River rolling,
sent me peace,
kept me alive.

How wrong could I be
thinking I'd grown that day...
knowing a heart full of hatred
could not readily say
"Peace to all you Peeps"
Nope.
But since long ago
time faded memory of
that teen-life-horror.

Came over time
power to melt
this hardened heart.

God's Gift, a saving grace,
that I might live to steal
another sweetest day,

when I can now readily say,
with love so real...
"PEACE to all my Peeps!"

--steveroni


Friday, March 9, 2012

REVERIE: SONGS MY MOTHER TAUGHT ME




EARLY MORNING REVERIE

Window open
admitting morning sounds.
Light rushes...
filling   space   around me.

Hear!
With what tenderness
singing tenors warble
--knew how to tweet
even before our meet with
tottering, twittering.

See!
No female sopranos
in the choir, please.
Hum along if you must--
only in foreign places can she and he
sing duet, while squeezing
one another in
lovely, loving
bird-hug.

What?

But—WHOA! Are they preparing
to journey afar?
Traveling light as they do
no baggage fee
nor scrutiny?

Wait for ME!

Just fly away
and fly me, too...
we sing as trio
My-O-Mio—(grin!)

Fly me, fly me...
fly we to the moon.

Steveroni
3/9/12

WHY BIRDS SING

In North America, we hear mostly males singing,
because they typically take the lead in
defending territories and attracting mates.
However, especially in the tropics,
some species sing duets involving
both the male and female.

(And I always thought they were
singing praises to their God—grin!)





Tuesday, March 6, 2012

LIVE IT. LOVE IT. DO IT.

OpenLinkNight...DO WHAT YOU DO
...AND DO IT WELL

DOING WHAT YOU LOVE
AND WHAT YOU ARE GOOD AT

GOOD TO BE WORKING

Ever since born
so alone
forlorn
lonely
--isolated
as in “Pffft!”

Trial at real life
how good it is
bird flies
first time
alone
not lonely

Violin sings
majestically
audition sucks.
One opening
one empty chair
I sit there
won by hair.

Bird in great hall
directions mixed
flies to chandelier
sings obbligato to
Beethoven Sixth.

Back to church 
(of my 'yoot')
first rehearse
play the mass
Long since I see...”
'Bout TIME ya 'see'.”
Now don' you go
gimme no sass.”

Not preach
nor teach or
'show the way'--
fiddle play.
God's work
touches Peeps.

Me: “Pffft!”
God: “Pffft!”

We friends
to the ends

--steveroni
March 6, 2012


Peeps, I SO wanted to write a non-rhyming poem, with a proper beat, etc., 
but right off the bat, the words started in with their sabotage. 
Fuck it, Ill quit trying to do something which isn't meant to be.  
Hey THAT'S a new and unique idea!


Dolphin Image:
http://dolphin_dancing_in_the_sun 
by_darkriderdlmc/


Friday, March 2, 2012

Life IS

From Google Image
 Turn Around, Boy

As wild child
he rode the trails
horse named “Silver”
Yup, like Hi-Ho

After, still wild,
first of his peers
to drink booze,
have sex (alone)

Then he got better--or worse?
Sex with another--
well, he took his licks.
Now, at age six:

In first grade
engaged
in the second,
they said...
he wed.

Skip many years
thousands tears
bodies, hearts,
bloodied, broke
mended not...

One fine morning
in strange city
having played several weeks
with a really nice kitty

he rode away once more.
Silver had wheels, not four
but two on which he glided,
leaving behind such exquisite
sweetness.

Into mobile he mouthed
I wish to come Bach.”
She--”Where is home?”
In the south”, spoke he.

Sir, turn yourself around,
 face the southern sun.
And RIDE, Clyde—RIDE!
Never more you roam.”

Wild child no more rode
'til his ass was sore.
In every life—strife
of decisions,
indecision

Ahh, those turning points--
which way to go?
Behind, a cliff
straight down to hell.

Keep on keeping on,
still sober in October
Facing heat of
the sun...and more.

After all, life's
of the soul--
not of me—old,
this chunk of mud,
crud.

From Deviant
This body
from GOD has been sent;
Something borrowed...
Something lent

--steveroni
March 2, 2012