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

Sunday, September 29, 2013

DOGGONE, it's Mag Week #188

Tess gave her friend/bloggers 

this picture/prompt, to write 

something, then post on "our" 

MAGPIE, week #188...JOIN us?


a Native American (mis-named "Indian")
large as a hairless simian
walking with his dog one day

as time would have it so
this was many moons ago
difficult to keep dog at bay

happily yelping, cavorting,
running, generally sporting--
dog ran right off the cliff

owner, tear-eyed and wan
cried softly, "DOGGONE."
and that's how the
word came to be
you see?


Monday, September 23, 2013

A LOVE-LIFE in dVerse Pub

Every Tuesday is Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub
TUESDAY @ 3 PM Eastern doors open for OLN week #115


before, during, after fame
does not love-its flame
continue the burning
 never adjourning?

loved by an artist who
travels every place
the world over,
dancing on her toe


oh! I miss her face
God, I miss her so...
not secret our love,
neither was for show


two beautiful trees
grew side-by-side
roots entangled
but never tied

and so

we met--before fame.
even during, next,
shall not the flame
continue its burn?
truest of loves
have no adjourn...

now this

we shall meet, and greet
on street or shore...
"Merely this, and
nothing more."

(Sep 2013)

Sunday, September 22, 2013

Moth and the Lamp--Mag 187

Published to Magpie Tales week #187
A picture-inspired write. Do it, 
then link your post to Magpie Tales 

the moth and the lamp--casar santos

where does little one go
who formerly followed flow 
of warmth and light
which so excite 

when power shuts down?

does she simply hover
like abandoned lover
making no sound,
fall to the ground

or does she
at time when he
calls it the end

send heart-vibes
around earth's bend

is she who flew
with someone new
to experience blame

for hovering around
a hotter flame


Sept 2013

Saturday, September 21, 2013


Love Train: Story 1

This year 2005--Valentine's Day was celebrated four successive nights on the Dinner Train--accompanied by a Mystery Theater group and a strolling violinist (me!) During the first night I decided to log some observations, chiefly for my recollection. Five long, old-time coaches are transformed into a restaurant, strung out into five dining "rooms". An old diesel is attached behind train. Also an old 1920-styled passenger car is connected in place, for use of the theater actors and me. Seats, bathroom, and floor in "our" car--called the "Green Room"--are covered with thin layers of eighty-year-old coal dust, green, of course! This is real nostalgia! Trip begins in Ft. Myers, Florida and whistles its way north for about two hours. Then we perch on an unseen, dark bridge over a large bay (appearance is that we are sitting right on water).  Dinner is served, after which everything speeds back to the terminal. "Terminal" is an assemblage of a couple trailers (mobile homes) dressed up with lush tropical foliage and faux brick, located on property (also old) of an abandoned shopping center. Tickets, excluding tax, tips, and drinks, are about seventy bucks a head. So that sets the scene.

In all, I entertain four hours with two ten-minute breaks--I bring coffee from home. They always offer me dinner, but there's absolutely nowhere to put down my violin, and it is only with great balancing skill that I can get from car to car without hurting me or the violin. Walking (swaying, twisting, bouncing) from one car to another, I go through smokers' haven, a "breezeway" between pieces of train, joined together (I always pray that is so!) While planning what to play for the next group, someone yells out "PLAY CHARLIE DANIELS!" (He must be the only guy ever to play country fiddle?) So, I break out some "Orange Blossom Special" and "Freight Train".  They hoot and holler.  I spot an elderly couple (lots of older folks aboard, that's good) and play, e.g., "I Love You Truly". Atmosphere goes from boisterous boil, to calm, satisfying simmer. An 8-year-old girl asks why I play so fast ("Flight of the Bumblebee"), and I tell her because I am in a hurry--and everyone laughs.

During nine years on this Valentine gig, I've noticed that people really enjoy the food. With a restaurateur's brain, I watch how they eat, notice what's not eaten, and overhear comments only a strolling performer can note--i.e., they *love* the soup, chicken is cold, etc. It is difficult to serve several hundred people at the same time, in the separate Pullman dining rooms. All food, drinks, on trays shouldered by waiters, must be carried through those "breezeways"--actually outside. I feel compassion for the staff. So the "table-wait-time" makes my musical contributions useful. The Mystery Theater group is a band of seven theatrical warriors, who break up into segments, and traipse from car to car to performing their show. I work around them, no easy task. How they keep track of which car they've been in, and which of their group has performed where, I'll never know. They are true professionals.
One lady asks me to play "Happy Birthday" at her table, just as a segment of the "show" enters the car. Moving on, I say "I'll be "Bach" (like Arnold Schwartzanegger)...and...later, I forget which car, and which table asked for the birthday tune, so I move through all five cars playing "Happy Birthday". In time I spot a smiling woman who says, "You REMEMBERED!" Note: Six more "birthday people" I discover during this set.

My first "accident" in nine years occurs this night--my bow arm knocks over a lady's tall Margarita--right into her soup. She yelps, "It don't TASTE like tomato soup!" Thankfully, it doesn't spill onto her jewelry-be-gowned person. Anniversary Waltz is good for THREE 50th Anniversary celebrations. People arrive from all parts of South Florida and tourists from Europe, China and all over the globe, to ride this train. Some groups board the train from chartered buses.
I make $64 in tips during first night this year. My story set out to be one lengthy single posting. It has gotten away from me, so I've decided to go on the installment plan. There is more! End Installment 1.

Steve E.

Monday, September 16, 2013



Every Tuesday is Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub
Today @ 3 PM Eastern doors open for OLN week #114

my friend, do you really know
where you go, or why?
is to mountain, sea
or big-city spree?

from foggy morning's
damp are you running...or
walking toward something new?
sophisticated lady, you

still smoke and blow
rings at ceilings
in subtle, yet carefree manner?
"do not wait, waiter--but now!
set by me here
caramel-colored beer!"
(white foam topping?)

morning walk, "cool" style?
or running for life, in fear...
are you yet not realizing,
many friends all are near?

know that everything
ends same way.
as in "all okay"
so 'til that day,
hear what the monk
had to say:

"all life, same.
divided in two,
frozen stream--
burning flame.
that hottest fire
...is love."

that is all what is
in the end! nothing ever more
shall inhabit space beyond that door
except undying, unending love.

The feast of Nin

Published to Magpie Tales week #186
A picture-inspired write. Do it, 
then link your post to Magpie Tales 


On this, the Feast of Nin
sounds of battle-cry
overwhelming, stunning din
echoing from earth to sky

Squirting, sometimes gushing
sounds of blood rushing
as rivelets begin claiming their 
muddy-red little banks

"Vikings give none and take all,
our small garrisson about to fall,
Hide the women, hide children,
silver, gold, stone, from Vike-men.

"Under secret panel in church floor
is the very ideal place to store",
said the People of Scotch
who spoke in antiquated Thracian
(At least, in my imagination!)

None got away alive
in that year 13-75.

A non-historical account by

Thursday, September 12, 2013

Let'sTake a "Trip"

A Trip in Jazz.  
Inspired from a Blog Post by CLAUDIA ...
in dVerse, Gay is asking for a poem topic, 
"something" about jazz.


Thanks, Claudia

Wow, what a trip!
...enjoyed the ride, 
and all the while 
playing the tones
--and the deep notes

whew--I love jazz, 
remembring when I'd 
trouble myself, 
try to pick out the tune, 
unknowing that just to
let it be happening 
is best. 

Alas! The beat, 
mental gymnastics,
intricate "tonguing"
...scaling heights 
then drowning in it all.

Feels like never 
will touch ground again, 
feet...but finally all 
settle into nice, warm, 
fuzzy happy again.

Jazz, Love, I've always known
same could be played again, 
but never retrieved as before
--being ever a new score,

spontaneous imitations
which at once
chill, thrill, "kill".

Jazz, you ghost! 
Continually haunting my house,
you keep me 
lovingly addicted...

2013 Sept

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

MARY and ME--1974

Every Tuesday is Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub
Today @ 3 PM Eastern doors open for OLN week#113


I didn't even know her name. She saw I was adrift. Sober ninety days. Living in Alcoholic limbo. She saw in me fear, hopelessness, despair. June 1974 she simply handed me a brand new Hazelden 24-Hours-A-Day-Book©. She did not bark at me to "Get a sponsor" or "Work the Steps" or "You're gonna get drunk again" or "You'll never make it"... She said only, "Here--read this every day". That was thirty-nine years ago. And I still read it every day. And I'm still sober--2013. Sadly, Mary didn't make it, died drunk several years later. God bless her!

Then it was I had found out that God does not talk in thunderous bass voice from the skies. He speaks through others, often people with quiet voices, passing on inspired, gentle suggestions put in their heads. It's the way I see it.


Sunday, September 8, 2013


Published to Magpie Tales week #185. 
Picture-inspired write. Do it, 
then link your post to Magpie Tales 

Rockwell's Illustration (above!)NOT Rockwell's words (below!)

"Heh, heh, so boy
you think $22 is
high price for
dish of ice  

Boy, just wait until you see
How much it cost, for me
to not throw you off train
in windy, cold, rainy


I remember being in dining car around 1952
and almost "died" from sticker-shock.
I lacked proper amount of funds.
They were not nice to me.

Friday, September 6, 2013

THE POWER OF "THEY" (almost)


(So WHAT!)

"Which way did they go?"
Who are they?
Just WHO do they think they are?
They may be those--or

My memories stem
from childhood days
They said
"Don't touch this", "don't do that"...
"he's just going through a faze".

They told me
"Don't swing cat 
by tail that way!"...they 
said to me, "Be Good BOY!"
I mumbled someting like "joy..joy"

They always said to me,
"Have FUN!!!"
as I left for work.

In fine restaurant,
it is they--who, upon being seated
enjoy most "stimulating" conversation:
The food they ate last night, last week...
maybe even last year!

THEIR question of the night
(after food has been served)

"What did YOU order, Junior?"

(mumble): none of your business.

Dinner chat:
Food they'll eat tomorrow, next week,
late-night TV, siestas,
daytime shade they seek
and--what a BUSY life-style they lead:
"T'is MY day to watch-for-the postman;
...we take turns..." they smilingly say.

"They" said this would be a stupid blog post.
Have to admit, sometimes they are RIGHT.
Which is reason I'll end this now.

WHAT? You say that
I may be "they"...or them?

I--and they--wish you PEACE and LIGHT

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

MY FATHER-- "POP" (dVerse OLN 112)

A BLOGGER Friend posted about her father.
The few lines inspired me to bring HERE to 
dVerse Poets Pub and grille (gotta eat, too!)
one of a thousand memories of my "POP". 
Hope you enjoy it.

Steve Elsaesser, c.1968, Naples FL

He said to me..."THIS is my favorite picture"

As posted on Friend Susan Deborah's BLOG:

Yes, Dear Susan Deborah, those days WERE different. It is always so.

My father, another Steve Elsaesser, also was a story teller, from my earliest memory. It had not yet occurred to me that the blind can "see" things in a story--as in life--of which others had lost focus. AND...his stories ALWAYS changed just enough that ya didn't want to miss a single word.

After age 50, when he could no longer hear, children would flock to gather around him to listen..all ages. He always made his tales a learning experience, some morality, some memorable "bon mots" therein.

When he could neither see nor hear, he only knew children were present if they touched him. And they DID! Always, the fearlessness of children around him astonished me.  

Adults would give us a LOT of room to walk by, so they would not have to "look at" his disfigured eyes nor--OMG!--"touch" him.

Meanwhile, young people, ages 2-13 would climb all over him in the sand and water at the beach in Naples. HE LOVED IT! It seemed to me that children would and did realize (somehow) that his ("Broken eyes", they called them!) could "see" God in everything...everywhere. (His occupation: dairy farmer.)

Thanks for bringing back that memory to me, Susan Deborah!

September 2013

Sunday, September 1, 2013


Published to Magpie Tales week #184. 
Picture-inspired write. Do it, 
then link your post to Magpie Tales 

 art by Jeanie tomanek
courtesy of The Mag 184
Song Bird:
Hello, Pretty One--Yes, YOU! 
With wings and things,
sharpened head-ring,
anklet replacing boot!

Shhhh! We must not sing so loud...
behind us is that man in the cloud
who spys on me.
I flee to be free. 

Song Bird:
I help you escape, now.

Freedom also my desire.
Jump down from that tree, girl;
set your wings afire.


So afraid, that I might land
on that antique-mobile, but
will try to hit the sand.
Will you hold my basket, Bird?
But...OH!  You have no hand.

Allow me to sing a short poem
which I read on this blog one day...
it is for you, Song Bird,
listen now to what I say:

has become
a most beautiful
Song Bird
Fly little bird 
Fly if you must
All this is because 
Your lack of trust

Has overcome your
Knowledge of love.
Cavort on beaches
And notice above

White dove...
That'll be