TO BE OR NOT TO BE--COLD

Posted for Open Link Night Number 20 at

dVersePoets

which will begin TODAY

Tuesday at 3PM Eastern

Note:

I love snow and cold weather—if I can be warm. From earliest memory I was not warm, ever. In early 1960's I had resigned from Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra, quit a good restaurant manager job. One moon-full 2 AM I took off for the south, there to be warm and stay drunk for the rest of my life—my goal! (It's kinda chilly tonight—and I don't drink—thanks to AA)...

Understand, in Miami, thousands of roofs are painted white to stave off sun's heat. OK. Please read my experience:

 MOON OVER MIAMI

ESCAPING THE BLUSTERY,

WINTRY, SNOWY COLD

Well—just knowing

it's snowing

wherever I going.

High in the sky,

year 1965

over Flo-ree-da

one moonlight night:

way down

on ground,

blotches of white!

NOOOOOO!

Everywhere

there. NO!

Tears began to roll

years taken toll

getting old

fingers cold

My God, I'm age forty

I play a violin...and

that's not good when

my hands are blued, where

ten-finger-icicles protrude

Cold water will drop

through 'f'-holes

dampening sensitive

sound-post and board.

Negativity soared

Rusty strings

notes

damp bow hair,

other things...

Now flying low

over white roof,

proof of my goof!

Snow in Miami?

How can this be?

Yearning to drown myself

in Atlantic—or alcoholic sea

or both! (That's me!)

Plane door opens

first in line

balmy breeze

fullest moon over Miami

shining through

lacing palm leaves

But...but my eyes,

from high in those skies

(picture my delight!)

were seeing house-tops

all painted WHITE!

--steveroni

Scene: 1964-1965

Written: 11/29/11

Google Images

moon-over-miami-jorge-delara

A True Story of "Death by Drunk"

THE STORY

Takes plug

out of jug

--no mug

for this ole man

with shaking hand

His illness

will not go 'way.

Neither abates

that which liquor

no longer sates

There he sits,

man with no hat

nor hair--

no chair

Nice curb, though!

God is Good:

provider of

fireplug to

lay his head.

“Coming lots of snow,”

weather-man had said.

Near-empty jug

without plug

held in shaky hand of

dear sick old bald man

needs no mug

What's that sound

coming from round

near corner...

through fogginess

of storming snow?

Stentorian--like running

thousands pairs of

cleated feet.

...as the feet beat

another old cold man

driving snowplow

wishes for summer again

and his hot haymow.

BUMP—BUMP!

Grind, grinding

sound. THUMP!

“Good grief!”, he said.

“The snow, the snow!

She's coloring all red!”

Not hot haymow

'neath huge snowplow.

It's that man

with shaking hand,

a corker with a

corkless bottle

No hat

no hair

no stool

no chair

no breathing

there..........

 --steveroni

Fifty years after I still see clearly everything as pictured above. It happened in early morning...3 AM.

I'm sorry, old man. I was a shivering, shaking drunk like you, except younger. I feared being locked up if I called police or ambulance. Snowplow operator didn't even know he had killed you, old man.

A “death-by-snowplow” was mentioned the next day in the Enquirer,

page 4 of the newspaper's “Police Beat”.....

 Image from DeviantArt
snowplow by twelve41-d2xvfpd2

To SEE...To HEAR

Posted for Open Link Night Number 19 at

dVersePoets

which will begin TODAY

Tuesday at 3PM Eastern 

 

The Blind shall see,

and the Deaf made to hear!

Totally sightless from age 3 or 4,

he was totally deaf from age (+/-) 50

How sad.

How sad?

Read on to see.

Let yourself be

and listen--

inner voice—

hear!

I'm bad

leading you on like this:

He led life of normalcy

lived life of blindness with ease

He loved to fish

loved to hunt--

I'd fire the gun

He felt he'd won!

His true love of nature

animals, children

more genuine than

poet, painter

music maker.

He was midwife

to all who birthed

from kitten to cow
in field or hay mow

First he'd kneel.

After, he'd heal.

His smile was forever

I'm just a tad...bad!

Did I write his life was

one of normality?

Well, it happened. Deaf

struck with finality

set him in chaos—abyss

Once he realized

God did not punish

but simply

assigned a role,

all he had to do

was play the part.

This, then, he did in

award-worthy style

and died still.

Still with that smile.

Did I begin 

“How sad?”

Now--to let you know,

I'm so glad

he's my Dad.

--steveroni

Image:  

Deaf And Blind by w1zzy 

 @ DevaintArt

Acrobats of the 4th Dimension

 No, these birds are not on that 'high wire' but I absolutely fell in love with this picture:

Two_birds__by_superlukie on DeviantArt

KISSING

They were there, two

on that wire so high

standing close

so close...

And I saw them up there

those two--

kissing!

Two by god sent,

now bent

their bodies together

in that kiss...

another,

and on and on

under nature's tent.

Surrounded by friends,

deciding all

which direction to go.

Meanwhile the kissing—and I

sitting on two wheels

faced a light so red

it yelled “STOP!”

(traffic stopped, but not

high-wire kissing!)

Octane smells smothering--

yet I observed Peeps so

busy, busy, busy

in vehicle lineups

...missing

this wonderful display
of
love

(now they again kissing

each's neck-feathers!)

And oh! accompanying

most tender sweet kissing,

(I'm glad the red light stayed on)

even sweeter music, birdsong!

I listened to their tweeted tunes,

seeming to me from another world:

”The greatest thing

you'll ever learn

is just to love

and be loved....

in return.”

--steveroni

(Quote taken from last lines of song “Nature Boy”)

6:30 AM. On my scooter this morning--stopped at a busy intersection

I looked up to see on a power line many singing birds—way up! I ogled two of them kissing and 'necking' as lovers. (They were!) So I felt inspired to write it down and

Post for Open Link Night Number 18 at

dVersePoets

which will begin TODAY

Tuesday at 3PM Eastern