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.

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.
 

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

FIDDLE MOWDOWN

Linked to dVerse Poets Pub FormForAll-How To Write A Limerick

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/

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

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

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

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

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!)

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

Click

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/

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