Pretend (Hour Five)

 

 

Pretend

 

Sunflowers sit in a vase

starting to wilt just enough

to lose their vibrancy.

 

A people sit in basements

far from secure, not meant

to be a living place in what for

some of them will be their last days.

 

Knitting, clinking wine glasses

as if their lives aren’t shattered.

 

Pavement above an empty space

littered with remains of yesterday.

Nails scattered from the hinges of

what seemed like solid oak doors

now hanging crooked by a thread.

 

A solitary man in a proper blue suit

strolls along the deserted street

satchel in hand

looking like he has not a care

in the world.

 

Because the world he knew

is nothing now.

 

And the world he sees

is so foreign to him.

 

That what was him is lost

in a future so desolate and

dark that all he has left is

to pretend.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There Use to Be (Hour 4)

 

 

There Used to Be

 

There used to be a woods so high and thick

that where I sit was high in a tree.

The water and islands I see would be

hidden by the Douglas Fir next to me.

 

Squirrels scurried around the

ground and hurried up the trees

for reasons unknown to me.

 

There was a time

when time was lost.

Can it be it’s not what

it’s purported to be?

 

A gigantic boulder rolled

here by a wave of ice

twelve thousand years ago

looks pretty much the same

as it did a hundred years ago.

 

Why do I think my life

is so important?

 

After all, this life is just a

snapshot in an old polaroid

that is faded to yellow.

 

I’m giving a lot more importance

to what I do than it really deserves.

 

And while the bigger me thinks of

changing and improving the world.

 

I should know who I really am.

An ant in a colony of ants that is moving sand

because that’s what I’m programmed to do.

 

Try as I will it’s hard to understand

that the grain of sand I shoulder around

is just what it is and the only thing

I can really change is me.

 

Floating (Hour 3)

 

Floating

 

 

I’m lighter than air

as I glance around the

room where I write.

 

I see a dreamlike life

in snapshots of me, who

I was and who I will be.

 

The row house where

I was just a kid,

a monument of cement

and brick is so much

more as a flood of memories

washes over me.

 

Colleen and I in the early days

next to a photo twenty-five years later

while now we’re pushing fifty and

finding out we can take nothing for granted.

 

Anniversary photo of my parents

who’s substance is inside me more than I used to think.

They are next to an unknown enigmatic couple from

the old country found in a family album. Their stern faces

reflect a troubled time before my grandparents

escaped to this new world.

 

Three pictures of Todd Rundgren whom we called toad

in junior high and became a rock star surrounds my

Bar Mitzvah picture with me in the center of a

family with suits, flowers in lapels and fancy dresses

that looks like it deserves to be in a period movie.

 

Vacation picture of me on the beach with a son on my

shoulders and one on my lap, palm tree in the distance

strangely foretells where both of them now live.

 

Below my computer screen is a postcard of the Rocky statue in front of the

Philly skyline from where I grew up. Also photo of a spiritual gathering in India

and postcard of the East Berlin soldier jumping over barbed wire in the early days

of the wall that is famous in Berlin.

 

My high school graduation photo is above the tipi I pitched with no idea what

to do next in my life. I had nothing to lose and everything to gain by slowing

down my life and asking the powers that be to please guide me.

 

What I learned is that sometimes if I’m really lucky, the stars are aligned and perhaps

fate ties in somewhere…I can jump and the net will appear.

 

 

 

 

 

The Woods (Hour 2)

 

 

The Woods

 

 

The woods are lovely, dark and deep

immersed in them to me is sleep.

Because I often waste my time

with thinking that’s not worth a dime.

 

What is this life all about?

A reuben sandwich with sauerkraut?

Mouth full of cheesecake

and trying to shout?

 

Immersed in trees my mind goes still

Bird symphonies so bend my will,

while a chipmunk racing by

tells me that I have to try.

 

To understand that there is more

than all the things I try to do

and all the projects in my mind

there’s everyone I’ve left behind

there’s everyone I’ve left behind.

 

 

* The woods are lovely, dark and deep from Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost

 

 

Water (Hour 1)

 

 

Water

 

Twirling a thousand miles per hour, I don’t notice.

This dry outpost is almost seventy percent water, I don’t notice.

 

Submersing in womblike wet warmth

melts my mind

into primal time

when I swam like a fish

before I squirmed

through a canal to gasp

cough and sputter in air.

 

Oceans surround me with most of our water

which I can’t drink.

Icecaps and glaciers have most of the fresh water

which I can’t get to.

 

But who needs fact and figures?

What’s to be gained from figuring things out?

 

Sink or swim is what it’s all about.

Am I learning to take it to the next level?

Who’s to say this isn’t transition?

I swam before I breathed.

 

Could this life be the womb

that is preparing me to fly?

 

 

 

 

 

Testing one, two three

Testing won too 3…

Testing my capacity to sea things differently…as in poetics.

The best prep for me is to try to have a blank mind…which some may say is not too hard for me…

Hope you all have a fun, creative and innovative PM

Harvey

Nanette’s Nonet

 

Nanette’s Nonet

 

 

Being careful is silly she screamed

You’re crazy he said to demean

His challenge seen as extreme

She bounced from a high beam

He laughed, she floated

Into a pool

so moated

alone

throne

 

 

 

 

 

Periwinkle Forest Ranger

 

 

Periwinkle Forest Ranger

 

A periwinkle forest ranger winks

from up high and lets out a yell

as he jumps off the roof

of a cerulean skyscraper

with marshmallow windows.

 

His silky marmalade parachute

drifts through an indigo cloud,

just missing the snow covered

parchment Space Needle.

 

His mulberry gumboots crash

through a jet black window

and into an alabaster storefront,

squishing dozens of loafs

of sourdough bread.

 

Being beat from the jump

he spreads out his arms

(into the croissant section)

and falls fast asleep.

 

 

 

Different

 

Poem 10

Different

 

Why can’t I be like everyone else?

Whispers tell stories any kid can see.

 

Minor holiday Hanukkah blown up

to act like overwhelming Christmas.

 

Why can’t I be like everyone else?

Why do I have to be different?

Little Harvey wondered these things.

 

When the small group of Jewish kids

was taken to the back of the school room as much

to not partake in Christmas as to celebrate anything else

he didn’t realize that it was setting him free to be me.

 

Different meant he didn’t need to think and act like everyone else.

Different is how he learned to get beyond the laughter on the Catholic School bus

when his name was called as he joined them on a field trip.

Different got him past the priest who told the Catholic kids not to play with him.

Different explained the nuns who kicked him out of the gym.

 

And different is how he learned that what he chose to do came from an inner place

that didn’t need anyone else to approve.

 

The curse of my childhood

set the stage

for the freedom that came later.

 

Because I wasn’t taught to not think, just listen.

I wasn’t taught that the foremost thing was to be a good sheep.

 

I was taught that there is freedom in different.

And that has been the directive the rest of my life.