THE LONG DRAFT

Most of my poems you don't see.
They are on draft.
Ready to be drunk.
Ready for the stink of the skunk.
Ready for the ghost in the trunk.

You don't read my poems.
They are caught in the draft.
The chill of the kill if not the thrill.
I do not easily take the pill.

What has it been?
I do myself in.

That's the joke.
Choke on that.


Rich Quatrone June 25 2012

BACK TO CIVILIZATION

1.  Patti Smith's on Letterman with a crooked eyeball and
a drummer and Lenny Kaye barking into the mics.  Kaye led
the Zoo at Rutgers in the 60s and I'd see him at the Ledge
and in my Sociology lecture.  He went on to get a master's
in history at NYU. Now he barks into microphones in 2012.

2.  But Cape May and the Peter Shields Inn with Diane
were beautiful. For two days and nights I was not lonely.
Diane was happy. I was happy.

3.  Read the first chapter of Shades of Gray.  Slick.
Glanced thru the sex scenes. I'm jealous because The Magic
House remains unpublished. And the sex scenes in my novel
howl the truth of existence. At least my existence.

4. My sons are in crisis. My younger son going off on his
own. 24 years to this moment. It was inevitable.

5.  I could bark into microphones but I refuse to do it.


Rich Quatrone June 13 2012

WORK

                   work is all I got left
                   to do nothing is to contribute to the mess
                                                --Donel Arrington


You see, there is hope!
Talked to 53 year old friend at the gym this morning,
the two of us lamenting the state of the world, of America,
of humanity.
But we agreed there is hope.
There are young people who have not succumbed, who
have not become cynics, dead inside, gone.


And I find this poem here.
The beauty of it, the intelligence, the love.


I think of my sons' band with its internal problems.
All the struggle to be strong and make beauty in music
and lyrics.
The work involved. The effort. The discipline.
It's not for the weak of stomach or mind.


Yet I believe we're going to make it!




Rich Quatrone June 8 2012

Psycho Social Spiritual Pollution

I feel the pain -
     Destruction and shame
     anger and hate and rage
In all this beauty i can't
     help but wonder why
     we don't change
Can't escape past Babylon
     no matter how deep
     i get, in meditation
     the jungles the valleys
     the forests the mountains
     the hot springs the love -
          the garbage
          just keeps piling up
     encroaching in on every last
     piece of natural land
     my enemy is my friend, so i take a stand!
     if i can learn to breathe again
     if i can learn to shake her hand,
     his head ego my shortcomings
     of crust running down
     my spine, entrenched in the
     perverted divine outreaches of
     civilization,
          hesitation
               lost in formulation
     of the new world inside
     i know where hope goes when its died
     cuz I've birthed her from the base of mine

I cry a thousand tears for the 300 child
hourly malnourished deaths,
images of war constantly
run through my head,
work is all I got left
to do nothing is to contribute to the mess

Bless bless bless
it's like a game of chess
and pawns are just the less
fortunate of the rest,
     gotta build gotta feed
     gotta squeeze and release
          this stake that’s been driven through
          our collective hearts!
Restart the pause
of an etiquette long gone,
unclick the bars
and un-slick the fog of humanities bind
transitioning in the time of epochs unwind
no denying the power of the times
change is the only constant
and it's accelerated with breath
we are the next step in human evolution
fuck all this pollution
be a part of the solution!

THE TIGER SWAMI

"I used to wrestle wild tigers with my bare hands.
No, not the doped up ones in circuses. The real deals.
Once I wrestled the raging Bengal tiger. He'd been starved
for days by those who kept him. My enemies. By the time
I faced him, he wanted my blood more than anything that
beast had ever wanted.  I was getting old, but my arms
were like anvils and I was ready.  Yet, there had been the
dream of the old lady who said I would be maimed and close
to death and that I would lie ill for six months. But after this
travail, I would emerge a holy man."

The American newspapers reported the story with typical
contempt and mockery.  It ran beside an ad for a Rolex
and over an ad for a vacation along the Rhine.  The second
ad displayed a sexy girl with alabaster skin.

By the time I'd faced the Bengal my spirit was polluted.
I wore the Rolex and drove a BMW convertible. I rode
a Ducati bike 160 miles an hour on the Autobon.

I had digressed enough until I read William Blake's
"The Tyger" and realized I could defeat the Bengal.

"The Tiger Swami almost lost his right arm.  His ear
dangled by his cheek.  Blood spurted everwhere. But
the mighty tiger lay exhausted and stunned on the
jungle floor.  The Swami lay in a hospital in Calcutta
for exactly six months," reported the New York Times,
in the Sunday Sports pages.


Rich Quatrone June 4 2012
43rd anniversary of my Rutgers College graduation

SHE SHE

The thing is she sticks with me.
Almost six years.
I have no money.
None.
My ex pays the rent, the utilities.
I drive my son's old Toyota.
I don't travel.
And now I have tinnitus.
Yet she sticks with me.
She's the wrong woman.
I'm the wrong man.
But she's still here.
She could get a dozen other men.
All sorts of men.
Rich men, poor men, white men,
black men, cool men, hot men.
She could get women.
Tall, short, intelligent, crazy,
wild.
She could have any of them.
But she sticks with me.
We would dance and rule the floor.
One night we danced without music
in front of the crowd.
The band was late.
We said fuck it and went out and
danced our dance.
I used to give her a  lap dance between
sets to the house music.
Women and men would stare.
We didn't care.
We loved it.
And each other.
We'd kiss while we danced.
We'd tease each other and do the
dance only real lovers can do.
And now it's over because of my ear.
And yet she's here.


Rich Quatrone June 2 2012