Monday, September 28, 2009

Surfer's lament

Only shadows in twilight
By mike marcellino

Skies clear violet,
pale turquoise.
Night swallows
seas of silk, swells,
shadows in twilight.

The black deep -
Jaws of death?
Only shadows in twilight.

Only shadows in twilight copyright Mike Marcellino 2009



Friday, September 25, 2009

Poetry in sand

Spirits of St. Augustine
by mike marcellino

Clouds the size of
galleon sails
dance in ocean pools
burnt by the falling sun
charred black grey,
red of campfires
miles an’ miles
a footprints
on flat cream sand
spirits of St. Augustine.

Costal clouds like
perimeter flares
hang
without motion
held up with
parachute suspenders.

Headlights in the dusk
head this way
scenes from Doctor No
miles an’ miles
a footprints
on flat cream sands,
spirits of St. Augustine.

Riding sweet Betsy to E
a woman an’ girl
hand an’ hand
out of the surf
with ankle length halter top dresses
pants of cotton on.

Do you always do this,
Hold hands?
No, I imagine you hold hands a lot.
Do you always wear dresses in the ocean?
They are modest. They cover our skin.

Yesterday’s crescent moon
tonight’s near a half.
Ships light the east horizon.
Seas darken
lure bulls an’ black tips
near 14 foot long.
Parties retreat to
houses in silhouette.
Scrub brush wrestle
in southeast breezes
on tales of Spanish saints
miles an’ miles
a footprints
on flat cream sand,
spirits of St. Augustine.

The writer in the night
rides by the trail,
daring not to cut though rabbit
rattle snake dunes.
The writer sees
lights
of the beachcomber,
visions
of the island of broken shells,
a fair Dutch girl
Nicole,
and brown skin Albina,
from Albania,
down to Augustine
to get their fortunes read
by the daughter of
a Rumanian celluloid queen.

Albina picks up
a tear drop
gun metal stone
cut with pin hole
from the sand of St. Augustine,
a trimast ship etched on. Nicole,
her flower dress gently flowing
gazes out to sea, wistfully
thinking of a short board
surfer
in her day dream.

Visions of
Anastasia,
in the night
miles an’ miles
a footprints
on flat cream sand,
spirits of St. Augustine.


Spirits of St. Augustine by Mike Marcellino copyright 2009

Sunday, September 20, 2009

Amelia Earhart, soft silver wings

Amelia Earhart, soft silver wings
by mike marcellino

"Courage is the price that Life exacts for granting peace. The soul that knows it not, knows no release from little things." - Amelia Earhart, 1927



amelia earhart,
Love your picture
in flight.
Love your goggles,
love your lips.
Love how you circled the world,
single handed.
amelia
amelia
amelia.

Like that leather
air cap.
You’re a goddess, a woman,
soft white,
ahead of your time,
such afterglow
night
in shinning armor.


Meet me on a northern coast,
not far from the equator,
above the island
where they made King Kong.


Your Atlantis, risen
in my South China Sea.
amelia
amelia
amelia.


Oh, your last flight.
Oh your last flight.
What a night.
Looking at your picture
in my book,
soft silver
soft silver
wings.


Your lips, painted colors
light, pretty pink.
Those eyes,
imagine,
sigh.
Your nails, natural,
fingertips.
Taking you with me.
amelia
amelia
amelia.


Soft silver
soft silver
wings.


Courage


Courage is the price that Life extracts for granting peace.
The soul that knows it not, knows no release.
From little things.
Knows not the livid loneliness of fear.
Not mountain heights where bitter joy can hear
The sound of wings.
How can life grant us boon of living, compensate
For dull grey ugliness and pregnant hate
Unless we dare
The soul’s dominion? Each time we make a choice, we pay
With courage to behold the restless day,
And count it fair. - Amelia Earhart, 1927


You made the crossing
not alone.
Meet you over the Atlantic.
amelia
amelia
amelia.


Soft silver,
soft silver,
wings.


copyright Mike Marcellino amelia earhart 2009

Monday, September 14, 2009

Flatbush, a new poem

Flatbush

by mike marcellino



Flew into New York
on wings of Peter Pan.
Flew into New York
on wings of Babylon.
Perfect trip, eleven minutes late.
Coastal Jersey the same,
belchin’ chemicals and oil -
industrial desolation
in the boot of this deep down.


Flew into New York
on wings of Peter Pan.
Flew into New York
on wings of Babylon.
On the heels of Jupiter,
not a bad act to follow
on the right a
Santa Anna’s banner,
lighter green an' red, white
tricolor
blazoned to the fire escape
of a third floor dirty red brick
tenement, a place the West Indians
call Flat Bush,
perfect spot for Jimmy Cliff.
Mariachi music filled the air
all Saturday.

Flew into New York
on wings of Peter Pan.
Flew into New York
on wings of Babylon.
Soft good mornings in English,
more likely Patois
darkened skins
standin' outside temples
ol' ladies an' gentlemen
takin’ numbers for dinner
in a church
outside
a
redemption,
after
a
revolution
into
a
resurrection.


Flew into New York
on the wings of Peter Pan.
Flew into New York
on the wings of Babylon.
Walkin on graves a stone
17th Century soldiers'
worn blank
in this once 'Vlacke bos'
Dutchland flat plain.


Flew into New York
on the wings of Peter Pan.
Flew into New York
on the wings of Babylon.
Jupiter on the right now
not as bright,
on this clear
an’ quiet night.




Wings of Babylon copyright by mike marcellino 2009

Saturday, September 5, 2009

The James Brown

by mike marcellino

Can man can,
only 80,
strong arms guide a bike,
his headlight of cans
arms of V-8 juice.

Can man can,
his Sears bike, an Elgin
then J.C. Higgins
thirty four model,
rusted over an over
runs straight ahead anyway
on tubes and tires.

Can man can,
aluminum down to 40 cents
from 71, in this depression.
His heart's still strong,
operated on.
His Elgin still runs true
along the yellowing brick roads
like a West Virginia
company coal town,
wood box houses
homes of steel workers
in the middles
of the then.

Can man can.
James Brown
ride on to Marietta,
down to the river
makin’ his way to Somerset,
Kentucky.

Can man can by mike marcellino copyright 2009

Long distance love

Love long distance
by mike marcellino


Long distance love.
Love, long distance,
far as the brightest moon,
fulfilling
empty blue black skies,
the star next door, Jupiter,
afterglow
afterthought
light in the wilderness.
Long distance love.
Love long distance.


Copyright by mike marcellino Long distance love 2009