Tuesday, March 31, 2015
Friday, March 27, 2015
Saturday, March 14, 2015
Friday, March 13, 2015
Monday, March 9, 2015
Thursday, March 5, 2015
My fingers feel cold and painful.
I stare at my cockpit wondering
if my plane will start in this temp.
at twenty-five knots gusting to thirty.
Is my decision to fly today dumb?
pilots and there are old pilots;
but there are no old bold pilots.
clear from here to the other side
of the skies but cold and windy.
no lightning – is it a nice day
to fly with an old pilot, Beatrice?
wondering, I’m sure, Why is she
flying in this temp, this wind?
The car makes a 180-degree turn,
stops by my wing. Its window
in your airplane or are you gonna fly?
I was disappointed that he did not
I am actually going to fly, sounding
a bit bold to myself, a bit bold –
Really, I yearn for respect, I yearn
for other pilots to say of me, Damn she’s
a good pilot – and old, too, very old.
Then, he said, I’ll close your fuel door for you.
for the first time – and it is
the first time I will fly so cold, so bold.
and homes warm, safe, sipping coffee
while I turn the key to start my plane
Are we still gonna fly? she says from
her airport, fifty cold, windy miles away –
hoping she will say, Let’s be old —
it’s too cold and too windy today –
so bold yet still hoping she’ll say, Well,
I’m not. So don’t take off, don’t fly today.
The computer malfunction will
keep me on the ground – Give it
Monitors in my cockpit power up.
She hasn’t said to me, hey, let’s
I say to myself. She’ll tell me to stay.
Do you have a heater in your plane?
Let Lovely Turn of Phrase Begin
Listen, will you? I think that . . . literature, poetry, music and love make the world go round . . . while mathematics explains things; I fill my life with them, then go walking in snowy woods.
Let us go then, you and I
like two etherized patients floating
through life, together feeling prufrockian.
DDB Jr. makes my world go 'round; during his absence, Pachelbel fills it up.
One summer I sailed across the Atlantic Ocean, then through the Gulf of Finland to reach Saint Petersburg; I pursued Joseph Brodsky in its alley ways. I dream of making that two summers.
I read “Biking to Electra;” found my way in a Jaguar car, and glanced at the flashing steel grasshoppers at sunset. I’ll follow K.O.P.’s footsteps after he followed N.Scott Momaday’s; find warmth and inspiration on a rainy mountain.
Throw chinese coins for the I Ching.
Save the whales, the spotted owl, the woman in toil.
Cast a fly for trout; my memories of fly fishing under the sunny blue Colorado sky remain; I yearn to build more . . . with more trophy Browns.
Listen for the swan’s calls on the Baltic Sea. Feel KKII's joy, his arms spread wide in Yazilikaya.
Good night, Jimmy Durante, where ever you are.