Friday, March 22, 2013

BZ Niditch- Three Poems


Just as you are
waiting for me
at the port of call
after a night
of James Dean films
a sea gull catches
our red eyes
which fail us
at the usual
home harbor
at first vessel light
crumbling in
our wearied faces
in dawn's sunshine
we taking off
our motorcycle jackets
near the shore drive
our black boots
on gluey seaweed
by the open waters
unlocking the kayak
over the bridge
soon to be absorbed
by ripened shadows
of waves undertow
in the tidal basin
watching the fish
nose dive below us
near the cargo ships
bringing in pink salmon,
with lobsters and squid
launched on schedule
hearing sailor sounds
by the sea voices
from the mainland
cry out between meshes
of the waves frenzy
veined with shade
from the light house
encircled by shore birds.


Waking up
in a tent city
turning up
on charred first light
over a sleeping bag
stolen up town,
a write on poet
with a long rap sheet
sings by a cold wind,
a bird nibbles
at your right ear,
feeling alone
threadbare in
a back jacket pocket
the judge signed
letter head says
you're facing time,
with long cut hair
falls on his muscle shirt,
stolen from up town
a wan body
bruised and reddened
with two broken ribs
enraged by fate
digs in
by needled syringes
for the long March
in the backwater city
near a park bench. 


Under strobe lights
roped off by one another
trying to appear calm
after an all night
of preparation
in an insomniac dawn
feeling ashen
with long lines
of curiosity
reading my thoughts
and the barometer
down to zero
in this sun parlor
of a studio
with a bilingual ensemble
now pinned down
to go over
the upbeat spoof     
of a comedy
as the second interview
dwindles in a muffled sound
of motionless air
on the cold pavement
a gentleman in a red scarf
handing out coffee cups
gives me a thumbs up.

BZ Niditch is published widely in the UK, North America, France, Japan and Australia.

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