Words and Pictures: New Poem - The Administrator

Words and Pictures: New Poem - The Administrator

New Poem - The Administrator

The "Blue Collar Review" graciously published two of my poems this month - here is one of them:

With the soul of an artist

And the spirit of a captive serf

I sit in the boardroom, bored

Beyond belief. My eyes fugue

At gray on gray walls and carpeting;

Generic industrial photos on the wall

Next to the obligatory CEO portrait.

I want to drum my fingers 

On the teak conference room table, but

That would be politically incorrect,

Certain to generate raised eyebrows,

Furrowed brows, nervous agitation

As they guesstimate how long

My tenure will be after the disturbance.

I long to paint. Even if it’s only my son’s bedroom walls

In only one color. I long to be in my gardens,

Basking in the sanctuary created by mother nature

That bedazzles me into giving up my attention,

To stop, smell the roses, touch the silky petals, inhale.

But I’m captive, listening to the corpspeak

Nodding at the appropriate time, smiling

At just the right moment, hoping the CEO

Won’t expound on and on and on and on

As is his way. And I look round the table

At all the faces I’ve known for years, all

Holding that look, that “when will this end” look

Pretending they are fascinated, and I cringe

My inner soul screaming for freedom, as I realize

With certainty, I look just like all of them.

The Dead Alarm Clock

While dusting my night table this morning I noticed my alarm clock wasn’t running. Dead batteries? I've been unemployed for a while and haven't really needed it. I briefly wondered how long ago it died? How long had I been without a clock? I have a cell phone that wakes me, tells me what I have to do that day and glows in the dark in nice digital numbers! My alarm clock, though beautiful, and faithful in waking me for probably almost three decades, is just not needed anymore. I won’t replace the batteries, or maybe I will if I remember when I’m downstairs where they are. I will keep it on my night table though because it belongs there, its earned the right to stay there, and I feel better knowing its there in case my phone dies or I forget to recharge. Oh yeah, you have to recharge! Heading down to the kitchen for batteries now. Just in case.

Winter Gardens

The winter gardens are beautiful in their austerity, the raised beds, surrounded by gravel paths are barren but tidy, against the flagstone patio where the wrought iron table and chairs sit patiently waiting for the return of warm weather visitors! The hydrangeas are brittle stalks, lovely in their indifference to the cold, even with the lack of blossoms, only a few dried brown heads remaining, evidence of the profusion of blue last summer. Dormant lavender and sage still stand near the dried lemongrass and hollyhocks waiting for the warmth to return, the land to thaw.  The ground has crystals in it, where frost has attacked and harbored. It isn’t soft, warm and crumbly like spring soil full of moisture and the promise of life. It’s hard, cold, sealed within itself, keeping secrets unseen by our eyes but which we know, by faith, they will  give back to us come spring. Above, the night sky is ringed with a cold gossamer haze cocooning the white sliver of the new moon, beaming gently down on all the gray, white cold of earth in its frozen grasp. An occasional raccoon or opossum waddles through looking for remnants in the vegetable garden, empty of all but a few Brussels sprouts and one head of green cabbage. The air is still, birdsong disappearing into the dark, only the far away echo of cars on Route 136 or Interstate 95 interrupt the soothing peace of night, falling earlier and staying longer in the morning. There is something wondrous about looking at the gardens empty of life, sitting expectantly, waiting patiently, nurturing underground the roots and bulbs of what will be my entertainment after the long winter solstice.

My mother at Lenox Hill Hospital with her 3rd husband Ralph Baruch -

A Little pre-Christmas and pre-December humor from my Cat Omar

  A kittlie tail…

Ah December, crackling fires in the fireplace to snooze in front of, dreaming of the sleeping catnip patch and spring. Snow falling outside the window we used to jump in and out of all summer long. Alas, no catnip, but when the craving starts in us, we merely wander down to the garden (the flagstones still get warm from the weakening sun) and chew the woody stalks to release the fragrance that fills our minds with summer dreams.  Then back to the fires to snooze, back to the bed to bask in whatever rays of sun come streaming through the windows, back to dreams of gardens to frolic in, stone walls to scamper along, fences to squiggle under and mice to catch. Happy  December and an early but very Merry Christmas!

Thanksgiving

Every year at this time I ask myself what I am thankful for. The list seems to get longer every year. I am thankful for my children who all seem to be happy, healthy, and thriving in this turbulent economic environment. They all seem to have found good women in their choice of life companions. I am blessed with a healthy happy grandson who delights me and reminds me of all the wonders I experienced with my children when they were young.

I am thankful I am no longer in the job I held that kept me stifled and depressed though I am not thankful for the lack of a job as a source of steady income. I am grateful for all the friends who support me in my endeavor to carve out a career with the written word. It is because of them I don’t give up.

I am grateful for my dog who’s energy and exuberance takes me on daily walks and bring new friends to my door because everyone seems to love to stop and visit with her as they pass by my house, delivering mail or taking a walk on their lunch break, or whatever errand has them passing by on their way down Route 136.

I am grateful for the Sugar Bowl that hosts the Darien Times editors and anyone who chooses to join them for coffee on Thursday mornings. The conversations are lively and sometime laced with arguments and heat but always I come away learning something new. And I’m grateful that the Darien Times chooses to print my letters week after week. Hopefully, what I say is helping other people even if it is merely to entertain them with a walk down nostalgia lane.

I am grateful for Pelicci’s where I wandered in last night in jeans and a sweater with good friends for a hearty Italian meal and a refreshing, icy cold Gray Goose martini, a wonderful venue to spend a Saturday night chatting, and catching up with old friends and getting to know good friends.

I am grateful to still be in my house despite my lack of income. Somehow the money comes and I’m able to stay month after month continuing my endeavors and working from home where I can combine my creative pursuits with cooking and gardening and just admiring the wonderful world we live in that I see through my windows – the woods that change with the seasons and hold me spellbound. The birds in their vast variety, colors, and songs that always seem focused, self-sufficient and light hearted. The animals not always seen but always there under cover of dark harboring in the same woods – the coyotes, foxes, raccoons, opossums, deer and whatever else I have not yet had the luck to see. I am grateful just to be.