220 Central Park South, then and now

MY BORDENTOWN

from ROAD TRIPS, poems

This one goes way back,

Back to the morning the doll was unboxed 

And the wrapping paper was so shiny

It reflected the bend in the day.

Decades ago, the doorbell rang...

Four eyebrows raised in arches, red lipstick

Covered many white teeth, and a kettle boiled.

The aunts welcomed them and celebrated the

Day they arrived on old Burlington Street.

That old storied house smelled like yesterday’s mothballs

And in the dim light the teen sensed the ghosts of ancestors 

Walking through the rooms of the house, a house that

Had many concealed rooms and probably many secrets to hide.

But they sat in the muted foyer decorated in bland colors 

And had dark tea and sweet cakes and talked about family 

And reminisced about distant relatives

Who at one place in time were so much closer

They could see each other's breath Falling from tongues.

And then the teen climbed a very steep narrow staircase 

To a room with a low ceiling and greeted an old uncle 

Who lay in his bed covered by a white chenille worn 

Bedspread and he beckoned for her to go closer 

Because he did not even know her name.

That was not the first time the teen breathed air

On Burlington Street.

There was an echo from a day long ago

Of a time when the child was so young she had to hold 

Her grandmother’s hand when she left that house.

It was a hot summer day when all was still 

And everybody walked more slowly.

The quiet sounds on the street soon melted away 

As they moved closer to the corner.

They followed the sound of the happy music 

Until they were in front of

The Clara Barton School.

The old one room schoolhouse was 

Surrounded by a white picket fence.

Until that day parties were a different experience. 

On that day it was red ribbons, red balloons

And red velvet cakes that stuck to her teeth

As would, in later years, her aunts’ lipstick.

And inside everybody was playing and dancing

And doing little things that mattered.

They sat on a worn bench by the window and the view 

Settled in and with one gasp the intoxicating

Memory of that party was forever set like

Solid stone inside her.

The hard rocks on the pavement during the walk back 

Grew envious. 

Dean and Deana Martin's Nightcap

 My letter was read on Deana Martin's WABC radio show during the "mail time" segment. 

STORM

Wednesday: 

It was a perfect storm

On a particular almost desolate highway.

The curves in the grounded road were often 

Filled with traffic but on stormy days, 

Sometimes not.

There was a sudden present on one day

One hard rainy day when water filled the air

In moments that gathered and pushed to

A new present with water and visible 

Angled lightning that passed in the rear view.

One life, that on most stripped down days

Barely mattered to many or oddly even any,

Turned and that dusk was carved into memory. 

On that day, it was a blurry remarkable 

Occurrence that happened in almost

Darkness, when the grey ripples 

Of thunder in the air parted and 

Forced her to listen to nothing. 

But she remembered,

She remembered… to slow down. 

And then with no warning,

A rapid appearance startled. 

And right, moving to left, 

From one side to the other side

Two old bent strangers with 

No umbrellas, but holding hands… 

Crossed the road.

© Marjorie J. Levine 2021

ANDRE THE GIANT IS MY ROLE MODEL

A catfish trolled me for years. In truth, I enabled his agenda so at the end of every year I could make him a tax deduction for my charity work. That dude was Bored. He flattered me and it sort of pumped my pedestal but I was getting weary of the daily nonsense which was stupider than watching “They Saved Hitler’s Brain” for the 50th time and the banter was getting more effective than a Sominex, so I consulted a therapist.

She told me my cure was to sit at my computer wearing mittens. For confidence, I had brought along to the consultation my imaginary twin. Oh, at the end of that session, the shrink charged me double!

I am not triggered by trolls because I do not identify with Don Quixote but sometimes I do enjoy a good cyber battle, even though my opponent usually has an IQ that matches my weight at the age of five or the current room temperature.

I invited my catfish to meet me in a chatroom for the internet match of the century. My comments jabbed and grabbed; I did gotchas, taunts, and reveals. I typed Haymakers and Bolo punches. But it was my Dempsey Roll over the chat boundaries that took him down. He rage quit like my Aunt Ruth on Thanksgiving when she was not served her prune juice. Later, I pulled out of internet games and moved on... and my catfish? He died. Literally.

In retrospect, I think I was too much of a mental challenge. One night on cam, his roommate shined a light into one ear and that light shot right out of the other ear. He had a totally undescended brain!

And to the extent that I totally go forward and consistently ignore provocations, I might be eligible for admission into Nintendo Mensa.

I moved on and into reality. One dude I met at Roseland told me he could use the elastic from my underpants... for bungee jumping. He said to me “Baby, I want to take you home and do things to you nobody has ever done before… a liposuction.” I told him I am overweight because I have Alzheimer’s... I keep forgetting I just ate. I dumped him and I met a Jewish guy into kinky sex. He wanted me to eat bacon off his body. I passed a Jewish homeless guy and he promised to use the money I gave him for a bottle of Maneshevitz!

I was a teacher for 35 years. A student asked me what would be a good punishment for Bernie Madoff. I did not reply and he said: “One date with you.” During one of my internet broadcasts, a viewer told me my show sucked. Then he asked me if he could do a simulcast! Jeeves, these mixed messages are making me dizzy, pass the Dramamine. 

Some might call my life a cameo appearance. I had my share of encores, but my best day was in a curtain call when I quietly drank Aunt Ruth’s prune juice in my bedroom and two hours later defined myself in huge underestimation. Move over, Andre, I am now the new star of that show.

© Marjorie J. Levine 2021 

INSPIRED AND ADMIRED

PUT DOWN ARTISTS INSPIRE ME: INSPIRED and SELF ADMIRED

Inspiration comes from unexpected places

Especially from others with smiling expressions on their faces.

So I took pen in hand for a lofty literary review

And at midnight, after eating a late nosh, I had something to do.

My work was labeled filled with “self-pity?”

Wow, I internalized that opinion and decided to be more witty.

But I pondered that conclusion and it seemed a puzzling disconnect

It was bewildering; I did a quick mental 360: should I be wrecked?

I began to think: was I being “extra” as I crafted non LULZ poems

Or was I just branding my special form of high end well praised tomes?

How can some be critical about masterpieces filled with melancholy

And think that lower level pieces would be greater if they were jolly?

But, I investigated what is “trending” and causing much chatter

And I decided to get laser focused on that difficult matter.

I was told “sex sells” and of course that is not a shocker

Oye, with my aches and pains at my age I am just an alter kocker.

I decided to be more cheerful and cut back on the sorrow

I analyzed my mantra and I look forward to tomorrow.

I put on my Gucci tee and my bag labeled Christian Dior

And lo and behold my neighbors embraced me for never being a bore.

They greeted me in the lobby with high fives and welcomes and such

And we went to 16 Handles and devoured chocolate ice cream much.

Will this poem go viral and get the attention of Kanye?

I contacted him on twitter and asked “Whatta ya know, whatta ya say?”

He did not answer but Sharon Olds, Louise Gluck, and Rae Armantrout

Chuckled in replies and asked me to join them for tea at a place with clout.

We time traveled to the famous and legendary Algonquin Round Table

And they had red wine and I asked for a schmear mit a pumpernickel bagel.

OMG a few tables away sat the infamous and brilliant Michio Kaku

He was gobsmacked in a wormhole and said: “Who knew?”

Whatever, ver vais… let’s go back to 2021 with haste we have much to do.

I hope this poem I do not have to edit

If I do I want engraved in the Library of Congress that credit.

Yikes, this hot bad boy I love just stifled a weird sound

I hope he still digs me cause from that bagel I gained a pound.

© Marjorie J. Levine 2021

FOUR POEMS

 INSPIRED

Inspiration comes from unexpected places

Especially from others with smiling expressions on their faces.

So I took pen in hand for a lofty literary review

And at midnight, after eating a late nosh, I had something to do. 

My work was labeled filled with “self-pity?”

Wow, I internalized that opinion and decided to be more witty. 

But I pondered that conclusion and it seemed a puzzling disconnect

It was a bewildering deduction; I did a quick mental 360: should I be wrecked?

I began to think: was I being “extra” as I crafted non LULZ poems 

Or was I just branding my special form of high end well praised tomes?

How can some be critical about masterpieces filled with melancholy

And think that lower level pieces would be greater if they were jolly?

But, I investigated what is “trending” and causing much chatter

And I decided to get laser focused on that difficult matter.

I was told “sex sells” and of course that is not a shocker

Oye, with my aches and pains at my age I am just an alter kocker.

I decided to be more cheerful and cut back on the sorrow

I analyzed my mantra and I look forward to tomorrow.

I put on my Gucci tee and my bag labeled Christian Dior

And lo and behold my neighbors embraced me for never being a bore.

They greeted me in the lobby with high fives and welcomes and such

And we went to 16 Handles and devoured chocolate ice cream much. 

Will this poem go viral and get the attention of Kanye?
I contacted him on twitter and asked “Whatta ya know, whatta ya say?”

He did not answer but Sharon Olds, Louise Gluck, and Rae Armantrout

Chuckled in replies and asked me to join them for tea at a place with clout.

We time traveled to the famous and legendary Algonquin Round Table

And they had red wine and I asked for a schmear mit a pumpernickel bagel.

OMG a few tables away sat the infamous and brilliant Michio Kaku

He was gobsmacked that we went through a wormhole and said: “Who knew?”

Whatever, ver vais… let’s go back to 2021 with haste we have much to do.

I hope this poem I do not have to edit

If I do I want engraved in the Library of Congress that credit. 

Yikes, this hot bad boy I love just stifled a weird sound

I hope he still digs me cause from that bagel I gained a pound. 

by Marjorie J. Levine © 2021

STORM

Wednesday: 

It was a perfect storm

On a particular almost desolate highway.

The curves in the grounded road were often 

Filled with traffic but on stormy days, 

Sometimes not.

There was a sudden present on one day

One hard rainy day when water filled the air

In moments that gathered and pushed to

A new present with water and visible 

Angled lightning that passed in the rear view.

One life, that on most stripped down days

Barely mattered to many or oddly even any,

Turned and that dusk was carved into memory. 

On that day, it was a blurry remarkable 

Occurrence that happened in almost

Darkness, when the grey ripples 

Of thunder in the air parted and 

Forced her to listen to nothing. 

But she remembered,

She remembered… to slow down. 

And then with no warning,

A rapid appearance startled. 

And right, moving to left, 

From one side to the other side

Two old bent strangers with 

No umbrellas, but holding hands… 

Crossed the road.

© Marjorie J. Levine 2021

AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL

She sits wishing something fortuitous will enter her day

And as she types in bold font she finds nothing new to say.

Her work is bland and dull and never cuts with a sharp knife

So she plays chess online to try to mitigate her strife. 

Every day is a rerun, nothing different and nothing new is ever said

And after watching Buzzr and laughing at Password Plus she goes to bed. 

In her dreams she meets Frankie Avalon who asks her out on a date

And when she awakens she truly believes he could have been her fate. 

If truth be told she believes she is delusional but tries not to pout and mope

Because honestly without her imagination each day would be a difficult cope. 

Go get this, go get that, go for a drive and go get the mail

A travel brochure arrived and the picture of the Mediterranean entices her to sail. 

So she packs up her stuff and considers taking a pink cute little bikini

But the last time she wore it she was insulted by a crude meanie. 

Life is fraught with ups and downs and taking chances is hard I know

But at least today she has a future and she is not yet six feet below.

What is this puzzle on this planet all about she wonders aloud

Is there nothing she can leave behind of which she can be proud?

She finds a little old black and white photo when she was little and small

It seems like just yesterday when she wore a diaper and that was all.

So now she is old and why did the years pass so quickly into a puddle

It is bewildering and confusing and a riddle that seems like a muddle. 

She can stick big words and metaphors into this thing she sits writing

But honestly, at the end of the day would a reader find it more biting?

And so another day ends and she pulls up her orange weighted blanket

A new trip will begin and magical thinking will be her impetus to crank it.

Then she will return home to a dusty apartment that needs painting

And for some laughs she will dance the tango in her lobby and then feign fainting. 

That’s it! It’s all about the comedy and jokes

Without laughter we simply have no hopes. 

© Marjorie J. Levine 2021

LUCID DREAMING

Inspiration comes from unexpected places

Especially from others with smiling expressions on their faces.

So I took pen in hand for a lofty literary review

And at midnight, after eating a late snack, I had something to do. 

My previous work was labeled filled with “self-pity!”

I internalized that opinion and decided to be more witty. 

But I pondered that conclusion and it seemed a puzzling disconnect

It was a bewildering deduction; I did a quick mental 360: should I be wrecked?

I began to think: was I being “extra” as I crafted sad poems 

Or was I just branding my special form of high end well praised tomes?

How can some be critical about pieces filled with melancholy

And think that other work would be greater if they were jolly?

But, I investigated what is “trending” and causing much chatter

And I decided to get laser focused on a difficult matter.

I was told “sex sells” and of course that is not surprising

But, with my new interests I prefer word designing.

I decided to be more cheerful and cut back on the sorrow

I analyzed my mantra and I look forward to tomorrow.

I put on my Gucci tee and my bag labeled Christian Dior

And lo and behold my neighbors embraced me for never being a bore.

They greeted me in the lobby with high fives and welcomes and such

And we went to a party and devoured chocolate ice cream much. 

Will this poem go viral and get the attention of Kanye?
I contacted him on twitter and asked “Whatta ya know, whatta ya say?”

He did not answer but Sharon Olds, Louise Gluck, and Rae Armantrout

Chuckled in replies and asked me to join them for tea at a place with clout.

We time traveled to the famous and legendary Algonquin Round Table

And they had red wine and I asked for a cola and a pumpernickel bagel.

OMG a few tables away sat the infamous and brilliant Michio Kaku

He was gobsmacked that we went through a wormhole and said: “Who knew?”

Whatever… let’s go back to 2021 with haste we have much to do.

I hope this poem I do not have to edit

If I do I want engraved in the Library of Congress that credit. 

© Marjorie J. Levine 2021