Tag Archives: berets and bongos

{berets and bongos} 99;


“i’ve got to tell you
how i love you always
i think of it on grey
mornings with death

in my mouth the tea
is never hot enough
then and the cigarette
dry the maroon robe

chills me i need you
and look out the window
at the noiseless snow

at night on the dock
the buses glow like
clouds and i am lonely
thinking of flutes

i miss you always
when i go to the beach
the sand is wet with
tears that seem mine

although i never weep
and hold you in my
heart with a very real
humor you’d be proud of

the parking lot is
crowded and i stand
rattling my keys the car
is empty as a bicycle

what are you doing now
where did you eat your
lunch and were there
lots of anchovies it

is difficult to think
of you without me in
the sentence you depress
me when you are alone

last night the stars
were numerous and today
snow is their calling
card i’ll not be cordial

there is nothing that
distracts me music is
only a crossword puzzle
do you know how it is

when you are the only
passenger if there is a
place further from me
i beg you do not go”

-frank o’hara.

{berets and bongos} 98;


“girl with typewriter eyes
forms an ivory exclamation mark
in the black circle
of her pupil every time
he calls her lovely
in the other’s dark key
appears a question mark
she often wishes her thoughts
were not so inscribed
in her expressions.”

-rebecca lindenberg, “girl with typewriter eyes.”


{berets and bongos} 97;

“you do not always know what I am feeling.

last night in the warm spring air while I was
blazing my tirade against someone who doesn’t
me, it was love for you that set me

and isn’t it odd? for in rooms full of
strangers my most tender feelings
writhe and
bear the fruit of screaming. put out your hand,
isn’t there
an ashtray, suddenly, there? beside
the bed? And someone you love enters the room
and says wouldn’t
you like the eggs a little

different today?
and when they arrive they are
just plain scrambled eggs and the warm weather
is holding.”

-frank o’hara, “for grace, after a party.”

{berets and bongos} 96;


{buddy brews. tampa, fl. january 2012}

“i woke in a gold dress
you in jeans.

morning filled
wine bottles

in the kitchen
ashine with

fine mica glitter
of fish scales and salt.

it was quiet.

we coiled in scarves
outside –

me sugar, you milk.

you said: that went well,
don’t you think?

sun behind you

i kissed the hole in the light
and said, yes.”

-rebecca lindenberg, “aubade”.

{berets and bongos} 95;


{tampa. january 2012.}

“a thousand doors ago
when i was a lonely kid
in a big house with four
garages and it was summer
as long as i could remember,
i lay on the lawn at night,
clover wrinkling over me,
the wise stars bedding over me,
my mother’s window a funnel
of yellow heat running out,
my father’s window, half shut,
an eye where sleepers pass,
and the boards of the house
were smooth and white as wax
and probably a million leaves
sailed on their strange stalks
as the crickets ticked together
and i, in my brand new body,
which was not a woman’s yet,
told the stars my questions
and thought god could really see
the heat and the painted light,
elbows, knees, dreams, goodnight.”

-anne sexton, “young”.

{yah i know, i’ve been hard core anne sexton binging, but can you blame me? girl’s got style, ya’ll.}

{berets and bongos} 93;

{columbia university. january 2012} 

“december 1st

as we kissed good-bye
you made a little frown.
now christ’s lights are
twinkling all over town.
the cornstalks are broken
in the field, broken and brown.
the pond at the year’s end
turns her gray eyelid down.
christ’s lights are
twinkling all over town…”

-anne sexton, “eighteen days without you.”

{berets and bongos} 92;

“december 16th

once upon a time
you grew up in a bedroom the size of a dime
and shared it with your sister. that was west end
avenue in manhattan. longing for country you were penned into city, peering across the hudson at palisades park.
the boy in you played stickball until it was dark.

once upon a time
i was the only child forbidden to climb
over the garden wall. i didn’t dare to speak
up over the victorian houseful of rare antiques.
my dolls were all proper, waiting in neat rows.
my room was high ceilinged, lonely and full of echoes.

once upon a time
you said, ‘now that cabin is ours, i’m
going to run the power in.’ and we had a power party.
i made gingham curtains. we nailed up your doctoral degree.
we turned the stove on twice. oh my love, oh my louse,
we make our own electricity while we play house.”

-anne sexton, “eighteen days without you”.