jon1jt
11-28-2005, 03:11 AM
Thick underbrush bursting shadows green and lined,
A childhood oasis fading with time
His big blue eyes, round so round,
Eyes like blotters taking in landscapes and big city grounds;
Little boy lying in wait, a pounding heart and
everlasting fate
To catch a mystery light now suspended,
In a backyard hunt soon to be ended
In a dusky haze that harkens of old days
Out of one country three: Ma, pa and me;
few jobs, no money
So hear them play a medley abroad,
the clanking of pots and pans; Raw hands,
Life's fraud
Spinning dreams of Broadway and tap shoes,
America, nothing to lose
One family drawn ever closer to dirt & grime.
Roaring buses to boxcars mime,
Of city life and social strife
Exception: Juanito’s face in the open window glow
Showering Spanglish to lovely senorita below
I think of mother's hard days,
Artist/seamstress stitching a wholesome Italian brew,
of undrained tomatoes, basil, etc., not for one, nor two,
but always three-
Exalt,
Let one's heart ring for this sweet symphony--
One copper bell on the closing shop door,
he's the street shoemaker, but so much more!
The unpaved alley he traverses;
To think that father never curses;
those long days with old shoes, low pay.
Off to see his little boy
And inquire of his unfolding play;
The whereabouts of some fleeting yellow light;
One lightning bug, out of sight.
At once, mother's voice howls a familiar feat,
Time to gather her men, time to eat
For sure she's quite stern,
Long ago the two learned
One boy and one man emerge
From nature's playground
toward their sweet demiurge
A childhood oasis fading with time
His big blue eyes, round so round,
Eyes like blotters taking in landscapes and big city grounds;
Little boy lying in wait, a pounding heart and
everlasting fate
To catch a mystery light now suspended,
In a backyard hunt soon to be ended
In a dusky haze that harkens of old days
Out of one country three: Ma, pa and me;
few jobs, no money
So hear them play a medley abroad,
the clanking of pots and pans; Raw hands,
Life's fraud
Spinning dreams of Broadway and tap shoes,
America, nothing to lose
One family drawn ever closer to dirt & grime.
Roaring buses to boxcars mime,
Of city life and social strife
Exception: Juanito’s face in the open window glow
Showering Spanglish to lovely senorita below
I think of mother's hard days,
Artist/seamstress stitching a wholesome Italian brew,
of undrained tomatoes, basil, etc., not for one, nor two,
but always three-
Exalt,
Let one's heart ring for this sweet symphony--
One copper bell on the closing shop door,
he's the street shoemaker, but so much more!
The unpaved alley he traverses;
To think that father never curses;
those long days with old shoes, low pay.
Off to see his little boy
And inquire of his unfolding play;
The whereabouts of some fleeting yellow light;
One lightning bug, out of sight.
At once, mother's voice howls a familiar feat,
Time to gather her men, time to eat
For sure she's quite stern,
Long ago the two learned
One boy and one man emerge
From nature's playground
toward their sweet demiurge