Nine Neighborhood Poems: from Donkeyland [Poems out of Minnesota]

I. The Mockers: Winter and SummerWho played a guitar and wrote poetry:
Winter, the gray mocker of death;Nobody is sure where he went, and why...
Summer, the rose that never wept,A few folks perhaps, but no one is saying.
Come both with me, whisper--A singer, dancer, karate man, soldier, poet, lover.
The soft silver harvestHe broke a lot of hearts, and he felt the pain
Of your seasons; come touchlikewise!
My face with snow and sunI wonder if anyone remembers him at the bar?
For you are the unanswerable ones.Or knows where he's gone to--I doubt it.
#1512 10/17/2006#1516
II. Between two HousesVII. Donkeyland--Sunset
Between two housesI remember the last day in the neighborhood; it
The wired fence stoodwas in the year 1968.
And the trees and chimneysAfter that day, I'd never return to stay--(I'd
And the heat and the lightfollow the sunset; travelwe world).
And the hot, hot summerThe day had a gleam of light to it, and in my
Was there.body a hesitation, the airwas cool, it was April.
My prayers were saidI didn't realize then, I'd remember so well, and
And the neighbors were at restkeep so many photos inmy mind (I suppose I
And the night allowed us to sleepwas getting ready for San Francisco, leavingthe
And the presence of mother's voiceMidwest behind).
Was overall....I remember her long (my neighborhood): hearts
Note: When I was growing up, wherever one is,that escape you, corners that hate you; life there
simple tings are remembered, when they getfor many, have gone from roses toashes; harsh
older, so it has been with me, and the voice ofand trampled are her streets: "Donkeyland,' they
another, a neighbors house, sounds and images,callher, who never weeps.
one never things will arise, do. #1513Note: Our neighborhood was called Donkeyland by
III. Across the Streetthe St. Paul Police; nicknamed by a police officer
Night, from an attic bedroom windowcalled Howey (or Howe; not sure of the correct
Is a gray, dark thing?spelling) who used to comb Cayuga Street, and
Street lamps reflecting railroad carsthe rest of the neighborhood back in the late 50s
Broken across the street;and 60s. #1517
My brother's quivering under his covers,VIII. Mrs. Stanley
Says: "Go back to sleep!"She sits on her porch and knits
#1514Bending at the window-sill
IV. Empty LotWith old, old waxed fingers
In the middle of summerSmiling away
In the empty lot(my old neighbor)Mrs. Stanley)
Next to grandpa's houseNow forenoon has come
(where I lived with my brother and mom)She switches to another window
We'd play softball (reckless days of my youth);(still on that little porch)
Eager was everyone thereafterLooking down now, to the street
With their wilds wishes and all.(I'm but fifteen)
#1515"Doesn't she have anything else to do?'
V. Cemetery WhispersI say...
(Oakland Cemetery, St. Paul, Minnesota)I look at her again, her face
Over the cemetery fence we wentThrough the drapes
As if the dead were calling us;She seems homeless
The graves whispered--yet, voicelessIn that big house (I think).
(perhaps just in my mind)) but--deaf I wasn't):#1518
As a result, the shadows flickeredIX. God Saw Death (7/1/2003)) 10:55 PM))
In the light of the moon, made the earth groanPerhaps death is gift from God, my mother
Under my wobbly feet...wished it, when I came to the hospital to visit
As I put my lips to the bottles of brew,that is; she was tired of living she said, knowing
Splattering it here and there,after her last operation life would not be the
As the sea of dead continued to whisper.same.
Note: we really were not bad kids back then, notI remember quite well, she was afraid to turn on
compared to what kids do nowadays; we werethe stove, lest she forget to turn it off I
bored out of our minds, needed a placed to getsuppose, especially if I was gone (not sue what
drunk, and the cemetery for a few years lookedhappened, or went wrong, but perhaps something,
the place to do it (especially when you are 15, 16I'll never know).
and 17-years old). #1516She even dreamt of going back home, we lived
VI. Left (1968)together, her downstairs, me, upstairs, and when
Most everyone loved Chick on our city blockshe learned she never would, she didn't feel any
(neighborhood)loner she belonged here on earth, she had to go
So we all loved a wild, infatuated boy,she knew, and she left.