Dave Ruslander
Steve Dalachinsky
Dave Ruslander
Memory Ghost
The look is crisp -
the color of wilted newspaper
crinkled and imposing.
It's invigorating -
a winter night's stroll across powder.
I see him precisely, now.
Copyright © 2006 by Dave Ruslander
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Impetus
Steel wheels grind against iron tracks,
slip and spin,
moan
resistance,
momentum
each revolution.
Stop,
chug, inch by inch forward
metal groans, pistons churn
boilers hiss.
Steam and smoke choke the sky, a whistle wails,
the bell clangs, clangs, clangs
and the station begins to recede.
Speed catches up, the Doppler
rumbles down the rail pulling
quiet calm in its wake where
bison once roamed.
from Voices in my Head
used by permission of the author
Copyright © 2006 by Dave Ruslander
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Parallel Universes
Somewhere a thousand miles away
a breeze whispers ripples to a pond.
Acrobatic leaves tumble like rhythmic gymnasts
performing over a reflection.
And we huddle around a fire
watching stone soup boil
as the wind lands blows against our backs.
Copyright © 2006 by Dave Ruslander
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A Moment
A bamboo flute sings through swaying reeds,
while dragon flies dance among mangroves.
lit lanterns keep mosquitoes at bay
and the warmth of a cool breeze tickles my skin.
My parrot's round black eye blinks with an idea.
He holds his peanut upside down in his foot
And with glee squeezes the shell
until it cracks up. His humor
is evident by the compound sentences
he begins to jabber, explaining his joy.
In the distance, Cloud Mountain,
holds back the river.
Copyright © 2006 by Dave Ruslander
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Contributor's Note: Dave and his wife live quietly on a small farm in rural Virginia where their lives are enriched by the beauty of their horses, dogs, and cats. Dave
began writing about five years ago and has learned to damn near mangle any grammatical rule known. His first book, Voices in My Head, has just been published. Dave suffers from Bipolar Disorder.
Steve Dalachinsky
reader friendly
sipped again
i thought here for love or
money
i have
plenty
of
both
breath
(stupid me dreaming sugary)
nouns & prepositions
on fire
in a strange city of tight pants
tight pants on a young belly holes
how strange the young belly show thru deep rosed plaster (ed)
money doesn't know where it goes
it goes into pockets
put on the found cups & left
steve dalachinsky nyc 11/16/05 @ poetry project ted berrigan collected poems
Copyright © 2006 by Steve Dalachinsky
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time squared
the woman in white
i saw her today on broadway
across from the bertelsmann blding
a mega virgin
w/e-mail as well as voice
mail
a lone male
for a moment
then the herd returns
still alone writing this on corner
of 46th
heard of planet Hollywood
tho never been
the hershey store smelling
like what else - chocolate
colony records lp section closed
me the point of a compass
passerbys sweeping by
like all an points bulletin
this side of the street
she says this side she says
i thought it was on this side of the street
she says you guys it's on this side
wherever i stand i am always in someone's way
- a domestic wind
blowing thru my newly found
oversized overcoat.
steve dalachinsky nyc written in times square 11/17/05
Copyright © 2006 by Steve Dalachinsky
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dark things
the furniture that holds dark things -
"hear the song i didn't
sing to you"
far & unavailable
the lost opportunity of whatever
you were
within the round
a roun ____d
i am a writer
therefore i pick up a pen i find
on the street
the rain goes from thick to thin
the last leaves of the ginkgo
spread themselves across the concrete
like a wet blanket
the empty benches wait out this storm
dark things on an even darker night.
steve dalachinsky nyc pt 1 2005 date unknown pt 2 11/16/05
Copyright © 2006 by Steve Dalachinsky
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margaret shows henry the met (cartoon1)
you shouldn't have given me such a gift - h says
we are here
to find ourselves
know our selves - m says
which is better - h asks
the former or the
latter?
virtue & sweet death - says m
& ectoplasm? h mutters smiling his child smile
that too m assures him
there are horrors
in bklyn
in queens
awkward moments
that only a gift giver can solve
fra angelico playing second fiddle
van gogh showing his muscles
exiled dreamers
good gifts
bad gifts & sweet
death
when i'm alone h says
i have no one to talk to but myself
or the occasional stranger
when with you
we argue over the time & space
in which one speaks
exists
it depends always on the needs of the "Other"
- m gently tells him
speaking actually about her own selfish needs
foreign languages
are our emotions she softly kicks him
in the thigh
like she would a pestering dog
mumbling remembering memling @ the frick
earlier that afternoon
centuries of portraits
hard lines
cameos
drawings
the pomposity & religiosity of
prague implanted w/stone
fragments
hands
images
space
we fight for space -m says quietly
we viciously fight but the windmills never topple
will never topple
violent pieces of scrap voices
topple
topples
a soul(s) donor
a short list of color
the thought only counts if you mean it m tells h
h wanders off in his mind
his sad eyes fixed hazily on the speck of light
darting out of an imaginary
landscape.
memling @ the frick
memling's subjects always
placed their hands at the edge of the canvas
like a frame w/in a frame
a brown balcony
sometimes one atop the other
sometimes holding a scrap of paper
that seemed out of proportion w/the rest of the canvas
&
once what looked like a folded black fan
ghosts
brows
style wit
postures
without shape or plan
relaxed
as long as memory continues
to relax
reshape
it self.
dalachinsky nyc @ frick & @ met 12/07/05 & @ home 12/08/05
Copyright © 2006 by Steve Dalachinsky
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