"i live here", Long Island Poem for the 4th of July weekend, 2013

Today seems like a good time to stop and ponder on wheres and whys. We hope you will find this poem by Tom Stock, who lives and writes in the midst of the Pine Barrens, inspirational.

i live here
Tom Stock

on sand, near water
with gentle morane
a cape spread to the north
in the spring and fall plankton bloom
in winter where hot water pond doesn't freeze
in spring and last years garlic bulbs sprout

I live here
with two million others
500,000 cars
mall upon mall upon mall
litter concentrated at every exit
noise

I live here
boat lines canal, white sails full
dunes with red bands of sand at their base
pine barrens dry crikley oak leaves afoot
tall tulip trees with old barked trunks
the birds, the birds, the birds
a great egret flaps over Southards Pond
white sheet drying on a line

i liver here
since 1962 to learn to smell salt air
to hike, to pick off ticks
to sit against a tree
write this poem

i live here by Tom Stock.
Published with author's permission.

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Previous Long Island Poem for Sunday - "promise, rebirth and wonder", Long Island Poem for early spring Sunday

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"promise, rebirth and wonder", Long Island Poem for early spring Sunday

Spring, the miracle of rebirth — beautifully put by the East Rockaway poet Peter V. Dugan.

Spring is near
Peter V. Dugan

as snow melts away
soil thaws, becomes soft and moist
green sprouts welcome warmth

green sprouts welcome warmth
trees await their new wardrobes
buds ready to bloom

buds ready to bloom
birds sing from limbs and branches
croon songs of courtship

croon songs of courtship
sweet sounds of life fill the air
as Winter's grays fade

as Winter's grays fade
new colors emerge daily
nature born anew

nature born anew
promise, rebirth and wonder
as snow melts away

Spring is near by Peter V. Dugan.
Published with author's permission.

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Previous Long Island Poem for Sunday - Paumanok, Long Island Poem for Sunday in more ways than one

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Paumanok, Long Island Poem for Sunday in more ways than one

This poem by Linda Trott Dickman reflects Long Island in more ways than one, it is shaped like it.

Paumanok
after Mardsen Hartley
Linda Trott Dickman

diving

south east

of the bulk,

too close to the lure,

a fish separated

from the school there trod

the good gray poet

trailing through leaves

of grass leaving large

impressions a goodly way to follow

the child chased

the tides, sucked the salt from her hair

was snatched from the jaws

of undertow by her hero.

she learned to drape herself, like a jig,

feathers catching

more than light. a kaleidoscope for a lens,

she explored houses of light, learned

the strokes, the songs.

shores frilled like a collar

of green in scrub pine, beach plum

at the north, sandy marsh for a hem.

reeds, the wind section

of the rolling

music of the sea, the pines

singing high

over the storms

rivers wound their way

from headwaters to mouths

showing the riches

of their banks

suffering

from the wounds

of the greedy

gouging,

her from

pectoral            fin

to                           pelvic

gasping                                          for

air                                     still.

'Paumanok' by Linda Trott Dickman.
Published with author's permission.

Linda introduced herself: "Linda Trott Dickman has been making poetry since her early days at sleep away camp. She grew up here on Long Island and is a school librarian who has just earned her MFA from Adelphi University. This poem was born in a workshop in Maine with poet Kathleen Ellis. Our subject?  Island Poetry."

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Previous Long Island Poem for Sunday - "Only the moon now knows", Long Island Poem for Chinese New Year Sunday

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"Only the moon now knows", Long Island Poem for Chinese New Year Sunday

Text of the original

To mark the Chinese New Year of 2013 let us read the haunting poem by Bai Juyi as translated and interpreted by John Digby and Lesli Bai.

Bai Juyi, a prolific poet, high governmental official, "pillar of society" owned many concubines, courtesans, and slave girls. Cruel by our standards, cruel by the standards of his own age (he lived 772–846), the poet was not insensitive to the plight of the unfortunate women.

Leslie comments on the poem: "Cast as a dramatic monologue, it expresses his conflicted emotions of compassion and affection, cruelty and loss."

Illustration by John Digby

Losing a Slave Girl
Bai Juyi
Translation by John Digby

My estate is enclosed by a low
wall of stones and rubble

You absconded
probably at night
and to be honest with you
I harbor no grudges

The population tally
of missing persons
was nailed to the gate
long after you fled

Now I know how unkind
and mean I was to you

Can't think of any caged bird
that doesn't want its freedom
or gale-blown flowers attempting
to cling to their branches

This evening
I sit pondering
whether you are running or hiding

Only the moon now knows
how much distance
has come between us

Losing a Slave Girl (March 2011), appreciation of the poem by Bai Juyi with English improvisation and illustrations by John Digby. Published by Prehensile Pencil Publications.
Reprinted with publisher's permission.

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Previous Long Island Poem for Sunday - "Old hatred drifted in", Long Island Poem for Martin Luther King Sunday

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Bringing Chinese poetry into the English world - John Digby and Leslie Bai

Leslie Hong Ai Bai and John Digby

Oyster Bay poet and collagist John Digby was already working with Chinese poetry and published a few translations by the time he met Leslie Hong Ai Bai, a linguistics scholar, currently at LIU Post, a colleague of his wife, poet Joan Digby. Leslie, born in China to Korean parents, is in command of various oriental languages in addition to English and French.

Since 2010, they collaborated on a number of themes: horses, women - particularly the neglected, unloved or no longer loved ones, animals, landscapes. They dug out poems for Cold Food Festival, forgotten holiday which now enjoys a revival. All work is by poets active until the 19th century. These are some of their published works - Cold Food Festival, The Horse in Chinese in Chinese Poetry and Culture, Simple Simple, Losing a Slave Girl, Three Neglected Chinese Women: Three Deserted Tang Poets, The Sword Dance.

In their work they try to convey the tone of the poem and stay away from the literal translation. In case of the Chinese poetry the latter is almost impossible to accomplish, as even in the original the poems can be read in many different ways.

There are very many translations of the classic 'At Summit Temple' (李白: 题峰頂寺(夜宿山寺)) by various Western poets. This is John and Leslie's take on it:

危樓高百尺﹐
手可摘星辰。
不敢高聲語﹐
恐驚天上人。

Big climb this!

Breathless dizzy
and panting I've
attained the summit

I quiet my heart
hold my breath
looking into infinity

Now I could reach up
cradle a star in my hand
but scarcely whisper a word
for fear of waking up deities

Chinese poems, minimalistic gems, are typically composed of 4 lines of 5 to 7 characters, like the one above. There is no subject, no personal pronouns, no gender, no tenses. There exists rhyme and rhythm of the rising and falling phonetics of the characters. The characters themselves may have up to 30 varied meanings and are often complex, rarely used characters to mark the skill and knowledge of a poet - poetry was a domain of highly skilled individuals who strutted their linguistic dexterity like peacocks. Many poems are not easily understood by an average person of today.

Leslie and John revising text

The process of bringing a translated poem to its satisfactory stage is long and arduous. John and Leslie agree on a topic. Leslie researches potential candidates. A choice is narrowed down to a poem. John learns as much as possible about the author's life and environment. Leslie transcribes the individual characters of the poem into Pinyin. John analyzes every Pinyin character and attempts to construct a meaning or rather a mood from the puzzle before him. Leslie elaborates on metaphors and hidden meaning in the poem, provides additional background. Initial translation is created.

At this stage the battle of wits and esthetics commences. John wants to put in every shade of meaning that transpires. Leslie strikes out half of the words. They encounter numerous cultural differences. One memorable clash happened over a translation of 'green window'. Heated discussion revealed that for John green window was a window with stained glass. For Leslie it was a color of leaves outside - old Chinese houses did not have glass windows, it was the color of leaves that reflected on paper panels. Revision after revision follows, the work may take up to six months to complete. Leslie creates commentary on the poet, poet's time and customs.

Revisions of the poem 'Cold Food':



Please come back soon to enjoy a beautiful poem 'Losing a Slave Girl' in the upcoming Long Island Poem for Sunday series.

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"Old hatred drifted in", Long Island Poem for Martin Luther King Sunday

"This is a story handed down in my family, I heard it from my Mother." - Locust Valley poet Ray Simons.

The Legend of John Casey's Stand
Locust Valley, Long Island 1920's
For Mom
Ray Simons

Rural times, depression
& dirt poor.
Another immigrant wave,
from the 1840's never stopping,
the boats of Irishmen came.
Here on the North Shore,
the soon to be Gold Coast,
the Irish, the Italians
worked Big houses & farms
a cycle unchanged,
as the new comers
do now.........
and an old hatred drifted in.....
maybe from the South
maybe from the soul.....
& the cross of terror
burned again.
This time the Irish,
"We'll teach that
Damn Mick!"
His wife saw it first,
the flickering glow
& the figures in darkness
surrounding that cross
like the Banshee's of old.
"Don't go, Johnnie" she begged
but she knew it was useless,
his kind of anger burned
hotter than
coal.
He stood on his porch
and cursed them for cowards,
then strode to the field
to confront them by name.
"Take off your sheets, you yellow
streaked bastards" then
he called them by name
but stepped forth not a one.
With one great kick he
toppled the fire
and spat his contempt
on the cross and
was done.
He turned back to
his house
& he left his
good neighbors.......
He shut his porch light
and the crowd
did abate.......
Now they'd have to
find..........
someone safer to hate.

The Legend of John Casey's Stand,  Locust Valley, Long Island 1920's by Ray Simons.
Published with author's permission.

Ray retired from FDNY-EMS and writes as part of poetry therapy. 

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Previous Long Island Poem for Sunday - A Clear Midnight, Long Island Poem for Sunday

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A Clear Midnight, Long Island Poem for Sunday

Manuscript of 'A Clear Midnight'
from the Walt Whitman Archive

A Clear Midnight
Walt Whitman

THIS is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes
         thou lovest best,
Night, sleep, death and the stars.

'A Clear Midnight' by Walt Whitman from Leaves of Grass.
Reprinted after The Walt Whitman Archive. In public domain.

Manuscript of an early version has the title of this poem as 'A Starry Midnight'. We find the published title 'A Clear Midnight' freed of visual references and thus much stronger. A beautiful poem.

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Previous Long Island Poem for Sunday - Enchanted place on the island, Long Island Poem for New Year's Eve Sunday

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Lonely Plum Island Christmas 1843, Long Island Poem for Sunday

Christmas--1843
Sarah D. Bowditch

Amid the world's gay throngs to-night
    There's mirth and festive glee;
But none amid those hearts so light
    Will cast one glimpse on me.

No ray from Hope's bright star is cast
    To this lone isle of the sea;
And lonely and sad the Christmas has passed,
    And left no mirth for me.

There's many a friend that once caressed,
    As merry as merry can be;
But, ah! the one that I love best
    Will forget to think of me.

Then turn my soul away from earth;
    Look upward still, and see
The stars that shine on the halls of mirth
    As brightly beam on thee.

Then let me not murmur at my fate,
    Though lonely and sad I may be,
For the angels whose birth we celebrate,
    Brought "tidings of joy" to me.

We have found this poem on the Long Island Chapter of the U.S. Lighthouse Society, based in Cutchogue.

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Previous Long Island Poem for Sunday - All I want for Christmas, Long Island Poem for Sunday

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All I want for Christmas, Long Island Poem for Sunday

How poignant does today's poem sound. We want our close ones safe, be it on antipodes or in our home towns.

All I want for Christmas
Claudia Sukman

You were motionless under the blankets
Waiting for Santa Listening to the whispers of your father and me as we slipped in and out of rooms
Unearthing presents to wrap
Listening to the savory sounds of scissors, marching through gift paper
Listening to the scrunch of cellophane tape, measured out and sliced
Closing eyes to hurry away the night
So that it could be Christmas

You are motionless inside the darkness
Hearing shows slither though the Baghdad night
Hearing the heavy fabric of a chador sweep into a recessed doorway
Hearing the exhale of a breath un-tethered
You wait, wishing for the dawn to come
So that it could be light

I am motionless, watching the snow whitewash the night sky
Inhaling the Christmas tree
Shaking our the last drops of eggnog from the carton
Waiting
Wanting you safe
Wanting you home

'All I want for Christmas' by Claudia Sukman. Included in Stocking Stuffers / seasonal and holiday poems by Prehensile Pencil Publications. For purchase at Think Long Island First.
Published with author's permission.

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Previous Long Island Poem for Sunday - Feast, Long Island Poem for Chanukah Sunday

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Feast, Long Island Poem for Chanukah Sunday

There are many ways to celebrate the approaching holidays and our melting pot era favors these and more - you may deck the halls and a Christmas tree (so Dickensian yet originated in late 15th century Germany), light up 9 menorah candles (since 2nd century BCE), erect a Festivus pole (in popular culture since 1997), hang a bunch of mistletoe to kiss under (first documented in 16th century England), share fresh Kwanzaa fruit (since 1966), mark winter solstice (since Neolithic times).

Polish tradition has it that animals speak in human voices on Christmas Eve. What would cats under the care of poet Joan Digby tell us?

Feast
Joan Dibgy

Photo by Joan Digby

Today I fed the cats
on sturgeon

It's Chanukah
and who knows
but in the colony
there lurks
a Jewish feline
assimilated
yet longing for food
that strongly smells
of the old country

'Feast' by Joan Digby. Included in Stocking Stuffers / seasonal and holiday poems by Prehensile Pencil Publications. For purchase at Think Long Island First.
Published with author's permission.

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Previous Long Island Poem for Sunday - The Cardinal, Long Island Poem for Sunday

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The Cardinal, Long Island Poem for Sunday

The Cardinal
Patricia Rossi

I beckon you in the early morn to dance upon my bedroom windowsill and just as accordion streaks of radiant light gently awaken my sleepy eyes from a peaceful night of slumber, may my drowsy ears hear your voice, a melodious proclamation that a new day has graciously been bestowed upon me.

And just when your symphonic chirps grace the final stanza of your jubilant morning song, I will lift my head and heart to the heavens, join my hands in solemn prayer and humbly request that my path be laden with plentiful sightings of you today….everyday.

Spring…On a quiet evening, may I be so blessed as to capture a glimpse of you as you gracefully flutter in a field bursting with pink wildflowers, just as the sun begins its amber descent.

Summer… In mid-afternoon when a threatening sky suddenly prevails and a harsh rain temporarily begins to fall upon us, may I find you precariously tucked in a hydrangea tree, sheltered from the pounding precipitation by its purple hued floral spheres.

Late Fall… May my eyes behold you resting upon a weathered flower box packed with vibrant autumn colors….Amongst the burnt orange and bright yellow petals there you are…. donned in a dangling ivy vine, faded to the palest of sage greens by the warmth of summer days gone by.

And deep in Winter… when I am indeed blinded by whiteness, miraculously I see you, majestically perched on a snow blanketed branch.

Indeed, you are more than a red feathered cloaked Christmas beauty.

Truly you are as brilliant in color, as you are in meaning.

You evoke the spirit and the destiny of the loved ones I have lost.

For the world is now theirs, un-tethered souls, free to soar and able to triumphantly rejoice, as they make their presence known to me each and every day……….through you.

'The Cardinal' by Patricia Rossi. Included in Stocking Stuffers / seasonal and holiday poems by Prehensile Pencil Publications. For purchase at Think Long Island First.
Published with author's permission.

Patricia introduced herself: "I am an attorney by trade, but my true passion is writing. A number of my personal essays have been published. I have dabbled in the arts, love creating collages. I have done some grant writing and actually have been awarded grants from NYS. I utilized the funds to create art classes and poetry appreciation for children grades 1-4 in lower income areas of Nassau County. It has been quite rewarding. The funds have run out, but with the assistance of the Freeport Memorial Library I keep the program running. I also currently teach creative writing workshops to cancer survivors and teens."

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Previous Long Island Poem for Sunday - Christmastide Haiku and Going Home for Christmas by Edmund Miller

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Creative pursuits welcomed the holiday season at Think Long Island First

Yesterday, holidays officially started at Think Long Island First with the Small Business Saturday events.

Modest but enthusiastic group of guests and artists gathered around our table to decorate majolica ornaments under the guidance of potter Sue Adler, tie impressive bows and gift wrap in eco-friendly fashion as introduced by Kristi Halpern, Jolanta Zamecka, and Ewa Rumprecht respectively, and benefit from the expert knowledge of Feng Shui presented by Sharon LaMonica.

Award winning Long Island limericks were read by one of the judges, poet Joan Digby. Evening ended with holiday poetry reading and music cum historical commentary by fiddler Eric Marten, and his limber jack and beating straws playing wife Trudy.

Painter Yvonne Dagger and wood carver Don Dailey provided live demonstrations throughout the day. 



We want to thank All Artists who made the day so special and All Guests who graced us with their company.

Happy Holidays!

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Holiday poems by Edmund Miller, Long Island Poem for Sunday

We had a great pleasure to hear Edmund Miller read the following poems at the Music and Poetry afternoon at Think Long Island First this Saturday. Edmund started with the Going Home for Christmas and continued to haiku poems. The one about chestnuts, New Year's, and an old man was particularly well received, Edmund was asked to read it again.

GOING HOME FOR CHRISTMAS
Edmund Miller

Chewing gum like Zeno's Paradox
a classical marine
passes through Penn Station
with a dufflebag
with roses
with a teddy bear tucked under his arm.

CHRISTMASTIDE HAIKU
Edmund Miller

The wind is nippy,
But the poinsettias sing–
Then it's warm inside.

In the afternoon
Overlooking Christmas shoppers,
Just half the moon.

Overcast in pink.
The clouds lower upon us
To bring virgin snow.

Cold wind through the trees
Then across the clear black sky
Comes the Christmas star.

The gift wrap of snow
melts, washing slowly away
with the holiday.

Rat-a-tats of rain,
clearing the dawn sky, invite
bright light for New Year.

Here in Central Park
Roasting the New Year’s chestnuts
Still the same old man.

The fragile trees
break . . . icicles
in the breeze.

Winter morning
Ice in the milkbottle
Still the stars

The cold freezing rain
weaves trails of tiny paw prints
in yesterday’s snow.

Nutmeg in eggnog
Birthdays the room with New Year’s.
Outside . . . icicles.

Stormy dark above
pink underneath at sunset
chiaroscuro clouds.

Published with author's permission. Included in Stocking Stuffers / seasonal and holiday poems by Prehensile Pencil Publications. For purchase at Think Long Island First.

Edmund Miller, Senior Professor in the English Department at LIU–Post, is a widely published scholar and creative writer. In addition to books about seventeenth-century British literature including three about the poet George Herbert, he has published a collection of stories called Night Times and many volumes of poetry, including the major poetic work The Go-Go Boy Sonnets: Men of the New York Club Scene(2005). Using the traditional sonnet sequence to explore the world of the male dancers, this unique work combines lightness of tone with a seriousness of purpose by including biographical notes, a glossary, and seven indexes as well as translations of individual poems into nearly two dozen languages. Recently, Miller has been writing plays, including The Greeks Have a Word (which revives the form of the Greek satyr play), Royal Favorite (a Jacobean tragicomedy in blank verse), The Last Conquests of Beau Fersen (a Shavan political comedy), and The Colonel’s Lady (a Restoration mystery) besides short plays. He has had several staged readings.

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Previous Long Island Poem for Sunday - Sandy Poems, Long Island Poem for Sunday

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Winners of the Long Island Limericks Competition are announced

WINNERS OF LONG ISLAND LIMERICK COMPETITION ARE ANNOUNCED

Poetry Center of LIU Post and Think Long Island First are pleased to announce winners of the Long Island Limerick Competition 2012.

Limericks had to include a name of Long Island town, village, or site and many entries played the local references - (in)famous person, geography, or local patois - very effectively.

Limericks were judged for their creativity, metrics, and language by three distinguished Long Island poets and teachers: Joan Digby of LIU Post, Barbara Novack of Molloy College, and Diane Simone Lutz of Queensborough Community College.

The winners are:

FIRST PRIZE — $25 gift certificate to Think Long Island First
K. Naomi Hann of Amityville

There once was an Amity-villain
Who went on a rampage of killin'
Great fame came and went
Now the ghosts are all spent
And the villain's in prison still chillin'

SECOND PRIZE — $15 gift certificate to Think Long Island First
Marilyn Goldsmith of Syosset

A Park Ranger from Sagamore Hill
Said my job never ceases to thrill
Except when the ghost
Of the resident host
Cries "Charge!" then I feel a cold chill

THIRD PRIZE — $10 gift certificate to Think Long Island First
Eileen Hession of Long Beach

Oceanside’s name, I must say,
Is geographically in disarray,
You know that it oughta
Be next to some water
But the ocean’s 5 miles away.

HONORABLE MENTION
Pat Butler of Tyrone, GA (formerly of Oyster Bay)

Said a clam to a mussel, “I say!
Do you not want to marry one day?
Let us fetch you a bride
On the very next tide!”—
which took them to Oyster Bay.

HONORABLE MENTION
Pat Butler of Tyrone, GA (formerly of Oyster Bay)

“Mosquito” as most would say
Is “Skeeter” in Oyster Bay,
and the name of a boat
on which we would float,
summer day after day after day.

Congratulations to Winners!

Award ceremony takes place on Saturday, November 24th, at 4 pm, at Think Long Island First in Oyster Bay.

Many thanks to All Authors who submitted limericks to the competition. We hope they had as much fun writing them as we had reading them. The limericks below are listed in the order of submission.

When we moved, I was put to the test
And, truly, this is not said in jest
'Cause for forty-two years
Amid laughter and tears
Mount Sinai is the place I love best

Sylvia Felsher of Mount Sinai

#####

You're moving to Israel, our Bklyn. neighbors
                 exclaimed
No, Mount Sinai, Long Island, we had to explain
Though we felt some distress
We feel truly blessed
This is OUR holy land, so very aptly named

Debbie Johnson of Mount Sinai

#####

Thinking Lincoln

There once was a fellow named Abe
And lots of reading he did crave;
He won all the debates,
Became one of the greats
By freeing Massapequan slaves

Dylan Baldino of Elmont

#####

A rich girl I knew from Glen Cove
Went shopping one day for a stove
When shown one in green
She made quite a scene
Til they brought her a stove colored mauve

Marilyn Goldsmith of Syosset

#####

An Albertson man and his wife
Had a marriage filled daily with strife
She poisoned his luncheon
He attacked with a truncheon
Now they're both at San Quentin for life

Marilyn Goldsmith of Syosset

#####

There was an old woman from Bayville
By whose singing her neighbors were made ill
It was truly pathetic
Not at all operatic
Sounding less like a song than a sawmill

Marilyn Goldsmith of Syosset

#####

There once was a man from Syosset
Whom women were eager to cosset
But the din of their squawk
Could be heard in Montauk
Now he hides out in far off Nesconset

Marilyn Goldsmith of Syosset

#####

There was a young lady from Merrick
Who had in her garden a derrick
When oil proved elusive
And neighbors abusive
She ran off instead with a cleric

Marilyn Goldsmith of Syosset

#####

A Locust Valley potter had a very fine day
Throwing, trimming, and firing her clay
She drove off with a burst
to Think Long Island First
Bearing pots for Ewa and Jolanta to display

Sue Adler of Locust Valley

#####

It is great to live in Farmingdale
Where we bought a home that was on sale
Thought it was real cool
Got a swimming pool
It’s like living in a fairytale

Paula Camacho of Farmingdale

#####

A lonely young man in Ronkonkoma
Dreamt of true love while in a coma.
But when he awoke
He wished he had croaked:
He still longed for love in Ronkonkoma.

George Held of Sag Harbor

#####

There lived a poor poet in Patchogue
Who composed while he sat in a bog:
His poems were racy,
But sales did prove dicey
For that doubly poor poet in Patchogue.

George Held of Sag Harbor

#####

There once was a poet lived in Freeport
Who wrote about sailors and mermaids—that sort—
Till he angered a captain
With a satiric quatrain
And had to find haven in a new port.

George Held of Sag Harbor

#####

A young woman from Bellport name of Vetch
Had a husband who was surely a wretch,
So she served him an aspic
And laced it with arsenic,
Thus leaving Vetch free for a stretch.

George Held of Sag Harbor

#####

A shopper from Valley Stream
Awoke one night with a scream
Thought Bloomingdales closed
Knew the problems that posed
But, thank God it was only a dream.

Terry Marder Kamin of Long Beach

#####

A lad from New Hyde Park
Was longing to make his mark
Tried writing a book
Critics did take a look
And said, "It's best read in the dark."

Terry Marder Kamin of Long Beach

#####

A "prof" from CW Post
At a dinner, was to give a toast
When nothing came out
Not a whisper or shout
It was thought he was a poor host

Terry Marder Kamin of Long Beach

#####

A Lattingtown farmer named Eddie
had 400 chickens at the ready,
They danced down Peacock Lane
high on beer and champagne,
dropping golden eggs like confetti

Joan Harrison from Glen Cove

#####

A major league prospect in Setauket
Could run fast, throw the ball hard, and sock it
Till he fell for a groupie
And his playing went loopy
And he wound up a stock boy in a market.

George Held of Sag Harbor

#####

The lady with the flaming red hair
is a resident of Franklin Square
with makeup galore
you cannot ignore
that women laugh and men stop and stare.

Maria Manobianco of Farmingdale

#####

There was a gent from Glen Cove
Most careful about how he drove
counted to ten at Stop Signs
so he never got fines
As down Main Street he wove

Terry Marder Kamin of Long Beach

#####

A cyclist from Franklin Square
Said, "Catch me, if you dare."
Friends sped down the pike
Each one on their bike
And all said the race was fair

Terry Marder Kamin of Long Beach

#####

A lady there lived in Bellmore
Decided to open a store
brought in all kinds of creatures
with very rare features
Quite an entrepreneur.

Terry Marder Kamin of Long Beach

#####

A daring young poet in Farmingville
Flattered the gals in sonnets, lays, and vill
anelles, until they grew wise
To his philandering ways
And showed him the road out of Farmingville.

George Held of Sag Harbor

#####

The surfers in Long Beach are fit
Though I don’t understand it a bit,
The sea’s like a lake
So with no waves to take
It seems all they do is just sit.

Eileen Hession of Long Beach

#####

In Nassau it’s not good to mention
The size of your neighbor’s fat pension,
Dad said, “Be a cop!
Join a strong union shop!”
But I just wasn’t paying attention.

Eileen Hession of Long Beach

#####

A lovely young maiden of Speonk
Fell in love with a poet, a hunk:
They flirted and fumbled
And courted and bundled,
But she never laid hands on his junk.

George Held of Sag Harbor

#####

A lively old widow of Wainscot
Hired a worker to trim her woodlot:
She plied him with cider
Till he lay down beside her
And did what he promised they would not.

George Held of Sag Harbor

#####

A wealthy old man in Port Washington
Grew up wearing Father’s old hand-me-downs;
Then he won the state Lotto
And rose up from the grotto,
That lucky rich man in Port Washington.

George Held of Sag Harbor

#####

A man drove a Hummer into Yaphank
And parked it in front of the loan bank;
He made such a withdrawal
That he did garner the awe
Of all patrons in that bank in Yaphank.

George Held of Sag Harbor

#####

Bald Hill: Why I Drink

In my home town of Farmingville,
resides Long Island's highest hill.
Its name is quite a mystery.
There soar: elm, oak, and hickory.
Its name: Bald Hill!  Barkeep!  Refill!

Herb Wahlsteen of Farmingville

#####

There once was a gal from Glen Cove
She loved the water .. by Jove
So she walked to the beach
The day sweet as a peach
And painted pictures unique as the fauves.

Time flew by faster than crows
How long she was there? ... Who knows!
It was time to pack up
Gathering paints and a cup
A beautiful day came to a close.

Alice Rhodes Farber of Huntington

#####

To uncle Charlie's in Belle Harbor we'd go
With suitcases and food in tow
Summers there we would spend
With family and friends
While Charlie traveled the world, you know

Before he went on his way
We kids drove him crazy you might say
Mixing sugar into salt pails
Sliding down banister rails
For the teasing and noise we would pay

Alice Rhodes Farber of Huntington

#####

My house in Huntington may be small
But the wooded landscape is my all
Nature's bountiful, peaceful calm
Is a healing, soothing balm
Be it summer, spring, winter or fall

Alice Rhodes Farber of Huntington

#####

Ann wrote letters to Jim many a time
And thought they'd be for the rest of her life.
But he left Oyster Bay
And preceded to L.A.,
So instead she became the mailman's wife.

Cathy Liu of Manhasset

#####

There was an old man from Baldwin
Who always won each hand of gin.
Friends never accused him
Of cheating to abuse 'em
For he'd never commit such a sin.

Ellen Pickus of Baldwin

#####

There was a young klutz from Baldwin
Whose wife was as neat as a pin.
When he made a mess,
He had to confess,
Then sweep it all into the bin.

Ellen Pickus of Baldwin

#####

There was a young boy from Baldwin
Whose Dad taught him to ride a Schwinn.
He loved that old bike
From his Uncle Mike.
He learned to be grateful to kin.

Ellen Pickus of Baldwin

#####

There was a poor gal in Baldwin
Whose triplets made quite a din.
She fed one, then the other
But still had to feed brother.
A mother quite simply can't win.

Ellen Pickus of Baldwin

#####

There was a young girl from Baldwin
Who was so remarkably thin
That when cold winds came
She bundled her frame
From her ankles right up to her chin.

Ellen Pickus of Baldwin

#####

A girl named Ann in Garden City
Gossiped secrets, big or tiny.
But the people in public
All began to feel sick
Since she was airing out her dirty laundry.

Cathy Liu of Manhasset

#####

A woodcock from Matinecock
Was seeking females 'round the clock
But springtime was finished
The supply was diminished
In Autumn a bird's not a jock

Diane Meltzer of Oyster Bay

#####

While waiting for Hurricane Sandy
I decided to have a small brandy
Our trees might come down
And our gardens all drown
But O.B.'s still historic and dandy

Diane Meltzer of Oyster Bay

#####

Riding the train from Penn Station
I start to feel such great elation
Soon I'll see Oyster Bay
Where ol' T.R. did play
When he served as the head of the nation

Diane Meltzer of Oyster Bay

#####

There was a young cleric lived in Mastic
Who suffered from a chronic facial tic,
So he prayed hard for relief –
“God spare me from this sore grief” –
Till a rictus took the place of that tic.

George Held of Sag Harbor

#####

Jim was having his ninth birthday,
So everyone gathered in Oyster Bay.
They had a good time,
But he gulped too much wine,
Soon enough having one over eight.

Cathy Liu of Manhasset

#####

She made the trees weak and flimsy,
Marching from Nassau to Suffolk County.
Buildings  crumbled down,
The electricity went out,
because of her - Hurricane Sandy.

Cathy Liu of Manhasset

#####

Long Island has a myriad of different landmarks,
Ranging from Jones Beach to Bethpage State Park.
There's too many to list
In this small limerick,
So one should go visit them all for a lark.

Cathy Liu of Manhasset

#####

A boatman from Oyster Bay
had plenty and nothing to say.
So he built a boat
And set it afloat
And with it he sailed away.

Pat Butler of Tyrone, GA (formerly of Oyster Bay)

#####

In Speonk one day a merchant
sold me potions exceedingly fragrant,
to camp at Napeague
where mosquitoes feed,
except on those with repellant.

Pat Butler of Tyrone, GA (formerly of Oyster Bay)

#####

A one-legged seagull of Hempstead
for meals had been sorely tested,
and moved inland
to escape wind and sand—
a pegleg in dumpsters instead.

Pat Butler of Tyrone, GA (formerly of Oyster Bay)

#####

There once was a momma named Meg
who bore thirteen kids in Cove Neck.
She slipped on the dock
which caused quite a shock
to the twins wrapped around her leg.

Pat Butler of Tyrone, GA (formerly of Oyster Bay)

#####

There once was a wag of Quoque,
whose tongue was the scourge of her blog—
nor was she discrete
with Facebook and tweet—
a virtual pettifog.

Pat Butler of Tyrone, GA (formerly of Oyster Bay)

#####

I once had a cousin in Bayville,
who could be annoyingly playful.
She’d chase my poor brother
one yard to another,
until my brother went naval.

Pat Butler of Tyrone, GA (formerly of Oyster Bay)

#####

A cagey old accountant in Woodmere
Would, for a price, cook your books without fear;
But the IRS caught him
And on trial they put him,
Whence the judge sent him to jail for a year.

George Held of Sag Harbor

#####

A professor of Drama at Oakdale
Gave a part to a dazzling young female:
But her décolletage
Took his mind off the stage
And they rode him from Oakdale on a rail.

George Held of Sag Harbor

#####

A thin farmer in Center Moriches
Eschewed a belt to hold up his britches
But when they fell down
He put on a frown
And lambasted those sons of a britches

George Held of Sag Harbor

#####

A dashing young man lived in Wantagh,
Who copied Clyde Barrow, the outlaw,
So he dressed up real swank
And tried robbing a bank
But garnered no cash, just a guffaw.

George Held of Sag Harbor

#####

There once was a Superstorm Sandy
That ravaged our shoreline so dandy,
Such when snow followed suit
Even those resolute
Were heard saying so Long Islandy.

Clinton Weaver of Stony Brook

#####

A Priscilla who lived in Sag Harbor
Grew clematis to climb up her arbor,
But its redolent odor
Made her asthmatic suitor
Sail off in a ship bound for Labrador.

George Held of Sag Harbor

#####

An old hobo who lived in Nesconset
Was there housed in an old Army Quonset,
Which he papered with pin-ups
And he daily did push-ups,
That naughty, fit hobo in Nesconset.

George Held of Sag Harbor

#####

A grizzled old fisherman in Bayville
Tried cooking his catch on an open grill,
But the haddock turned black
And caused a reflux attack
So he tossed his seared catch in the landfill.

George Held of Sag Harbor

#####

A hustler named Eric in Babylon
Made a bet he could sink a hole-in-one:
When his signature ball
Landed close to the hole,
Radio magnets completed the con.

George Held of Sag Harbor

#####

A misogynist in Amagansett
Excluded himself from the fairer set
Till a gorgeous young temptress
Slipped out of her summer dress
And danced on his lawn until the sun set.

George Held of Sag Harbor

#####

A wily old celibate of Speonk
Led a life benevolent as a monk.
When a lusty young neighbor
Suggested lewd behavior,
He moved to a rectory in Armonk.

George Held of Sag Harbor

#####

The artist Jackson Pollock in The Springs
Garnered the prizes and fame that art brings,
But his demons still haunted,
Making life seem unwanted,
So he crashed his car and put on his wings.

George Held of Sag Harbor

#####

A lyric tenor from Bohemia
Drank himself into septicemia
He lost his lead at the Met
And was banished from the set
And heard his rival sing his aria.

George Held of Sag Harbor

#####

An Islander fan based in Uniondale,
Let out a shout and then started to wail:
“Don’t trade the Colisseum
“In for Barclays of Brooklyn
“And leave all us fans the card ‘Go to Jail.’”

George Held of Sag Harbor

#####

I come from the hamlet of Glen Head.
A place that we used to call Dead Head.
Now theres traffic and stores,
so I close all my doors
and sleep with a pillow on my head.

Barbara Karyo of Glen Head

#####

Visiting the hamlet of Oyster Bay
You can shop, dine or play
A walk in the park
Just before dark
Will make it a perfect day!

Barbara Pollock of Oyster Bay

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Sandy Poems, Long Island Poem for Sunday

Storm Sandy, damaging and disruptive as it was, inspired poets to write about their experiences during or after the storm. We have already published poem 'Sandy' by Barbara Novack and 'The Wake Of The Flood' by Peter V. Dugan. We have more poems to bring to you:

In Sandy's Wake
Patti Tana

Strong winds thicken the air
with the fury of leaves ––
skeletal branches become spears

we ride out the storm together in the dark
the dog between us quaking

morning reveals a hundred-foot tulip tree
fallen across the Japanese garden
sparing the red bridge and our home

you take the guitar in your arms
& make the wood sing "Amazing Grace."

'In Sandy's Wake' by Patti Tana of Locust Valley.
Published with author's permission.

#####

Community
Karen Jakubowski

Flicker of candlelight
my only heat, but
not my only warmth.

Why does it take
natural disaster to bring love?

Long Island is somber.
We have been warned by Sandy.
Humbled by a hurricane.

Men in yellow trucks
swarm like bees.
Flitter to each yard,
each devastation.
They come with gloved bulk, and
We watch our lives being carted away.

I pass military vehicles
in my neighborhood.
It has become a community.

We are stoic and proud.
Stand in streets sharing losses.
Few tears are shed.
We are lost souls
trying to salvage what is left
our homes, our memories, our lives.

It is so much more
Than replacing a favorite
sweater or waterlogged book,
more than a landscape destroyed.
We are base.
Our basic needs
now the root of thought.
No heat, no power,
for some no shelter or food

We huddle together.
We pray.
We wait.
Aid please come
              soon.

'Community' by Karen Jakubowski of Massapequa.
Published with author's permission.

#####

Untitled
Marc Rosen

A woman comes into the FEMA site
Speaks with the staffers,
Then comes into the room I'm in, to the left

A screening room, with comfy seats, the local news on TV,
And most importantly, a giant pile of clothes,
All over the stage up at the front!

We exchange words, and she asks:
“What's all this clothing for?”

A Red Cross volunteer asks if she needs anything
In these times, with a nor'easter approaching,
And the woman herself underdressed for the temperatures,
Warm clothing for her and her daughter is clearly called for

The young mother hesitates, stubborn pride telling her to balk.
She's fine!  Save the clothing for someone who really needs it!
Her protests fall on the deaf ears of her new-found personal shoppers

Red Cross and FEMA ask about what she'd like,
Tell her how great she'll look in this coat,
Help her fill a giant storage bag
With the yield of her free shopping spree

Tears of joy stream down her eyes
After enduring silence and indifference from agencies, her daughter's school, doctors,
She finally laughs;  She finally smiles

Clothes damaged in the rains, replaced with new
Needs neglected for lack of shelter and warmth, met
For this family, it won't be as cold a winter as it seemed

'Untitled' by Marc Rosen of Glen Cove.
Published with author's permission.

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Previous Long Island Poem for Sunday - The Wake Of The Flood, Long Island Poem for Sunday

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The Wake Of The Flood, Long Island Poem for Sunday

The Wake Of The Flood
Peter V.  Dugan

Boats from marinas miles away
washed across highways, carried
down Reynolds Channel, swept up
Mill River and Swift Creek
beached on fairways and bunkers
of Bay Park Golf Course.

Further up river at East Rockaway High School,
the newly renovated auditorium
lies in ruins, all seats submerged
except those in the balcony.
The gymnasium floor, its
wood warped, resembles ocean waves,
complete with fish and crabs.

Cars and trucks are immobile,
askew in parking lots and on lawns.
Sink holes erode streets;
branches and uprooted trees block roads,
crush cars and lean on homes.
Television, telephone, internet cable
and power lines torn down,
communication and information cut off
or extremely limited.

Up river and up the road
a woman finds her undamaged hot tub,
still filled with water, standing alone
in the center of Lister Ball Field.

At night total darkness envelopes
the neighborhood, save for the flash lights
and lanterns inside occupied houses.
The smell of low tide, sewerage
and burnt gas and oil permeates the air.
The sound of autumn crickets drowned out
by the drone of generators.

The next day, piles of carpet, furniture,
and other remnants and wreckage
form mounds in driveways and on front lawns.
Someone plants the American Flag atop one.
Curbside I find a child's index card
from school, labeled #10 and it reads:

"Fearing death for himself and the rest of the men,
they decide to build boats and float them down
the Mississippi in hope of finding a Spanish settlement."


The Wake Of The Flood by Peter V.  Dugan.
Published with author's permission.

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Previous Long Island Poem for Sunday - Sandy ... we stare dully at destruction, Long Island Poem for Sunday

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Sandy ... we stare dully at destruction, Long Island Poem for Sunday

We want to thank Barbara Novack, poet and Writer-in-Residence at Molloy College in Rockville Center, for sending us this poem.

Sandy
Barbara Novack

Benign old trees in front of houses
shading the way along the street
loom darkly in the storm
wind-whipped and creaking
branches lashing, leaves flying
crack crash BOOM!
The neighbor's tree across our driveway
limb branch leaves pressing upon our car
Then crack crash BOOM!
Our tree uprooted
to pound in upon our house
top to bottom
and in one gasping death heave
flail five feet of limb through our attic window.

In the aftermath, that lighted day,
we stare dully at destruction
both cracked trees, their
burgeoning springs and summers
an ironic lie:
City tree trimmers each year
rising in their buckets
to whittle away dried twigs
while no one thought to tap the trunks
and listen for the echo.

'Sandy' by Barbara Novack.
Published with author's permission.

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Previous Long Island Poem for Sunday - Westhampton Cemetery founded 1795, Long Island Poem for Sunday

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Westhampton Cemetery founded 1795, Long Island Poem for Sunday

Westhampton Cemetery
founded 1795
     for Jim and Tanya
Philip Appleman

No place for elegies, in these stern
stones, bleached
by the misty light that haloes gulls
and weathers the gray shingles
of the Hamptons—no elegies, but grace:
     Blessed are the dead
     which die in the Lord: my flesh
     will rest in hope.
No place for elegies in this austere
devotion to joy, the faith
of the departed:
     They do not die nor lose
     their mortal sympathy,
     nor change to us, although
     they change.
No elegies for Mehitable, wife
of Enoch Jagger, died
1799 in the twenty-fifth
year of her age;
for Warren Goodall, drowned at Fire Island,
1832;
for Jennie McCue, died 1871,
aged three years, nine days—no
elegies, but grace:
     Precious in the sight of the Lord
     is the death of His Saints: we sorrow not
     as those which have no hope.
But for the backs that wearied out
these scars in the pale earth,
and for sailors at the aching capstans,
for fishermen scanning
the ashy sky—elegies,
yes, for all
of these—for bonneted girls
stooping till sundown in the itch
of potatao fields, new widows walking their roofs
for the overdue whalers,
maids in the faded Hamptons
staring at hope chests—elegies,
chiseled in mossy stone:
     From sorrow, toil and pain
     and sin we shall be free.
This misty light is an elegy
for the living:
bleaching our blood to water,
scaling our bone to chalk,
fading every morning song
to the minor of farewell.

'Westhampton Cemetery' by Philip Appleman from the 1986 'Long Island Poets' collection by The Permanent Press in Sag Harbor. Reprinted with with publisher's permission.
'Long Island Poets' can be purchased from The Permanent Press.

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Previous Long Island Poem for Sunday - A Flowering Twig, Long Island Poem for Sunday

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A Flowering Twig, Long Island Poem for Sunday

A Flowering Twig
Ken Kenigsberg

There is in my parlor, a sere, skinny stick
rising above a plant that looks sick.
It stands there for months, lone and defiant,
I think it is dead, it's not even pliant.

Then, in a burst, a resurgent epiphany,
gorgeous gems appear, as if from Tiffany.
Nature brings life to a dried out stake;
orchids so perfect, they almost seem fake.

For thirteen years this Phoenix has stood,
Looking like a carved piece of wood.
At varying seasons, I do not know why,
a resurrection occurs to dazzle the eye.

If there is analogy in this to man,
it might be that, in the end, we can.

A Flowering Twig by Ken Kenigsberg from A Flowering Twig booklet published by The Feral Press.
Reprinted with publisher's permission.

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Previous Long Island Poem for Sunday - Merlin Talking to Himself, Long Island Poem for Halloween Sunday

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Long Island Limerick Competition Extended

Due to the storm which ravaged larger parts of Long Island, we have decided to extend the Long Island Limerick Competition submission period until November 15th.

The award ceremony will take place on Saturday, November 24th at 4 pm and will be combined with the Holiday Poetry Reading at Think Long Island First.


More on the Long Island Limerick Competition 2012.

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