Waterways: Poetry in the Mainstream vol 23 no 4

8/2/2019 Waterways: Poetry in the Mainstream vol 23 no 4

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2002

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Waterways:Poetry in the Mainstream


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Waterways: Poetry in the Mainstream, April 2002

Sleepy Villagers, eversoslightly unravelled,

Straggle out, variously arrayed in fur coats,

Tennis shorts, moo-moos and running shoes,

James Henry Brennan"The Greening of Gansevoort Street"


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WATERWAYS: Poetry in the MainstreamVolume 23 Number 4 April, 2002Designed, Edited and Published by Richard Spiegel & Barbara FisherThomas Perry, Admirable Factotum

c o n t e n t s

Waterways is published 11 times a year. Subscriptions -- $25 a year. Sample issues $2.60 (ipostage). Submissions will be returned only if accompanied by a stamped, self addressed enveWaterways, 393 St. Pauls Avenue, Staten Island, New York 10304-2127

2002, Ten Penny Players Inc.http://www.tenpennyplayers.org

David Michael Nixon 4-5Ida Fasel 6-7Terry Thomas 8-10Phyllis Braun 11-13Geoff Stevens 14

Joy Hewitt Mann 15-16Bill Roberts 17-18Joan Payne Kincaid 19-20Myrna Lynne Baldwin 21-22Albert Huffstickler 23-27


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Jim Shaw, president

West Village Committee1980


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Wet Village Morning - David Michael Nixon

This morning, the village is open and wet;

the puddles shake with quiet rain.

There is a clean grey light

that washes the village,leaving it fresh, without removingits distinctive stains.

Bagels are waiting behind wet glass,for refugees from morning rain.

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Light Weather David Michael Nixon

Sun and mild air,

spring riding there;crew-cut grass and

the barbers hand

gesturing to

the lilt of new

words, as groups talkby the bright walk,

brought together

by light weather.

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Continuities Ida Fasel

I move away from the make-believe village

the general store never bought in,the house never lived in,the barn never milked in,the school never lessoned in,the blacksmiths shop never clanged in,the pharmacy never medicined in,the chapel never preached in

move away from the props and plastic animals,the guides dressed for tourists and the tourists

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to the street where the past comes to lifein whispers, and the air is scentedwith apples being picked a century ago.

The sun has just come out of a cloudto light the interlaced leaves. Whereall was dark, the shadows are restored.The boulders of the field, themselvesghosts of a glacier 4 million years old,were cleared for a garden where I am guidedin a surge of fragrance on the wind to old roses,and a woman who looks like my grandmothercomes to the door and says Yes,her grandmother planted them,and I may have a cutting.

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Four Old Gents in the Park Terry Thomas

It was a warm day in January

a dying month for some.

Theyd staked out the bench:

Probably by design,

probably by habit

probably because it splintered slowly in the sun.Their days exertion was done,

walking or driving to their warm spot,

maybe drawing warmth and energy for the return trip

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maybe not caring if there even was one.

One was dozing, slight smile around

slack lips, dreaming, eyes rolling under

blue-veined lids, watching some kids,

watching one racing ahead of the others.

The second had closed eyes and folded arms,

but it was obvious that he was only

closing weak eyes against the light.A little frown formed there,

and he shuffled his feet restlessly,

sometimes bumping the sleeper, as if trying

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to keep him in the bright now.

Third from the right had focused his sight on

nothing. It seemed that he didnt need to blink

and if he was thinking, his thoughts made his

eyes round and brilliant blue.

Last, the fourth was looking all about,

including the other three, nodding, as if

confirming things-everything in its proper place.His look was resigned and his feet moved

in purposeful patterns in the grass, creating

four little flattened areas, ready for digging.

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Intimations of Humanity in the City Phyllis Braun

Walking down the street

Only strangers do I meet.They go their way, I go mine.New York, city of strangers.

II see her sitting in the laundromat,

a young woman in jeans and a pink shirtthat sets off her thick, dark hair, cropped close.She faces the window, her dark eyesstaring out and down, unseeing,intent on inner thoughts or dreams;

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no half-smile, but pensive as she waitsfor her laundry to get done.

It is that inward look on her face I feel such tenderness, I feelwe are related in some deep way,beyond sister, cousin, niece I dont exist for her, but she,because I saw her unguarded,

has become a part of me.

IIYoung man sitting in the sun,one polished loafer on the ground,

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dropped off when he crossed his leg.His bare foot hangs suspended,curved instep, toes, nails flesh-toned.

Suddenly I want to kiss his foot!I stop, then shake my head, move on.

IIII get into a crowded subway car, hold on.Train waits. Then a male voice asks courteously:

Do you want to take your foot out of the doorof the first car, so we can leave the station?

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Already Out and About?Geoff Stevens

Already out and about?Well, they did sayhe had the heart of a lionand the brains of an ox.A cold April six a.m.and Garibaldi stands in the park,

despite the local minstrelsthat played until lateand the fountainthat played all night.

Soon, others, also short of sleewill be taking an early strollor a jogin Washington Square,but he had the brassto be there first,

or was it the bronze?

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The Feeding Place - Joy Hewitt Mann

A raccoon lived under the mill last winter

crusts broken cookiesthe last inch of cerealfed him.

I trudged evenings through knee-deep snowto the sheltering where cedar fence lines met

and snows a foot deep all winter

imagined midnight creatures shoveled and plowedbefore machinery woke me at six.

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Some nights I forgot. Mornings fuzzy slippers,hugging a quilted housecoat with one arm I slogged to the feeding place and dumped

the overloaded tub.

Its too late! Id hear him say.I sleep days. The birdswill eat it.

Come back tonight and keep me happy.These years it seemsIm out of step with time.Nocturnal loversrefuse my daylight crumbs.

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So Many Reasons - Bill Roberts

The New York I cant go back tois walking across Brooklyn Bridge

late Sunday morning to have dim sumat Nom Wahs in Chinatown,

leaving footprints, two pair, in freshsnow along Fifth Avenue to journey forleisurely smorgasbord at The Three Crowns,

slipping into a booth at The Stage Deliafter catching Ethel Merman in Gypsy,getting bowled over by the decadentbrassy sound of the Three Penny Operaband at Theatre de Lys in The Village,

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sipping coffee and munching freshly bakeddanish at Sutters, nibblingmoo shu pork rolls laden with tiger lilies

at the Mandarin, grooving with a jazztrio, Don Shirleys or Marian McPartlandsat the Hickory House, sitting enrapturedas Dame Margot Fonteyn is steadied on onetoe by Rudy Nureyev, being awakened

on Saturday mornings by ship horns fromthe East River. No, not that New York.That was yesterday, a long time ago,when I had so many reasons to be there.

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At First - Joan Payne Kincaid

It was great fun

exciting tolive in quaint new/old surroundingsof winding streetsand two story housesa small town sort of scale

and tiny apartmentthat could barelyaccommodate a studiopiano and pull-outdaybed + kitchen.

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The cats would sunbatheon the ground floor windowboxes.

We had guests inand took them on toursto Washington Squareand back to Ten Gay Street.

Our two rooms were smallbut large enough to practiceand prepare operatic roles.

It was an ubiquitous wanderingat first fun ramble throughthe protean aspects of life

in the Village apartment giving tfor relatives and friendsand singing at Amatosevery opening night;sadly art eventually turnedinto an endless money pit.

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Girl with the Purple Purse - Myrna Lynne Baldwin

This morning I want to be that young girlwith the shiny purple purse on a gold chain.

Shes running fast, fast and still fastersprinting down the sidewalkI dont know . . .

toward the candy storeaway from homechasing her imaginary friend

She haunts me for over a week nowwith her . . .

giggly smileopen stridesteady racing flow of confidence

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I see the her-in-me handling purple, gloriousswinging that link of chain attachedlike it would never break apart

full sureness in her child heart that leadsthe rhythm in her lank strong legs following.

Cant help wonder, did shefail last Tuesdays math testget an A in creative writingpretend to be a boy; fleeting fantasy.

Like me in grade three, never keeping score the falls in September.

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Time and AgainAlbert Huffstickler

That old bag ladygets slower and slower,hunches closer toThe earth. Shes tired.Dont try to holdthe door for her though.

Shes not that tired.

Shell snap your head

off. But shes onthe way. Were all onthe way. Thats aclich but dont forgetit. When your timecomes, it wont be a

clich anymore.

From Iodin, Charlo

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Hickory Street Breakfast Blues Albert Huffstickler

Morning coffeein an

outdoor cafrememberingslowly. . .

The birdshave made peace

with themorning traffic.Theyve gonecontrapuntal.

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Little bylittleI draw you

up out ofme andstare you down.You donthurt now.Youre just

memory.My mother,in her innocence,believed

it all beganwith howpeople treated

each other.Wanda,old friendlong dead,do youhear the birds?Do yousmell the coffee?

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I thinkwhen I dieit will just

be for a littlethen Illwake up standingbeside a roadin the morninglight.

Your eyescontain the night.You hold sleepin your hands.

The geometryof woman fleshThe metaphysics

of your breastsHow stars are bornout of your navel

The brine ofyour thighs

washes me backto ocean depthsandthat first memory.

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If I sat here writingall day,who could blame me?

But the daywaits.

from Nerve Cowboy, Austin TX, NO. 1, Sprin

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Bill Bowser, president

West Village Committee1985


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ISSN 0197-4777

published 11 times a year since 1979very limited printingby Ten Penny Players, Inc.(a 501c3 not for profit corporation)

$2.50 an issue

Waterways: Poetry in the Mainstream vol 23 no 4

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