By Gene Novogrodsky
The uncle, shot, and was shot at,
And maybe shot himself in early ‘45,
Saving his life in salty water of a Pacific island,
Came back, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t work …
And waited for Spring and Summer so he could
Paint Adirondack chairs ….
Green, red, white,
The chairs deep in rich Spring grass,
Family, and work and home around,
Around the [...]
Adirondack Chairs
July 1st, 2009 · No Comments
Tags: Literature · Poetry
Suffering Through Pages: The Wasted Vigil by Nadeem Aslam
July 1st, 2009 · No Comments
By Gene Novogrodsky
Specifically, in Afghanistan and Pakistan:
Schools are blown up.
Women are stoned.
The CIA, KGB, Pakistani intelligence,
Al Qaeda, Taliban, tribal chieftains and
Various bandits kill, deal, and kill and deal some more ….
A boon for weapon-makers;
A boon for global planners,
Intrigue – and blood, blood, blood,
And if not refugees, ill, ill ….
Secularists, stay away!
Islam is getting even – [...]
Tags: Literature · Poetry
Peaches
July 1st, 2009 · No Comments
By Gene Novogrodsky
From green to light orange
To dark orange, in a day-night
Span, fast ….
Tags: Literature · Poetry
A Step
July 1st, 2009 · No Comments
By Gene Novogrodsky
One step, from one room to another,
Another moment,
Dreams collide,
A dream, a dream,
They collide,
Anticpation, wants …
And, the step ….
Silence, who wants to hear?
Accept the isolation …even entitlement ….
Silence …best in the whitening dawn,
Or reddening twilight ….
Tags: Literature · Poetry
Avoidance
July 1st, 2009 · No Comments
By Gene Novogrodsky
“Hospital zone, quiet,”
And I’ve learned to read, so I run out of
My uncle’s grip and across the street,
Safe, away from the hospital sign.
I see rabbis, ministers and priests
Shaking hands in synagogue and church
Entrances, services over …
And I cross the street
Away from those synagogues, temples and churches ….
“So this fear?
Where does it come from?”
…nothing [...]
Tags: Literature · Poetry
Cathedral
July 1st, 2009 · No Comments
By Gene Novogrodsky
The streetwalker, just out of jail,
Is puffy; starch and no drugs.
She leans against the cathedral’s fence,
And yells at three bricklayers.
They’re under a tree,
Replacing bricks between the street and
Cathedral entrance.
They see her dyed hair – reddish yellow -
And her thin legs.
They don’t know about her teacher and nurse daughters,
Her grandchildren – their school honors, [...]
Tags: Literature · Poetry
Ticket Master
July 1st, 2009 · 1 Comment
By Edgar Clinton, Jr.
The patrol car had a peculiar smell…It wasn’t minty fresh or manly clean by any means, More like Stale Puke and Oozing Bloody. No carpet shampoo was going to get all of that out. Officer Sully was checking out soon. One more year! “How the hell did I make it this long?” [...]
Tags: art


