my book of poetry about September 11th, 2001...and after Available NOW at -click here

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

More Subway Poetry

So Far

I wanna bop to a walking Bass

Like the beats

Meet between the sheets

With my best friend and his wife

Like back

When the world was Kerouac-ed

Sing swing daddy-o

Back when Jack was short

For John and had nothing to do

With Car or Lo

Or Hi

My muse spies me

And hides

Loves to fuck with me

When my hands are busy but my ADD

Has my mind free to be captured

My arm wrapped around

A silver pole in a hole moving fast past

Darkness streaked with red, white, yellow

and green

Pleading men proliferate around paydays

Dragging a wagon of sandwiches

Along well worn linoleum floors

My pockets are full of space but

At least I hold the door for him

As he moves

Between cars and tells his story walking

Like a Bass the beats used to bop to

Next stop to

Work like a working class


Slow and steady along the shaft

My raft in a pool of forever-ness

My hands still operate on the principle

Of pleasure and for that I am


as in gratefull, dig?

I f I could only some way touch you

Some way penetrate the masquerade

Dress down like the prince of shades

With jade for my tongue



Diamonds for my eyes (or pearls)


Joo-joo bs

Popcorn; chocolate covered pretzels; twizlers

I want to bop till I drop

To a walking Bass

And a Saxophone

Blowing solo alone

As I speak my tome about burning Rome

Hey muse, see you at home

Saturday, May 24, 2008

Memorial Day 2008

5/24/08 HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM! 79 years strong. Well the first two weeks of the training program have been completed. We have six inspectors in training, they all are doing well, and I expect each of them to go on to do the job. We get a new recruit Tuesday. I feel at last like I am living my life fully. I am able to express myself everyday, I am able to pass along my knowledge and respect and passion for my job. I am able to let my partners know how I feel about them without it seeming out of place. I’ve lost about six pounds of the winter insulation (aka FAT), though my abdominal muscles are still reluctant to take their former positions in the washboard type style the ladies love. How crazy does this Memorial Day weekend sound? We are heading to New Haven for haircuts, then down to Hightstown for mom’s 79th. Tomorrow we head to Wainscot to break in Dee Dee’s new summer palace of luxury and fun, (this is where I wish I had the washboard abs). I am anticipating nakedness as we hot tub, swim and steam our way to Monday. Oh, yes, I have worked it out to have a three day weekend, like a normal person. Then we are invited to Lori and Damon’s in Merrick. Last night we were lured into CafĂ© on Clinton by the promise of Absinthe. The green fairy delighted us and the food was rich and exotic. Blue point oysters, a soft shell crab slider, a salad and a cheese plate had us slipping off the diet in fine fashion. Matt, the bartender, took extremely good care of us. We will be back. So here it is. I have checked in with those of you far flung friends and relations. Steven Rahe, where are you? Give us a call. Routh...? The time is near, dear, for a reunion. Sea, and Dom, what's going on?

Sunday, May 11, 2008

Time to Blog

A new pilot program at the Department of Buildings where the night time inspectors teach/train new inspectors begins Monday May 12th. I am the lead guy meaning I will be at work every day at 7:30 am (on overtime of course)Monday through Friday to give a class room lesson (prepared by moi)before breaking into groups to give practical inspection training in the field. The course runs eight weeks. (So far, on the phase one of SB I have lost 3.5 lbs and feel great.) I am looking forward to this 8 week regimen. It will be an absolute challenge. I won't finish with my trainees until around 5pm where upon I will either return home or begin my regular shift with the DOB. I've been so excited about this I can't sleep! Hopefully, that will cease soon enough. I'm sure it will. Photo to left is of my locker at work. Not much room in there between equipment, uniform and sundries. Now that I have virtually no or very little time to write...Poetry is just exploding in my head. I'll try to get some of it down in time for the B'day bash!

Sunday, May 4, 2008

The Wistful and The Tragic

“As part of its Walking Tour issue, Time Out NY this week serves up an unintimidating plan for tackling the sights of Green-wood Cemetery. A few of the stops on their suggested route include the grave of Bill the Butcher, a bust of Horace Greeley and the Steinway family mausoleum. Any must-see personal faves from readers?” For more see: Who says there is nothing to do in Brooklyn?

My sincerest apologies go out to those who regularly check this site for the status of things with us in Brooklyn. The April 22nd departure of our beloved Commissioner Lancaster has depressed me greatly. No, she did not die, but suffered mortal political wounds and finally was prompted to resign her commission. When I began with the department almost ten years ago, only a few inspectors carried cameras and those were more likely to be Polaroid than anything else. Now digital cameras are standard issue for every inspector. That is but the least example of how Patricia J Lancaster F.A.I.A. transformed our agency from the reputed “Political backwater” into a modern competitive department. Our challenge remains, yet overall hangs the wasteful pall of politics.

The devastating crane accident still reverberates, shakes, and vibrates through the halls of movers and shapers of our city. Nothing small dare happen here. This is truly the BIG town. When we have a catastrophe, it has to be nightmarish. In a way, I am purging myself here on this page. The pain and utter failure of that event haunts me. It was not just one fault to bring the crane down, but a tragic series, a witches brew, of improbable events that led to the worst crane accident since Bridget Gurney was trapped for hours on a mid-town sidewalk beneath a collapsed machine. Then, as now, we were in the midst of a building boom leaving us scrambling to man the guns. Heads have, indeed, rolled and our commissioner’s was one of them.