Tag Archives: poem

Ode to the Korova*

The horrowshow Milkbar

also known now as the best mesto

for my droogs and me,

where, “What’s it going to be then, eh”

is the question repeated

by malchicks and devotchkas …

any random nochy with a thirst

for twenty-to-one, or any other

way to filly out the bezoomny

we feel trapped in the old mozg.

 

Bog himself knows the starry lewdies

try everything they can to escape

their grazzy cheepooka. They

have different ways of lying

about the jeezny, my brother.

 

But if you viddy their glazzies

after a few rounds of their

favorite poisons, behind their guffs

and ha ha ha creeches

you’ll hear from their poogly rot

what sounds like a hound and horny

excuse for why they wake up every

morning to ookadeet their domy and drat

for the measly hem-korm in their pockets …

why they rabbit until their plots

fall apart and are left with nothing

but to itty or take in

the last unending spatchka.

 

It’s why we’re showing mercy, my brother,

and a beautiful thing, kleb and krovvy,

when we take these broken vecks

out back to bend ’em at their altar

in the darkness of the alley

and smash them in the litso —

make a mark in the rassoodock,

so it plays like a shoomny sneety,

like a scene we’d see at the sinny.

 

It’s the only way to prod a bratty.

 

* Inspired by a student who invited me to read and discuss A Clockwork Orange with him.

What the Assassins Know

Martin and Malcolm and Bobby and Jack.

You still hear their echoes inside of books.

Heroes are killed, and they never come back.

 

Stepped to the front and took lead of the pack.

Out of the valley and onto the brooks.

Martin and Malcolm and Bobby and Jack.

 

Believed in defense, but not first attack,

avoiding the jabs, the crosses and hooks.

Bullets kill heroes, and they never come back.

 

Tried to save Rome from the sieve and the sack,

warning the people of liars and crooks.

Martin and Malcolm and Bobby and Jack.

 

Were placed center stage and then on the rack;

received with suspicions and sideways looks.

Villains kill heroes, and they never come back.

 

Their efforts and names are fading to black,

for whatever they said has been mistook.

Martin and Malcolm and Bobby and Jack.

People kill heroes, then they want them back.

 

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2016. All rights reserved.

Plan B

(for my students & my sons)

…..

Be strong and dare to dream;

……….your life is more than what it seems.

Be good, be well, be nice;

……….these things you don’t consider twice.

Be calm, be fit, be smart;

……….take careful measure from where you start.

Be brave, be kind, be wise;

……….learn to tell the truth, even when disguised.

Be fair, be just, be true;

……….these things with time, get harder to do.

Be strange, unique and pure;

……….keep people guessing what else is in store.

Be bright, alive and … smile.

……….recall our lives, are but a while.

 ……….

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2014. All rights reserved.

what stands between us

what stands between us

are just cross and crescent

as walls in our minds

stars and sentences

that seemingly align

stands between us

the same things

that seem to define

between us

what’s yours

what’s mine

us

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2013. All rights reserved.

To Expand the Republican Tent

Stop calling people you don’t like thugs.

Stop beating on unions and workers.

.

Stop saying shit like,

…..“the good old days”

…..“traditional America”

…..“real Patriots”

…..“leeches and parasites”

…..“free condoms”

.

Stop putting the words

“rape” and “incest” and

“god” and “abortion”

in any combination,

in the same sentence,

anywhere, anytime.

.

Stop thinking of white picket fences

or white bread or white rice.

.

Stop thinking of brown people

as white elephants.

.

Stop thinking that history

is only Greece and Rome

and Jews and Christ

the Renaissance

Chris Columbus

Plymouth Rock

The War of 1776

the Civil War

WWs I & II

Reagan

Bush

War

and

War

and

War

and

War.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2012. All rights reserved.

deferring dreams, no more

race is not

just a lie …

but a horrible tangle

that needs be decried

 .

needs be split open

set in the sun

put out to dry

for now it is

a dirty, slimy, rotting knot

of pus leaking snot

of old blood clotted

spotting and spitting

unwitting thoughts and beliefs

leaking into our lives

and our dreams

.

a cancerous meme

made stronger in waves

and on screens

depicted for what “it”

can mean … but it’s not

it’s a lie

 .

it’s a colorful twist

on how we are made

to survive

a spiraling joke

from a helix

that shows we’re

99 percent the same

on the inside

 .

race, is a lie

and always has been, now

we need wash our hands

and our mind of its sin

we cannot carry

that load,

lest we implode.

.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2012. All rights reserved.

Memory poem on your birthday

hermano, amigo

               I don’t gots nothing more

                    but words for you …

an open invitation

   like the blanket I hung

    as a door when we lived

side by side, all the places

          where we were young together

 .

even these things are leaving

               us now,

          that we don’t talk,

                    that you can’t call

     to say “I love you too”

               now that I’m just another

          Facebook friend or bit I.M.

 .

Te acuerdas,

               remember how we met?

          ¿como todo paso?

how by accident your mother

               bought the house across the street

          from ours? How twelve years

               earlier we had both surprised

          our fathers and bent their tomorrows.

 .

¿Que cosas, no?

 .

that so much had to go,

               had to break a certain way

to find us playing tag in

               the summertime, dodging

between cars or playing kick the can

              and waiting for the street lights

to turn on.

 .

Te acuerdas como nos conocimos?

 .

                    You doing your imitation of John

              Travolta from Saturday Night Fever

                 and singing the Bee Gees’

                    “Staying Alive”

                   to mock whoever the hell was “it”

                … except me …

         we were already running as a team

        Ploying silently to keep the

                rest at bay, pushing to be better

               than each other because no one

            wanted to be Robin, because

          we both felt absolutely golden,

      whenever we were together,

          you were Larry and I was Magic

              even though our skin said

                   we had it backwards

                      … we knew better

 .

Ya tu sabes!

 .

So here’s a list that only

          you will understand with your

decoder ring and secret index

        of punchlines and memories

Pink Champale and Greased Lightning,

     Lower Grant and their mutant bigs,

Hershey Park spinning on its side,

     Reggie, the bleachers and spaghetti,

Willie on the train and the fucking fractions,

     Missions to van Sicilen, Crescent or Norwood

The middle of winter and a rat’s nest,

     Pitufas and soft shelled crabs,

The Dominican outback needing dancers,

     Fernando in the ambulance,

Shoeless football, stir fry and home grown,

     Seafood Mamajuanas, Billy Joel and

about a million other words I could

     string together to hang around our necks

like totems signifying we know

     exactly what they meant.

But we don’t.

We have our own stories, no?

          Even if we shared that

glory time so long ago, all things

          can gather enough dust

to be covered in the end.

Te acuerdo, te amo, te extraño.

.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2011. All rights reserved.

said the fallen angel *

es lo que es

las noticias de la vida

todo cambia pero

quedan las heridas

y yo que fui

tan perdido por aquí

me encontraré

la paz sin ser

cometido ha mentiras

.

(musical interlude … lots of horns)

.

Y es lo que es

la vida por noticias

nada cambia pero

quedan injusticias

y yo que fui

educado por aquí

me encontraré

razon sin ser

cometido ha malicias

.

 (repeat music … end with horns and cymbals)

 .

* dijo el angel caído 

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2011. All rights reserved.

the next great thing

the crowds are here today

they wrap around the block

and seem to go for miles

 .

they’re here to see the birth

of that very special something

that will bring them smiles

 ..

and everyone will walk away

happy for the gift today

and it will be enough for a while

 ..

it will entertain their brain

until it all becomes the same again

and then it will fall out of style

 .

they’ll be back in line somewhere

not too long from now, I’m sure

giving something else a trial

 .

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2011. All rights reserved.