Tuesday, December 16, 2014

MUSTARD SEEDS


Nobody's fault,
really; it's in
the mustard seed
I suspect.
We're given
our rations
before entry
& can only eat
from that plate
or tin can.
It is
a war
of sorts,
all the time,
and we act,
or not,
accordingly.
Angry?
of course.
Bitter?
sometimes.
The rules,
if any,
are none.
To advise
or suggest
alternatives
cannot be
avoided.
They can
only be
brokered
by chance
& chances
taken.

Old age
has softened
me like
a fine Brie--
allowed to run
& gain
a slow
knowledge
of urgency.
I would hold grudges
like a wizened Jew
with Alzheimer's,
forgetting
everything
else.

But not now.
No longer
does it make sense
or matter.
By the time
the jury decides
& is polled
it's over.
Then,
and only then,
is it time
to shed
a little
ink.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2014

Wednesday, December 10, 2014

ONE HELL OF A YEAR


Plenty of beauty
and plenty of blood.
Both were given
and granted
without
permission.
The body
sometimes moves
without knowing
why.
Such
is life; such
is the task
and the terror
lived
on a border
of disorder.
It's jazz
and jism;
it sticks
to the air;
it's in
your underwear.

I loved the beauty
and needed to be bled.
My alienist helped
cure me
by all this
exposure.
I can't say
it helped; I can say
it worked.

I began last year
in the arms of a love
and will begin this year
in the arms
of another.

(Inside
that and this
parenthesis
was only
misery
with small pockets
of pleasure).

There is
in all this
some kind
of balance.
I know
not
what
this
balance
is. But
I've seen it
through.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2014

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

"TAKE A BREAK"

for j. and in spite of her...

she said to me.
"Gimme a minute...
I need to get this shit
down," I answered.
"You said that
an hour ago...
it's my Sunday, too."
"A minute,
just a minute,"
I promised.
"Now, Savage,
I need some
attention
now."
"It's still early,
night's young."
"But not you;
your shelf life
is almost expired
and I've got an itch
that needs scratchin."
"Come over here," I parried.
"Seriously,
take a break; this cat
needs to purr."
Black women
are different
than white:
they get up
in your face
and no "no's"
placate
or appease.
"C'mon Daddy do
what you do."
"Fuckit,"
I said
without
letting her
hear it.
Beside
she had
a better way
with life
than I did.
And I'm simply
not that much
of an artist
or fascist.
I shut-off
the Mac
and did
what any man
would do:
obeyed.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2014

Thursday, November 27, 2014

THANKS FOR GIVING

For j.

me
married women
whose husbands
are dead
or might as well be.
Thanks for giving
them
ancient bohemian hearts
and well-springs
of curiosity.
Thanks for giving
us
chemical erections
to boost passion
and education.
Thanks for giving
Chinatown
instead of turkey.
Thanks for giving
trusting Indians.
And thanks for giving
me
a country
that tolerated
me
and made my life
a jumbled mess
of transgressions
and forgiveness.

Tomorrow
is there
to mold
and to
fabricate.
But tonight,
tonight is for
deep reflection
and above all else
laughter.

The wing
is yours.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2014

Saturday, November 15, 2014

THANKS


to my last
girlfriend
I'm able
to explore
a woman's pussy
like
a leisurely
lepidopterist;
studying
the wings
& the colors:
all rectangles,
squares, ovals,
marveling
how they move
& pulsate,
emitting sweetness
& smells
as they groove
to their own
rhythm
& beat;
how they preen
& announce
themselves.
How wonderful
each to each;
how marvelous
to notate
& record
at this age
now.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2014

Saturday, November 1, 2014

THE FLIP-SIDE


of pleasure/pain
is what interests
me. The hum
of the everyday
puts me to sleep.
I've learned
nothing
from peaceful
or good
things. I've enjoyed
them
at times
but shake-off
the common
for the chaotic
and ugly
every time.

Early last week
was a nightmare.
I was brutalized
by merely living
in this world.
Then came friends
from above
the border
& Carmen
at The Met;
Coney Island
& Totonno's;
sales leading
to safety
for another
month.

All through
this Janus faced
life, I've been
cooking
with words...a hundred fucking pages,
and counting.
Enough
to send
out
to Cynthia
which
I did.
Today she called.
A Saturday.
Terrific,
she said,
I'll rep it
when you finish,
so finish.

I thought I'd stop
smoking
but I won't. Why fuck
with the gods
now?

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2014

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

HONEY, I'M HOME,


I'd say,
to the walls.
And, I'd add,
I had a motherfucker
of a day.
I wanted
to put my fist
through every motherfucker
I met
or spoke to--especially
my prick of a boss.

At times
you need a hedge,
a sanctuary,
against the madness
outside
your front door,
or inside
the mosquito net
of flesh
you think
protects & wards off,
but instead flaps
against
the broken
spring.

Not all the time,
mind you,
but right
now.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2014