Sunday, April 27, 2008

Blog Special: Poems that End with a Bad Pun #1 of 679

poet's comment: Thank goddess this isn't published anywhere else...

"The End"
by Tim Kavi

I was
born yesterday

she played
me like
a violin

while Rome
and all
our dreams
of paradise

faded into
and history

was nothing
except to
watch it burn

and roast
hot dogs

in the smoke
Nero said:
the relationships
you relish.

Thursday, April 24, 2008

blog special: lovely woman what goddess You are

"Lovely Woman: what goddess you are!"
by Tim Kavi

lovely woman
what goddess
you are

your kisses are
so full of passion
that I can never dismiss
our joint destiny

that caused us
to find one another.


now you know why
I tirelessly sought you

embracing your lips
with my mind
and body
the words flew
like dripping
across time
and cultures
even to the
holy mountains

until I found You
where You are sitting

looking between
I see your
loving eyes
in the cosmic

of our consummated

only then
am I made

we are one
as all
pass away

in our
eternal love.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

My Grandma the Poet (A Memoir)

a true story from my hometown life:

I grew up in a small town and loved grandma and visited her house
I stayed there lots of weekends
even until my late teens

she made homemade candy
and treats, good homecooked meals
and the holidays everyone in the family came there

aunts and uncles and lot sof cousins
there weren't any boy cousins
although I had two brothers
(they were much older than I)
I made mudpies with my girl cousins
who giggled incessantly
and told me how to cook
fine pies in the mud

grandma tended to her kids
but when she got older she worked a little...

grandma was the town "cookie" cooking burgers that all the teens loved at the soda five and ten

you know the malt shops with soda jerks? in the 1950s...

post war bums with some slicked back hair and cars with big fins

susie was over in the corner
eatin' grandma's burgers

grandma was behind the counter and she grins

watchin the drama unfold
susie ignored the man's advances
and all the other cooks

susie was a real good looker

I had a burger there in the Soda Fountain place in the late 70S before they tore down the place
the same owner was there but he was Cookie now, and grandma was living in the twilight of her life. the place was empty, but the food was still good and you could get a lot for your money all the noise was down the street at some fast food place. There wasnt even a battle of the bands no more. The owner worked there with his son who never had another job and stayed with his daddy till the end even though he was all grown

I went to grandma's house for a visit soon
after seeing her old working place

grandma was rockin
in her rocking chair
writing poems and crocheting and watching Portland wrestling

when she gave advice you listened

I never forgot her
her love was the most patient teacher

any grandson could have
and I often told her I loved her so

from as far back as I remember..
I have memories like this:

grandma would say Timmie
and was happy to see some of my first poems
scrawled in crayon
or pencil
so grandma and me would write at the same time when I was little and she was so big in my little eyes

her gentle ways taught me more about the
goddess than just about anbody
I know

I think grandma was a goddess

she would write poems by the hours
on sheets of typing and notebook paper college ruled
and writing tablets

all handwritten in very large letters

I was high enough to peek over the arm of the chair to watch what she was doing

if I was good and asked real nice
grandma would read me some
out loud

she had a way with words

these were lyrics and fine ballads

born in 1900 on a homestead she was a country girl
grandpa was a sharecropper
they seemed poor
but rich in so many ways

but we were so happy

grandma liked reading romance magazines
in that rocking chair
songs of home, heart, romance

and her and grandpa were married for more than 50 years

you know grandma taught me
a lot

and every once in awhile
when I write a poem now
I think grandma sees it

I hold it up to her just like I used to and you know what?

she grins

and that still makes me pretty damned happy.

here's an excerpt from one of
grandma's poems:

Tomorrow's End

My wonderful kids
How I love you so
I must know if there is a place
For me, or a home to go.

I won't need many extras
Just a bed at nite
A place to love my grandchildren
And my poetry to write.

Could I have a chair by a window
With the sun shining in
That would make me so happy
As my eyes grow dim.

I'd be all settled in comfort
Shielded from the cold
What a glorious feeling to know
Then I am growing old...

author's note: grandmothers can be terribly important. as you can tell, mine was extremely important to me. the poet "gene" certainly runs in my grandma, my mother, and both my daughters write prose that inspires and moves me across all time.

two of my recent poems

the bridge
by tim kavi

my otherness
narrow ridge

brave journeys
the bridge

by sure

the abyss

was more
than the
of your kiss

me across
the oceans
to your bliss

to your
sweet lips
eternally sought
from a goddess
was bought

by our
redemptive love

and in
the morning
when my steps
are not so

in the

the stones
of your

will build
every day
the bridge.

"Ground of Promise"
a Poem of Spring
by Tim Kavi

plowed earth
the warming

rises as
life digs
seeking birth
in the sandy

even there
it has roots

the tiny
of a new

by nature's

not evident
is the full
of that
which is
brought forth

that which is
your loving
placed it there.