Tag: new york

Cooking Gyros For Swat Valley (February 2009)

It’s about a fictional expatriate from Pakistan working in a restaurant in New York City, New York, U.S. based on an article in The New York Times used for background flavor.
Cooking Gyros For Swat Valley (February 2009)

We used to be
the Switzerland of Pakistan
many orchards
much fruit
much minding.

In my mind I see
the mulberry trees,
see much fruit, the
plum of the valley
minding apricots, damson
cracking walnuts like jewels
minding a fig leaf
a grape, the jujube
minding these and the olive tree
in my dreams of Swat Valley

We thought
like fruit flies
insurgents could be thwarted
could be swatted

In exile, my
restaurant work is a meditation
chopping lamb into chunks
into pieces, coalescing
thoughts for peace
charcoal broiled
hoping coalition forces will
bring a peace home, but I
am mashed chick peas
and tahini: the skeleton of
the sesame seed, fallen, my
kernel floated and crushed
feeling pasty, stuck in New York
rolling out an unfamiliar phyllo flat
with pistachios and honey sadness.

Oh the strutting about,
the grazing on tables where
all the world’s a
thoughtless stage, confused
the size of Delaware
the size of Swat
valley of rotting fruit
and war.

Stand up for Swat Valley
the Switzerland of Pakistan

The Taliban
have kidnapped
my Father, and
from here in refuge
I work to earn a ransom, the
flowers of my Swati meadows
in my mind, my eye,
the charcoal smell of my
burnt house wafted in a nostril

Oh Pakistan,
for every truce I die,
while every envoy
seems to fiddle
with Shariah at the door.

Wrong Timing

When I graduated from High School
in 1966 losing my last 2 friends,
I had a Regents Diploma
with a Science endorsement
but had bad grades in English of course

I got a college acceptance letter.

In the Summer I
toured the college
and my Mother cried
and assumed I’d
become a Doctor
or a Physicist.

My Father hated me
more and more
because he thought
I’d succeed. He was sad
that he was an orphan
and was never loved, and
maybe his wife never
understood him, because
he always hid his feelings;
always said he had none.

I didn’t know
when I arrived
at College that
I was already dead.

I could have used only one
girlfriend.

It would have made
a big difference, but

you weren’t even born, and
I miss you as
you might have been

because I know how kind
you would have been.

I was so sad.

Nobody has ever helped me,
except with promises, and
boot straps

I don’t even know
what they are

I don’t have boots
to walk in the muck

I have no good luck.

But sometimes I feel
a glimmer of light, but

I don’t know how
to shine when

I have never been
a light

I will give you a poem, and
you will give me hope

seems like an
easy bargain, but

I don’t know, in
a moment of insignificance

the devil might have my ear
because without love, he

could offer me fame
and wealth, and

I could give it to you

and at least one person
would prosper.

I think
I would have loved you.

A Yoke

You Are The Way

You are the way
that happiness
met us

You are
the happiness
that glee is made of

because it’s
my dream
to be of you

and you have me, oh and

this symphony of you
is me dancing joy, because

You are the way
that happiness
met us, and

Come dance with me,
because

I’ll take you with me, and
you will take me in you,

because we are one
and you know that baby

this symphony of you
is us dancing, baby dear

Oh how stupendous!
Wow you know all of me
and you still make me
breakfast, but I can
crack an egg for you baby
because I see happiness
in your yoke and jokes

— Douglas Gilbert

Puzzle

Puzzle

There can not be a day
when I don’t think of you

because you know me
when I have a thought difficultly
and you listen as if I always
make sense, and you

love me enough to indulge
my every scramble, because

you know the mystery
of our love, and you
are the dainty matrix
that makes us wild
to be insanely congruent

the most magnificent puzzle
that comes together
for love.

— Douglas Gilbert

Where You Were

ENTRY 231

I went down to the road where
no one goes willingly.

I went down ’cause it’s
a famous intersection

where if I’d die
I’d be seen.

I’m going down to the crossroads
where I know the blues people
would have sympathy I think, but

I’m going down to
the crossroads
because

when I left
you sang so sweetly for all.

— Douglas Gilbert

Dignity

Dignity

I so much wanted to die, but
I was supposed to do well at college
not like the others in High School
who were restless rogues and plumbers, and
I had adequate grades for admission

Seemed like it should be a miracle
that if I’d be a scholar, some girl
would like me and college
could be sublime, but

when there was no one
I could not study
and I so much wanted to die

I crammed for a physics exam
staying awake for 48 hours or
maybe more. I don’t know
because there were micro dreams
that lasted a second, and
I don’t know how many
seconds there are to success

but anyway, I flunked
out of college and
the draft board was
looking for me
as cannon fodder

and I thought
maybe death was best.

— Douglas Gilbert

On Being Famously Powerful (Draft 5)

On Being Famously Powerful (Draft 5)

There would be a recipe to
political power for the adroit, but
many soufflés go flat even with the
accoutrements of the Palais de l’Élysée

The self-appointed Chef manqué cooks, thinking
he knows about Presidential amour, but

what does he, himself
know about building Love

Yes, he can be globally social,
trés chic and flirtatious
when he can find the
accidental actresses, and
the female Secretaries of State,
and Lady ministers —
watch out!

He’s on his motorcycle
with the visor down

His mistress imagines many things
beyond expensive gifts and orgasms
and she is devastated because
she thought he was deeply
in love with her, but he, you see,
is merely a puny politician

She has a career and friends,
just as he has his pompous chums

But in this world, faithfulness is
like a Chick Flick, and

His Majesty, the President
doesn’t deign to watch, because

He has everything novel, and
can click on a chick
like a fine menu,
no truffles of trouble at all
’cause he has a nose for fungi
like himself

— Douglas Gilbert

Moo Grass Is Green (Draft 1)

Moo Grass Is Green (Draft 1)

The meadow is green with esteem,
the shepherds sheepish to laugh although
the grazing sheep, the cows, and
the stampede of children in the fields
is a deep moo guffaw in the giggle grass
where lovers’ ruminations are wise but wild
and they take their hugs indoors where embraces
make warm days fruitful enough for an after prayer

Oh yes indeed, all is well when
the cows come to walk beyond the pews
to stand tall in the chorus under the stained glass
singing, “Praise the giggle grass and the long chew.
hallelujah we have churned the corner to
times of butter, cream, and honey

The landscape of the shepherd is gentle;
amen and pass the ice cream:
cherry please

— Douglas Gilbert

Wrecking Waves (draft 1)

Wrecking Waves

Melancholy waves I
endure for the current state, but

a past can not sigh on static shores
because the wrecking throb is
pumping sorrow blood
that feeds lachrymal eyes

Sorrow ocean is too vast to carry my breath upon your cheek
across the breadth and depth of shipwrecking currents

In the current state I do not know
where you are floating
if your ship is patched with love
that seals every leak

I imagine if you cry for me
it will not sink your ship
because you will drip those drops
overboard with a prayer the seagulls will hear
and they will tell me where you are

Truly I speak to them
and we are coming

— Douglas Gilbert