Ok, what is the story here???? To whomever keeps looking at a certain part of my blog....

Somebody is checking out the Manchester stuff that I wrote very long ago when I was young, and naive, and some people even thought I was funny.

I really do not mind, or I wouldn't have posted it.

But since you are a repeat visitor....

And KNOW you are from Manchester....

Shit, that's all I know....

You shouldn't be afraid to leave a message.

If you wish to talk, my e-mail is in my profile.

If you are uncertain, and frightened, you can talk to me. I used to be back then too, and got all bravado.

But if you are some HATE person, then get the fuck off of my blog.

If you are not... Talk.

The Ballad of Downtown Amy

Each and every city has its' Beauty....
Pisa her tower, Paris, the Louvre!
And in our town we have our Amy.
Whenever found, she' s on the move!

Well, nobody's sure how the story began,
But one day I heard from my dear old Aunt Jan
That years ago she was so thin and so bland---
Until she ran into that god-awful man!

Well everyone's heard all those clichéd old songs
Of some girl who one day at the altar was wronged;
And quite soon thereafter became strange, then insane!
And rumour has it that's how our Amy changed.

But whatever happened, she's out on the street,
and from sun-up till sundown, she stays on her feet.
Walking along, just undulating those hips!
But all the same, her face won't launch any ships!

A face full and round like the moon when it's full.
Two cherry lips that pout and pucker and pull.
A pair of dark glasses conceal two brown eyes
Which constantly search for that black-hearted guy!

Way back in the Fifties, McCarthy had raged
Against the Commies and the pink-colored plague.
She then attacked cars and anything painted red.
But it was just a phase, or so they all said....

And since the Sixties, she's discovered sex.
Walks up to any man, says: 'How bout it, Tex?'
She's big as a mountain, and three times as strong--
The men just smile sickly and then they are gone.

I've seen her on Ash Street hollering loud:
'Get off my back, you good-for nothing lout!'
And when I looked to see who'd stopped just to stare,
He was invisible.... or no one was there.

She goes to the movies, and talks to the screen.
And should a love-scene start, 'DON'T DO IT!' she'll scream
So now she'll watch Westerns, and even Bruce Lee.
But you will never see the films that she sees....

She'll sing like and angel, then stop just to spit.
When she hears music her lewd gyrations won't quit.
And every few months, she will get out of hand,
And then gets carted off to Loony-Tune Land.

When she's not downtown, where does she go?
Well, no one's ever said for sure that they know.
But I've heard she lives down on Memory Lane,
And that her parents never lived down her shame.

I've since heard that Amy has become tame.
She no longer whistles, or calls people names.
They've put her on drugs, and she's as sweet as can be.
She now stays at home and sits and watches teevee.

Yes, each and every city has its' Beauty
Unlike no thing you've ever seen
And in our town, we had our Amy..
Who lost out to the teevee screen

You've Touched Me

You've touched me: Pierced my armor and pretensions like an arrow.
I feel so naked and afraid, it chills my heart so.
Did you mean to or are you simply set on teasing?
And despite this tense dicomfort, it's so pleasing!

I ask myself why should you even have tried
To break down this re-inforced wall.
Did you see something there , that to you was quite clear,
But to me not apparent at all?

You've touched me. Yet of all your sweet attention I'm unworthy.
You elevate me, make me feel good, then so dirty.
You make me laugh when I should frown. Was this so fated?
In a way I cannot answer for, I feel elated!

Yet still I don't know where we stand, where we go
From here and should I even try?
I'm nothing so fine that you should waste your time
In teaching me how to fly high.

I'd touch you. I don't know how to go about it, but I want to.
If I were only sure you feel the same way I do.
And maybe it would still be better for me no to.
If you would only say you want me like I want you.

So give me some time to re-arrange my mind.
And I promise I'll be good for you.
I can't promise more. True, you might become bored;
But then again, I just might too.

Please touch me....
And we both will do our best together.
Touch me...
And I'll touch you.....

Prelude in C minor -- Merrimack 1957

The desires of the heart are as twisted as corkscrews.
Not to be born is best for the man.
The second best is a formal order,
The dance's pattern; dance while you can.
Dance, dance, for the figure is easy,
The tune is catching and will never stop.
Dance till the stars come down from the rafters;
Dance, dance, dance till you drop.
(Death's Echo---- W. H. Auden)

Prelude in C Minor: Merrimack, 1957

for the counselors of summer camps

On the dirt stairs, my broom
Swept the needles, both psychic and physical;
Swept the dust on my soul and wth walk;
Swept the accusations implied in our talks,
And swept the time, the unceasing creeping time.
You asked must I really go.
I admired you in a way undefinable.
Sensed that you knew what had passed;
Sensed you wished to explain or to ask;
Sensed you were somehow hindered;
Sensed the heavy reproach implied in that
'Must you really go now?'
That drew me, although I felt the danger;
That if I stayed, nothing would change;
That if I stayed, I'd still be called strange;
That if I stayed, you'd stay--away.
I said, 'Yes, it's best I go now.'

Graz, 21. 06.1979

The Witch... we all grew up with one, right?

The Witch
The wicked Witch of Pleasant Street
Lived in a brick apartment block.
She was the only tenant,
But her yard was full of sunflower stalks.


The wicked Witch of Pleasant Street
Looked very mean, had wild white hair,
And undernourished greyish skin,
And fiery eyes that madly stared.

She'd laugh a cackling shrewish scream,
And scolded us when evening came.
For then we'd gather in her court
To tease her and to play our games.

Oh wicked Witch of Pleasant Street,
You let yourself be fooled.
You acted out the evil role
That we assigned to you!

We'd shout, 'Come out! We're not afraid!'
And clamoured in the twilight's damp.
You'd stand before your window,
Scream, 'Begone, you little tramps!'


We'd yell, 'Come catch us on your broom!
Come out and fight the slaughter!'
And when you had enough of us,
You'd douse us with hot water.


Oh, Wicked Witch of Pleasant Street,
You played into our hands,
We needed someone old and mean
To play our fears and child's demands.


I know today you had it rough.
Your husband died in Europe's war.
Alone, you had a child to raise.
You had no job. You were dirt poor.


I feel ashamed when I look back
On all the grief we gave to you.
We only wanted fairy tales:
Giants, dwarves---and witches too.


Oh, Wicked Witch of Pleasant Street,
We never gave you one small thought.
But was it really fairy tales,
Or eccentricity we fought?


All children find their Wicked Witch.
There's one in every neighborhood.
She's always the outsider
In a world defined as 'bad' or 'good'

Middle Street

Cruising the Middle Street Market

Middle Street row-houses sweat,
Their once red brick now black.
Soot runs into each crack
Along walls shining dully and wet.

Once proud neighborhood in years
Before Depression Great
Humbled it, filled it with hate;
Filled it with immigrant workers tears.

Middle Street families are gone.
Left are the aged and
Helpless, who try hard to stand
Up to everyday tasks. Life goes on.

Dog Day’s become steaming night.
And on the asphalt walk,
Scribbled in urchins’ chalk,
Is a protest against urban blight.

My footsteps echo quite loud,
And above me a head
Seems to watch me with dread…
As though I were not one, but a crowd..-..

Headlights flare on the street.
Blinded, I falter, then
Walk onward slowly when
I see it’s cop on his beat.

Once more around the block, then.
Seeking companionship.
Seeking a quick trip
To the Millyards, for sex between men.

Parked on the side of the street
Is a lank-looking man.
I look. He nods. As if planned
I get in, and his mouth and mine meet.

No words between us must pass.
He drives off a short way
To the Millyards. His hand strays
To my thigh, to my crotch, to my ass.

Two moments later we park.
Hot breath and roving tongues
Mingle and prod and plunge
Deep. Hands rip at clothing in the dark.

Cramped in the narrow back seat,
We thrust, adjust, and squirm.
He whispers, he wants my sperm.
His hands stroke, increase desire’s heat.

Then comes my on-rushing tide.
He flows, and then ebbs.
We drive back, nothing’s said
These are the rule by which we abide.

Alighting again alone.
I stare as he drives off…
Am suddenly aware of
The night and the heat and the soot black stone.

Middle Street’s seen better days.
When I was a child,
There were elms. The air was mild.

But together we all have decayed.

Nights in the Saline Puppy

The Saline Puppy was a counter-culture haven
in the age of Narcissus, home to the craven.
First bar with genuine barn-board panels
And Tiffany lamps and teevee with ten channels.
There we drank the nights away
and we found so MUCH to say...

And plaid-shirted students dressed in farmer-johnny jeans
Solved the world's weighty problems while philosophers dreamed.
Rowdies with a buzz on tossed down their drinks
maintaining nothing mattered;
they were too burned out to think
And their eyes undressed each girl
in the crowd's unending swirl.

The nectar of the gods, came in pitchers---(dark and light)
Served by liberated ladies, bitter girls who'd bite
with a word or action. They'd no self trust,
Repressed sexuality, believed life was a bust.
Phoebe Snow sang 'No Regrets'.
and we took what we could get.

What wouldn't I give for another round
in that smoky room, watching the sights;
lost in discussion and your laugh would sound
when the talk became raucous
round about midnight.

And Robbie, Carl and Terry would join us now and then.
And the terms coined (love muscle?) Terry'd goose the men.
And the muscle bound bouncers, self-labelled Jocks
chatted with the husband-hunters--Liberation talk.
And we like to be alone,
but can't seem to stay at home..

Sitting at the bar with question-mark shaped posture,
menopausal salesmen debated on the cost or
better said 'investment' of one long-drink
for the young thing beside him, who ignored lewd wink.
And they both went home alone,
disappointed, hearts of stone.

Like the mailmen of old, we showed up in rain and sleet
And we quickly found a place where the heater warmed our feet.
And we analysed and we criticised.
And although the hours flew, we never grew too wise....
It was an uncertain time.
Done and gone with, but that's fine...

What wouldn't I give for another round,
to see how we and the world may have changed.
Or maybe to laugh and discuss and expound;
and to question our fates, so opaque and so strange.