Author: davestankowicz

Dave Stankowicz is a retired educator who lives on an island off the coast of Portland, Maine with his wife Debbie Jordan and their dog Cody. Liberated from the responsibilities of teaching he has found the space and time to pursue so much that interests him. Dave is the former host of the WMPG radio show Palm Wine Radio, and currently hosts Next To Silence - an hour long show that explores different themes, genres, artists and record labels. Next to Silence can be streamed live on Peaks Island Radio at https://peaksislandradio.com on Mondays and Fridays @ 7:00 PM EDT, and Tuesdays @noon. You can also stream archived shows at his site (category: next to silence) He continues his lifelong efforts to master space and time.

Misumo Bo Tamo

 
 
 Artificial Lady
 I love you like sugarcane,
 Come and keep me warm.
 
 It’s all because of the love I have for you,
 We are dancing.
 I’ve been living peacefully,
 I have done my best to no avail
 I have suffered a disappointment.
 .
 Don’t forget the past
 Beautiful woman.
 Don’t worry me,
 Love sickness,
 Tell me the truth.
 I am not afraid.
 
 Remember me.

*Misumo Bo Tamo She - I Love You Like Sugarcane

This is the first in a series of found poems constructed from the titles of Ghanaian Highlife songs from the 1960’s.

Imagined Beings


 Imagined beings,
 fantastical worlds,
 existential sorcery.

Twilight Mare

 
 Twilight mare:
 primordial tendrils 
 of ancestral recollections.

The Big Bang

 
 The Big Bang of being born;
 immediate disturbance in the universe
 as you know it,
 warped faith that
 nothing halts the twin moons
 of disappointment and despair.
 
 Reactionary tides wash snake oil residue
 of substances and words,
 promising false bargains,
 empty lies,
 and distorted misunderstandings.
 
 Growling hunger to know,
 beneath the haze,
 beyond the babble
 of convention,
 
 bottomed out
 and finding faith,
 seeking comfort
 in one’s own
 great heart.

Faint Notions

 
 Faint notions of another life;
 possible,
 if you were someone else.

Ida Lupino

 
  Spontaneous combustion,
 uncharted waters,
 traditions be damned.

SPECIAL!

 
 Pleasure the gratification void:
 cop the deal,
 you always need shoes.

Leaderless

  Leaderless whimsy,
 license for wildness,
 connoisseurs of skedaddle.

Round Midnight


 Round midnight
 defenses rest,
 dark memories fade,
 cats come out to play.

Sometimes There’s Nothing

 
 Sometimes there’s nothing 
 you can do but scream.
 
 Rage against the losses:
    loss of eyesight and hearing
       and strength;
    loss of interests;
    loss of love,
      or  loss of
      love’s attention;
    loss of energy;
    loss of ideas;
    loss of dreams;
    loss of the erotic;
    loss of appetite;
    loss of those who care
       for you, and those
       you care for;
    loss of mind,
       especially
       loss of mind.
 
 Rage against the
    impersonal universe;
 rage against the 
    lack of justice,
    lack  of merit,
    lack of luck.
 
 Rage against regret
    as thick as molten tar,
 rage against the arctic freeze
    of heartbreak.
 
 Rage against the plutes,
    those hungry ghosts
    sucking the rest of us dry.
 Rage against the whores
    of commerce.
 Rage against the loss of ideals and
       that feeling of
       being bamboozled.
 
 Rage against a higher force, 
    if you believe in
    that diabolical jester
    who deals the cards
    and rigs the games.
 
 Sure,
    there’s wisdom that comes
    from getting old,
    deeper acceptance 
    and even a flash
    of it’s really OK;
 
 but sometimes there’s
 nothing,
 and all you can do
 is to goddamn scream.