The Foxes of Black Mountain

I wish the Iris
and roses
with the hundred lavander and yellow
butterflies
were in my garden
the shelf
down to the basement
where the family of foxes
live
and the realator
brought the couple down

• now the property is off the market...

When sleep Comes too easily/We wait to run up the hill/the fortunate gather cedar as they walk

Dreams that repeat themselves-you never quite know if they happened -the one about the Department Store closing/these two floors have the sales/no one is in these areas-New York is a lonely town sometimes-the other is the room under the house in MaCaza-an elevator in the closet-sub-level-bureau filled w/ladies clothes/the Queen sized bed made made-If dreams are real but forgotton-why do they repeat-

Paint for your life,this write of passage has me on my heels

• Lately I've revieved the scenario-We use each other -there I am and here you are-expecting the other to understand-but we don't know anymore-the isolation exposes our basic need of other people-you accuse me  I 'm jealous-this dead end path leaves us frustrated and in a dreamworld which bases the past on the current.

Poems by Francy Stoller: When sleep Comes too easily/We wait to run up the ...

Poems by Francy Stoller: When sleep Comes too easily/We wait to run up the ...: Dreams that repeat themselves-you never quite know if they happened -the one about the Department Store closing/these two floors have the sa...

The Interdependent Toilers or Beware of the Dog

I enter the house in the Bronx through a side door as long as we've been visiting this Aunt we've always gotten off the train and walked up the hill/slid in the garden door. This time she isn't here,the hospital has finished her off and she went peacefully in a semi-coma-no one around to bug her-she had said her piece -Shut the garage door-they're all pigs the ones who called us ''dirty."  On the bannister is her purse-a black marshmellow leather with a snap. I sigh and put my hand through the handle,seperate deom the groip who has gathered to either attend the meeting of the tenents who love here or to mourn. On the bag are gloves elbow length white leather/ in a thin brown paper bag,(never been worn),her black wallet with cards and photos-thirty-seven dollars. At the bottom of the pursewas a document and my name and address was on it. It is some sort of telephone referral-she was getting a new company when she got sick.

Laundromat Blues

Anne writes poems

• puts them

on grocery
receipts
her husband
has one leg
shorter
he walks w/a cane

The holiday/we are in the bronx/alone and retained by our own demise

We are Jewish women/like cutout paper dolls/shifting our wigs/preparing  fish and soup/Steve and I sit quietly waiting for the vendor to set up for the day. Another James Baldwin is on our minds/the wait to hone a poem/sell a piece of art-speak to our children/play with the grandchildren.Awash of colr and steeped in my heart a language of love and appreciation for the morning raga/a flight all our own.

confusion here

No typewheel/ this keyboard acts up/my need to control/who calls  Missssy Bossy

The Consequence and The Artist

Here we go
back where we started
two bits and a loving concern
to make art....

For the sake of idenity/this elemental life never happened

• Over there at the Westbury Music Fair/ you had the distinct opportunity to smell Goldie Hawn /she was tall/you had a girlfriend who the guy who I dissed till he took a bride from the Harmon Family happened to be in love with her and he could not understand anything/how he coming from the Ted Mack Camp could be rejected by first me and then your girl. Some folks ju

  st want people who aren't attracted to them. And so the story goes that in the ghett where we reside/a parcel of words creates an identity all its' own/you find yourself uptight/a broke dick dog/ and the closest item to scratch your fancy and wail out at is an old matchbook with a few words on it in pencil/strong and defined like a treatises/and the the memory game/I'll play till the death/who do you remember my feathers perking uo at/a watchful eye/an inclement strike at identity without money/the kind where you have a penthouse on Park Avenue/with red velvet chairs and a piano in the dining room/overlooking Central Park. Our scratchpad overlooks Barnabas Hospital/the firewagons screetch beneath our window/and we bead rose petals before dawn with the black sky and a sliver of blue over Inwood,it is this crystal bead which feeds my day/Arthur Avenue with Gepetto standing on the corner in his fur hat shaking his head the way so many elders who have encountered the artists have in their glorydays.

Sitting in the car with the radio on/just thinking about my baby

• When we started this life we each brought a magnifying glass. You broke yourself and I tried to keep up/a little voice kept telling me that this way will work. All around us there were signs/don't cross this bridge/stay away from the water/fishing will lead to problems/but we kept traveling and hoping that we could outdistance the deluge against us. We went to the mountain/we went to the sea/we left each other standing in kneehigh water. Then after an eternity/our psyches became just enough damaged that the dream hardly exists. I have to conjure standing in a warm place with a candyplated shield and some ribbons and red flowers/I have climbed on to the edge of the building and fought with the junkies for a spot to pitch my tent. All the jewels are gone except one/ this cross of fire/this one slight beleagured hope that the mail will come on time and the coffee will be served by us and that for all time we will remember what we have forgotton and that we will go down in history as the ones who never gave up.

the Find Center/8th Ave. and 40th Street/ a place which I though was naturally dangerous or depressing

1. Some times I would duck in to the Center and look at this painting of Times Square/a mural on the west wall/archetype like the Parisian scenes/I love this work. Along th westElongwall up front people sit and sleep/talk about themselves/it blew my mind the first time I saw this couple up against each other talking about love/as if down'n'outs have no energy for this sort. I sat inside the cafeteria at various intervals/the click/clack of dominoes/the food looked so good that I'll probably have to eat there. So real/quiet/Cozy Cole dude in his Sunday blue Serge and portpie hat/one at a time the people nestle in to see the painting/to offer dad a quiet hurrah. The community was accepting and strong/

You put something down/the next day you look and it's not there

1. We are standing in this room that's filled with old clothes/above the shelves is a bookshelf/you kiss me lightly/ I know what this kiss means. It's a thank-you for all the years that we've been together.

We skip out of town to Tucumcari/New Mexico/it is a rt.66 memorial

• There is a dream/it always begins with a dream. We are prepared to risk everything to travel five thousand miles to the desert. Danielle prepares snacks and hotels/bottled water/she is our grand advisor and beautiful spirit daughter, We arrive in Tucumcari at sundown/we drive up the steep canyon road and see the red stone of our salvation. The earth seems to call us in to it. The sage infiltrates brains/for three days we harvest small gourds and try to center our selves /the lizards of the land. The paintings have a purple hue in the sky and the mesas seem to breathe the red air. It is hot and dry and the lakes are red puddles and rivers are stream deep in to the earth. We find one room adobe house and meet with the rancher who owns it. We will have to wait for a settlement.

The inevitable happens/ We enter in to the third realm

• We have come to the conclusion that there is nothing sacred in the house. Pablo and Kira have returned from the Vermont getaway. The baby Indy is beginning to take steps. We await the new baby and Adam is back on his feet from a bout with teething. Summer is hot and oppressive in the big city. We arrive in the north land for a over-grown look at this summer. The painti

  ngs are postured for the long trip to the coast. We are escorting the stone to the new destination. Once we step down in paradise our inner thoughts will have ceased. We have worked all year to make this happen and only God knows how we deserve it.

the glass booth never leaves my mind/how could the rubber man and the fat lady with the beard not be real

Almost three weeks since MJ HITS THE HIGH ROAD. The avatars still in place/we have transcended the malaise of our own inter-relationship. We still carry the burdens of our own individual mediums. It is this cross reference which gives us light and hopefully not 'FLIGHT" Tomorrow we fly to TORONTO/a city not far from where our hearts stood still/Pab and Ben le

arned to walk/ALO and Danielle entered the world.

call me whack you piece a shyt hip-hop -moron cause your mama can't hold you

• This big ole headed boy seems to want my lunch. We have been in the Village too long,it's time to pull up stakes and hit the high road. The kids are grown and we have all but to make sure the tomatoes ke
  ep coming so that the Danielsons have some vitamins.

Ripley's Believe It or Not/ I wait for my honey/my fascination wirh freaks

A slingback to the 50's/ I wonder what happened to a lot of the people I know/some have attached themselves to my Buddy List/whatever for /I like it. This day I stand

with

the Bronxite who works concession/the heart of Manhattan's workforce-Bronx SPINE

We know that our end is coming/ we visit art gallery near the river

/workreaches me/the of angels/ work and sleep/poets/the execution of craft AM ON THE SCHEDULE

Follow the red card/ the pea game/I REMAIN A SHILL IN THIS LIFE

• I k now that you are smiling/ you have your back to me/ we watch the tube/ it is time to leave for a little respite from work/ WE ARE OVERDUE/ the crunch has left us limp/a dense existence to produce the required quota........

train wreck/it's flooding here/the fire killed their dogs/the boy excapede without his wheelchair

a finer day for the beachBLOG gonna ride the wave/

language turns towards the east/Isee a large bird swooping down / this day June 20/ is made for lovers/an ancient secret/ a lover without a mate/A ch

• the money I watching my parents and wanting a mate

  It cannot be this good/ I doubt if anyone cares/REMEMBER

fate comes creeping on in again/ without an alarm /written 1990

• Front ended / glass broken / head-on collision

METHOD FOR LIVING THE ARTIST'S LIFE/2006/

• Never want anything /embrace WHAT IS AT HAND /CHERISH THOSE who are close by/Eat once a day / Don't develop tastes for anything expensive /know that patience comes hard /First there will be a lot of anger/that will pass / after twenty years or so / Practise your craft with diligence/ Force yourself to create /this is your life blood / Believe in yourself /no one else will /it is your own path.

Oconee County,Ga.,We are living at the Robinson PLACE /100 YR. OLD SLAVE HOUSE

• Blackberry caves of stickling wine/ purple prickly bushes/ clinging  on the gargantuan trees/ the creatures/arms and legs draped on the roadside / headless monsters

AT DENOUEMENT FINE ART/INDPLS.,in. 1990

The Alo poem was written in about one week.It took three weeks to bring it to heart. Etheridge ran me through my orals and so did Steve.The poem was received well and became a signature piece.

ATLANTA /GA. 1979 / we were the only non-black family in a settlement across the tracks

• Next to the house I GREW A CORN FIELD / THEY KNOCKED IT DOWN /BooBoo and Shirley/ sisters /neighborhood teens / they held a switchblade taut against my pregnant belly /I was already hurt/they were/violent yet sweet as Violetslets...

Taos or bust /Orlando or sink /New Orleans or dance in the east village

1. I WANT TO twitter/blogging is passe. no one sends me their poems or comments on mine. i KNOW THEIR ARE MISTAKES BUT AT LEAST i got to share a stack of papers i never thought I WOUYLD EVER DEAL WITH /this is quick and efficent /like a mix-master / No one becomes my follower /I DIDN'T THI

   NK ITR WOULD BE LIKE THIS /but I should known /art is always like this /kinda private /kinda no one is really that interested /a side-line /like a freak show/a bit more pale.

1982 /arriving in Indpls., a family of eight , deep consideration

1. The sun closes its' eyes / on expected phone calls / unanswered business /leaving the dark loneliness of my heart's desire /to the cold night /of my dreams / a person's character is not formed until the closing breath /in this world / a chatter of birds and folks gratus / is all we really need / my nerves in uneasy buzzing of bees robbing my bones......

Quincy JONES Dad /HOOSIER apartments /across the street from the gallery /1992

1. MR Shade lives across the street /in Federal Housing/T.V.'S line the crib. Cold cash under the bed/Shade is careful/packs a piece/ dances and sings /plays the invisible sax /he come from the Bronx /makes me wanna cry.

The Magic Shoppe /on 42nd St.,NYC,BEHIND THEWURLITZER PIANO STORE

1. OLD MEN CRYING IN THEIR HATS / TEARS LIKE WORDS /I FIND SOMEONE HAS SLIPPED into my personality /as though through a trap-door....

FLEA POEM /STRAWTOWN SPECIAL / peddler series

• I peddle things like my dad did in the 40's /Asian paintings / the figurine / like Pearl Harbor / denial of the races / wind whips today / we soldiers in art / know the pain /

flea market poems /the downtime /the wait

1. woman stands with blue basket of flowers/dried wisps/and a cow shopping bag/she is part cow,,

Danny leaves the house of the mother and father

1. This wild woman and gentleman look to golden meadows and deep rivers/glistening smiles joy. We Try to understand Sissy / MOVING /her voice still in the air/ her hair bow on the sink/the sound of the hair dryer/faint/the impression of a contact case on the washer... TH

The lilac are in bloom and we're stuck in the Bronx

• I sit next to two-hundred paintings..I NEED THE COLOR/IT STIMULATES MY HEART.The feather boa is flying in the wind/garbage trucks honk on their breaks/the sea-birds swoop past the window.IT is idylic and consentrated slice of the pie. I know we are going to reep the benifits of the work that we have already done /yet we can never be sure / doubt lurks at my very core. I WANT TO SMOKE MY BRAINS/EAT CHOCOLATE AND SWIM IN A HTEL POOL. When the clash comes /where will we be /the clash isn't even a reality / the only reality is the bank account/how will we pay the taxes on our farm / how will we be able to shop at thrift stores without feeling guilty that we are spending rent and food money. When I LIVED WITH NO OVERHEAD I FELT GOOD /this New York burden grates my nerves...

Part of Tiny Tasha /Eye of wave /salt/smile/flies

1. Crackheads calling dead meat/thin-lipped junkie ego home /enough is enough/the bald eagle chases the chicken /we part ways /you swim too slow /you swim too slow /A $5 day /a blues way /a lampshade life/a set up/no show /show/my smile outdistances your mistrust /the artist is always out of line /

Erhel Ackerman / paintings of fashion models

• Her first husband left /at the Thanksgiving meal /he walked right out with her brother's wifeand she never heard from them again. She was holding her two small daughters . sHE LIVES ACROSS THE STREET IN A WOMEN'S HOME /SHE WHEELS HER PAINTINGS IN A SHOPPING CART. sHE IS WIND-BLOWN

the flea market on 26th /no longer there /I SOLD THERE IN 1997

• We have to leave a path for big Al who at noon drives a two-ton truck to the back of the market / an African brother helps him unpack / /unload broken metal tools /rain damaged merchandise /albums /musical instruments /cheap paper goods / He's burly with red chest hairs / he does well

IF YOU USE IT /YOU LOSE IT

1. What I got in to / the earth / the quiet

1990 /indy /never finished / like the rising of bread /birth

• We strut on the street /chest in theair / a BIRD PERCHED ON OUR BREAST / gREY YELLOW FEATHERS /WINGS FLUTTER /TO ASCEND / A COAT HOLDS IT FAST / A RED/WINE HAT KNOWS Y

  OU / BETTER THAN ANYONE ELSE / IT TREATS YOU RIGHT

older piece /never placed / never finished

• Anger flows /til it flows no more /jus' sits in the corner /bowing to the life / the little ones /who rise each day /eat and play

Henry /our dear friend /used to go in fridges that were in the houses of very poor people /he saw what they ate

1. I AM SOMEONE ELSE /WHERE ARE THe YEARS TOGETHER / HERE WE ARE IN the Belmont section of the Bronx /you return to your roots /I follow you /your path / I am in Chinatown walking past columbus park up Doyers / pAST MY GRANDFATHER'S STORE /kites and tea pots / It is time for me to check you out / my body can not take the usual punishment / I've seen death like the frozen canal I want it this way /

part of long poem /never completed

• my big mouth you say /you wanna hear a poem /a lie / you / wanna hear another poet's work / in a cafe /without me by your side /you justa see me dead than on stage / horray for the twenty-eight years /we're finally alone / with the shopping cart /the one we never had back in indy / obstructing your prep area /like cheating on my diet / taking another dollar for a cheeseburger /or eating the end of the pot....

SONG OF JEALOUSY /SERIOUS FEAR AND INSECURITY

1. i'M A THIRD CLASS CITIZEN LIVING IN A FIRST CLASS CITY /WEARING A FIRST CLASS SMILE / WONDERING HOW MY HUSBAND FEELS ABOUT THIRD WORLD WOMEN ON W/B'WAY RUBBING THEIR NIPPLES /PUTTING THEIR BUTTS IN HIS FACE /YET OUR LIPS TOUCH /A RITUAL /Hello and goodby kisses---

Eye of salt/smile/flies like undertow and die

1. /MUMIA LOUIMA /DIALLO MUMIA /LOUIMA /DIALLO

OLD PIECE /1980 / gEORGIA/ THE WHIP AT PALISADES PARK WAS MY FAV

1. tHE rOLLERCOASTER MAN AND THe Whip lady / appealing itself /stradling the red road /til mud fills the river /with holes to catch you and make you pale /What's good about death /you could live /and our children are afraid /one eye lunges out at me / in confusion / can you see the testing /where are we going to find goodness / we always jnow as truth / forgive me GOd / FORGIVE ME / YOU COULDN'T BE DOING BETTER WITH NO PLACE TO GO NOTHING TO DO...

a note

the sound of coins clinking in my pocket / freedom /like clean socks

a note

the sound of coins clinking in my pocket / freedom /like clean socks

gifts for the poor /X'MAS '93,FLETCHER PLACE

1. FATHERS GET NOTHING /NO STOCKING FILLED WITH SOAP /SUCKER OR TOILET PAPER CARDBOARD WITH MINIATURE TOOTHPASTE / THE TEENAGE TABLE /ONE CARTON OF BOXER SHORTS PER CHILD /ONE COMPLETE SUIT OF CLOTHES /dANNY STIL PLAYS WITH DOLLS [i LIE ] 2nds from department stores/ ping-pong tables laid out with gifts / slippers /t-shirts / rainbonnets / soap / volunteer ladies with glass ball earings bright sweaters yell at the parents / we mothers and fathers carry the bburdens /black bags filling up /the smell of mold / a rusty gym / a turkey scribbled across an index card/ a family large enough to receive a frozen bird/ navi wants a boat /

may 3 ,1995;sitting at Bargersville in the barn

1. 
   
   
   

   service comes / the setting up /tearing down /gearing up /in the name of love/ when dad said we would never have material joy /mostly it's true /we never know anything /and love just grows like the lilies of the valley through the sidewalk/mostly

Rosecity,Madison,N.J.,part of a humorous poem 1996

to view my masterpiece/husband lick lips /wet thighs /he's mine / I will tell them quietly / no wet for my husband / no licking of lips

Indiana sometime in the nineties /Yo Blood still drips

• 
  
  
  

  writing poems in the bath is a po' poets job

more SoHho

this iron trellis wraps around or faith and vision / the work sings /next door the coffee fills with early birds /do walkers / I WAIT FOR mOSES /A POEM / A PICTURE / SOON WE WILL ALL HAVE BLINDERS /BE GRUMPY / TALK A WHISPER / sPIKE lee passesI don't see him / we are laughing so loudly / spike buys a vintage LIFE MAG. /ABOUT YHE KNICKS / THE SUN IS FILTERING /iI GIVE ADVICE TO a young artist-david.....

soho story /before 9/11 /work in progress

IT BEGINS ON THE FLOOR / WITH A PARTY / Elvis songs /Hounddog / out the windowa magic bed / like we started thirty yrs. ago in this same city/ a gig so centered /it blows dust with pigeon feathers /one here /one there / a sign / we trapse uptown and down/set up pictures of the city in oil /an iron trellis / four days and no sale /and then / it breaks /three paintings/ we walk home / eat at wingwong /across the street from where alo now lives / we are flying and the air is cool /it is august /and there is a lot of enthusiasm for the work /

sub-ground duplex

HELLO YUSEF-IT'S YOUR OLD FRIENDS STEVE AND fRANCY - STILL AT IT -THOUGH ONE MIGHT WONDER HOW WE COULD BE THIS UNIMPRESSED WITH OURSELVES TO BE STILL PAINTING AND POETING...EYand E OF WAVE / SMILE /SALT / UNDERTOW AND DIVE / RETURN ///// we still are here in the Bronx and upstate gig...tho we took a trip to the mesa in NEW mEXICO....DROVE RIGHT BY THE i70 exit to Indy / shit we love you / if you are in a position to look at paintings / let Steve know / otherwise stay cool / in the new administration....someday we'll talk...francy

Umsallaba

I HATE MY MAIDEN NAME SINCE i was 20 and found out that I WAS ADOPTED BY MY FATHER ; i wasone of bernies' fav campers and counselors. I CAME FROM CAMP DEERWOOD IN GREAT BARRINGTON MASS. SAY AOUT 1956 - 1969 - A LONG TIME - i vaguely remember you / I THINK i was taken for granted...my sister is lesley rothman and my brother mark ---half sibs..DID bETSY GROW UP TO BE AS COOL AS SHE WAS WITH HER GUITAR....i married a Stoller / any other questions / I LOVVE TO TALK ABOUT MY LIFE / CAMP COMMUNICATION BETWEEN PEOPLE,...REMEMBER WHEN THE NATURE COUNSELOR BLEW UP FIVE KIDS AND THEY WERE HELOCOPTERED OUT///I WAS THE COUNSELOR...WHERE WERE YOU DURING THE TRAGEDY...i was on O.D...ONE THING THAT'S INTERESTING IS THAT ALL OF THE RICH DUDES YOU ESSENTALLY REJECTED ME / mike Levine /Rich Berman / Bob SEgal ..to name a few ...were on the move to made the god only buck or to further their careers ....but now I LOOK AT THEM AND KNOW THAT i'm the one who gained insight and richness in family...art and love peace and goodness...WE HAVE 19 IN OUR IMMEDIATE FAMILY/DID i tell you that all of our kids did well..........write back

letter to the editor

is that you Gene/ maybe I 'm dreaming / IU'm stuck in my own haiku /the styx /I just got this notebook and can't access my own / work on a twitter / or blog / help / I can't take the pain /the breath and depth of art...did the Kathryn Dunham biography come out / How is Amiri and Amini /do they welcome jewish poets at their basement readings /I'M SORRY THAT i HAVE A VOICE BUT CAN NOT PAY anymre at the newyorican or the venues around / can't go in the subway like H.D.---I'M HAPPY FOR THE FIRST TIME WITH MY GRANDCHILDREN ,FE FRIENDS AND MY OLD MAN, steve STOLLER,,,,,WE SEEM TO BE EXISTING FINANCIALLY DAY TO DAY...THIS ALL HURTS AND i CAN'T REMEMBER THE LAST TIME SOMEONE ASKED TO HEAR A POEM.......wOULD YOU READ OUR BOOK ...mEMOIRS oF AN uNKNOWN aRTIST..IT CHRONICLES OUR LIVES IN FICTION /USING eTHERIDGE kNIGHT /eLIZABETH mckim /henry madden / steve and his uncle painter Brad Boobis / days in INDY /jAMES bALDWIN AND aTL. /ME DON'T FORGET ME TRHE RED-TAILED HAWK ..PLEASE READ OUR BOOK...i GHOST WROTE IT /iT'S sTEVE'S VISION AND SIGNED jOHN sERPENT / PEWACE AND FREEDOIM / LOVE AND LET US HEAR FROM YOU....francy

letter to mw

steve and I ARE STILL AROUND....PAINTING AND POETING..WE HAVE A STUDIO IN THE bRONX AND ONE UPSTATE.....WE STILL STRUGGLE / HURT AND FIGHT TO SURVIVE DOING WHAT WE DO I'M GLAD YOU'RE STILL AT IT...sSINCE 911/WE LEFT SELLING ON THE STREET...WE HAVE 6 GRANDKIDS....MOSES' WIFE IS EXPECTING...ALL IS GOOD ON THE FAMILY FRONT....BUT THE NON-CHALANCE OF THE ART BUYING WORLD SUCKS.....REGARDS TO JOAN

shake, rattle and roll

oh you know what it was, where it was going and where you stopped you never knew.....rolling and willing...spilling the beans on the table.....

alter ego retrospective

The hall was quiet, more quiet than I realized/there they were/the little children waiting to eat/mostly chocolate/you ran to the window/mom was standing there.Her legs were shaking and her face was wrinkled/more so than we remember/ she had never left this country/a trip to the islands/a cruise/vacation in Vermont and the house in Canada whereSteve and Francy lived for almost five years/there were times when we wished that they were dead/hit by an avalanche or had fallen off the mountain/no one could keep up with them/they seemed to be advancing too quickly/we hardly had any children and they were approaching six kids/our homes were full of new sheets and pillows/they had wall to wall books and art/Francy sewed coats and cut large blankets/we watched for almost ten years while they stripped themselves of mundane and ordinary lifestyles/creating their own sense of being/this day we go upstate/eat in a gas station/stay close and pick up books on the library porch/we jump in the Crown Point Thrift Store Area find books/toys to bring home.we go to survive this next phase/it is grey and they cut the trees out front/we refresh ourselves in the good air 3/28/2009

cobble stone curve

· THIS TIME WE ARE HERE AND CANNOT BELIEVE HOW HARD WE ARE WORKING/A MASSIVE PUSH DRILLS AT OUR CORE/WE PUSH FORWARD/BRINGING WHAT WE KNOW/A BRINGBRINGING THE round windowbuilding EXPERIENCE/YEARsomehow a rite up and away to the mountain/thelioness/ STRUGGLE-----up and down pinhill mountains/a coralstone/lowdown judeo-christ a a a rythm of marenga/salsa/a cry green planters

Check please

While we eat
A minor soothing
WE CANNOT CONTAIN OUR FEELINGS AT THIS TIME/WE HAVE EXPLODED INTO THE ETHER-NET/OUR CREATIVE SPIRIT IS BALMING AROUND/we have returned from the country/cold and afraid

Tiny Tasha piece/ for Steve who makes me laugh

eye of wave / salt / smile /undertow / and dive //die / and return to the sea live the bracelet / the drift wood stick / making me feel sorry / like the carousel man / watching me from across the street /Coney Island / razor clam / or the one-eyed fruit man on Grand St.

Early Commitment

Marching up Madison Avenue
our feet lifting
through high snow
Galleries glisten gold
If only we could
They said we'd
need jobs/ haircuts
you smile
“The world will feed us”

Big Windy / Chicagotown

Voices
more voices
lapis voices
Ash sha sha sha
ch ch chicago
this spring
tugs to be worn
a sheer blanket of culture
the western plains / mist
of Satin Doll
like the echo of drum
the lake
like blue ice
blue buttons
African incense
red velvet
The Blues Room
odd spirits dance
out of the abandoned
hotel / a Turkish
girl wearing an orange
scarf pulling a camel
gangsters with cigars
pigeons fly in
and out of broken
windows
We'll never leave you
do you hear
we'll never leave you
our baby / Moses
sits like ancient
rabbi / his face
falls over itself
Voices
more voices
lapis voices
Ash sha sha sha
ch ch Chicago

The Right To Create

I didn't get your name
when we shook hands
you/shining in humility
with your milk
clouded eyes
I smell humanity
on me/ breed the seed
of art/ carry
around the pain
We do the corn-bottom
rock/ the ghetto dance
like grappling for truth
in an anti-art world
You can't catch me
I'll spit in your face
There is no pain
only pride.

Deportation 1977

They pull us out
of an icy pool
gut and scale us
throw us back
to America
one eye bleeding
we jog
to Georgia
where the grape-vined
forest takes us in
and feeds us
mucadine
and pecan.

Dawn awakened the farmer

New fields to be broken
Shovel in hand the icy dew
becomes lost
beneath the earth
A patch of holes an early spring sweat
The birds aglow a song of planting
He rests in contemplated love.
Dawn awakens the city man
New deals to be made
Pen in hand the blankness
becomes messages
A race card filled in a train ride
Track smelling dirt
Horses afoot nerves alight
The custodian sits and counts money
Mostly pennies
On the sparkling bath house floor
for the pious Jews
The search for home within himself
The uncontrollable day ahead
Seeds turning sprout
Magic growth beneath the earth
Forging storms bleating winds
Plastic flowers on the table
The canary chirps with spring
A child takes his first swim
and trout get hooked and cooked from the icy pool
Chain gangs funny farms rest homes
awaken with the bells of dawn.
The climb to see the sun from cribs in the wall
Cries of pain to feel some life, pushing upward
To only stand
Buggalooing on the streets
The rhythm taken from the day
Rockin mama on her stoop in prayer of hope
Time to wake the kids to see the day.
Burnt bacon, side of fear
for the unborn.
Clear cold bubbling mountain
Water rushing to the bucket
Inspired afired to create art
He selects his color strokes
And moods to please appease the call
It was a perfect hot sunny Georgia day
When I heard she died
I looked out the window
It was really raining
Thundering lighting
For one minute and then
Back to sunshine
My mother was an Indian
The first hours of waiting were easy
A little flour a few fern tips
A child belly fills up
Then the cries of hunger
The screams of pain
How long can we last
Waiting praying the anxiety of the past
We sat on the path waiting for you
But you had your time speaking no French
Worried sick about us, on foot with a painting
Under your arm. The hunger passes
The light becomes clear.
The spirit strengthens
Shadows appear. The child plays with no fear
And then you are here.
So we go on sticks in hand
Art our teacher love our guide
To the black space ahead
Understood by few
Feared by many
Courage this race
All feathered caps
The baby fruits grow up and down
Flowers signs of hope
The pecan tree bears not this year

19 West 68th Street

Climbing
up/up/up
to a room with round
windows facing the street
I / being twenty
living in a six-floor
coral stone
a gate guarded the last flight of stairs
to the room James Dean
lived / still left
a wooden chaise / a few cheap
books and a built-in
bookcase
an illegal crib / no heat
rose that high / no hot
water could travel that far
outside the room was the stove
a blue / four burner
gas with no oven
an iron door
next to the bathroom
led to the roof
shared by the building
next door / you
could barbeque out there
a photographer from that building
took pictures of Belafonte
and Poitier / with the city
as a backdrop
I bathed over there
left the roof door open
visited Marvin / my friend
a writer / he traded room'
for typing
Jon cards for Penelope
an Israeli prostitute / dead
he died / too much
Dr. Feelgood
Lillie / the dregs
a deaf poor soul
always stood on the front
stoop / waiting
for her transvestite son
to get out of jail
10
a bathtub sat on the floor
a board covered it
a shrine/ with plastic icons
her son Pat come home
with the cops chasing him
she’d throw him
into the tub cover it and run
down the street
with the heat
on her / throaty sounds / still
vibrate
my soul
P.T Barnum's governess / Mrs. Keeslestone
lived on the fourth floor
she was 100/ visiting her
was always spooky/ everything
in the apartment was covered
with white sheets/ so afraid of dust
she never went out/ she waited
to die / she told great stories
about Dean/ how quiet he was
how gentle he spoke
Amidst the cellar rats
in a box I found three Harlow
gowns/ later I cut them
up/ made braid rugs/ velvet
'n satin/ black'n white
to sell on South Street
East River Docks / where
the dead pigeons lay
Mike / a famous midget
lived across the street
next to Kazan/ the peephole
on his door is crotch-high
Evenings
out of Burger King
I roped junkies
took them home/ picked
their brains/ hid their dope
just to know
once
I came home
walked up the six
flights /gate broken
room door open/ wig
underwear / record player
missing / Lativioes gone
11
I heard rustling in the bath-
room / I flung open the roof
door / let them out / like
they did my birds / without
ever seeing them
Dean's gentle spirit
kept me during those
years / everyone wanted me
out / yet there I felt
safe / my own vision
peering out the same porthole
onto the same street
it was my space now
I guarded it / not for Dean
not for me / but for a disposition
that rests there / an ancient
secret / a director
without a script
looking for actors
who possess the key
and are ready
for flight.

Francy Stoller's Poems

2328 Arthur Avenue #3C
Bronx, NY 10458

Stoller/Serpent

Poet


Born- N.Y.C.-1948
University of Arizona

1977-Atlanta, GA- Solo, feature, group readings- Little Five Points Pub

1978-1982- Open readings, pubs, bars, festivals, Atlanta, GA

Publications

Local Atlanta, GA Newspapers

THE BOOTLEG REVUE, Atlanta, GA
BLACK RIVER REVUE, 1991. BATTLEGROUND, an epic poem- paid $100
WHITEWATER REVUE- Toronto, Canada.- 1992.
THE FLYING ISLAND- 1993, 2 issues, Indianapolis, IN
Free Peoples’ Press- 1994, Indianapolis, IN
Drumvoices- S.IU.E., Ill. 2 issues, four poems, - 1983- ’85.
EYEBALL- 1999, St. Louis, Mo.
Stained Heets- N.Y.C., ABC NORIO- 1999.
Rockefeller Library- 2008, Take it to the Streets
Numerous small presses have published my work nationally

ONE-PERSON READINGS

I.U.P.U.I- poetry society- 1989, ($50.00)
Earlham College- 1991, $100.00, Richmond, IN
Greenmill Bar- Chicago, IL. 1991, $100.00.
Borders Bookstore- Bloomington, IN. $40.00
Toledo Records- Toledo, OH., $50.00
Freedom and Fame- Indianapolis, IN., $100., Indianapolis, IN
Tribute to Etheridge Knight- major reading in Indiana with nationally recognized poets- 1991
Open readings in New York City, coffee houses, bars, clubs, bookstores, gardens, and street corners.
Club 13- 1999- N.Y.C., $45.00.




WORKSHOPS

FREE PEOPLES’ POETRY- 1989-1991, Indianapolis, IN with Etheridge Knight

Butler University- Baraka, Harper, Redmond, Plump, Sam Allen. I have attended events with Elizabeth McKim, poet from Boston, author of five books in Chicago, Boston and Indianapolis, at which major poets have attended and worked with me at my poetry.

Poets Gathering- N.Y.C., Spring 1999- open readings.