songanddancegirl

my father was a Jewish bohemian

my mother too  model  racehorse trainer  +

salesman extraordinaire  one grandsonnyboy

inherited father’s riz  kid could sell a fish a bicycle

but back to the bohemians

how do i even begin to capture their beauty

their élan vital  how did they end up in a suburban

backsplit with 4 kids 4 giant dogs 1 rabbit 2 filthy

turtles 8 horses + 1 goat who developed an infatuation

with a brother   he remains quite goat centric

HOW?

my father’s tweed jackets  his cowboy boots  +reefer

his jazz + his blues  mother’s silk gowns chignon cigs

oh  + her blues too  life is not a read thru  messy 1950’s

marriage   slowsuck of aging

once we left the backdoor open  bears  snarling hogs

+a lion rampaged  for years  yet there were worse things

they did not need an open door  or invitation  to enter

our house still stands

so too

the laughter

the love

the protection  when were you ever so protected?

there is a house in Bathurst Manor  they call the Rising Sun

*(I can’t possibly rip off Eric Burden or can I?) the sun rose+set

on that house  a beacon to which I return again +again +again

I write this poem on the front porch  where I once dropped a large

mastiff puppy  named Auggie

I’d tripped down the stairs  in red clogs  a new bride  at 19

inside  Frances+Lee  in the livingroom  on turquoise sectional

making-out  laughing  sharing a cig  Basie wafts  Aprill in Paris

this is eternity 

one

more

once

forever

__

*(..House of the Rising Sun has no known authours..go ahead google it!)

April 2026  ..no birth no death..the eternal return..

dragonfly on a chain

on Sunday u cried when a girl named Chains

(it’s really Steph..but i like Chains..said she)

Chains with a booth in the park  told you her

summer project is travelling coast to coast

sewing buttons+tears  i sew tears  anything

+everything  torn  bring me  your patches  

your sweaters  your tumours  

your

unwashed

masses

but Chains  can u sew me back together? one fucked

scarecrow  seen things better not to tell  now every

year  chattel  to the big cancer buildings  where shards

of me cling to parked cars  +everyone greets me with

the warmest of hellos  hey  you don’t have to kill the

fucking dragonfly in order to  breakthechains

now do you      motherfuckers

or maybe u do..?

__

Spring 2026 ..death he say he give you credit..better not sign..

Frank Stanford  1976  

at 26  

3 years until

3 bullets to the heart 

lord of the flies

with the spirits of the boy poets flitting around me

stanford

radiguet

renard

atkins   (oh they were poetic alright!)

commes des garçon   i muse on the unspoiled land

that was my former life  that strange country of 

childhood.. like a dragonfly on a dog chain..

(Frank Stanford 1976)  

a group of unwashed boys  blubbery slackjaw

+unsmart  1 rotund sweetmeat told a cousin

he named his dog after me

another sat on the hill across from our house

everysingleday   waiting for me to emerge  +

somehow guide him away from the cement

truck  that would squash him   one day

gnarly outpost of Jewish quarter  circa 1957

holocaust skeletons  found row-house shelter

their screams echo under suburban moon

most nights   unstill

you  this tiny speck of consciousness  controlled

by the vast unconscious of parents+ancient history

the rednecked rabbi with 12 kids a couple blocks

from your street  so tell me  what remains of your

own  infinitesimal?  

__

..it is generally customary to avoid grieving

on Jewish holidays..as they are times of joy..

(this idiocy on the website of my parent’s

gravesite  !!  unlock the gates dumbkopfs

grieving is a sign of the sacred love for one’s

ancestors..i will grieve wheneverthefuck

i please..)

Spring 2026 ..let my people go..

simpler times

The Manor Ghetto

circa 1972

meet u on the dark side of the moon

if you watched the lift-off of Artemis II today  you will have

seen the lawn chair crowd lolling about  drinking shasta

sucking on chilidogs  at least they were not watching the

portable electric chair spectacles in days of yore

Mississippi Delta until 1994   children would be present   the

streetlights would dim   Gruesome Gertie  all a crackle + hum

she often failed to deliver enough voltage  i will leave y’all to use

your imaginations here

in childhood i had wanted to be an astronaut  an old brother recently

said: there’s still hope Ape!  John Glenn was older than you on his last

mission   i actually witnessed  a shuttle launch  the one that exploded

just after lift-off    there were several astronauts on board

one with a daughter watching   Christa McAuliffe   a young teacher

fulfilling her dream   my mother is in space too  apparently she will

never return

__

Spring 2026

..the lunatic is  in the hall  in the White House..hey we the people ..leave that moon alone..

the moon wades a creek
Like an albino with a blade
Fixed to a stick.

Now the moon was a fifty-cent piece
It was a belly I wanted to cut open

the moon in the woods flashing
Like a girl running in her panties.

(Lunar Phases  Frank Stanford  Poet  Mississippi Delta 1948-1978)