The Malcolm Berko Blog

I sat in a stinking wino bar

outside Ruskin

next to a gnarled nigger

whose clothes

stank of stale piss.

His back was stooped from

a lifetime

of  “pick’n the ‘Duds’ vine.”

We talked of old dogs

women

and watermelon wine

and the $183 he made at

a Clweiston crap game

“in 59 aftuh pick’n cane.”

He’s got some kids “somewheres”

but “don’t recollect their names.”

“I supose, ” he said

“the Laurd know where they is

and their momma too”

and he guessed his age

at 62

He wore a crushed straw hat

that he “took from a dead Mex”

lined inside with old paper so it

wouldn’t fall below his ears.

He had on a faded blue bandana

knotted around his neck.

Tattered bib coceralls

several sizes too big

hung on his bony shoulders

over a once white shirt

not soiled and stained grey-brown.

A pair of $28 canvaas shoes

from the company store

and pocket change of $1.04

They called him “Neptune” and

he “don’t know why

cept that aftuh Ise borned

the Suwannee o’flowed

and flooded us out”

He said, they said

he was “pulled wet from the wather

by whitey with a cast’n net.”

“Mor’n fifty years, ” he guess

“pick’n vines, cane and citrus.”

He’s “knowed six women that

either died or lost away”

and owned seven dogs each a stray

“that died dead on me.”

Ruskin got a lot of Niggers

that will soon be 62

ten years, twenty years, forty

years from now.

They will get “penny-pound

pick’n the vine,”

spending it at the company store

and what’s lefe

on wine

I left at midnight.

Heard they needed whities

at the mills in North Carolina

and figures three days of thumbing

ought to get me there

before my $8 runs out.

What city are we passing now

whose dim lights warmly glow

while I’m so far above from

the people down below.

Do they stare up at the night

as I quietly pass them by

and wonder who is flying

across their night sky,

Who are the people there

I really wish I knew

Are they black – are they white

are they Christian – are they jew.

Their city looks tranquil

in the blanket of the night

that I ache to stop and visit

to prove my vision right.

Why do perspectives mellow

from a vantage in the sky

Why does all seem equal

from 7 miles high.

From here I don’t consider man

black or white, or Christian or Jew

So the only real difference is

its got to be my view.

Each of us is a time traveler

looking through the cosmic warp

or another universe

to discover that time is

a parallel world

where eternity begins and ends.

We are then the thoughts of

yesterdays

and tomorrows

so that all dimensions converge

into an instant vacuum

where distance is

past and present

so that time shall cease

that we must find release

for we are the soul of man

Today I watched a telephone line man

shinny straight atop the pole like a jazz man

playing “When the Saints go marching in.”

A hard leather belt gave him support

as steel ankle spikes beat rythm

into the dry pine.

And when he reached the top

he played the coolest jazz

and notes just danced round and round

cause he was on top man.

And when he came down

the creshendo of spikes

thudded into that pole

splintering curls of pine

like so many notes

from a smooth clarinet.

He reached the ground on a high note

smiled and lit a bit cigar

He was way out and laughing jazz

The morning calls to wake her sleeping city

and the inimitable chain of life responds

entering from another time zone.

The chain wakes to wash

the taste of bad dreams from it mouth

then…..

steps out of doors

to join a new, misting dawn.

In the distance a lonely factory whistle blows

disturbing the fragile equilibrum of morning lethargy.

Another answers in plaintive response and

an empty trolly car emerges in the din.

The moon smiles on the waking city

and searches with its eyes

to pluck away the beams it left behind.

Peoples houses blink their windows

and come to life

as street lamps succumb one by one to day.

The sun rests on the far horizon

and people begin to filter out

to taste the morning air.

A trickle of life begins to evolve

and as the sun gathers momentum

a vast concert of motion swells the cit’s belly

and what was once

the gentle moan of morning

has now become the

pandemonium of day 

Leathery old woman

shriveled

stooped

by burden

and toil.

You were to bed once

mant times

laughed

lived gaily

and sang songs

that the young sing.

You had flashing green eyes

flaxen hair

ruby red lips

and a thousand watt smile.

But all have dulled by the years

leaving only memories as witness

to how impartial time so often

is.

No man wants you Old Woman!

What will you do now?

Scrub floors?

To hold the breath of a day gone by

To catch a beam of the sun above

To glide the arc of a bird above

Those are things I love……

Then to gaze upon dandelions

Myriad in high hills

At will to walk through the clouds

Freely as a dove

To tread the glass with shoeless feet

Picking daffodils

Those are things I love

John Marshall has a beer belly

lives in Lordstown and

pays real estate taxes for

his brick house on Fulton Street.

John Marshall has a Christian wife

tow children

earns $40,00 a year

and bowls every Wednesday night at

Ned’s.

John Marshall guzzles Schlitz

during the Monday Night Football games

and King George The IV at the

Thrusday night pool hall.

John Marshall and plant workers

strike.

Their auto assembly line job is

boring.

Sargeant Rover Davis, POW

sits in a Viet Cong prison camp

sits in a

Viet Cong prison camp

sits in a

Viet Cong prison camp

sits in a ……………..

Night grey city streets

search endlessly for their horizons.

Their maasive structures scream

“beat me, beat me

ha, ha, I’m mightier than you.”

Bare trolly car rails

racing to infinity

scowl at the moon

“let me rest, tomorrow my burdens resume.”

Sidewalks darkly oblong

into the distance

waiting for the tide of

early morning feet to warm its belly.

Street lamps yawn

and lean to one side

some sleep and spill broken

patterns of hard light

that bring doubt to the night.

Buildings whisper to each other

and laugh at the prostrate forms inside

who close their eyes to reality.

In this world

for just a few hours

lights are lightless

sounds are soundless

and the sky is six feet

She has a face of angelic glow

Her manners are impecable

She has an ass like a buffalo

And her family respectable.

But she has some talents known to few

They are her pleasures and her fun

The ways this lady learned to screw

And I’m about to tell you one.

This lovely lady is quite some lass

And fucking is her favorite fun

Place a dozen eggs beneath her ass

I promise you she won’t break one.

Make a wish on a butterfly Tuesday.

Never sleep when its a rainy day in

Georgia

and always smile

when moon beams

fall on green rose petals

 A man said to the Universe

“Here I am

I exist.”

replied the Universe

“I recognize you

however

I am under no obligation.”

 The hand is quicker than the eye I

As yes, but the hand can not see.

So each must function together

Both hand and eye I dependantly

I own a chicken

that lays an egg

every day or two

And

I have a friend

who does the same

whether or not

he wishes to

I know a man

who can make

eight faces

and

they call him

octopus

People who live on a

planet

ought to

plan it

I have a watch

that works on time

and a friend

who works on cars

I once went fishing

for a Porpose on purpose

or did I go fishing  on purpose

for a Porpous?

Oh nevermind

what’s on my mind

I just wish

for a fish

on a dish.

Botanist have a fascination

for certain vegitation

and watching little seeds grow.

But patience is a virtue

that botanist adhere to

for little seeds

grow so slow.

Sodemy

and Plotemy

are words that can be rhymed.

Fortunately

for history

his dad was not inclined