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Walter Bjorkman is a writer residing in Maryland. He was born and raised in Brooklyn, N.Y., later tempered by two decades in Miami, FL.
This Collection of Poetry is a selection from over four decades of his imagination
| She made me do it . . . |
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~ Contents ~ |
~ Links to my pages and community ~
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| To Journey - Narrative Poetry | To When Out West - Stories | To Marzy Lives On - Stories | Visit MiPO - a Community |
~ Some Published Works ~
Contact Walter: wbjorkman@hotmail.com
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Grave Fears
With
beating heart I wait for the event
Of when my life shall never more
exist
I've read - amazed, of people who have lent
Their lives to be by
death's own harsh lips kissed
Fear of Erebus
fills my thoughts, the stench
Lovers of
Objects Day Art
You drove with me I'll pick up as many cans as I can today
we'll get some joe at the bodega Marzipan
Chapeau I
went out early this morning A lone bakery truck No holiday cheer faced me this
day I turned the blustery
corner Sugar plums slammed-danced in my
head A dress woven of milky-white coconut
shreds Earrings of rock candy
sparkle I stood in wonder of It was just a vision, wasn't it? I never will forget marzipan chapeau
Metempsychosis by
Sea-Moon
Come! - to the black ripples of forgetfulness Purified by the incense of the salt-ridden
Return to
Now White - that it is
Sands The
glistening diamond reflections
Low Maintenance Baby
Blues She's my low-maintenance baby
The
Mongoose A tune in my head
for a few decades. This is about, I think, a relationship like ice and a drink
in 32 degree weather - each will never become the other, while trying to be
together, finally one leaves and both become
free. You say
you must be vital
The squirrel cries "Tomorrow" But the squirrel cries "Tomorrow"
Artist With The Emerald Eyes
But for the
Grace
Freedom, A
Visit Laying
upon the abstractions of the mind
Three Times The
Bell Three times the bell rung
Three times the bell
rung I smiled,
FRAGMENTS
[These] do to (one) heaven
(Wonder love)You want (hurtin'
everlovin' you)
Write [Born]
another damn Living
soul[sweet] in flames
[Time] sold mean woman gun
[To hit
hard]
(son baby job) (Bags) shuffle
[across] (man known) Gold rust whistle (coming)
Easy (alright) farmer
You mouth kisses
(from [God]) All: Would leave now pain
Super blind thing Swear love to walking
Gospel
Belong
Confess Kill by the waters Whatever moves
To design a perfect setting
for Vladimir Nabokov Live As Mother Begs Don't Ever Feel You Are Living Lonely
He of the Birch
Freedom, a Visit II The Ballad of Phin, Little Paula
and Eddie 19 seventy and somethin' early, Phin rode into
town Phin and Eddie's Little Paula came by for a
stay So off to the Nacimiento woods after Arizona's
home made pizza flat With Arizona, Strange and Eddie There also were animals So no room for Eddie's Brooklyn friends at the
inn Eddie can't remember how they got there or back to
the stoop Pitched tent in a cathedral of three redwoods with
no sway Boy Scout training kicked in in the back of his
mind
Sunset coming upon them like a fog Then down to the riverbank on this starry starry
night Time to get back into their sheltered
haven “I have twelve wood matches!” Eddie exclaimed with
delight Desperation set in as the matches did
dwindle When all of a sudden instead of briars and
brush “Yo! Phin, Yo! Little Paula, Eddie know just where
we be! They all reached camp and tumbled into their
tent So in the end it is not about why you got to
where
Of Hades fills my soul, the scents
prevent
My hopes for life to live, and then must quench
The Graces Three -
till life itself is spent
And when I think that I may never live
To
see the wonders of my day and age
All hope is gone, my heart will cease to
give
The needed joy which I must have to stage
A worthy battle for my
life to save
And hence I die - because I fear the
grave
sitting in the
shotgunseat
rockaway freeway baby, now
barb-wired mount trashmore bum
I
have a blow if you need it
if you just lend me your
coat
temp's goin down to sixty tonight
middle of
friggin' july
sweets - lay down near the rotting
heap
now covered with grass and weeds
the
decomposition remains underneath
and still creates some
heat
a nickel a pop-top (10 cents in
michigan)
near the place I once fried
clams and shrimp
those mornings back then were wondrous,
we slept,
laughed and screwed
on Belle Harbor beach
our stomachs filled with my
perks
where did it go to get
back where I never belonged
why does
our death
come so slow
to breathe the winter
air
down the winding snow covered
cobblestoned streets
past shuttered shops
on this Christmas Eve day
at 6
AM all alone
rumbled off in the distance
no other signs of life
at all
the snow was falling lightly
my face a whitened pall
another retrospective night
kept me awake to hit these streets
no gifts for my
delight
hat brim pulled way down low
when suddenly I looked up and saw
her marzipan
chapeau
She said come
on into my shop
I will show you true
delights
of red licorice-stringed
necklaces
and warm cocoa-ed wintered sights
as I turned into the door
to
see a wondrous sight
her own private candy
store
a blouse of pure fruit sugars
maple syrup hose
with boots of Spanish
pastries
a belt of salt water taffy
honey strands for her hair
blueberries for
eyes
rose watered lips
this welcomed retreat
from the cold and numbing
season
then turned and left
for
no reason
but this I will
always know
that bittersweet
chocolate-laced
beyond
the fallen towers of the night,
toppled by the moon's delivering
rays
to the hidden boats of weariness
Among sun-burnt
images washed dark
by shadows of the rotted beams,
fading
into the caress of lovers
behind their accusations of the
light
An expanse is revealed, a line of aged joy
appearing upon rejection of the sun,
denying the warmed
wonderfulness
of oft remembered ways
upon ancient sensations of
decay,
Awake! - unto the the accused denier,
the light of humanity
scattered on the waves
While the saddened spoil of life arises
to the
profoundness of this time,
lost distance becomes a function needed
to
depart the wretchedness left behind
History escapes the towers'
fall
leaving riddled ruins of the people of the Nile
Now! - moaning unto
the end of days,
sea washing the empty holds of time
Surrounded by the
stalwart beings
that urge the orb onward with their might
the moon palely
fosters her cleansing rays
upon the bedded grief of the morning sun
The flames flickering, sought to tie
Old ladies'
hair to my bones
Out here the crusted elegance
Summons the time - time
that is now to remain
But warm footprints reveal the time
before
Drifting, fervishly whirling
The two complete
opposites
Ancient sorrow swells within when within
The Man and
Woman realize the days gone by
While here I forget
The light sifting
through the haze
Sends me back to where I am
But the
footprints
Snowy ledges
untouched
Slowly develop into the present
day
But the footprints
One house reveals
light from the window
As the bus carries away people
Who resemble the Woman and the Man
But the
footprints
Fright envelopes me for no reason
Then it is
gone and I am alone
The footprints begin to be covered
As the present wonder hides the old lady
Cold snaps
Sounds arise
I
leave the footprints
They leave my thoughts
amongst this vast sea of sand
cast
their beauty towards the skies
red droplets of coral reefs
are
speckled throughout
and reflect within your eyes
I drop to my knees
and thrust down my hand
to lift the silt to my breath
as the
white-washed foam
of a receding wave
lays upon your breast
with
oceans of tiny particles
waiting for my desire
no shells of the sea
entice me more
than the pearls of your azure
fire
I don't have to do a thing
She's my
low-maintenance baby
Lord I don't have to do a thing
She lights my fire in
the mornin'
She knows just what to bring
She puts the sugar in my
coffee
The corn in my corn bread
But when I ask her for her ideas
They
spin around my head
She's my low-maintenance baby
She cooks and cleans
those pots and pans
But when I look her in the mind
She sure makes this
boy a man
Well she don't take nothin' from no one
She knows just what
to do
She has a strong-willed mind of her own
But I got one of them
too
She's my low-maintenance baby
And maybe I don't have to do a
thing
But even though she's doin' it all herself
She sure makes my mind
and my soul sing
Life is for the askin'
But you don't ask why
But the
Mongoose
She doesn't even try
You take your
gifts from others
You know they're there for
you
Without a sigh
And the Mongooose
She doesn't even
try
Goin' back to my home
To the countryside
And gaze into the
sky
'Cause the squirrel cries "Tomorrow"
But this Mongoose
She
doesn't even try
you take my money
you feed my habits
call me the only
gentle-man
with your flashing emerald eyes
you make the coffee
you
clean the counters
amazed at my change-giving skills
with your rolling emerald
eyes
you wash gas pumps
you train the faces that come and go
a
thousand miles from brazil
with your longing emerald eyes
a smile is
always on your face
except for the time the crackhead
accused you of
short-changing
with your viperous emerald eyes
the other day you
spoke to another
about your passion - reason to live
painting the mind's
colors on canvas
with your impassioned emerald eyes
that day i hushed
my lips
as you knew just what I wanted
put it out on the counter
with
your knowing emerald eyes
today no one else was there
i asked about
your passion
you told me you do fantasy oils
with your inviting emerald
eyes
* * *
how many years ago
was it
you designed buildings
and rooms
and taught students
the architectural rules
with
your trained emerald
eyes
what must it be like
to be so far away
from a
place and a time that you lived
worked played and
loved
with your distant
emerald
eyes
* * *
it cost too much the tests and classes
i have two children in
university now
let them go on to do what i did
with your loving emerald
eyes
* * *
do you have e-mail
i'll send you some
i wrote it
down on a card
i cannot wait
to see your emerald green
work
all with my blue-grey
eyes
take the B
train to the lower west side
prince street to saltzman's ocean view club I glide
no other business
open in sight at night
seedy but trendy so the cabs and limos pull
up
to the garbaged street gutter's side
no shrieking subway train
ride
i lean on the lampost waitin for Phin
smoking my nyc nail rolled
thin
watching the life play evolve
human wreck lying asleep in the
doorway
as well-turned ankles step gingerly over
this piece of human
waste
then one spike-heel brushes him
sligthly
as the upper east-sider complains as she
steps
"can't they do anything to get rid of this
mess!"
the beastly waste awakens dripping in his own
emissions
grabs the precious ankle with filthy
hand
and offers this submission:
"Lady, I was first in this
place!"
she shrieked and pulled away with a
cry
i sucked another puff and winked him in the
eye
for there but for the grace of me go i,
He perhaps my future face
her presence was not felt til she was
gone
playfully diving into the sea
the entrance to life wetted her
free coat
but did not prevent her from being airborne
shallow plunges they are
to rise
and dive again
yet leaving ripples extending
to the utmost depths
No - you
will not suffer!
but the fish wanting to be drawn
into the air
unlimited
out of it's one state
which carried him to the limits
of the
darkest reefs
into the most barnacled ships of time
now softly desires
your beak
so lightly it brushed against
but did not carry
his body
into the pure air
which would have created
with his sopping
experience
the union of life's extremities
in a looming flight of
existence
Once I did
not answer
never before did I ever do that
I coughed,
It certainly does
no good for the constitution
this time once I answered
never
before did I ever do that
I sneezed,
It certainly does no good for the constitution
Three
times the bell rung
three times I did not
answer
never before did I ever do that
I know I'll be doing it
again
a message:
In a meadow of colors
he perceives with ears
the hues of flowers
others see with their eyes
In a grove of white birch
he harkens with eyes
the rustling of leaves
others hear with their ears
In a bed of damp bark
he inhales with lips
the aroma of loam
others merely scent
In a creek of swift perch
he savors with nose
the sweetness of water
others taste with their lips
He rises at sunset, senses aroused
whilst others lie down to their dreams
He dreams the day, senses subdued
whilst others rise to their trade
As others rush to the world they made
He ambles through the skies they didn't
You, wrapped in a veil of amber thistledown,
Fritillary-like alight atop the flower's bend,
defying prickles of leaves and stems
that scar the world's conventional hands.
I, clutched in a damp hood of dark marl,
Moth-larva emerge from the gnarled roots' curl.
You, capturing the thistle nectar's sensations,
I envy your bright raw sienna existence. 
A world of decaying bramble and moss
my only life essence, I struggle
to rise, to hover to mate, yet succumb,
never to taste your sweet trembling
or The Importance of Being Regular
Eddie was doin' somethin' crazy, but couldn't let his friends down
Couldn't fit 'em in his pantry bedroom
barely room for his bedding - no way
That's more intoxicating than a brew
And lisnin' to
Strangefellow's ten fingers magically fly on his Strat
With his
Psyche-delicate view
Tom the
Historian Mechanic
Gary The Beekeeper and his Lady Primo-Dona,
Earth-Mama
- The Other Donna
Randy Randy and His Concubine of the Month
This made up
this Tribe of Nine
Sometimes swelling to fifteen
Sundance the Shephard,
Lady the Black Lab, Dirty Erasmus the Mutt
Raz would sit on the couch
Legs
over the edge, back against the cushions
Just like his human companions
The woods their only real away in a manger option
But here is this inspirational story's poop:
With a natural bed of pine needles and an inviting portway
Then
cooked up somethin' like beans in a pot
What was it they downed before,
during and after? - tol' ya Eddie forgot
25 yards at least from camp to do your after-meal slime
No Scott's
tissue to mar the pristine land,
Just use nature's tools - a leaf, whatever's
at hand
The Kan-Do Soft Sided Folding Tent
Toilet
Eddie did it
sitting over a log
Phin, Little Paula and Eddie, with no fright
No moon was there to
block the view
Of distant galaxies and constellations running askew
Heads
gazing up and tripping out
Minds realizing there is nothing about which to
pout
They turned into the total blackness of the forest's heaven
For
minutes that seemed hours they were lost from their mission
What to do? they
couldn't even see each other's visage
“We will go our ways through the underbrush and yell to each other of
our plight
Then light the strike-anywheres to show position and help the
others look
We will find it sooner or later” - it was only a short jaunt from
the brook
Were they doomed to sleep in a huddle and get swindled
By the
biting insects and snakes of this legendary land?
Please, some divine
inspiration come down and give this threesome a hand
Further apart they
roamed to find the tent
Things were getting crucial, frustrations no longer
pent
In which his bare feet got entangled, in his slow rush
A soft-slimy
pile enveloped Eddie's toes
Like a vision from heaven, his mind got the
news
Eddie is where Eddie went when Eddie had to do more than pee”
“The
safe-haven is just twenty five yards yonder
Use your last matches to not
wander asunder”
Then related to each other about where they all went
But to have faith in yourself - your own butt will get you
there.