Opposition

politician,

psychiatrist

exiled

in America

of Taiwanese

left over

from the cream of the crop

twenty eight thousand

murdered by

the white terror of

Chiang Kai-shek.

Hard plastic solders.

Hard plastic soldiers.

Oh Tokyo,

Oh Tokyo.

They left out

Ramsey Clark

too far left,

a world

of Christians

leader,

a soldier

on another mission.

Will they kill him,

or try him?

The Mercedes flew

150

kilometers an hour

from the airport

outside of Tokyo

inches from

neon lit

concrete walls

to a night meeting

in a hotel of

all night girls

on television.

Oh Tokyo,

Oh Tokyo.

Waves of hard plastic soldiers

on the airport

runways

outside of Taipei,

tanks,

fire trucks.

Plain clothes

police

came aboard

to see if he was there.

A frenzy

through customs,

bursting

outside a sea

tens of

thousands,

cheering 

Taiwanese people.

Hard plastic soldiers.

Hard plastic soldiers.

Oh Tokyo.

Oh Tokyo.

Atop a platform truck

thinking of Gandhi,

nuclear missiles,

the Chinese presidency

holding the world record

for marshal law.

Night walks

stairs to the temple,

a suspicious murder,

an opposition

leader

tried and imprisoned,

a Do Mike camera bag

in the middle of

courtroom chaos,

street riots

people against

hard plastic soldiers.

Maybe a taxi

sped off

out of sight

last tape

on the window sill.

Hard plastic soldiers.

Hard plastic soldiers.

Oh Tokyo

Oh Tokyo.

Copyright Mike Marcellino, Oh Tokyo, 2008

The same pajamas

by Mike Marcellino

God is not dead

prove it,

the bulletin board

read,

i'll set you free,

no more soldiers

inside walls,

narrow

endless halls.

He wore the same pajamas,

not black.

The survey

read,

Vietnam

is dead.

It didn't happen,

God is not dead,

prove it,

the bulletin board read,

i'll set you free.

He wore the same pajamas,

not black

mopping up

a sea of yellow blood.

He's crazy,

the doctors said.

Let him go,

the nurses said.

He wore the same pajamas

never saying

a word,

a Marine on the ward,

they said.

God is not dead,

prove it,

the bulletin board read.

i'll set you free.

He wore the same pajamas,

not black.

Copyright Mike Marcellino, 2008

Monday, March 10, 2008

Cleveland uncovered Category: Writing and Poetry Cleveland uncovered by Mike Marcellino intaglio print by Ashley Pastore  Cleveland uncovered, yesterdays, brilliant sun Sunday - sidewalks blocked strangers walk talk laugh smile for a while up and down exposed red brick road free of a relentless snow. Cleveland uncovered yesterdays, brilliant sun Sunday blazing, hard to find, unpredicted yet, so fine in a city with little time that set the record of days without a ray.   Cleveland uncovered yesterdays, brilliant sun Sunday snow shovels passed around a newborn town of snow castles transformed into a melting tabernacle, faith found. Copyright Mike Marcellino & Ashley Pastore, 2008

Buried Cleveland

snow castles.

Waiting for the end

of March storms

blown in

swirling

first

around a low

pressure

breeding

snow

then prickly pellets

of sleet

from a nor easter.

Buried Cleveland

snow castles.

Waiting for

the twist

to the northwest

winds

driving

at 30 to 40 Ks

per hour

dumping

two feet or more,

a really big blow.

Buried Cleveland

snow castles.

Waiting for

the shift

to the northwest

in a street lit

lull

of quiet

early Murray Hill

Friday night

eye

of a low.

Buried Cleveland

snow castles.

Waiting for

seeds of a

cold rain and a foot

of snow in Texarkana,

fifteen twisters

two dead

past the Florida panhandle

whipping up a

blizzard

blanketing

Ohio's

Mohican hills.

Malibar farms

shores of Lake Erie

shallows

that swallowed

the Edmund Fitzgerald.

Buried Cleveland

snow castles.

Waiting for

cars,

bars,

streets,

and

teahouses

to uncover,

and

melt in false spring.

Casey was at bat

when the mercenaries descended

The Day The Left Field Reserve Was Heard

by Mike Marcellino

Casey was at bat

when the mercenaries descended.

Grady at first

from a walk on

four pitches.

In the eighth,

Chamberlin,

a Yankee,

threw wild

at 96

miles

an

hour,

a bullet

into the backstop –

Casey was at bat

when the mercenaries descended,

bugs, midges, some say, or

 Canadian

soldiers,

maybe,

i thought.

Swarming on ball players

sticking to sweat

on sun hot

strong arms,

thick

naked

necks,

heated

by an odd daytime

boil,

sensor

of the sun

on perfect pattern

infield sod

around the mound.

When

Torres,

the Yankee

general,

ordered

a grey-white bug

bomb

on to of his left hander,

cloud

rising

above

the Tribe's diamond.

Grady took second.

(Casey called them pterodactyls.)

Swarms of fifty or a thousand

Stuck on the Yank's neck.

Cabera put a bunt

down the line

to first,

sacrificing

himself,

Chamberlin throwing

to

first.

Grady to third.

Hafner finally hits

a sharp liner

snagged by

Doug

Mient-

Kie-

Wicz,

At first.

Besieged by  

mercanary midget

soldiers,

Chamberlin

caught in

that

bloody angle

threw wild

again,

Grady

crossing

home,

plate.

The horror,

The horror,

Martinez was hit,

Garko walking to first

on  

three and two.

Fans in left

reserved,

exploded

tripling tension

undefined

foul of the pole

praying for a single

fair of   

the white

line.

Wkyc

tv

stood

in golf

Tiger green,

under contact

by the hour

ready

to record

a

victory

in the Division

on the road

to

The World Series.

Indians' fans irrupting

from a break

In their "Yankees' Suck

Song."

Grey pin-stripped

Buckeye number nine.

Up and down

Up and down

not patiently

with little

time in

Left.

Masquerading,

an Ex-

Yank

minor

league

er,

come back

over the hill. 

The

score

now

tied

One to One.

It was nearly four hours,

turning to

Nine,

Left field

A shambles

A

Very trying

Time.

Lofton walked

on

four pitches,

Destined to

Win

The World

Series,

Vizcanio pitching.

Gutierrez singles

to left

Lofton to second.

Blake,

Casey at the Bat,

lays down,

near perfect,

a bunt

spinning

sliding

on the Kentucky

blue grass,

catcher Posada

throwing

to second baseman Cano

covering

first.

Lofton to third

Gutierrez to second,

Sardinha in left.

Grady was passed,

on

four balls,

intentionally

to first.

The stands

The fans

In suspension,

Cabrera popped

out to Duncan

at first.

Again,

In the eleventh hour inning

The mercenaries descended

Natty midgets

called in

from Canada.

Two out,

Bases

Loaded.

The count

Three and two.

Hafner

Whooshes

Wishes

Waits

For the next

Pitch…..

…..Struck

A liner….

Into the

The Right Center Gap!

A ball

I could not see.

My eyes

faithful fans

The Left Field Reserve,

Exploded!

Irrupted!

Lofton

Crosses home,

His

Destiny,

And,

Maybe

We all

Get

On

Tv

3

Casey was at bat

When the mercenaries descended.

 The Day The Left Field Reserve Was Heard.

Copyright Mike Marcellino, 2007

Candles Flicker

By Mike Marcellino

Once upon a time

human distorted minds

watched oriental candles

flicker in off the road shacks.

Watched between moments

of stretching to get away

from a place where there

are no Sundays

just multiple Mondays.

A Vietnam, where machine men's heads

bow

to ask for God's blessing

on shells hurled

on houses,

called destroyed and damaged structures.

These button pushers

make peoples' land and animals

map squares.

Who really cares?

Not a soldier

in the bottom of my mind

days drag

confusions of time

and my blurred talk in forgotten hours

here, northeast of Saigon

and love drains.

Copyright by Mike Marcellino, 2007 (Vietnam, 1968)

Blue moon

split

by an electric wire 

across Murray Hill

over the hills

to the Heights.

Blue Moon

Blue Moon

Blue Moon

yip

yip

yip

Blue Blue Blue

Blue

Moon

comes

every once

in a while

not looking

while we're away

end of the day

scene from a fire

escape,

looking left

then right.

yip

yip

yip

Blue

Moon,

every

once

in a while.

by Mike Marcellino, copyright, 2007