Purple Octopus for Sale Portland, Oregon

  Searching old poetry files, found this. Does anybody else out there miss the Greek Cuisina?                                   

 
 
 

           

         Portland, Oregon landmark 

         Housed a favorite Greek Restaurant

         Declared by the city “condemned”

         For a couple years the owner fought the edict,

         but was finally overcome

         Upon vacating the vintage building, there

         Was concern about the huge purple octopus

         Who had greeted the public for many years

         Where would he go, this gigantic sea creature

         Who lived on 4^th Avenue, impervious to

         The elements for so long?

          My friends and I referred to him as Oscar

          Just because we felt the need to name things

          We weren’t really that intimate with the

           Purple octopus, it was simply our way of

          Showing off to our out-of-town friends

          Who we loved to take to Oscar’s

          Especially on Sunday nights when

          The Greek music played and we danced

          And helped break the white china plates

          Also, there was that fateful night when we

           Drank Ouzo for the first time and the rest

          Is truly a blur…I vaguely remember close

          Dancing with a stranger who took liberties

          With me and I was laughing too hard to

          Block his Roman hands!

         And the pastries, Oh the pastries! Rich and tasty

          Little works of art partnered perfectly with the

          Thick, sweet Greek coffee

          We friends capped many an evening with that

         Sweet good-bye before we crossed the river

         The last I heard on the nightly news, of course,

          Oscar was to be auctioned on E-Bay

          Kind of lost track of him after that, but occasionally

          On a blowsy, rainy night I reflect on us running

           Into that building, looking up at his big purple

          Arms & legs flapping in the wind…wherever he is, I am

          Sure Oscar is still making people smile…

          RMK, Spring 2012

Bucket List: European Backpack Adventure

Initial poem opening a chapbook about the eternal desire for adventure, no matter what age the traveler.







The Summer I turned 63, it could wait no longer
I would have regrets on my death bed!
I was still nimble and strong from Pilates and yoga,
so knew now was the time
Rick Steves’ backpack that fit in the overhead
and no other luggage, good to go!
AAA travel agent sold me a Euro-Train pass
and booked flights from Portland to Amsterdam
then Barcelona back to Amsterdam and finally
back to PDX
In addition, I joined Hosteling International
once again
Converted USD to euros right at AAA, $1200 bucks
became 900 euros in my money belt
The original plan: Amsterdam, Belgium, Luxembourg,
Paris, Stuttgart, Florence, Rome, and Athens, Barcelona-
I would book hostels as I traveled
Life happened and the plan was revised due to a credit card
misunderstanding-AAA travel agent said my MasterCard
would work fine, I did not need to get an American Express
It would be too late when my card was turned down everywhere
because it did not have a chip
The exception, thank God, was Hostelling International,
an American company
With new budget restrictions, I pared my trip down, the new
Itinerary was: Amsterdam, Luxembourg, Paris, Stuttgart,
Florence, Genoa and Barcelona-
I’d have to catch the Greek and Roman ruins next time-dang!
Before I left, I talked with my cell phone company and arranged to
Text from the EU. - When I got there, I no longer had service!
I set up a Gmail account to stay in contact with my friends-
When I got there it was suspended
and even though I could use Hosteling International computers,
European countries had no @ keys on their computers,
so I could not email home…
The only camera I had was my cell phone- I wouldn’t find out
until later that there was no way to access the photos let alone
print them…I didn’t care, my travel habit was to buy postcards anyway-
Postcards which cost 25-50 cents in the US sold in the EU for 1-2 euros
($1.40-$2.80 exchange rate!)
Having only 900 euros for my whole trip…
my journey quickly became a survival mission-
When I did the math: $30 euros per day does not go far in this 21st century
Luckily my airfare and train were pre-paid
and the hostels let me use my credit card
Unforeseen expense: Toilettes! .80 (1.12 USD) to 1 euro ($1.40)
to use public restrooms
I usually pee a lot, I soon learned to restrict fluids,
use toilettes on the train and in hostels (included)
whenever possible
Food was garnered from street vendors and in groceries
It was “A moveable feast “as Hemingway had advised
Bottled water was a necessity for me, being cautious-
having been sickened once by native water in Mexico
I walked mostly or when I took public transit managed to be
constantly lost on the city bus and train systems
Marvelous Grace: Earth Angels always appeared to guide me-
This enriched my adventure
I repeated the phrase: “Do you speak English?” often
and was fortunate to find someone who did…
In Luxembourg at the hostel I did not set an alarm and
exhausted slept late
A soft voice said: Hello. Breakfast ends in 15 minutes
and thus a friendship was struck
Laurel and I jogged down to what turned out to be
a sumptuous breakfast buffet and later
walked the quaint town, museuming together
The hostel breakfasts in Amsterdam, Luxembourg and Stuttgart
were generous and scrumptious; meats, cheeses, fruit and
an array of hearty breads and whole grain cereals-
That all changed in Paris!
Continental breakfast; French bread, jam, coffee and
corn flakes & a greyish gruel I was afraid to try- nothing more
Italy, very similar, except there was Nutella which provided
some protein
Not until Barcelona did the protein return!
I purchased cheese and fruit in the markets
and carried my picnic with me
enjoying a cold beer when I could
Pinched for euros, I found churches and public buildings
with fabulous art to imbibe
In Florence, I finally splurged: It was 8 euros to see
a Leonardo DaVinci Museum-Amazing!
The host was one of six Italian engineers who had
assembled interactive sculptures from Davinci’s blue prints
My new friend, Naroke from Tokyo and I spent
2-3 hours playing with Leonardo’s toys-so much fun!
Then enjoyed a fresh slice of pizza and an iced coffee
included in the deal
The lines to the famous Duomo were incredibly long
there were no lines to a nearby church
where Naroke suggested we go in-
The art on its walls and the architecture
rivaled the best galleries
I lit a candle in gratitude and
left a euro for the pleasure
We found a cafeteria, up some stairs
not too full and had our choice of delicacies
at fair prices and little bottles of wine to boot!
It was the only meal I had the pleasure of sharing
the whole trip!
Naroke had to move on
the next day
I knew I would miss her
Well-traveled, she had been an excellent compass
and a good companion...
RMK, summer of 2012.

“Wild Turkey” By Wayne Harvey, Sung by Lacey J. Dalton, 1981.

Right around this time of year a song invariably comes to mind from my wilder,

freer days, when I thought good men had become extinct. This was my anthem.

                                                                                                                                      

I’ve had one lover in all my life,   he left me high and dry

                                                                                                                               

But after I cried all my tears, I learned how to get by

Well there’s been old friends to ease my pain,

                                                                                                                         

Jack Daniels to name a few, But I’ll be damned   if I’ll

                                                              

Go home with a Wild Turkey like you

                                                                                                                                         

Well I been out with Johnny Red, George Bickle has warmed my soul

                                                                                                        

And I’ve taken Southern Comfort to my sweet Kentucky bones

                                                                                                                                      

On a cold night Old Grand Dad has helped me make it through,

                                                                                                                                      

Well, I’ll be damned if I’ll go home with a Wild Turkey like you

But I have seen some losers, who could make a statue cry

But Boy, if you had feathers I’d swear that you could fly

Yes, I came in here alone, and yes I’ve had a few

But I’ll be damned if I go home with a Wild Turkey like you!

Music Interlude

Don’t get the impression that I care ‘bout what you do

But when it gets close to Thanksgivin’ I’d hide if I were you

Yes, I came in here alone, and yes, I’ve had a few, but I’ll be damned

If I go home with a Wild Turkey like you…

Wicked Winter Witch

                                        

 

                                            

    

   I buy Saint John’s Wort in anticipation of

   the grey, wet days to come

   I lay in a large supply of candles

   of various sizes and my favorite

   Incense-Nag Champa

                                   

    I make sure that there is dark, red wine

    several bottles, on my rack and

    a plethora of herbal teas, in my cupboard

    I have on hand enough dark chocolate and

    popcorn and books to read and

    movies on VHS & DVD

    I’ve put the down comforter on

    my bed and the flannel sheets

    I have wool socks from the Aryan

    Islands off the coast of Ireland, satin       

    Pajamas from J.C. Penney’s and a soft,

    Fuzzy, plaid robe from Bi-Mart

    (I would welcome the right warm body

    to spoon with...)

   In addition I have lots of erasable ink pens

   and yellow tablets…

   C’mon then, you Wicked Winter Witch, I am

   ready for you…

                                                Winter, 2012

                                                RMK

Ludicrous-ity

 

My friend Maggie Claire and I

get together about once a month

for lunch and deep discussions that

range from metaphysics to ludicrous-ity

We walk up to the Rock Creek Tavern

which borders her estate (she lives in

a castle) sit by the fireplace

and eat and chat

Yesterday, we encountered a vividly

coloured rooster near the entrance

and since he was the only chicken

in sight, quite noticeable

Maggie Claire and I have known each other

since in our teens-more than half a century

Now that we’re crones we like to

talk about what life has taught us

and how differently we see the world now

as opposed to then

there is much laughter and guffawing

 at the Ludicous-ity of how life unfolds-

all the little ironies and betrayals, the picayune

and the ginormous- nothing  much matters

 anymore except to explore the curiosities of

 our own natures and how we have grown

Maggie Claire is critiquing a novel I penned

over 30 years ago-to get it ready to relaunch

on Amazon

She’s known me so long we can laugh at my

early literary efforts and measure together

how far I’ve come

As the business part of our meeting winds

down, we look up and the rooster is on

 the window sill right next to us,

as the waitress brings our food

she tells us his name is “Raymond”

Shortly thereafter, Raymond   serenades

us with an aria of plaintive cocka-doodle-doos

We muse that we wish we knew what he was

saying so emphatically

As we dig in, we talk about family stuff-candidly

Now, it is safe-dead people cannot protest

With elder perspective there is no judgment or

regret- just chuckling at the ironies and

Ludicrous-ities of our forebears who we

truly have reverence & gratitude  for

 the lessons they taught us

Maggie Claire’s mother was an atheist

My own mother, a Catholic

resulting in their daughters’ rejection of

Organized religion and a lifelong study of

Metaphysics with a keen sense of

Ludicrous-ity

Raymond has taken a break from crowing

and now he is peering in the window at us

Then he crows again and it sounds

like he’s telling the world:

“Look at those two old ladies eating lunch!

They talk and laugh like they are young!"

RMK © November, 2015.

Do You Speak English?

                                     

     In Amsterdam, the man at the hostel counter nods and says,

     Yes, I do

     In Luxembourg, the man at that hostel counter, smiles and

     Says, yes

     In Paris, the woman looks slightly perplexed, but says

     A little

    In Stuttgart, the woman says, of course

    In Zurich, the man says: as you wish and then,

    when I offer Euros for post cards, he says:

    Only Swiss francs here-We are not part of the European Union, or the UN!

   In Florence, the woman at the hostel counter says; I will do my best…

   In Genoa, the woman at the hostel counter speaks first, in English

   So I do not ask

   In Barcelona, the boys at the hostel counter speak English with barely

   Traces of accent, even though they are from Norway and Hungary

   Every time I get lost (which is often, in train stations and in the bus systems)

   I ask: Do you speak English?

   Because that is a Rick Steves tip I believe valuable

    Luckily I find many who can, only a few who cannot

    Or as in Paris, will not for their own petty reasons

                                   

    Kudos to Natasha, a Russian woman who goes out of  her way to help me

   find my hostel, gestures & smiles

    No language to join our conversation

    It is in Florence and she has only the hostel address I show her

    She recruits an Italian boy who speaks English to direct me where to go

   then walks with me for miles

   When we find the road in, it is uphill and long

    She flags down a couple from Eastern Europe,

    Who offer to drive me the rest of the way

     When I offer Euros for her trouble, she shakes

     Her head ‘no’, then hugs me, kisses my cheek

     And walks away

     Natasha speaks no English, but she communicates

     Very well…

                                   Backpacking in Europe,  August 2012.

 (previously published in the Ghost Town Poetry anthology, Volume Two 2004-2014.)