Showing posts with label Cincinnati. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cincinnati. Show all posts

Sunday, March 24, 2024

FOR THE BIRDS

 

The sheepdogs and I 
were enjoying our evening stroll
on Ludlow Avenue.  
As we neared the Clifton Plaza 
I noticed a sixtysomething man 
in a tan raincoat and plaid cap 
tossing handfuls of sliced white bread 
onto the pavement. 
Duffy, he of the delicate innards, 
snapped up a piece. 
I grabbed for it but he was too quick. 
I complained to the man, 
“You’re throwing garbage on the sidewalk.” 
The bread guy was taken aback. 
“That’s not garbage,” he said indignantly, 
"it’s food for the birds.” 
Gritting my teeth, I countered, 
“Birds don’t like whole slices of white bread.” 
“Oh yes they do, yes they do.” 
“Oh no they don’t, no they don’t.” 
“You just wait and see,” he said. 
We glared at one another. 
Sensing an impasse, 
I shook my head, 
gave my foe my most fearsome stare, 
and the sheepdogs and I 
turned and headed for home. 
I had trouble getting to sleep that night, 
fretting about losing the quarrel. 
However I never did see another 
whole slice of white bread at the Plaza.

Thursday, February 24, 2022

SUPER BOWL FIFTY-SIX

 

2022 was our Bengal’s year 
Our return from decades of despair 
Who would have guessed the Super Bowl? 
The thought of it, too much to bear 

The Bengals won the toss and deferred 
Stafford sacked, the Rams had to punt 
Then Burrow’s pass was deflected 
The Rams were back in the hunt 

Stafford to Beckham, the first touchdown 
Then McPherson kicked a Bengals' field goal 
But the Rams marched back down the field 
Touchdown two put them back in control 

The Bengals soon came storming back 
Joe Mixon passed for a trick play 
Tee Higgins caught the ball for a touchdown 
The Rams, 13-10, on the day 

Quarter three, Tee Higgins scored a touchdown 
Even though he grabbed Ramsey’s facemask 
Then the Bengals intercepted Stafford 
Kicker Evan McPherson, up to the task

Fourth quarter, the ball went back and forth 
The Rams finally scored on a one-yard pass 
The Bengal got the ball with one twenty-five left 
But Joe Burrow’s team ran out of gas 

The final score, twenty-three to twenty 
 It easily could have gone the other way 
But our Bengals had a fantastic season 
And we think it a truly great day

Tuesday, January 4, 2022

TOP CINCY NEWS STORIES OF 2021

 

The cicadas came out in mid-May 
 Several billion to locals’ dismay 
 Their songs made a roar 
 Like a Beelzebub snore 
 Then we watched their small corpses decay 

 December twelve, our first Omicron case 
 Now it’s spreading at tsunami pace 
The hospitals are packed 
Rampant illness, a fact 
 Please please keep a mask on your face 

 Mason deemed itself a sanctuary city 
“No abortions” became their new ditty 
 But there’s no clinic there 
 So their claim was hot air 
 Then they voted out the pro-life committee 

 Our West Chester rep made the news 
 She broadcast Doc Truepenny’s views 
 This vaccine, the doc said, 
 Magnetizes your head 
 And causes your eyeballs to ooze 

 The old winning Bengals have returned 
 The Steelers, the Ravens, we burned 
 Our offense is quick 
 Our defense, like a brick 
 The North div first place our team earned 

 Mayor Cranley threw his hat in the race 
 Buckeye governor, he’s pleading his case
Legal weed is his pitch 
 It will make cronies rich 
 Cranley counts on a pot-smoking base 

 Aftab Pureval won the election 
 The new mayor, he’s the Democrats’ selection 
 Aftab thumped David Mann 
With his neighborhood plan 
 The Queen City has a fresh new direction 

 Chad Johnson left a thousand dollar tip 
After eating a yummy French Dip 
 He was at Redlands Grill 
Servers rave about it still 
 I hope they all went on a trip 

 Dusty Rhodes tweeted anti-trans trash 
“Fuck off,” tweeted Seelbach, so brash 
Dusty dropped from the race 
Seelbach made a wry face 
And that was the end of the clash 

 The Bearcats made the playoffs this year 
 In Clifton we’ve had much to cheer 
 But ‘Bama was too mighty 
 And our offense proved flighty 
 So we fans are now sobbing in our beer

Saturday, October 3, 2020

Burnet Woods: A Love Song

The number one thing about where we live

We’re three blocks from Burnet Woods park

The museum, the lake, the civil war cannons

And the bandstand's a Clifton landmark

 

Burnet’s been there for a century and a half

The lake, Eighteen Seventy-Five

There’s a pink granite monument at the southern edge

And a trapeze on MLK Drive


The woods have a network of hiking trails

We forget that we’re still in the city 

One hikes up and down in the hills and ravines

Each view that we see, still more pretty


Our park also has an old-time playground

With its swings and a tall concrete slide

Built in the thirties by the WPA 

Cardboard speeds up each little kid’s ride 


The bandstand has concerts each Wednesday eve 

Maybe folk or classical or rock 

Fantastic fireworks on the Fourth of July

People watch from the lakside sidewalk


A hippy built a labyrinth in the park

It was hidden far off in the trees

The authorities forced him to take it all down

The labyrinth man said they were sleaze

 

Fishermen hang out at Burnet Woods lake

Hunting catfish and bass and brown trout

A guy once showed me his three-foot catch

The size of it made me freak out

  

One winter I gathered some kindling from the woods

And filled up the rack on my car

The cops were watching, said put it all back

I still think their policy bizarre


When J was a kid we would sled at Burnet

The best spot, right near Skyline Chili 

You have to watch for the trees at the end

The sleds almost fly, it’s so hilly 


To me Burnet Woods is a slice of heaven

It’s freedom and beauty and rest

Most of all, it’s escape from the trials of life

Pay a visit, you'll soon be de-stressed


Wednesday, January 29, 2020

Brouhaha at the Symphony: A Kyrielle

The girl was filming with her phone
The policy — no videos — was well-known
Past concerts, no one ever dared 
The soloist stopped playing and glared 

The soloist demanded she refrain
The girl replied, “That’s insane” 
She continued to film unimpaired
The soloist stopped playing and glared

The president of the symphony came down 
He confronted the culprit with a frown  
But the headstrong girl wasn’t scared 
The soloist stopped playing and glared

The president escorted her out
The girl said he was a lout 
Mouths agape, the audience stared  
The soloist stopped playing and glared     



Monday, September 23, 2019

The Ludlow Avenue Public Parklet




The Public Parklet mysteriously appeared
on September fourteen 2019
in front of the Marrakech Moroccan Restaurant
extending from the sidewalk out into the street 
as if it were a gift from Allah.
A noteworthy structure, hard to ignore
45 feet long, of golden knotty pine
a pleasing fresh cut wood smell.
Our neighborhood’s most colossal bench
if not the city’s or even the Tri-State’s.
Suitable for a gospel choir
a Little League softball team
the audiences for a street preacher or an anarchist
up to seven homeless youth sleeping end to end
or a ski jump platform for the skateboarders.
A new sign explains that the parklet is designed
for “people and pets to linger and connect.”
Also, “No Smoking.” 


As you might guess the community response
has been reserved, even dismissive.  
On NextDoorClifton the nay-sayers and the nit-pickers
complain that the parklet has absconded
with two treasured parking spaces.
And that it is bone-headed because it is 20 yards away from
the Clifton Plaza with its many benches, tables, seats
and its ample opportunities for lingering and connecting.
And what, anyway, is the point of a 45-foot-long bench?
(Most NextDoorClifton contributors are reputed to be crotchety.)

Personally I have been keeping my eye on the parklet.
Mostly it sustains a population of zero.
One day at 4 p.m. there were two male Indian students chuckling.
Another time two thirty-something men with long black beards
lingered though they did not seem to be connecting.
In an effort to grease the wheels
I sit at the parklet every now and then.
A young woman smiled at me the first time.
Later a middle-aged woman with a chihuahua
rested for five minutes at the opposite end.

The parklet, of course, offers more than rest.  
This very poem that you are reading
was not only inspired by but composed at the parklet.
Not the founders’ original intent
but we now have a new poetry writing venue on Ludlow Ave.
Who would have guessed?



Thursday, July 18, 2019

CVS, World of Dreams

There are many fine places the world over
My neighbors love traveling to Paris or Rome 
But my own favorite trip is to CVS
Equally exciting, much closer to home 

CVS, as we know, is like Disneyland 
Treasures galore on aisle after aisle
Vitamins, buy one and get one for free 
Plus our clerk has the funkiest smile

A trip to CVS feels like winning the lottery
A strip of coupons as long as your arm 
Extra Bucks Rewards, believe it, free money 
The discount deodorants triple your charm 

CVS competes with the flea market’s prices
Gifts for my honey on the one dollar shelves
After the holidays, fifty percent off
Stocking stuffers for the kiddies and ourselves   

CVS, all agree, is a magical store 
Try it just once, you’ll be back evermore 



Wednesday, December 19, 2018

A Stroll Down Our Street: A Villanelle

Each night I go on a stroll down our street 
The Esquire marquee, the lights, the glare
The pulse of the street never misses a beat

There’s a “Street Vibes” vendor, friendly, upbeat 
The boutique windows offer glitz and flair
Each night I go on a stroll down our street

The skateboarder on Telford, his death-defying feat 
A panhandler asks, a dollar to spare? 
The pulse of the street never misses a beat

Children at the plaza, dancing, so sweet 
A woman walks by, fresh flowers in her hair 
Each night I go on a stroll down our street

Chocolate at Graeter’s, a forbidden treat 
Vape smokers huddle in their shady lair
The pulse of the street never misses a beat

Clifton Market, old chums I greet 
The flautist plays, fire sirens blare
Each night I go on a stroll down our street
The pulse of the street never misses a beat



Tuesday, December 4, 2018

Clifton Barbers: A Villanelle

Our barber shop is a hungry beast
Dawn to dusk, a dozen in line   
Each of these stylists, a regal high priest   

Four chairs, four barbers, each an artiste
Their shading skills, befitting a shrine
Our barber shop is a hungry beast

Avant garde haircuts, shaped and creased 
Clients swagger, their image so fine  
Each of these stylists, a regal high priest

Arriving from the west side, some from the east 
Thirtyish clients, cool, mainline 
Our barber shop is a hungry beast

Each cut a sculpture, an icon, a feast
The neo hairdos bedazzle and shine  
Each of these stylists, a regal high priest

Business booms, the buzz has increased
Never a lull, no hint of decline 
Our barber shop is a hungry beast
Each of these stylists, a regal high priest



Saturday, October 13, 2018

Vine Street Bees, Cool Chefs

                Headline:  “Downtown Cincinnati street buzzed 
by bees, Orchids chefs capture swarm” 
[Cincinnati Enquirer, Oct. 10, 2018]

A ho-hum Monday in downtown Cincinnati
Then, like a scene out of Hitchcock  
Twelve thousand bees descend from the sky
Setting up shop at Fourth and Vine
Outside the door of the Orchids restaurant

Bees in all directions
Buzzing, flitting, flapping
Lounging on cars, signs, parking meters
Covering the sidewalks to fifty feet in the air

Pedestrians panic, office workers flee
A hot dog vendor dials 911
A mother hurries her toddlers away
Police are befuddled
Some new form of terrorism?

Word reaches staff in the Orchids kitchen
Executive sous chef Mallory Myers
                Executive chef George Zappas
                                spring into action
Donning their handy beekeeper suits
they rush to the midst of the throbbing swarm
desperately searching for the queen
Twelve thousand worker bees but only one queen
Larger than the rest
and likely near the center of the flock

In mere minutes 
Myers finds the queen
and Zappas entices her into the box
The workers, naturally, follow their queen
And as quickly as it started
the invasion of the bees has come to its end
Not one single drone on Vine Street

Too late in the autumn to start a new hive
Orchids is providing a comfortable home 
These bees, so happy in their new domicile
will produce gallons of honey 
for Orchids and their appreciative patrons



Tuesday, July 31, 2018

Life In Our Neighborhood: A "Found" Poem (from NextDoorClifton.com)

Hello beautiful neighbors of mine!
Anyone need anything
I’m Available!
I need help in my garden.  Muscles!
Ms. Birkenleoux has been located…
Cliftonites are cool

Feeling worried 
Bad odor in the air
Loud booms
what happened on Kirby Ave? 
Did you mistakenly swipe my trash bin?
WHERE SHOULD I CALL IF I NEED THE POLICE? 

Anyone have a torque wrench?
Interest in cheap Russian/Ukrainian tutor
Looking to buy a $500 car
Piece of scrap wood? 
need to borrow a manual wheelchair
Looking for a Goat to Rent

Lost Kitty?
Still looking
Mr. Stripes
Sorry Sad Little Cat 
Dead orange and white kitty cat on the I74 exit to Colerain
Farewell to Good Cat Stan 1998-2017

The park was trashed!
drug deal on Edna Ave
gunshots
home burglarized in broad daylight
serial purse snatcher on/around Ludlow
Warning: man exposing himself in public

What type of tree is this?
Large bird
Let me ask you something
Help my mom please
Clifton neighbors are the best
Moving



Sunday, June 24, 2018

A Ballad of Annie Oakley

August thirteenth, AD 1860
A sweet baby girl, Phoebe Ann Mosey
Born on a farm in Darke County, Ohio
Eight children, two bedrooms, a farmhouse quite cozy

By age seven Annie hunted to help bring in money
This child was a natural with her firearm
Taking her kill to the general store dealer
Eight years, she’d paid off the mortgage on the farm

Spring Eighty-One, to the south in Cincinnati
Marksman Frank Butler arrived with his act
He bet fifty dollars with hotelman Jack Frost
“I’ll beat any shooter, and that, Sir’s, a fact!”

Jack Frost and Frank Butler rode up to Darke County
To Frank’s amazement, a five-foot female
His opponent in shooting live birds 
They took turns, each targeting twenty-five quail

Twenty-four rounds and the two were dead even  
Neither marksman had missed even one single shot
On his twenty-fifth bird, Frank made his sole error 
And Annie then won the whole fifty-dollar pot

Frank later admitted, “She took me fair and square”
Head over heels, he thought Annie so dear  
Adoring his poodle, she gave Frank a chance
The stars were aligned, they were wed in one year

They moved to Cincinnati, found a house in Oakley
That’s where Annie obtained her famous stage name
She joined Frank’s act in Over-the-Rhine
The start of her journey to world-wide fame

Several years later, Frank and Annie moved on
Joining Buffalo Bill Cody’s Wild West Show
Seventeen years, North America and Europe
Queen Victoria, the Kaiser, and King Umberto

Annie’s marksmanship was other-worldly
She shot dimes and playing cards tossed in the air
Hit targets behind her while looking in a mirror
Snuffed a burning candle and put out its glare

Annie Oakley left the show in Nineteen-O-Two         
She fought for women’s rights, for daughters and sons        
Gave money to orphanages and charities
Taught fifteen thousand women how best to use guns

Annie died in Darke County at age sixty-six 
Pernicious anemia, that was her lot
Frank stopped eating food, died eighteen days later
Darke County, still together in their family plot



Tuesday, May 16, 2017

A Villanelle for Fiona*



Baby Fiona, it’s you we adore
Despite those first weeks of fearful despair
This sweet young hippo, a princess galore

Twenty-nine pounds, not a single ounce more
A birth weight so low, a life-threatening scare
It’s you, dear Fiona, we’ve come to adore

This preemie’s survival, a dicey chore
Her humans have offered such loving care
To this sweet hippo, this princess galore

Now she gobbles her lunch and looks for more
Topping two hundred pounds, with room to spare
That’s the dear baby who we so adore

Fiona dives and floats and treads the floor
She mouths at her shower with regal flair
This sweetest hippo, this princess galore

She nuzzles her keepers with such rapport
And gives her mom Bibi the fondest stare 
Baby Fiona, it's you we adore
Sweetest of hippos, a princess galore



*Note:  Fiona was born to parents Bibi and Henry on Jan. 24, 2017, at the Cincinnati Zoo.  Six weeks premature, she weighed only 29 pounds, about 25 pounds less than the lowest recorded birth weight for a hippo newborn, and her survival was uncertain for many weeks.