Mick Cusimano


Mick Cusimano Your Professor of Surrealism has been performing poetry
since 1984 with groups like the Fire of Prometheus, The Zone Poets, The Barnum
and Buddah Circus, and Squawk Coffeehouse. He has read in Boston, Toronto, 
Soho, The East Village, Woodstock, Paris, an London. He also does cartoons and
animated movies about history.

http://mcusiman.tripod.com/poetz.html

Archaeology
© 2008 by Mick Cusimano

Pyramids of condos line the desert of the town
Ruins of a culture spawned by electric sound
The expedition works its way to Harvard Square
Anachronistic figure in jeans over there
Stuck in the 60's like a car in the snow
Reliving old memories only he can know
His radio plays Hendrix wasn't it great back then?
Peace marches, deadheads and psycedelic zen
Now its computer games and the high tech blizzard
How can it compare to Jim Morrison's lizard?
The Magical Mystery tour has suddenly come to an end
Time can stand still only if you pretend
Is that the Maharishi or Tim Leary on the street?
He's moving closer
No it's the policeman on his beat
"Move along hipster Woodstock's now a pasture. Get that software over to
the office one step faster!"

Sea Salt
©2008 Mick Cusimano

I need to travel back to Rome and touch the stones of the Colosseum, the
arch of Constantine, the broken columns of the Forum. I need to travel to
Egypt to touch the Sphinx & feel the granite walls of the temple of Karnak.
I need to hear Beethoven's music pouring through every street in the city.
I need Beethoven in the laundromat, Beethoven on the subway. I need
Beethoven playing at the electronic store where I'm shopping for a CD player
so I can play Beethoven.
I need to see the contrast of light & shade in a Rembrandt painting.
I need to be dazzled by the swirling masses of red and gold in a historical
painting by Rubens.
I need to smell lilacs in the spring and road salt in the winter.
I need to smell and taste newly cooked popcorn at the movie theater where
I hear and see some drama on a flickering screen. As I reach over for the
popcorn my hand finds your necklace. I smell your perfume and hear you whispering.

Jazz in Venice
 ©2008 Mick Cusimano

The sounds of Thelonius Monk drift through the sultry night air of
Venezia.....Venice. The city of intrigues and illusions. The city that
makes
love to the sea. The majestic palaces and Byzantine buildings wrap
themselves around the winding lagoon.
The strained notes of Louis
Armstrong dressed up in the Doge's finery and elegant masquerades to reflect
shimmering light on the canals during carnival.
A cool Miles Davis riff
becomes the sound of gondolas as they smoothly caress the Grande Canal.
Cool Coltrane becomes a whisper, whispering Byzantine little nothings into the
murky waters beneath the Bridge of Sighs.
The strains of Charles Mingus are unsettling causing ripples and waves in the green lagoon.
There is a storm brewing.
Suddenly a blast from Charlie Parker awakens the Lion of St. Mark, the
terrible lion with wings who breathes fire from on high. The clouds are
burning, the lagoon is steaming with hot jazz rhythms. Venice...Venezia
the city that makes love to the sea.

The  Soul Of a Clown
©1992 Mick Cusimano
I've got the soul of a clown trying to get through
To get a line straight on through to you.
I thought my meanings were crystal clear
But what I said you just didn't hear.
Tried to heal your sorrow, get you smiling again.
But the message got lost on the Underground Line.
Boarded the wrong rail, followed the wrong sign.
My intentions were true, I thought they were plain to see.
But you saw those ghosts standing behind me.
Specters from your past clouding your view,
You couldn't see that it was only me talking to you.
Got the soul of a clown trying to break through.
Can't stand to see you sad when there is nothing I can do.
Boxed in a room not big enough for two,
Harsh words spoken, recriminations grew.
But down by the Thames, we had some fun.
You read Wild Water beneath the London sun.
You danced by the river in your golden braided hair.
We ran across Waterloo Bridge like two kids on a tear
An eye on the Thames, a poem in the air,
We waltzed our way to Trafalgar Square.
For a moment there I thought I had discovered...
The magic line between two souls that stays almost always covered.
I thought I had finally broken through the wall.....
but next day realized I had barely gotten through at all.
I've got the soul of a clown trying to break through,
To mend the heart of the friend I thought I knew.
You see I thought we were closer than two trains on a track...
but when the train rounded the bend it was a stranger that looked back.
You danced by the Thames in your golden braided hair;
For a moment I heard angels
and poetry in the air.
But walls go back up, ghosts again cloud your view.
Got the soul of a clown, and all I ever wanted to do,
was to get a line straight on through to you.