----
Grassy Knoll
A nervous groom and a pack of cigarettes for two who never smoked.
Hours before the nuptials we sat on the grassy knoll to talk about loves, futures and deaths by gunfire unknown.
I had my theories about all of it, I still do.
There in the shadow of the book depository we settled nerves and satisfied some dreams.
I have not seen Jon since the wedding.
I think about him, Dealey Plaza and the other John now and then.
(c) 2009 S. Sarkozy-Banoczy
08 November 2009
10 October 2009
"Grandfather in the Window"
----
Grandfather in the Window
He was older when I came to know him.
As a person rather than a photograph or story.
Full of pride and doubt.
Bent slightly, but with that memory of height.
Memory of speed and strength.
That he still displayed.
I saw myself just now in the window reflection.
And I saw him in me.
Older but not, in some way, with the determination of life.
I am not so old as he was when I finally knew him.
But he is there.
(c) 2009 S. Sarkozy-Banoczy (10 October 2009)
Grandfather in the Window
He was older when I came to know him.
As a person rather than a photograph or story.
Full of pride and doubt.
Bent slightly, but with that memory of height.
Memory of speed and strength.
That he still displayed.
I saw myself just now in the window reflection.
And I saw him in me.
Older but not, in some way, with the determination of life.
I am not so old as he was when I finally knew him.
But he is there.
(c) 2009 S. Sarkozy-Banoczy (10 October 2009)
27 September 2009
"Sweetgrass and Hemingway"
----
Sweetgrass and Hemingway
The smell of the sweetgrass braid took me back
Trips north to see family now gone
Visions and impressions of ten years old
The way back of the station wagon filled with sister and treasure
We did not know that we did not know or perhaps ever know
I pushed aside the cedar, bent to disguise the secret trails
Sweetgrass and cedar like elements of taste, smell, touch
Chasing Hemingway down old roads and creeks
I saw Nick Adams in my mind and heart
He saw me with my magic bags of nature
The people put in a corner of the map with roadside stalls as windows to the world
Stories that only lived in memory
And now?
Maps with no roads, villages forgotten
We cannot go back in time
Time will chase us down and shove us to the ground
There we taste, smell, touch the earth
And there the sweetgrass and cedar grow still
(c) 2009 S. Sarkozy-Banoczy (26 Sep 09)
Sweetgrass and Hemingway
The smell of the sweetgrass braid took me back
Trips north to see family now gone
Visions and impressions of ten years old
The way back of the station wagon filled with sister and treasure
We did not know that we did not know or perhaps ever know
I pushed aside the cedar, bent to disguise the secret trails
Sweetgrass and cedar like elements of taste, smell, touch
Chasing Hemingway down old roads and creeks
I saw Nick Adams in my mind and heart
He saw me with my magic bags of nature
The people put in a corner of the map with roadside stalls as windows to the world
Stories that only lived in memory
And now?
Maps with no roads, villages forgotten
We cannot go back in time
Time will chase us down and shove us to the ground
There we taste, smell, touch the earth
And there the sweetgrass and cedar grow still
(c) 2009 S. Sarkozy-Banoczy (26 Sep 09)
24 July 2009
"Early Morning"
----
Early Morning
Foreheads touching
Shallow breathing.
Small chest heaving.
Our breath, like our blood, mingling.
One pillow, one love.
One father, one son.
A morning blessing.
We stir in the sunlight.
Coffee pot and the dogs waking.
(c) 2009 S. Sarkozy-Banoczy (24 July)
Early Morning
Foreheads touching
Shallow breathing.
Small chest heaving.
Our breath, like our blood, mingling.
One pillow, one love.
One father, one son.
A morning blessing.
We stir in the sunlight.
Coffee pot and the dogs waking.
(c) 2009 S. Sarkozy-Banoczy (24 July)
"Tuning In"
----
Tuning In
She tunes in Seinfeld like an orthodox sermon.
On your knees, pray to the laughter.
Hail Jerry, full of... blaspheme, blaspheyou.
On the boob tube in technicolor.
Is it 1993 again?
Yada-Yada-Yada-Yada, Amen.
Tuning In
She tunes in Seinfeld like an orthodox sermon.
On your knees, pray to the laughter.
Hail Jerry, full of... blaspheme, blaspheyou.
On the boob tube in technicolor.
Is it 1993 again?
Yada-Yada-Yada-Yada, Amen.
(c) 2009 S. Sarkozy-Banoczy
02 May 2009
"The Letter"
----
The Letter
I found the letter this afternoon in a pile of memory and disorganization of intention.
She never saw it, but it feels like she did.
It feels like we spoke about the pictures as she lay dying, surrounded by past and present.
Hello boy, she would say. What a nice letter. The pictures are wonderful.
She would have read it at tea time in her favorite chair.
Holding it in her right hand, face calm, the stroke hidden.
But she did not read it.
Not until now, as I read aloud.
I keep it for me.
I keep it for my daughter and son.
She would kiss those small mouths and eyes.
She sees us now.
Hello boy.
(c) 2009 S. Sarkozy-Banoczy (7 Feb)
The Letter
I found the letter this afternoon in a pile of memory and disorganization of intention.
She never saw it, but it feels like she did.
It feels like we spoke about the pictures as she lay dying, surrounded by past and present.
Hello boy, she would say. What a nice letter. The pictures are wonderful.
She would have read it at tea time in her favorite chair.
Holding it in her right hand, face calm, the stroke hidden.
But she did not read it.
Not until now, as I read aloud.
I keep it for me.
I keep it for my daughter and son.
She would kiss those small mouths and eyes.
She sees us now.
Hello boy.
(c) 2009 S. Sarkozy-Banoczy (7 Feb)
"Mid-leg Crisis"
----
Mid-leg Crisis
This is when it happens.
Rumors that my forebears had them.
They pick up the tai chi, yoga, the Bible and Buddha.
They buy the red car and believe they look cooler.
Instead of this I break in half.
Instead of this I have to laugh.
No luxury of broken ego.
Only healing high and low.
Mend, bend, spend, hello doctor.
I am now a fixer upper.
Plates and screws from the hardware.
Bone chips from someone, somewhere.
Still some healing.
No more bleeding.
Check my head and my heart.
Time for a brand new start.
(c) 2009 S. Sarkozy-Banoczy (Feb)
Mid-leg Crisis
This is when it happens.
Rumors that my forebears had them.
They pick up the tai chi, yoga, the Bible and Buddha.
They buy the red car and believe they look cooler.
Instead of this I break in half.
Instead of this I have to laugh.
No luxury of broken ego.
Only healing high and low.
Mend, bend, spend, hello doctor.
I am now a fixer upper.
Plates and screws from the hardware.
Bone chips from someone, somewhere.
Still some healing.
No more bleeding.
Check my head and my heart.
Time for a brand new start.
(c) 2009 S. Sarkozy-Banoczy (Feb)
"The Photograph on the Desk"
----
The Photograph on the Desk
He put the photograph on the desk.
There was the face that he spoke to in his letters.
There was the vision of his future, the dreams of his past
He talked to the photograph almost every day, the sheets of proud paper filling with hope and joy.
Inspired by the face to tell all the details of life flowing by.
While somewhere on another shore, he sat taking in the news from afar, yet so near to his heart.
There he sat in the photograph, frozen forever, a promise of that which did not come.
The photograph fell from the desk, his heart fell with it.
The broken glass in shattered shapes and shards, mirrors the splintered pieces of his heart.
Some may say it is just a picture, but his time in that face, does not allow it.
He breaks down as he sweeps the remnants of the glass into the dust pan, along with his own battered feelings.
They all strike bottom with a dull thud like the slowing echo of his still beating heart.
Torn apart on the knife edge of life and the merciless solid foundation of death.
His sweeping done, he weeps again and sits once more at the desk, photograph on his lap.
(c) 2009 S. Sarkozy-Banoczy
The Photograph on the Desk
He put the photograph on the desk.
There was the face that he spoke to in his letters.
There was the vision of his future, the dreams of his past
He talked to the photograph almost every day, the sheets of proud paper filling with hope and joy.
Inspired by the face to tell all the details of life flowing by.
While somewhere on another shore, he sat taking in the news from afar, yet so near to his heart.
There he sat in the photograph, frozen forever, a promise of that which did not come.
The photograph fell from the desk, his heart fell with it.
The broken glass in shattered shapes and shards, mirrors the splintered pieces of his heart.
Some may say it is just a picture, but his time in that face, does not allow it.
He breaks down as he sweeps the remnants of the glass into the dust pan, along with his own battered feelings.
They all strike bottom with a dull thud like the slowing echo of his still beating heart.
Torn apart on the knife edge of life and the merciless solid foundation of death.
His sweeping done, he weeps again and sits once more at the desk, photograph on his lap.
(c) 2009 S. Sarkozy-Banoczy
"Letters to the Front 1918 (II)"
----
Letters to the Front 1918 (II)
Who are these people, these places, these facts and figurines, that play out like clues to a great hunt?
I have asked forgiveness and understanding , but now I ask for guidance in our searching.
I must look forward to my descending line as the scramble today about my feet.
Thank you to the living and dead for their everlasting gifts that act as signposts and milestones along this human highway.
Daughter, son, both of your blood name, know not that they await this never-ending chain.
Mysteries of past and future in one, we visit you and your family through a world war.
I begin to feel that I am reading tea leaves or tarot cards, the meaning beyond my knowing.
(c) 2009 S. Sarkozy-Banoczy
Letters to the Front 1918 (II)
Who are these people, these places, these facts and figurines, that play out like clues to a great hunt?
I have asked forgiveness and understanding , but now I ask for guidance in our searching.
I must look forward to my descending line as the scramble today about my feet.
Thank you to the living and dead for their everlasting gifts that act as signposts and milestones along this human highway.
Daughter, son, both of your blood name, know not that they await this never-ending chain.
Mysteries of past and future in one, we visit you and your family through a world war.
I begin to feel that I am reading tea leaves or tarot cards, the meaning beyond my knowing.
(c) 2009 S. Sarkozy-Banoczy
"Letters to the Front 1918 (I)"
----
Letters to the Front 1918 (I)
I sit like a time-travelling eavesdropper
Peering into their world without full understanding
I awaken the love, the pain, the loneliness and the heartache
I receive the lessons of war and plague without asking
I take in their feelings without permission or conversation
Oh, they speak to me through the decades of decay
They tell me what meant each day's value and the family's backbone
Again and again they send their letters heavy with practical emotion
Again and again I open these singular vaults, full of passages of meaning
I am shocked to stillness and mourning for those I never knew but carry within me
He answers them with precise measure, each response noted on envelopes from home
From this side of the grave, from this side of the big water, I note the progress of this one-sided conversation
From the pages in my hands that sometimes quake at the reality
There on the technology undreamt of in their time, are displayed all human need
Before my eyes emerge the records of their life and common dread
We should learn from this prying into their lives and I ask forgiveness if these acts awaken old ghosts, long sleeping
We mortals living desire that which such letters give us and we must feel that living backwards may mean living forwards
These letters to the front are blessings for understanding, scars for recall, reminders of what we should already know
I observe the father, full of pride and lessons, veiling his love with the matters of the farm and family news
I see his hand reaching out across the miles holding his son as a child but a man, hoping against the odds he comes home unchanged, hoping he just comes home
The mother lays her heart on the page for her dear boy, so many miles and meanings away at the front
I see her longing too as it fights for a place on the page and in his mind and heart, straining to pull him back home
Brothers and sisters, sometimes amusing, sometimes serious, forge their thoughts , mostly unaware of the curtain that hangs partly drawn across their lives
A curtain that could close in an instance and blot out even the hardiest of hearts, the strongest of souls
I cast back to my relatives and ask for their recognition of our frailty and our further respect for this son of Canada who lies in France
We will join you and those before you in peaceful slumber, hoping the mists of time and warfare clear the air and out souls, so that your sacrifice was acknowledged
The spirits read these letters now and I trust you watch with pity
Uncle, when I stand before you, I will shake your hand and see into your heart
May that time register all thought and feeling with us all, just as these few moments in a small room at a desk, reveal some secrets of those letters to the front
(c) 2009 S. Sarkozy-Banoczy
Letters to the Front 1918 (I)
I sit like a time-travelling eavesdropper
Peering into their world without full understanding
I awaken the love, the pain, the loneliness and the heartache
I receive the lessons of war and plague without asking
I take in their feelings without permission or conversation
Oh, they speak to me through the decades of decay
They tell me what meant each day's value and the family's backbone
Again and again they send their letters heavy with practical emotion
Again and again I open these singular vaults, full of passages of meaning
I am shocked to stillness and mourning for those I never knew but carry within me
He answers them with precise measure, each response noted on envelopes from home
From this side of the grave, from this side of the big water, I note the progress of this one-sided conversation
From the pages in my hands that sometimes quake at the reality
There on the technology undreamt of in their time, are displayed all human need
Before my eyes emerge the records of their life and common dread
We should learn from this prying into their lives and I ask forgiveness if these acts awaken old ghosts, long sleeping
We mortals living desire that which such letters give us and we must feel that living backwards may mean living forwards
These letters to the front are blessings for understanding, scars for recall, reminders of what we should already know
I observe the father, full of pride and lessons, veiling his love with the matters of the farm and family news
I see his hand reaching out across the miles holding his son as a child but a man, hoping against the odds he comes home unchanged, hoping he just comes home
The mother lays her heart on the page for her dear boy, so many miles and meanings away at the front
I see her longing too as it fights for a place on the page and in his mind and heart, straining to pull him back home
Brothers and sisters, sometimes amusing, sometimes serious, forge their thoughts , mostly unaware of the curtain that hangs partly drawn across their lives
A curtain that could close in an instance and blot out even the hardiest of hearts, the strongest of souls
I cast back to my relatives and ask for their recognition of our frailty and our further respect for this son of Canada who lies in France
We will join you and those before you in peaceful slumber, hoping the mists of time and warfare clear the air and out souls, so that your sacrifice was acknowledged
The spirits read these letters now and I trust you watch with pity
Uncle, when I stand before you, I will shake your hand and see into your heart
May that time register all thought and feeling with us all, just as these few moments in a small room at a desk, reveal some secrets of those letters to the front
(c) 2009 S. Sarkozy-Banoczy
31 January 2009
"In a Picture"
----
In a Picture
Happy and sad in a picture
Division, death and absence
Time stamped but forgotten
Run, backward, run
The moment is passed
They are gone
The feeling persists in us
They still remain
(c) 2009 S Sarkozy-Banoczy (29 Jan)
In a Picture
Happy and sad in a picture
Division, death and absence
Time stamped but forgotten
Run, backward, run
The moment is passed
They are gone
The feeling persists in us
They still remain
(c) 2009 S Sarkozy-Banoczy (29 Jan)
"The Word"
----
The Word
Collect the conscious
Spread the seed of thought
Make the word explode like a lighting bolt into the brain, no way to stop the pain, the train that keeps coming into me, you, who?
Crash
You do not ask why but thank when done, or undone
No lie, truth as is or wish to give.
The word.
(c) 2008 S Sarkozy-Banoczy (29 Jan)
The Word
Collect the conscious
Spread the seed of thought
Make the word explode like a lighting bolt into the brain, no way to stop the pain, the train that keeps coming into me, you, who?
Crash
You do not ask why but thank when done, or undone
No lie, truth as is or wish to give.
The word.
(c) 2008 S Sarkozy-Banoczy (29 Jan)
"Polarize"
----
Polarize
I am not polarized
I value all their lives
Why to die?
Why to fly?
I do not take sides
Why do you?
Why do we?
I will flee
You may fight
This is not right
Rights may give you might
Run coward now
Into your corner
Turn on your fellow
Shame
I pity you
It moves
Let be the sun
Light will cure
(c) 2009 S Sarkozy-Banoczy (29 Jan)
Polarize
I am not polarized
I value all their lives
Why to die?
Why to fly?
I do not take sides
Why do you?
Why do we?
I will flee
You may fight
This is not right
Rights may give you might
Run coward now
Into your corner
Turn on your fellow
Shame
I pity you
It moves
Let be the sun
Light will cure
(c) 2009 S Sarkozy-Banoczy (29 Jan)
"Grandma's Charms"
----
Grandma's Charms
The charms that once hung lively from her arms sit silently in my calloused palm
Each grandchild sat in frozen, gender-specific profile, name stenciled within
When she died this glittering pride was laid aside and came to me
Now the children of her children may follow her and I feel the dread weight of its possession
Birthed in silver on a bracelet, death waiting for each figure
I will break their long standing embrace to deliver each representation to its rightful place
(c) 2009 S Sarkozy-Banoczy (17 Jan)
Grandma's Charms
The charms that once hung lively from her arms sit silently in my calloused palm
Each grandchild sat in frozen, gender-specific profile, name stenciled within
When she died this glittering pride was laid aside and came to me
Now the children of her children may follow her and I feel the dread weight of its possession
Birthed in silver on a bracelet, death waiting for each figure
I will break their long standing embrace to deliver each representation to its rightful place
(c) 2009 S Sarkozy-Banoczy (17 Jan)
"Half Light"
----
Half Light
You live in a half light
Gray day glasses every way
Sometimes a life of spite
Your clothes of black and white
You are the sheep
It saddens me to say
You have built these walls
They keep you at bay
What is it that burns?
In the midst the core turns
We wait and we hope
You wait and you tighten the rope
You are not what you seem
No worse, but now no better
The truth has set the theme
We will leave you
(c) 2009 S Sarkozy-Banoczy (17 Jan)
Half Light
You live in a half light
Gray day glasses every way
Sometimes a life of spite
Your clothes of black and white
You are the sheep
It saddens me to say
You have built these walls
They keep you at bay
What is it that burns?
In the midst the core turns
We wait and we hope
You wait and you tighten the rope
You are not what you seem
No worse, but now no better
The truth has set the theme
We will leave you
(c) 2009 S Sarkozy-Banoczy (17 Jan)
"Gone"
----
Gone
Another relative is gone
This last journey not so pleasing
The departure perhaps too long
We feel the suffering easing
Bless the flight to the end
Keep the family strong
There on the blessed pastures
Gathered with those beyond
Drop the shackles of this world
We send you with a song.
(c) 2009 S Sarkozy-Banoczy (17 Jan)
Gone
Another relative is gone
This last journey not so pleasing
The departure perhaps too long
We feel the suffering easing
Bless the flight to the end
Keep the family strong
There on the blessed pastures
Gathered with those beyond
Drop the shackles of this world
We send you with a song.
(c) 2009 S Sarkozy-Banoczy (17 Jan)
"These Songs"
----
These Songs
I don't want these songs to be about you, daughter
They speak of our ways and days, but you should not suffer
So find your heart in the sky and never ask why
Fly, fly, look the world over and settle on your mountain
We will come to you and sing your own songs
Wait for us
(c) 2008 S Sarkozy-Banoczy (26 Dec)
These Songs
I don't want these songs to be about you, daughter
They speak of our ways and days, but you should not suffer
So find your heart in the sky and never ask why
Fly, fly, look the world over and settle on your mountain
We will come to you and sing your own songs
Wait for us
(c) 2008 S Sarkozy-Banoczy (26 Dec)
"The Snow Started"
----
The Snow Started
The snow started
The pain stopped
The human feeling revived, survived
The turn for the worse
The toss and turn
This was the night lost
The dawn brought thick white flecks against the evergreen mountainside
Through the window to the outside
Natural vision blurred through unnatural chemical selection
I felt the words come again
They broke over my mind and its cold season of suffering
(c) 2008 S Sarkozy-Banoczy (26 Dec)
The Snow Started
The snow started
The pain stopped
The human feeling revived, survived
The turn for the worse
The toss and turn
This was the night lost
The dawn brought thick white flecks against the evergreen mountainside
Through the window to the outside
Natural vision blurred through unnatural chemical selection
I felt the words come again
They broke over my mind and its cold season of suffering
(c) 2008 S Sarkozy-Banoczy (26 Dec)
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