Saturday, January 2, 2016

Three Poems by Ron Yazinski

Princess Balloons

Tied to the sagging banister of an old migrant worker's shack,
The only update to which is an air-conditioner in a side window,
Three Disney Princess balloons bobble at half-staff.

Yesterday, there was a birthday party here,
Celebrating the dreams of a five-year-old Hispanic girl,
Whose teenage sister had brought these balloons
Of Ariel and Snow White and Cinderella,
To let her see what her true soul was like;

Her kind sister, who sweeps up the Magic Kingdom for minimum wage,
And a discount on day-old balloons.

The Last Thing Adam Learned

The last thing Adam learned
Was forgiveness:

First, for the sun's intensity,
Wilting buds before they bloom;

For the moon's taunting,
Elongating the shadows of night;

For the spring wind
And its lingering scent of God's breath;

For the clumsy rains
Falling either too early or too late;

For the sandy soil
Which gives trees something to hold onto,
To bear fruit when he's gone;

For the birds that caw with anticipation
As the harvest nears;

For Sister Death, who is as bored as he is,
With the monotony of her task;

But mostly, for his Creator,
Who designed Adam to forgive Him,
After he forgave himself.

Raid at Lake Eola

At the heart of "The City Beautiful"
Police are shutting down the food trucks
And rounding up the Good Samaritans for feed the homeless,
In direct violation of Orlando's ordinance against it,
On the grounds that once they're fed, they'll stay,

Fouling the public restrooms;
Soiling the park benches at midday;
Frightening little boys and girls clinging to their father's hand,
By shouting their minds louder than a swan can trumpet:

That the black brothers won't always be kept down,
Humiliated at every turn,
Like that damn sign that forbids being horizontal in this park,
On either the benches or in the shrubs around them;

Someday the whites will be taught a lesson
About making laws telling a man where he can and cannot live,
Just so some cracker taxpayer can point out to his pale brats

The mute swans that swim here,
Or the black ones cuddling at the feet of a man

After dividing the last four years between his native Pennsylvania and Florida, Ron Yazinski and his wife Jeanne have recently become permanent residents of Winter Garden.  A retired high school English teacher, Ron is inspired by the personalities and energies of his new hometown.  Initially enticed by the climate of central Florida, he finds the hospitality and openness of the people who live in this marvelous little town, refreshing and rejuvenating.  Ron's poems have appeared in many journals, including Strong Verse, The Edison Literary Review, Chantarelle's Notebook, Centrifugal Eye, and Pulsar.  His is also the author of the chapbook Houses:  An American Zodiac, and two volumes of poetry, South of Scranton and Karamazov Poems.

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