Friday, March 02, 2012

Outlasting Fifty Springs

—Ronald Edwin Lane, Colfax

Ballerina in pirouette,
Streaking shooting star,
Heavenly comet,
Marilyn Monroe’s dress,

—Photo and Poem by Ronald Edwin Lane


—B.Z. Niditch, Brookline, MA

To outlast
fifty Springs
without the age
of being shackled
by knots of time
separated by pleasure
or hollowed out
from seasonal memory,
allows you
your quiet solitude
to write on
the barren tongues
of public defenders
soul winners
or ambulance chasers
you still wish
in this dispersed life
of portrait painters
false revisionists
and visionaries
to explore
your huge crazy
zig zag warmth
of being human.


—B.Z. Niditch

This must be
a great dream
in darkness
to cover us
in blanket suspicion
at first light
burning up
with high incandescences
of cabin fever
to wish for water
from nightfall's escape,
we oscillate
like blackbirds
on oak branches
to drink in
liquid silences
shattered by time
buried in volcanoes
of half-speech
by ripples of phantasms
while turning
in shoeless moves
from a daybed,
destiny dawns
on untuned sounds
unhinged images
signal thoughts
deep within.


—B.Z. Niditch

Almost alive
in your living room
watching Breathless
for the ninth time
in your kimono
no one answers
the bell or phone
or questions where
we are terraced
or traced
by an occasional loss
of memory
number or drink
or what comes next
to amuse us
in mystery or illusion
of a melancholy time.


—B.Z. Niditch

Lucent for
days and months
logging in
under first light
of effaced snowdrops
along street signs

by a compact
of unwritten tablets
on time and wind,

pacing a body
alive with images
with paperweights
lifted from girders
of city grit.


—B.Z. Niditch

A ray of sun slips
by open stalls
of the market place
a child eyes
hidden lemons, leeks
and small assorted fruit
along leafy landscapes
in the kiosk,
a soldier
tired of the barracks
escapes for an hour
buys the child
a chocolate teddy bear
this is a time
where no place
resides for long,
finally the sun
consumes us all.


—B.Z. Niditch

What signals
when eyes withdraw
their masks
and you notice
a light twinkles
on a mushrooming
face with expressionism
rebounding to thought
of choreography
covering themselves
in the air
of conversation
in ideograms of language
hidden from awareness
that only a poet
would comprehend.


Today's LittleNip: 

Under the cherry—
blossom soup,
blossom salad.



—Medusa, with thanks to today's artists! For more about B.Z. Niditch, go to, and for more about Ron Lane, go to or to for info about his books.

If left pristine
Even the rocks
Bloom in the spring

—Photo and Poem by Ronald Edwin Lane