A journal of semi-detached poetry.

Karen Tylutki - Poems (3)

Cast Your Nets

Cast your nets into the waters of fame
Run your fingers through your catch
And feel it slip between your digits
Back into the sea.

So it is
With greed and avarice
Watersheds of bargains
Stored in basements…

Attics packed with treasures
Saved for a rainy day
Falling apart as fodder
In the paws of squirrels in hide-away.

But love – love though squandered
On the unappreciative or cruel
Is never wasted – though it may be ridiculed,
Ignored, misinterpreted or spurned.

Cast your nets into the rivers and lakes.
Beguile none with shiny lures.
Just sing the song of yourself …
Revel in sparking translucence.

The Fan

He did the Fandango for me -
In my apartment off second avenue
trying to cheer me up
before he left for the airport
and another “business venture”.

It was always a race with him.

Rain, Snow, Sleet, Hail, Sunshine -
It was all about moving.
Running to the corner shop for cigarettes
Hurrying to the doctor appointment.
Speeding across town to the theater.

Always, always the race factor 

What I would not give to forget time!
Just do things leisurely and calmly
Lounge in a long bath with him and breathe
Meditate in front of a pillar candle
Lie by a fireplace together and sip sherry.

Having raced to the west coast and back

He burst into my parlor Thursday morning
Asked me to marry him
Raced me to City Hall
We signed the papers
We spoke our “I dos”

An urgent message was delivered by currier 

He gave me a hug and a kiss
Flew out the door
Bolted into a waiting cab
Waved excitedly to me
Disappeared into the city traffic.

Always racing, racing for the moon!

I’ll never forget
the day he
slowed down
and did
the Fandango for me.

The Soup Kitchen

The soup kitchen:
not my first stop today-
the mailbox – was.
Those last two stamps
stuck inside my pant’s pocket…
my last chance
to find a publisher.
I was put out this morning
on the sidewalks of New York.
They took everything
for nonpayment of rent.
The manager of the soup kitchen
said I could use their address and phone number
with my poetry entry and handed me an envelope.
I’ll stay there tonight
as long as they let me…
didn’t get much sleep
knowing I was going out on the street.
Never saw anything coming.
Dave turning into a beast overnight,
stealing everything I owned.
Phyllis telling all those lies about me.
Have to develop a hide of leather…
So darn naïve.
No credit, busted, let down.
Nothing left to lose as I walk down lonely street.
Can’t even get a room at the heartbreak hotel-
just full-up with chumps like me.
I’ve got one chance though -
my poetry…
thanks God for the soup kitchen!

(Text © Karen Tylutki - Publication: Summer 2018)



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