I was the riderless horse

and you were the pale sunshine

that lasted until the end of November

wan and wanting

unable to overcome the shadows

you soldiered on

bravely marching on

until, like the rest of us

you gave in

to your rest

and to your due

the bitter rapprochement

of that bitter December

when all the world

bereaved

seemed enshrouded as

the pall of a cold northern town.

 

How does memory benumb

the horror of a little one

saluting his father who rides

on the caisson

under the flag and over the crape

Is this what dimmed your light

or was it the prospect ahead

distressing as it was

old adversaries lurking around corners

and in silos.

 

I walked on

riderless

through blue sighs

through your dusk

wandering amidst the gloom

apprehensive and knowing

a light would come once more

but I’d never see you again.

 

–Danny Grosso

Back before anger

had a limit on characters

threats were unveiled

in person.

The elements of disorder

had no keyboards

or code

but leather and laces

and soles.

Threats to democracies

visited democracies

to tempt, provoke, and forbode

to sit among the great statesmen of the era

and make mischief.

Your masses will rise

refuseniks will die

and Sputnik will blot the sun

when the shoe hit the table

the world was stunned

but only the moment was won.

Anger can be a sneeze

or a chronic disease

an interlude

or an eternity

a cartoon

or a world war.

 

-Danny Grosso

As I looked backward

from the last car of the train

and saw with perspective

ruin victorious

about the plain

through charred remains

of once verdant promise

I saw the brightest color

that ever was made.

 

How life is

is life like this

a shock of meaning

among the lurid ennui

and a color

where only yesterday lay

some muddy branches

and the drab of decay.

 

The baby is born

and the longing ceases.

Sometimes you hear one voice

in a crowd

and the moment is ceaseless.

 

– Danny Grosso

 

 

 

 

Two small islands

in the Taiwan Strait

of the South China Sea

another island much bigger

in a much smaller sea

south of Miami

in the last days of

a once great General

and the beginnings

of a new frontier.

 

Over the television

grey-colored men

blurry at the edges

in full learned tilt

on large and small ideas

without embarrassment

without walking around the podium

or the query

without worry of a Luddite backlash

in the days when we were unafraid

of erudition.

 

When intellectual curiosity

was a virtue

conversant candidates

posed no threat

to the sensibilities of the heartland

or two small islands in the Far East

 

The nation’s tasks were far-flung

complex

and without easy answers.

Scholarly  statements

and esoteric enjoinders

about obscure strategic atolls

were a blessing.

All the fathers and mothers

of the burgeoning nation

sent their kids to school each day

to read lessons

to read Emerson

and to know this.

 

Perhaps the fathers and mothers

of the men at the podiums

beamed that day

at their sons’ consideration

of the two small islands

in the Taiwan Strait

and the other island much bigger

in a much smaller sea –

where not much later

one of those sons

would be twice tested

once failing

and later prevailing

not just over an adversary

but over philosophical sophistry

by means of wisdom gained

and later tempered

by the mind’s integrity.

 

In the days when intellectual curiosity

was a virtue

It was as if Emerson

had helped save the world.

 

–Danny Grosso

 

 

 

 

Running away from

something is

running toward

something else

just as looking behind

may cause a loss

of direction

looking ahead

may bring isolation.

Those left behind

love you best

those not yet met

may love you more.

The igniting spark

might not set the world afire.

 

Hold firm to lessons

the past as prelude

leaves still a future to make.

The end of all is

an unlikely end

as something

something

will endure.

Freedom is emancipation

democracy is participation

love is fascination

life is all three.

 

This is not the end.

The persevering sound

of the voice that calls you

runs afoul of etymology

to say

the demigogue is not even half right.

 

– Danny Grosso

 

When you came to save me

or just help

or just to look about

the crumbling facade

and all its decay

gaps exposed

in the story we tell

made up as it is

of how we all live

together

or apart

in a world torn asunder

by selfishness,

we walked toward the old bridge

rusted and bent

against a blue autumn sky

and you told a story

of a different time

commonweal

when even politicians paid their taxes.

There was an honor, you said,

to chipping in

looking out for the other guy

sounds like an old movie now

the kind that kids don’t want to watch

because it’s in black and white.

The new TV’s can be set

to exaggerate color

eyesore gaudiness

coarsening the culture

deadens the pain

of what we have lost.

 

The pavement molders at my feet

and all that we stand upon

seems corrupted.

And yet, as I look down

beneath me

under the bridge

I see a workman coming

to start repairs.

 

-Danny Grosso

Colors look different

at night

unless you elude the day

altogether

not knowing the difference

made all the difference

as we were drawn to the neon

pinks and blues

calling us into dance halls and clubs

and away from the common angst

of things falling from the sky

that could end it all

neon bursts indeed

glowing cities

glowing people

sparkling

against a dark nuclear winter.

Distraction is all we had

being powerless to

the prevailing theory

of First Strike

or Massive Retaliation

or sustainable losses

whatever evolved

involved devolution

human retrograde

less of us

grunting in the darkness

like all of us

in the dance hall

under a neon sign

marked “Exit”.

 

-Danny Grosso

 

 

 

 

That time of year

or campaign season

when the candidates

stir the old stew

though it has surely gone bad

from exposure to light

so we get it on discount

from second and third string operatives

waiting for the next relaunch

makes one envious of insomniacs

words overwhelm

or numb the mind

letters floating in the air

forming signs

pop art

and platitudes.

Not much of it worth reading

or hearing

sad to say.

Going south for the duration

see you after Labor Day.

 

–Danny Grosso

 

While we were all in Berlin

the wall

fell.

 

For us

dancing, reveling

in a club called Berlin

under an elevated train track

in Chicago,

the imagining

of destruction

of the human pen,

of walking across no man’s land

at the border

and into the other side

to see lost relatives

and memories,

was all just a fleeting rush

of cool air

with just the right music

on a hot dance floor

abounding in silliness

or maybe not;

no more hiding under desks

for air raid drills

or living like that Prince song.

But imagine what it felt like

over there.

The real sight

of an opening

forty years in the making.

The tactile satisfaction

of taking the sledge to concrete.

The immemorial poignancy

of taking one’s lost other

into one’s arms

in unity.

And in Washington

a moment of hope –

there was to be no more war,

for it was time to spend on butter

now that the big guns were not needed.

Overnight, so much more

seemed possible.

Over time, so much more

seemed a little too ambitious.

 

While we were all in Berlin

the wall

fell.

 

-Danny Grosso

 

 

 

Familiar whispers

on darkened streets

or even under street lamps

casting long shadows

as if trying to trick us

into thinking it daylight.

Sometimes the whispers commune

and grow

many voices sound louder

than one

but not always wiser.

 

Campaigns muster

candidates bluster.

 

When they get to the point where

they ridicule the erudite

the noise begins to pierce

and when they begin to deny the scientific

record

they lose me

to the sound of my own voice

within

a small steady current

low and true

summoned from thousands of

yellowing pages

of ideas

of dreams

of fitful nights with pen in hand

of books to save

from burning.

 

–Danny Grosso