Poems of a Budapest Indian

By Elias Sassoon

Poems of all sorts begun over forty years ago in another century, in another country but on the same continent. Poems, word associations that are supposed to associate the physical and mental with the act of living in a world that is in a solar system that is part of a universe that we can never imagine. Poems, what types? Love poems with creamy insides, poems of longing with caramel outsiders; poems of regret basted in citric acid; poems of guilt punctured by rusted, metal daggers, poems of all sorts, yes. Here is just one poem located in this little volume:
Wind In Life, Pushing, Shoving & Breaking Bread

In the air, atmosphere
Banging against the skin, my skin
Wind, piercing, ripping, taming
Smashing you.
Smashing You.
Smashing humanity that is you.

Wind, in my name
The Lord's name
The one lord or the many lords
Banging away
Ripping away
Tearing away everything but the soul of the original one.

In the air
Atmosphere

- SASSOON AS AN OBSERVER OF THE UNIVERSE

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9781304903280

Elias Sassoon

Elias Sassoon is the author of approximately, roughly, terminally twenty-five works that include short story collections, novels, poetry collections and non-fiction, essay collections. While producing his writing by night, he has earned his daily wage in honest labor that ranges from professions like teacher/bathroom attendant to a door-to-door bible salesman/fish cleaner and everything in between. Elias continues to work hard, grinding out the words and turning them into literary gems, or if you prefer, literary pearls of wisdom. He lives with his wife, two children and a dog-named Brandon in a suburban area in the vicinity of the great Metropolis known as New York City. There he prepares barbecue dinners for neighbors and friends, roams the area for yard sales, watches flies and other moving insect life die in his backward where he also sits on a metal beach chair deciding on the future of the world as we know it.

Book preview

Poems of a Budapest Indian

Poems of a Budapest Indian

by

Elias Sassoon

Poems of a Budapest Indian

ISBN: 978-1-304-90328-0

Copyright © 2014  by Elias Sassoon

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or, other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage  or retrieval systems, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of any of the characters to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

First Printing: April 2014

Dedication

To Catherine Sandor. a girl I once knew, a girl I still know in memory.

Table of Contents

Chapter I – Past

Chapter II – Past Perfect

Chapter III – Future Perfect

Poems of a Budapest Indian

Chapter I - Past

The Bombs of Spring

I

The bombs dropped from out of the clear dark blue sky. Meanwhile, meanwhile... The skin, the flesh, the meat burned, faded into nothingness, into dust.

Wait, wait a damn moment,: cried the heroine in this plot.

Reform, love and reform, we must try love and reform first; they bring the gift of possibilities don’t they

No, came the reply of the dark male figure; there must be burning flesh! No, answers from the mouth we will not hear of anymore.

Answers, they must come from the fist only.

Answers, answers from the knuckled fist I say, the bony fist.

II

Total annihilation was coming; the earthquake had hit, it was hitting. What to do, what to say, what to think.

We laid amidst the wreckage of the fallen room.

She cried, I cried.

He was coming for us, he was coming for me!

I was to be taken prisoner, tortured, stripped of my soul and then released

a mere shell.

He was coming for us, he was coming for me!

Sex was not possible between us, contact was not possible. Nothing was possible. The morning of separation was so near.

But it was still night, hot night, a furnace of a night with her laying beside me.

The heat was death; it was approaching; We, I clung to death.

There came the dawn finally; it had arisen.

Time to go, time to die.

But then, God spoke to us; the plan was conceived. The secret was preserved. Union would come around again; the flame would be rekindled; our souls would then dance and scorn the blackness.

Carnival Time

The lights were bright as we ferried across the river, a calm nice river.

But the night was so dark, too dark really.

As we reached the other side they were waiting for us.

They were excited, we were excited. But we knew, knew, knew the situation was terminal.

There was great talk, great movement yet so much was left undone, unsaid. I looked her at, she looked at me, we looked at everybody else enviously.

Yet why worry, why allow our insides to burn.

Wasn’t the food good, didn’t the beer quench our thirst.

We danced, danced the beer barrel to the beat of a foreign band. Everyone watched, everyone admired. How wonderful, how charming.

But the night was closing; it was going out of business. Too soon. Bankruptcy it was said, insufficient funds to meet the payroll.

They were going home, all of them; but they were going home together. We, us, me and her, we were going home alone, alone, alone to separation.

For us the cliff neared, for us the cliff was here.

How lovely