Poetry Blog by Bruce Levine

That Is The Question

I weighed the options.

Should I or shouldn’t I?

That is the question:

I’ve done it so many times before

And been rebuffed each time.

The answer should be clear;

I should be firm,

But each time I hesitate

And then relent.

Should I, this time,

Risk it again?

Why not?

Why yes?

I’ve stated the obvious;

Repeatedly and redundantly

And still I consider doing i...

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Woody Allen Movies

Upper West Side apartments

A hidden agenda

Not so hidden

To the literati

And intelligentsia



Societal studies

Family relationships

Real and dysfunctional


Phobias and foibles

Siblings and psychosis

Fantasies and follies

False or deferential


Dixieland or

Café society piano

Introspective or




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The Land of the Living Dead

The gentle breeze has just a hint of coolness to it,

Barely relieving the humidity even this early in the day.

The fetid air hangs heavy in the trees,

The residue of yesterday’s scorching thermometer.


Is there hope in that gentle breeze?

The first in a season of no seasons.

The land of mold, mildew and bug bites

Reveals itself as a season of perennial hot.


The man...

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The Tree of Life

The tree of life

Takes a circuitous route

Stumbling its way

Toward destiny

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An Empty Life

Another anniversary of your death

A time to reflect on living without you

It hasn’t gotten any easier


Missing you sitting next to me in the car

All the things we loved to do together

All the things we looked forward to doing together

All the places we went together

All the places we’ll never get to together

All the time simply being together


I do things alone n...

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A Profound Sadness

There’s a profound sadness

To the death of dreams.

When hope withers

And days stand still;

Drifting one into another

And another.


The gentle touch of success,

Simple in any form,



The golden rays of sunshine

Shrouded in

Black clouds.


The new hopes and prospects

Foiled by an

Unseen hand.


Time lingers and

Dangles, like a c...

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Times Remembered

Times remembered

Now repeating

Now receding


Vacant mem’ries

Hollow entries

Long abandoned


Empty journeys

Once remembered

Twice forgotten


Open highways

Never travelled

Dreams forsaken


Faded glories

Full of promise

Now depleted


Long lost treasures

Stolen chances



Silent voices

Empty spaces

Past erase...

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A Book

Why would anyone give up

Reading a real book

For a machine?

Holding a book,

Feeling its weight;

Feeling the paper of the pages

Between your fingers,

And actually turning pages

One by one.

With a book

The tactile sensation becomes

As much a part of the whole

As the words

And the use of language;

Blending the story and the book

Into a total experience.


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I keep on dreaming

There’s some place to live

A romanticized vision

A romanticized walk


Maybe Alaska

Maybe New England

Maybe a seaport

Maybe New York


Expatriate Paris

Tuscany’s villas

Provence at midnight

Perhaps County Cork


Too many novels

Too many movies

Too many stories

Too many dreams


Too many heroes

Too many failures


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One Last Time

We never got to celebrate Christmas

One last time

At least she saw the tree and decorations

One last time

Where was her Christmas miracle?


The Christmas in July movies suddenly made me think of my wife’s and my last Christmas – she went into the hospital on December 3rd and died on January 18th – fortunately we had decorated during Thanksgiving week-end.

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A Boat in a Tree

A boat in a tree,

A silly place to be.

Why would there be

A boat in a tree?


There came a great wind,

That wouldn’t rescind.

That couldn’t be pinned

Before it had sinned.


The ocean did roar,

Like rarely before.

And finally did score

By coming ashore.


The wind picked up things,

Like butterfly wings.

And powerful as kings

Or a lion who sings...

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The Town Crier of Comics

There once was a man

Who thought he’s a comic.

He didn’t need logic

‘Cause still he dreamed on.


He’d open for this one

And open at that.

On sidewalks, in nightclubs

If they’d pass the hat.


He followed his plan

And eventu’lly made it

On cruise ships and Vegas

He moved right along.


Through ups and through downs

And fights with his agents

He fo...

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drifting across the sky

in imaginary forms



making imaginary images

that only the mind

can put together



of varying shades

and shapes







into the unknown







like the Goodyear blimp

off on the horizon





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And The Making of New Memories

But, for us,

memories aren’t enough

nor is the present –

we’re looking for the future

and what we want to do.

And the making of new memories.

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The Music of Time

The music of time

Remains frozen

Drifting like snowflakes

Across the Himalayas

Waiting for dancers

To unlock the mystery

A simple Pas de deux

Lyrical and elegant

Filled with the joy

Of lovers

Joined by a thread


But never touching

Until the final moment

As the music of time

Transports their reality

Into one

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To Start Another Day

I sit on the porch in the early morning

And watch the world.

I watch the birds and squirrels awaken.

I watch the sun slowly drift

Across the lawn;

Casting a golden light

And drying the dew.

I watch people jogging

And getting ready for work.

I watch a woman as she walks,

Outlining the perimeter of every parking space

And I wonder – why?

I watch as people start th...

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morningspeople watching


My dream of academia

Is an idealized one

Mr. Chips and the Paper Chase

Classes of five hundred

In lecture halls the size of stadiums

Students focused

Totally absorbed

Hands flying skyward

With thoughts, questions

And answers

Always thinking

Always searching

Always seeking the challenge

Digesting facts and adding knowledge

Connecting dots from places obscur...

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thoughtful academia




Bruce Levine


My Darling

I was so hopeful then

First it was

Home for Christmas

Then it was

Home for New Year’s

But you never came home

Except in my heart

Where you’ll live forever



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The Quest (complete)

The Quest (complete)

Bruce Levine

And I don’t mean The Impossible Dream, because the only thing impossible is that one can never reach the end and, in one sense, maybe the quest is the end unto itself.


If one can never reach the end of the quest

Is the quest, then, an impossible dream?

Or is the quest the end unto itself?


Or, maybe, the quest is the end unto itself.


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Bruce Levinepoem

The 4th of July

The 4th of July


Bruce Levine


(To be read in a G & S cadence)


Here’s to the 4th of July

Tra la

The Founding Fathers rejoice

Tra la

Though their work is done

There’s much more to come


Here’s to the 4th of July

Tra la



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