Reno Rain
Burrowing into bliss
two lovers
God’s children
aboard a downy raft
of pillows, comforter
soft flannel sheets
hearing only
hearts pulsing
in time
with rooftop
raindrops
two lovers
praying this
never stops
knowing this
fleeting moment
this heat
these tandem
heartbeats are
as precious
as rare
as Reno rain.
Our Lady of Mustang
Curiosity drove me here
wondering who would be
worshiping at this temple
on the Lord’s day.
Church lot is full
here at the shrine.
Ranch girls are busy
plying love’s trade
with Sunday morning horn dogs.
I sit parked and scribbling
in the lot between heaven’s gate
and the souvenir shack
which is painted pink
as the sea of flesh
that undulates inside.
Outside, wild mustangs roam.
Inside, wild fillies buck Bronco Billies.
Back at home
mom’s set up
Sunday School.
Here, ten minutes drive east
of all that praying
other prayers are voiced,
“Oh God,
Yes! YES!”
Amen.
Night Owl Special
I came to Vegas
for the ham steak,
Seigfreid und Roy be damned.
Black pyramid, fake Chrysler building,
Eiffel tower, San Marcos plaza,
exploding pirate ships,
these are all fine – all good –
but ham’s what drove me here.
Loose slots, looser women,
they have their Vegas place
but pale next to honey glazed,
Virginia smokehouse ham steak.
Steak for god’s sake!
The joe’s O.K.,
hash brown could be crisper,
sour dough toast...
– toast is hard to get wrong –
and the eggs,
the eggs threaten to edge out the ham.
I will sleep easier (when I finally find a bed)
knowing there is one short order cook
left on planet Vegas
who knows exactly what
Over easy really means.
Ham, the soul of Vegas.
Not dining under Picasso’s Dora,
not scaling the mad Pole’s needle downtown
not getting rubbed the right way
in the shadow of the city limits sign,
Vegas is ham steak... and eggs... four bucks.
New Vada
Sage brushed
ore dusted
neon naked
in full sky paint
torrid landscape
barks to Luna
RISE AND BATHE ME!
Free of day
nocturnal
life forces
spring from her
desert floor
worshipful
remorseless.
Cookbook du Mal
You’re across the table
writing for Elaine
author of dinner
president of pain
founder of time
and she
feeds off
your words
belching them
back at you
without one
“Excuse mois.”
Henry "Hank" Sosnowski, South Chicago born Polish-American followed his gypsy heart across America from Alaska's Aleutian Islands to North Carolina's shore. Following Brecht's edict that an artist must "First feed the face, then talk right and wrong," Sosnowski worked as a newsboy, caddy, fry cook, steel worker, blues musician, pipefitter, pool hustler/card shark, landscaper, railroad brakeman, auto part salesman, actor, warehouse manager, woman's clothing rep, waiter, missionary, writer, Alaskan game warden, book store manager, morning DJ, corporate VP, marketing director, dishwasher, factory worker, car salesman, handyman, customer service rep, janitor, teacher, hot rod show promoter, Internationally published poet.
Sosnowski currently lives and teaches in Reno, Nevada, inspiration for his one-man traveling show: "Write Before Your Eyes! Hank the Revelator - Live on Stage 24/7!" For one week, Sosnowski comes to town to write/perform/live on an outdoor stage replica of a 1930s writer's; garret, melding written, spoken and performance art.
Sosnowski is the winner of the 2006 Sierra Arts Foundation Writer's Grant and voted back to back Reno's best poet by Reno News and Review.
