Monthly Archives: March 2015

A Poem Of The Dream Of Noam Chomsky: Revolutionary ImproVerse Iambic Poetry

I just had a dream/
of meeting linguist Noam Chomsky/
at his parents’ bistro/Cafe’
on the shores of the Black Sea.
The problem is:/
he was born and raised in Philly.

But by his glasses I could tell:/
It was he./
Noam Chomsky,/
talking/
and walking/
with me,
as we/
took a goofy/
spectacled selfie.

A Dream Of Me, Poetry, And Noam Chomsky: Revolutionary ImproVerse Free Verse Poem

This early morning,
I dreamed.
I swam with my son
and his friends in the Black Sea.

I then had a wonderful melted chocolate dessert
with a cute old couple
who had a Noam Chomsky poster,
teal, it was,
with a pink orange 4-inch paintbrush slash
in the lower left-hand corner,
hanging
in their old bistro Café.

The poster
and they
told me about Chomsky’s performance,
so I went up to the City Square.
Chomsky was performing,
reading,
and having his class read.
I became
— as is typical for me —
part of a class he taught,
where a woman couldn’t read
her poem,
written on wood in dark woodburnt letters.

So someone else read it,
and they asked me
to hit my head on the table
in front
of me “Clunk”,
saying “I could have had
a bigger apartment!”
“Clunk”.
It was a great
public
experience
I got to share.

I then walked back
toward the bistro Cafe’,
because my daughter had texted me.
As I was going back,
the ferry arrived
and emptied.
I tried crossing
in front of the traffic,
between the crosswalk bars,
and a policeman in blue and black uniform
yelled at me
and gave me a five-penny
fine.

He followed me
to the café,
where I gave him a nickel,
and the old couple helped
pay the fine
in local currency,
so I left my Jefferson head nickel
on their wooden counter.

I looked behind the counter,
and there,
in person,
was Noam Chomsky.
He was the old couple’s son!

He had to leave the bistro/Cafe’,
so I walked with him
for awhile,
and told him how wonderful
and kind
his parents were.

Then I asked
if we could take a selfie
together.
He had something wrong
with his eyes,
so he put on very thick,
dark-framed glasses.
I put on my black-framed glasses,
and the camera was upside down
and we couldn’t take the picture,
but finally we took it
and it was obvious that I was being
a pest
but I still got
the picture.

And then I went back
and found my children at the bistro/Café.
I don’t think we saw any of the city
at all
but we swam together
at night
and I played submarine
and tipped over
a large sailboat toy
like it been torpedoed …
and I didn’t even get
Noam Chomsky’s
autograph.