POEMOGRAPHY | 2025
Poems by R.M. Usatinsky
pōəˈmäɡrəfē, noun: form or process of writing and representing poetry
JUNE
01JUN25 | CHANGE FROM WITHIN
It’s time I start to realize that change
must come from within; I suppose my
greatest flaw has been in thinking that
change would come from the outside,
from external sources; and what other
flaws must I commandeer? what other
weaknesses have steered me off course?
I wonder if it’s really about self-awareness,
or perhaps the lack thereof; maybe I simply
don’t know myself as well as I thought, or
maybe I know myself too well; in either case,
this so-called knowledge needs to be more
thoroughly observed and actions need to be
taken so that whatever changes are to be
brought into existence, they will be positive,
long-lasting changes from within and beyond
02JUN25 | TIN MAN
I have a running gag, of sorts, with one
of my daughters; I’ll play her a “song of
the day” to enlighten her about what I feel
are some of the best songs ever recorded;
oddly enough, many of these tracks are soft
or classic rock, usually from the seventies or
eighties; today I played her Tin Man, by the
British-American rock band America; playing
it loud on my Sonos speakers I was amazed at
how crisp the analog recording—made in 1974—
was, the vocals pushed way out front and the clean
mix by the producer and engineer of the Beatles,
George Martin and Geoff Emerick; my daughter—
as she usually does—sat and listened unimpressed,
but today, even though the look on her face was the
same, there was something very different in her smile
03JUN25 | BAD REVIEWS
It seems I’ve gotten behind on
writing all the bad reviews for
all the horrible experiences I’ve
had of late: inattentive, inflexible
wait staff, bad service, bad food,
and a wide assortment of retail
and online disappointments; I do
tend to submit reviews, generally
only when requested to do so, but
some establishments are worthy of
my time and efforts without being
prompted; today’s foible was at our
local (perfectly pretentious) outdoor
French bistro, where my daughter and
I were relieved of ten euros for an iced
oat milk latte and tiny bottle of Orangina
04JUN25 | ¡FEDERICO! NO, MI AMOR
It was an everyday day, picking up the
little one from school, though we walked
on the other side of the street, which was
unusual and out of place, but we crossed
over because I wanted to take the long way
home to have a peek at what exactly the road
workers were doing on our street; and just as I
surmised, they were repairing the damage made
by the crew who installed the new underground
trash containers last summer when the roadworks
on our block were finished; and walking behind us
was a woman who—after seeing her young son
perched atop the soccer goal in the school yard—
shouted, ¡Federico! no, mi amor; the boy gestured
and took his mother’s hand as she approached then
helping the young boy climb down safe from peril
05JUN25 | FOISTED FATHERS
I meet more and more young men
who seem to be reluctantly thrust
into fatherhood by their significant
others, women who, in the prime of
childbearing years, want to experience
motherhood with perhaps greater zeal
than their partners; and when they have
the opportunity to talk about their kids
or their everyday experiences, it’s with
such a lack of fervor that I’m inclined to
feel pity for them, to wonder how they
could have been hoodwinked into such
a lifetime of being and doing all the things
they might never have imagined wanting to
be or do; all the sleepless nights and all the
freedoms they have so implausibly surrendered
06JUN25 | NOT WANTING TO TAINT YOUR EXPERIENCE
There have been so many times I’ve
considered breaking through the ice,
reaching out and putting an end, once
and for all, to this absurdity, this long,
drawn out misadventure; and I’ve come
close to picking up the phone, to walking
into your room with my white flag, open
mind and forgiving heart, but then, just at
the last minute, just when I’m convinced
I’m doing the right thing, I falter, re-think
things and come to the conclusion that what
I should be doing is leave things as they are,
leave you to experience life the way life has
designed itself to be for you and not for me to
overstep the boundaries and make a bigger mess
of things than I have apparently already made them
07JUN25 | THE GENTLE ART OF FORGIVENESS
To be forgiving is to create a
gentle art; delicate strokes of
a fine soft-bristled brush, long
thin lines of pastel hues float
above the canvas, magically,
as if to suggest there is only
emptiness, a void of emotions
and a stillness reflecting every
missed heartbeat; but there is
nothing gentle about the pain
you have inflicted, your mastery
a deliberate blow leaving me with
wounds that will never heal, scars
that will remain long after my body
is no more, and a painting whose colors
will fade into the nothingness of time
08JUN25 | SOME CLOUDY DAYS
I complain about a lot of things,
the Dutch weather isn’t one of
them; as much as I enjoy a sunny
day (who doesn’t?), some cloudy
days never perturb me; in fact, I
like them and, even more so, I
really enjoy a good thunderstorm,
especially from the comfort and
safety of my own bed; I guess I
could complain that there doesn’t
seem to be as many thunderstorms
as there used to be, and there used
to be plenty and plenty of really big
ones, the ones that rattle the whole
building, ones that scare the cat and
ones that remind me of my childhood
09JUN25 | BATHROBE
It looks like I may have gotten
some toothpaste on my bathrobe;
you know how that happens, a bit
slobbers out of the mouth or some
excess whirls off the spinning head
of the electric toothbrush; in either
case, it dries—and dries whiter than
it is in the tube—and is pretty much
impossible to pick or scrape off with
a fingernail; and to add insult to injury,
I’ve recently washed my bathrobe and
would hate to wash it again so soon after;
dabbing it with a wet tissue would only
leave little specs of wet tissue so that’s not
an option; maybe I’ll just leave it there and
consider it one of life’s many discombobulations
10JUN25 | MY FIRST DREAM ABOUT WRITING POEMS
I had my first dream about
writing poems; it was just
last night, or perhaps it was
early this morning in one of
my many phases of sleep; I
was looking over some of my
poems and it suddenly occurred
to me that all of the ones I was
revising had only three lines per
stanza instead of four; I quickly
ran over to my computer to check
my poetry database and alas! all
the poems had three-line stanzas;
that was the whole dream, little
more than an off-putting sensation
and a feeling of sheer disappointment
11JUN25 | MIKLOS
Stalking? balking?? often looking but
never booking; I am there, waiting and
watching in the wings, silently; every
time you appear I see you through the
webs, stealthily I observe your comings
and goings, but you never make a move,
never take that next step, never choose
a date, a time or a service; what is it that
you want? what are waiting for?? can't
you wait to get back home to Budapest
to visit your favorite barber (who’s been
cutting your hair since you were a child)?
ping! ping!! there's Miklos again, pinging
and dinging, making my watch and phone
vibrate, making my wrist shake until it’s
sore from shaking; what is up with you?
12JUN25 | STRANGERS
That’s what you’ve become,
strangers, all of you; we crossed
paths downstairs as I was heading
off to work and I got a longer than
usual look at you and could hardly
believe that I barely recognized you;
and I can say the same about the others
with their long curly mullets, secondhand
clothes, bra-less tops, smoke-tanned skin
and vacant gaze; thing is, I’m getting used
to the arrangement, becoming more and
more acclimated to this new way of life,
one that you’re no longer a part of, one
that doesn’t occupy too much headspace,
and one that I live with a clear conscience
and an ever so present state of equanimity
13JUN25 | THE MAN IN SEAT 11A
Talk about good fortune;
the man in seat 11A will
be thinking about it for the
rest of his life; it’s been
quite an unfortunate year
for commercial aviation, a
few more incidents than the
year before with scores more
fatalities; but our man on Air
India Flight 171 walked away
from the wreckage, the sole
survivor amongst 279; and
soon I’ll be sitting aboard a
plane en route to Rome with
my daughter, surely counting
the 30 seconds after takeoff
14JUN25 | TEHRAN WILL BURN
I’ve always had an affinity for Iran and
for Persian culture; in fact, my DNA even
suggests I may have ancestral ties to the
land and its people; but I am also a Jew,
first and foremost a Jew, and will always
stand up for Israel regardless of the fact
that I’ve never stepped foot in the Holy
Land and am constantly at loggerheads
with the politics and policies of the Israeli
government; but the problems plaguing the
Middle East transcend politics and policies
(if only) and are deeply rooted in hatred for
the Jewish People; so while I’ll continue to
bid my Persian friends Khodafes (as I’ve
done for the past forty years), I will pray for
peace, hoping love and decency will prevail
15JUN25 | FATHER’S DAY
They’re all gone, all of them, all
of my fathers (both of them); my
grandfathers and great-grandfathers
(I knew them all); and this is the
first Father’s Day without you, the
father who raised me, the only man
I’ve ever called father and the only
man worthy of the name; it’s been
one hundred and six days since you left,
but you’ll always be my father, the man
I looked up to, the one who played catch
with me and took me to see the old Batman
serials, the one I’d wait up for and talk to
for hours sitting at the breakfast room table
talking about movies; the man who was man
enough to make another man’s son his own
16JUN25 | TRIBUTES
It’s easy to tell how prominent
a celebrity was by how much
hullabaloo there is on social
media after they die; take Brian
Wilson, founding member of the
Beach Boys, for example, who
passed away last week just nine
days before his 83rd birthday on
the 20th of June (yes, we share a
birthday, twenty-one years apart!);
the tributes that flooded the internet
were as numerous as I’ve seen this
year, reminiscent of Pope Francis,
Gene Hackman and David Lynch;
the tributes were of the highest order,
rightfully referring to Wilson as a genius
17JUN25 | TELLY SAVALAS
I saw you on clip on social media
the other day; and I saw you at
Universal Studios walking out of
your brother George’s bungalow;
and I saw you at the Universal City
Hilton back in the early 80s; that day
I was invited by Scott Williams to
have a dip in said hotel’s pool; I’d
met Scott and his wife, Jacqueline,
years earlier in Scottsdale in the
apartment complex we lived in; Scott
turned to me and said, “look, it’s Telly
Savalas on the hotel stairs;” so I walked
over to get a closer look and a woman says,
“Telly, this my grandson David;” “David!”
yells Telly, picking up the boy in his arms
18JUN25 | NOISY
It’s noisy in the house today,
workmen busy coating our
sewage pipes and the machine
they use emits a loud, steady
hum; no foul smells yet—from
waste water or the epoxy used to
coat the pipes—but since we’ve
locked the cat upstairs I have no
hesitation about leaving the doors
and windows open and keeping the
the house well ventilated; the one
downside is that they’re bringing
in a porta-potty type of toilet that
we’ll have to use for the next thirty-
six hours or so; upside is we don’t
have to be displaced; tra-la-la-la-la
19JUN25 | REGIME CHANGE
I wonder how much religion
is actually practiced in these
so-called Islamic states; I mean,
they seem to spend so much of
their time and effort subverting
the masses and controlling every
aspect of civil society that it’s any
wonder that there’s time left over
for three prayers a day; and who
are the men and women working
day and night in all the munitions
factories making bombs and guns
and ballistic missiles?; scientists at
clandestine sites buried deep within
the earth, enriching uranium to blow
the state of Israel to kingdom come
20JUN25 | A NEARLY PERFECT BIRTHDAY
It was one of the best birthdays
I’ve had in years, a quick out of
town getaway to Amsterdam with
my two youngest daughters; we
started the day at the Rijksmuseum
where I looked in on my favorite
Dutch Master, Rembrandt van Rijn’s
paintings (though the visit was nearly
ruined by the repulsively rude jobsworth
museum attendant who tripped me and
then threatened to deny me entry (have a
very nice day Mr. Richard Morris…); after
perusing the collections, we walked over to
the Hard Rock Café for lunch and capped off
my birthday with an overnighter of swimming
at our favorite hotel; and yes, you were missed
21JUN25 | GLEE
I like traveling by train,
it's peaceful, simple and
usually trouble free; today,
however, my train journey
was unfortunately marred
by a mostly accidental and
unintentional incident when
my daughter, who was trying
to hand over the cheese and
onion roll I had purchased for
my in-journey snack, fell to the
floor; I immediately recovered
it, placing it in the waste repository
below the window while trying to
suppress my disgruntlement; glee,
however, was restored by a smoothie
22JUN25 | TRAVEL DAY
Heading out the door soon
to begin my trip to Italy with
daughter number three; flying
into Rome for the first half, then
onto Naples for the second; there
will be a lot of food eaten next
week, especially cacio e pepe,
pizza, artichokes and gelato;
this is my first trip to these Italian
cities and my first long, solo trip
with this particular daughter and I
couldn’t be looking forward to it
more; Rome’s hotel has a beautiful
swimming pool and our lodging in
Naples is located right in the heart of
the historic center; very well deserved
23JUN25 | TRAVELING (ROME)
Traveling gives one glances at
humanity rarely seen in everyday
life; I’m sitting at a table at the
breakfast buffet at our hotel just
outside Rome, observing, as I tend to
do, my fellow travelers, their quirks,
fashion sense, hairdos and general
comportment; these creatures from
all walks of life—the small Argentinian
whose massively bushy sideburns blended
perfectly with his Roy Orbison-looking
hairpiece; the elegant Eastern European
woman, dangling from her much younger
husband’s arm, her white cotton sundress
so sheer it left nothing to the imagination;
everything I see, seen for the very first time
24JUN25 | CASSIA E PEPE (ROME)
I admit it was a bit of a gamble, taking a
neurodivergent teenage girl to Italy, but we
both had a good excuse for getting away in
escaping the NATO Summit which took place
near to where we work and go to school, so we
decided to jet off to Rome and Naples and share
some new experiences together while the leaders
of the free world did whatever it is they do for a
couple of hours at the cost of 150 million euros
and the weeklong disruption of an entire city;
and while it wasn’t an easy trip, it was nice to
have had the opportunity of traveling alone with
Cassia (as I had done previously with all my other
kids in some form or another); the highlight for me
was trying to convince her to taste cacio e pepe—
which she did—though didn’t like; but she did try it
25JUN25 | HOT MESS (ROME)
I can only describe Rome as a hot mess;
we arrived in the early evening and the
temperature was warm and bearable, the
thirty-minute taxi ride could have more
bearable with the air-conditioning on, but
the breeze and the sounds of cars, trucks
and Vespas whizzing by were our welcome
songs; our hotel—just outside of the city
center—was our only bastion of civilization;
for me, Rome was all hype, hype and heat and
overrun with tourists and dilapidated ruins that
are surely better seen and appreciated from
behind a computer screen; the food is mostly
overrated (I’ve eaten better pizza out of my
freezer) and the locals are barbaric, of a foul
mood and raucous disposition; but well dressed
26JUN25 | A DOUBLE MITZVAH (ROME)
I saw them yesterday afternoon at the pool,
the young Jewish men who placed their kippot
back on their heads after having had a dip in the
refreshing salty water; and this morning, back at
the pool, I walked up to one of them and asked if
they’d like to do a mitzvah; of course, he replied
then asking what I had in mind; to help me don
tefillin, I told him; we met twenty minutes later
and did the thing—kippah, tallis, tefillin, prayers
and all—then had a chat about the state of current
world affairs before bidding each other farewell; I
told my daughter we both did mitzvot in our actions
(mine turned out to be a double mitzvah) and she
asked if the Jewish man kept track of his mitzvot
in a book or something; no, I said with an air of
serious reflection, God keeps track of them in his
27JUN25 | MAYHEM (NAPLES)
There’s a scene in one of my favorite
films, Tornatore’s Cinema Paradiso,
where a transplanted Neapolitan man
proclaims to a crowd in the piazza a
humorous take on the famous proverb
vedi Napoli e poi muori—see Naples
and die—in other words, one can die
content, having seen something so
magnificent; I will confess that Naples
is magnificent on many levels and gave
me a real snapshot of Italian city life;
the streets are always packed with locals
and tourists, they are lined with eateries
and crumbling apartment blocks where air
conditioning units and laundry hang from
the façades; this was mayhem at its finest
28JUN25 | FAZZOLETTI (ROME)
I knew even before going to Italy
what I wanted to buy for myself;
the plan was to find a branch of the
upscale department store Rinascente
and pick up a three-pack of 100%
cotton handkerchiefs (fazzoletti); we
made it to the flagship on the Via del
Tritone and after being directed by a few
different associates we finally came across
(and purchased) the hankies by the Italian
brand Erofil (though they were manufactured
outside the EU); we then went up to the food
hall and bought a bright yellow tin of lemon
and ginger cookies to bring home; we browsed
all the floors and enjoyed an air-conditioned
respite from the sweltering afternoon heat
29JUN25 | MATRIARCH
You’ll never be that woman,
and that’s the sad reality; you
could have been the matriarch,
but you chose discord and enmity;
you could have been the one we
all counted on, looked up to, but
you chose to be an agitator, only
creating confusion, mistrust and
annoyance; you could have been
the one we came to for advice and
comfort, where we lay our heads in
times of trouble and our hearts when
broken and forlorn; but you chose to
divide and conquer, and once your
true self is fully revealed, those who
confided in you will never do so again
30JUN25 | SCORCHER
I’m so happy to hear that
climate change is fake news;
happy that the once pleasantly
livable summers in Holland are
now dotted with stifling hot days
in a row, scorchers that take me
back to Spain or even Chicago on
those dog days of summer where
even a cold shower can’t cool you
off; the temps for the next few days
will really get the mercury boiling
and put on a damper on my overall
disposition as I can’t bear the heat
the way I did when I was a younger
man; perhaps I’ll catch a matinee at
the art house cinema to beat the heat