Mary Panza, Vice President of Albany Poets is Albany’s poetry diva. She originated and hosted the poetry open mic at Border’s and has been a driving force in the poetry community for a number of years. Mary has also been active in promoting, hosting, and participating in many arts events through out Upstate New York.

Mary has been the host of the Singer/Songwriter stage at the annual LARKfest street fair since 2004 and was one of the first poets to perform in the 25 year history of the arts event in 2006. Mary has published a number of poetry chapbooks and was the producer of Volume, a compilation of Albany area poets performing their work at local readings and open mics. Mary is the host of Albany Poets’ monthly poetry open mic, Poets Speak Loud, at the Lark Tavern.

Mary also serves as the Poetry Editor for the new Capital Region edition of Chronogram Magazine.

LINKS

• Mary Panza on The Hidden City

POEMS

• I Am Not The Young Poet Anymore
• Rushmore
• Sixteen Speaks to Thirty Four
• Why Poetry
• Girl, Pen, Trouble
• Crossing Over It
• The Revolution Doesn't Pay Shit
• In A Post Partum World
• I Am Waiting For The Poem To Come

I AM NOT THE YOUNG POET ANYMORE

I expected too much from you
That is why I have been mad
For so long

I am sorry

You are who you are
As scared and as unsure as the rest of us

I am the one who was unfair
I wanted you to be larger than life when you weren’t

Now I am in your shoes
It is not a comfortable fit

I wanted you to hurt as bad as I did
The whole time not realizing that I couldn’t even come close to your
Hurt

Forgive my arrogance
Forgive my innocence
Forgive me

I read the book
I get it now

I am not the Young Poet anymore

RUSHMORE

I didn’t mind explaining what it meant
It is the unattainable love
It is the one thing you want so much that your muscles
Ache
And you know in your heart that it will never work
Butt
You want it
All the same
And when the Deep Dark Truth, the NO you knew you were going to hear
All Along
Screams so loud that you wish you were
Deaf
You spend the rest of your life trying to prove that it was a huge cosmic mistake
That
God
Kept this from you
And you do things to show it that you are
The one that got away

The sad truth is that my Rushmore is not the one that I couldn’t have
It is the one I want
That never existed
He only lives in my mind
And I have spent my whole life trying to make him
Real

Were we important
Did it mean anything
To anyone but us
Did we see the world
And leave our mark
Do we get the boy in the end
Is he British, and skinny
Do we wear black all the time
And live in a very cool place
A London flat or a Soho loft
Are we the envy of the cheerleaders
Are we thin and pretty
Do we show everyone who ever said we were crazy
Just how crazy we were and get even with the world

Thirty-four speaks to Sixteen

We are not important on a global scale
Butt there are a few good people who count on us
I don’t know if it is supposed to mean anything to anyone
Butt us I know that it has had meaning to at least us
We did see the world
A couple of times and we will see it again only with a better sense of History
As for leaving a mark, maybe a blemish
Butt it ain’t over yet
Sometimes we got the boy, Sometimes the boy got to us
Some had funny accents or habits or haircuts or habits
Butt we got over them painfully and went about out business
We wore black all the time because alas skinny was never in the cards for us

I don’t know if the cheerleaders envy us
They are too busy raising their families or managing their lives
To fight old fights
We all had our shit to deal with
And some of them are nice people
Our apartment is nice and we even have a dog
We get mail and bills and have a nice car
And a pretty good job that we are happy doing
And yes
We showed all those people that thought we were crazy
Just how crazy people get things done

WHY POETRY

Because the world already has too many rock stars
Because I am not a rock star
Because I was the "Funny One"
Because I am a loud mouthed, inappropriate, too honest for her own good, freak
Because I like being around people like me
Because it is the only place we are not freaks
Because my father didn't love me
Because people piss me off
Because the men that understood what I was saying became my friends
Because the men that liked how I said it, I slept with
Because poetry is all the shit you should have said but were too tongue-tied
Because you should never piss off a writer
Because my feelings were hurt
Because I can't afford therapy
Because I can't afford drugs
Because drinking to excess after thrity makes women age in dog years
Because it weeds out the weak
Because I can

GIRL, PEN, TROUBLE

Girl, Pen, Trouble
Boy admires Coffee Girl. Coffee Girl reminds him of his ex-wife. Pasty, thin
With a phone sex voice a lot like the movie "Girl 6".

Girl, Pen, Trouble
Cute Interesting Girl begins to see that Boy is out of his fucking mind and just likes Coffee girls as a rule. She feels that maybe Boy is just that, not man, not friend, just Boy.

Girl, Pen, Trouble
Perhaps Cute Interesting Girl should fight for Boy? Should make him see that she and her coffee are just as flavorful as restaurant quality. Maybe she should stalk Boy and get his routine down? Can Boy be trusted?

Girl, Pen, Trouble
Pen Speaks:
Hello, Cute Interesting Girl. In case you have forgotten, I am a pen. I am your voice of reason. Now you must listen.
ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY? Chasing down some dumb Boy like a desperate 16-year-old. Get a grip. You are Cute Interesting Girl and you don't take this shit. You have me and because you have me you are always going to win. With me there is nothing left unsaid. You win every war and come out of it with dignity. Coffee Girl doesn't have me and neither does Boy.

All they have is each other. I am your man now and I have always been your man. You are never without me. I am your Truth, I am your Trouble, I am God, and I am your pen.

Girl, Pen, Trouble
Cute Interesting Girl hears Pen

Loud and Clear

Goes home and thinks about threesome with

Paper.

CROSSING OVER IT

I will not chase your ghost
Perhaps I drove past the bar once or twice hoping that I would run into you and your super cool friends
Butt
It was only once or twice
I didn't spend an entire tank of gas, 30 cigarettes, or tears
Looking for you

I will not chase your ghost
I maybe would have
OK
Definitely would have a couple years ago
Addicted to the thrill of maybe running into you
Stragicatily planned and quite by chance
Like a degenerate gambler knowing that next turn around the block Was the long shot that was going to pay off in Sex and Drugs and you Falling hopelessly in love with me
Just so I could dump you or spend the rest of my life with you
Which ever came first
And hearing you say
"Hey, I was looking for you"
In that casual, stoned cute way you have
Smoothing over all the desperation I was
Feeling

No
I will not chase your ghost
I am too old, I have to get up early for a real job, and I have
A dog that likes to go to the Park early, I don't want to look like shit in The morning from smoking and crying will leave my face puffy

I will not chase your ghost
Like it or not
I have grown up

THE REVOLUTION DOESN’T PAY SHIT

Johnnie Braveheart sits at a desk under florescent lights
He is handsome, mid-thirties, writes like a rock star
Johnnie counts down the days until retirement
In 19 years come this September he will die for those who came before
Him
In the mean time
Johnnie Braveheart runs the revolution from home
Left of left
Sits a desk surrounded by his paper heroes
Is forced into one room by a girl
She takes up time and space in Johnnie’s world
An experiment in what can happen when two people do everything to
Make each other miserable
She cries and cuts, hems and haws, rants and raves
Even when she gets her own way
Girl sews a black wedding gown
Have bride’s maids on speed dial
Just waiting for Johnnie to ask
Girl makes him feel old and ugly and useless
He loves it
Makes him feel important
The suffering is exquisite
Like those dead brothers before him
Johnnie Braveheart sits a desk
His hero’s words scribbled on a yellow post-it note
“The Ardent Voyage Continues,
The Course Is Set On Hope.”
Hope came one day in the form of a woman
Violent, Beautiful, Honest
Short pleated skirt
Rings on every finger
She punches Johnnie in the face
Breaks his nose
Flirting she calls it
Just to get his attention
He loves her but she makes him happy
He is just not into happy
Or Hope
His brothers didn’t suffer so he could be happy
Hope realizes that the revolution is just an excuse
Johnnie may write like a rock star
She thinks
But he lives frozen
Dead
A Martyr
For nothing
His hero rolls in his grave
Hope cannot exists without action
The revolution is televised all the time
You can’t help but watch
Hope
Takes her truth
Her broken heart
Her dignity
Kicks Johnnie in the space where his
Balls should be
Grabs the cattle prod and riding crop
Goes Home
Johnnie Braveheart sits
At a desk under florescent lights
He missed the point
He will die for the revolution in 19 years come this September
The clock ticks
This Revolution is already
Lost

IN A POST PARTUM WORLD

In a post partum world
My head no longer fits up my
Ass
My house in order
There are white lace curtains on all the windows
And the windows are clean
In a post partum world
I would have to clean your house
Make it livable for people who enjoy breathing
Vacuum up the cat hair, the dust, the cowardice
The stupidity, the wasted time and money
The same way I did to
Mine
In a post partum world what the poet said was true
the eyes of my eyes are open
And my days of being a party girl are
Over
But
My days of being a true bad ass
Are finally here
In a post partum world I
Insist you call me
Mame
I have earned it and I want it
My sheets are clean and crisp and they smell like
Spring
In this post partum world you broke
My heart
Shook my faith
Disappointed
Settled for less than is the splendor
Of
Me
In the this post partum world
I get up
Pull myself together
Take a deep breath
And go
On

I AM WAITING FOR THE POEM TO COME

I watch the elephant stuck in the
Bathtub
Read the words from my punk rock
Chef
DVR the daytime drama because I can’t stand the
Commercials
At work I watch the man across the parking lot fuck with the
Star struck girl
She has a thing for writer types
She says good-bye the way desperate women do
She wraps her arms around his neck
I am sure she has enough scent on to
Linger
If I draw him near and he smells my scent
He will realize he can’t live with out
Me
She is thinking
He will never remember her
He doesn’t remember me
He is unshaven and wrinkled and dirty and hopelessly
Out of touch
I watch from my window at work
I have stopped participating in such activities
I have become an adult with better things to do
They lure the elephant out of the bathtub with a bag of
Peanuts
The punk rock chef married another Sicilian
I watch the girl on the daytime drama
Wrap her arms around the man’s neck
Draw him close
I fast forward though the
Bullshit
And wait for the poem to
Come