one holy

one holy, totally dark night
when the crickets stopped
as wind gave out and chilly dew grew
under billowing clouds that moved low
i turned the lights down, then sat up to wait

not the car, nor the plants, nor the house
budged. air and matter, visible and unseen
were at one and waiting with me, quite still.
any picture, an motion would be conjecture
and there were none of these happening now

no music played, no words were spoken
the magic place was space unbroken
a motionless dance sans time unfolded
between eternity's alpha and omega
perfection and illusion smiled through me

perfection and the illusion of time

I'd just come in from the pond area where a couple of strangers are hiding out. M. had seen the migrant frogs in a brief scuffle this morning, diving, hiding and rushing through the flowers around the pond. Up to something.
Now I'll get along with today's poem.


you had to be there
to appreciate ten a.m.

when the bird clock chirped
a white-throated sparrow song

the coo-coo clock wooden bird came out
sang and then slammed the door

my grandparent's Seth Thomas chimed

the old wind-up on the metal fireplace mantle
gong-sounded the hour

the time illusion
had smiled for me

each part

each part of our planet
has a rhythm and theme
in Ohio it the seasons
incredible

winters frozen dead stiff
until spring begins anew
growing quickly from nothings
thrives in summer through harvests
fall is golden multicolored patterns
winter dead again, and so it spins

it is beyond man's abilities to
invent such magnificence
a sole creator came up with the idea?
it is a large complicated thought

i see why Greeks, Roman's and others
thought it took the efforts of a team
it is so much like a dream
life is but a dream
gently, gently down the drain . . . stream, i mean stream

Sad Day at Raintree

I posted a photograph yesterday and today it appears it should have been a wanted poster.

set a cold one up for me, Juliano
i have a sad story to tell you
and tell Jose to keep stumin' that guitar in the background

this was a tough day in Raintree
it began with last night's powerful downpour
now it looks like my partners all run
hit the highway, or the driveway
done sparkin' evidently
all three

this morning it looked
as if someone had sprayed the pond
with Frog-Be-Gone

as Juliano turned away
i said into my beer
"too bad fish don't have legs"

globalization

Globalization will do away with choice
one burger, one car, one house
nothing to decide, why should we complain?
it's less expensive to make it all the same

And why should it stop? with stem cell technology
one dog: part cat, part fish, part chicken
when you're done playing with it and teaching it tricks
you can eat it

five of us

five of us were there

each doing his or her best

three frogs sat unafraid

on opposing rocks

sunning north, south and west

around the pond

nearby meri was weeding

while i sat quietly reading

in the shade

we all stayed

to the end

none of us hopped away

above is a photo of one of us

sunday went for a

went for a traditional country breakfast
fifteen car miles
out in the Midwestern Rurals
very, very

pancakes and a lot of overweight people very, very
were there
in pairs, mostly
the cakes you can get individually

but many people
very, very
don't want to eat alone
the place, about empty when we got there
and by the time we left was packed
very, very

inside on the featured wall of the restaurant
is a grand colorful alter built to honor a son in the military
complete with a fireplace mantle
rather like a holiday theme
(this was June, and ok, that was made for a winter holiday, Christmas or Thanksgiving - but they had it the way they wanted it, so why mess with it, and it'll be winter again before you know it )
streaming yellow ribbons
two large photos of the lad and his family
and centered above it all
scribed on a large ornate plaque
the name, Sonny Boy

yellow ribbons - 1966 song by Tony Orlando and Dawn
Sonny Boy - America's first million seller - heard in the first talkie motion picture, Al Jolson 1928,

bon appetit

a big boat is in

there used to be ore boats
that came off Lake Erie
all the way into our little harbor
polite soldiers that dumped red iron ore
did an about-face and left
but times have changed
ore docks are gone

now a large vessel will creep silently into the mouth of our little river
dock alongside the plant
bringing lime stone to crush into dust
it pulls straight in
happy tugs help

just a low, town block away from us
the ships blast their horn
usually after midnight

so close, what a set of thermo explosive lungs,
the bellow splits the heavens
echoes into buildings, over roof tops
bouncing in low gargantuan, profound - window, wall and shelf shaking tones
as if the beast of New York harbor has come to roost here in Pumpkinville

so thunderous the call to people
who walk or drive down to see
(Hear Me! I am in your harbor!))
and we don't ever have to pay extra
for the excitement
to stand quivering
there on the river side
waiting in awe of the giant, breathless
as if it could pounce and eat us all

it unloads
then slips away
the monster is gone

traces of us

can you find what was
when we were here
on this earth?
what did we do
that remains?
did we make a dent?
and did you learn from our mistakes
or is it forgotten?

george carlin

i did try, but
never knew him in Hollywood
cause he wasn't looking for writers in '75
he wrote his own
(and rolled his own?)
made us think and laugh
clowns are fun
i believe he had a good heart metaphorically
although the one in his body was kinda crappy
he was 71

maybe we are

maybe we are
the last to know
nature

did you pave it,
fence and gate it?
put up lights and cameras
and toll takers

those a few hundred years ago
drank clear water from the streams
blinked and are gone now forever

yellow dog

run good fellow
yelp and twist the day away
in a hurry
going sideways
looking back and ahead
leaping for a bug
that flies too low
out of my way
where to go
a drink
and it slobbers
down your chin
long tongue
flapping
curl up and napping now
you old yellow dog

Sacred Mushroom

Long ago there was a coffee house that turned jazz bar on Saturday nights. This is a tribute to that wonderful place and to those that frequented the Sacred Mushroom.

there was just a night
under the light at the
bottom of the Sacred Mushroom
or many such that i recall

a place where every face
could music smell and taste
under dim lights on many nights
down stairs at the Mushroom

Warren tooled a Gretch
and cool Jimmie was there to fetch
whatever anyone was needing
beneath the street, the Mushroom

the sound was around the walls
and steady in jazz time
a lasting grace note falls
against this heart of mine

dark and turtlenecks prevailed
backed up by a drummer's beat
or trumpets sadly wailed
through the night, beneath the street

coming, going through the night
to play the king, or just a pawn
and Warren held them very tight
as oceans sang and night slipped on

when trombones went into a case
when piano became a yawn
i left the place, behind the bass
on foggy Sundays, right at dawn

continuing

in flashes of spaces i see
life continuing in a game on another level
sort of an eternal corporate promotion
into a mathematical position
with which we are not as yet familiar

the springer that sprung
need i say more
i just read a letter from my Auntie Dorthy
who mentioned Broken Arrow, Oklahoma
that's a little more immediate
at least i can get there from here

lonesome train

sorting from cardboard boxes
not much to pack
last look around, a check of the time
then closing the door
locking sadness within

going home before the weather changes
the fields . . . he liked the rain
there's time to reflect
while watching dark clouds out the window

heavy steel rolls hard and smooth
and before the long night is through
i may see the moon
glide over town, yes
soon, real soon

a guy with an apron, a little blue hat
and a smile comes pushing a cart
down the isle
selling coffee and water
the same guy a half hour ago
was selling sandwiches

roses bloom in the rain
love is the same
nothing ventured, nothing gained
you can say that again
watching it rain

i hear her sweet laugh
while handing me a photograph
the moon rising through the glass
reflects on her behalf

she's painted and she's pretty
pressed against the window pane
the lady from Kansas City
takes my mind off everything
she can ride with me any time
on any old lonesome train

a party

once we went to a party in Roma
a well to do neighborly affair
on a lovely terrace and view of the city
we met a young man there
just returned that day
from somewhere deep in Africa

he was a missionary and a hunter
on his way back to England
to raise money before going back
Hunting Rhinos for Christ
was what he called his campaign
and he was serious
i don't know how it came out
we never heard from him again

rain soaked and lovin' it

it was late afternoon
the tires screeched when i skipped to a stop.
rain soaked her wet as a rag as soon as she got out.
the second i felt the door slam and the car rock
she had already run to the office and disappeared
where it read "women's wellness center"

with the motor on and the heater purring like
a little kitten i was soon
nodding to the syncopation of the thunder with
the beat of the wipers kinda getting into this pitter-pat of the never ending rain
inside she was shaking him down," come on, candy man, i'm here
instead of getting my hair done so why don't you reach into that
bag of tricks and give me a sample of something to take the edge off."

five minutes later she was back in the car and told me, "let's go."
i edged out between headlights into the rainy night and headed toward the bridge
with a glance at her face in the rear view mirror i could see she had eased up a bit

just to be polite and make a little conversation i asked how it went
she gave one of those curled lip devil-may-care sneers, chuckled and then pointed with her chin, looking straight ahead
"step on it," she said

great blue heron - scout

a moment after dawn
out back in my laboratory
alongside the pond
i was examining four table legs

one was longer and needed to be trimmed, when
movement under the old sugar maple caught my attention
thirty feet away there in a crouch
the great blue heron stealthfully, slowly looked about

remaining still as the giant i watched through the glass
from behind closed door for nearly a minute
until he shuttered, spread his wings, rose in the air and fled the scene
with the only remaining disturbance being the knowledge of his presence

Note: The entire ten by fourteen foot pond has a "deer net" suspended two and a half feet over it and seems to protect the fish while allowing the frogs to come and go. On the posted picture of the heron from an earlier visit, notice the lily pads for size reference. They are about the size of pancakes. And when the heron lifts his head and stretches his neck he is about twice as tall.

be on the lookout
for this bird!

definitive relativity

i wondered aloud how those frogs
could be floating in the pond one moment
look up, and then instantly
leap atop a rock well above the water

hearing me,
in less than a heart beat
she gave the reply,
"they're superhuman"
and you know, she's right

so next time you're on your way
to the voting booth
consider the candidate's potential
and remember where we are
in the grand scheme of things

(vote green)