wooden ship sailors

wooden ship sailors
worked with creak and mast
on yawning, stretching hulls
amid thump and mallets

if only these men could spend
but a brief anachronistic moment
with today’s steel fleet
in dry dock

the sanding, poundings
would be cutting agony
leaving men begging to tend
the quiet luff of any canvas

spider

oh my god
i heard her cry
what is it, call i
coming to the screen door

do you want to see
the biggest spider in the world?
i said yes dubiously
and cautiously went near

i looked and nodded it was true
yes, I saw it, large, fat and ugly,
as she used her shoe
to smear it to smithereens

believe me, you didn’t
want to be there,
this poem, like the spider
has a smashing ending

Master Waterer

i swear
i shall
uncoil the hose
the extreme length
tote it to place

for when the dainty little misses is away
it is I the Master in charge
splashing, near drowning
the greenery at large

no lollygagging laggers or blithering blunders
are tolerated when Master Waterer
has absolute command
all hands keep clear, stand aside
out of the way or the outrage you’ll dread

my charge is this garden
now water on full, full i tell you
on that i insist,
do as i say

i guess that means me
for i am the crew,
clearing my head
coming out of the mist,
whew

i’ll just do as she said
so she doesn’t get pissed

a lengthy swift sloop

a lengthy swift sloop at sail at sea
with half a breeze and half a sun as you man her
nowhere to go and no call to go
just time to set far back
look up to the tall sturdy mast
as nylon sails snap
to the occasional wind’s lick

the ocean spits bits of water
back and forth over the bow
with a gentle lift the shore is visible
then a recline and the shore is gone
another lift and the long, low line of land is there again

no need for a shirt with warm air rushing over you
and your hair twisted and thrown and dampened by spray
a red neck feels good and a tan face
makes it better to have lived this way

strong hands hold the ship to a meandering course
from nowhere
in particular
and back again

i have no need to worry

I have no need to worry
my fortunes all behind me
this is what I have
and I’m sharing it with you

I wrote the Magna Carta
the sky I painted blue
you’ll always be another,
god sleeps at night with you

steel hauled on rail
sent from man to man
the California grey on sail
to southern waters under sun

water cycles from air to sea through me
one night I made it rain
you are written in nature’s melodies,
do you know that you remind me?

I hear the distant running dogs bark
and choose not to run again,
by this means I remain this person
and you are able to run the way you do

the sun is running

after full summer running high
the ecliptic meridian of the sun winds lower
you can see by lengthening shadows
nature knows the hour

fewer kids are heard calling
on bikes to the beach at break neck speed
school is upon ‘em, they won't get away,
they're not fast enough, to outrun the calendar

now animals are changing habits
they know the change of seasons
though many young have never experienced
what’s bred in them

when beyond the summer arch
the sun creeps on toward fall
even we take notice
cause it’s all familiar

and with luck we’ll see more
just keep riding the big blue sphere,
do note how quickly summer flashes, dances,
running, passing with another year

Flooded In India

one million people
to get their feet out of water,
families, women and children
need clean water to drink
eat some food
have dry clothes

this morning i got up early
and after a swim
went out for breakfast
had pancakes, eggs and coffee
my friend drove
we talked of the Olympics
our pals and old times
he spoke of fall football
how well his favorite team would do
then home on the Internet
i cracked into the news and the mail
weather is pleasant, the august sun
falls kindly on me
while deep i felt again
pangs of the world
and paused in thought

6.7 billion people
the Internet linking us
what can we do?
stay on high ground
hope for the best
be kind to others
we’re in for the test
survival of our ways
isn’t easy
it's all of us,
in this
sea of troubles

one million people
flooded in India
more than a headline

village

having moved away, I’m now back
in the town pokey to change,
when a guy i grew up with
i meet up with again just today

we were kids together,
never ran in the same crowd,
he’s two years older,
but, of course, knew each other

he volunteered to catch a troublesome groundhog
came over immediately,
wouldn’t take money for the job well done,
there were smiles and a handshake

not a lot of words, not a lot of questions,
nothing to prove, no points to be made,
we get along just fine,
i know him, he knows me, always have

sure time has passed,
we've lived our years apart,
but life, you see, just goes like that,
in this pokey little village where we got our start

listening to the plant roar

listening to the plant roar
not a green one with flowers
this giant grinds limestone
everyday, twenty-four hours

and a lady wrote to the newspaper
how she enjoys the smoke beacon
to guide her way home
what’s she been drinking?

she must live upwind and far,
doesn’t sleep with windows open
or care about white dust on her car
that’s how she’s copin’

so i learn she’s the PR person
paid to do the speaking,
grease for the opinion wheels
quells common sense squeaking

Old Words

old words
once spoken
lie in a box
unbroken by the years
they have slept

when in a while
ever seldom
i peer inside to
gather up a sheet

the random ink again
forms recognizable thoughts
that long time past were
a part of me

they now awake a sleeping spot
inside, and as i am looking
it returns to fill me

i feel the warmth
and hear the laughter
and lightly drift
away...

but just as quickly
i close the lid
recover the box and
the sheets i’ve hid

for time has past me
in layers deep
and thoughts in the box
will once again sleep

Mojave

beyond city walls
ancient and still
a low desert calls
“dare come, if you will

i’m old and i kill
i rot with dry heat
my winds can chill
my winds can beat”

on small tracks from near
leading to nowhere
the endless is here
timeless, i stare

yet this wonder grows
stretching on scorched white sand,
at dusk the winds blow
to torment the land

sun rays cannot keep
amber yields to blue
and as the blue goes deep
evening again lives new

with wind softly faded
a hush rises thick
the desert is shaded
darkness runs quick

cacti and joshua trees
scorpion and lizard
dry without breeze
stars are a blizzard

the moon becomes lamp
probing its light
moving over the camp
watching eyes in the night

all silence broke
in one animal shout
then spirits awoke
to wander about

the mystic dark hours
are hiding a treasure
secrets and powers
in sands beyond measure

a sky jewel gleamed
across the desert floor
the morning, it seemed,
had bolted the door

“i’m secret to the ancients,
i’m caretaker to the ages,
beauty and patience
are words for my pages”

long hypnotic waves in motion

long hypnotic waves in motion
children play, birds will run
loving my Pacific ocean
at the shore, in the sun

walking through the long deep pull
reaching water to my thighs
crashing, breaking under seagulls
white wings soaring, summer skies

the water blue, and sand that’s white
run together beyond my sight
holding one against the other
one is son, one is daughter

here’s a balance for the world
each upholds the others space
one is still, one is swirled
both entwined in cosmic pace

age

You feel, act, look, sleep,
move, talk, dress and think
just like a star.

But seriously now,
if you didn’t know when you were born
what age would you think you are?

after writing a while
talked to my wife
was sitting when i pointed
and meant to say ceiling
instead i said sky
of course i know why

a simple reason
like thistles and rabbits
thrive with old habits
it’s most likely, you see,
working with poetry
does that to me

at sea

ivory skies
flat and boundless
nowhere near anything
we can see
our wake
trailing
as a puppy
in wheat
sun fades
a day
complete

meager thanks

for the first thought and the last dot of light
for the rain and the grain turned from the earth
for the intelligible speech, the perceptible sound and the colored sight
for the lasting sleep, the multifaceted life and the miracle of birth

for the total that has been set forward
for the mystery of what lies hidden
for the wisdom yet to be heard
for the sum of all that is written

for the total beginning
for the complete end
for all that is given
our meager thanks we lend

As Leamington Feels

our first time on the water since
ocean crossing on Isadora with Captain Z.
a small car ferry took us 27 miles
across glassy, flat Lake Erie
to Leamington, Ontario for the Tomato Festival
signs advertised Mexican, Mennonite or Chinese food

walking the town we entered the culture center
oddly, a building entrance that reminded us
of the center in Porto, Portugolo
inside was a small Heinz museum display
honoring the company begun in 1875,
which came here in 1909
ke-tsiap a spicy pickled fish condiment
of 17th century China,
keh-tsiap in Cantonese, may be
the origin of the name,
a lesser and unlikely possibility
like ford naming the Edsel after his son
but Heintz never had a daughter named Ketchup

we went to a place called “Restorante Mexican”
for terrible food, not easy to do,
but the mexicana owner had absolutely no ability to cook
wasn't people friendly, the place was up for sale
we missed that indicator

driving behind a black pickup with
a beige propeller on the back bumper
the center bolt was loose so the two blades hung straight down,
it was like following a well-hung barn animal

we tried a diner that reminded us of John Belushi
and a sketch on Saturday Night Live,
whatever the customers wanted they were talked into
a cheeseburger and a Pepsi,
this diner served only tacos and soft drinks
but very, very good
chicken or beef, soft drink or water

in the park the eve before the festival
a gifted young singer sang through his nose,
what a shame, he had great tone and musical phrasing
and could be truly great with help

the morning of the tomato parade our time was up
for this most interesting change of pace,
boarded the ferry this sunny warm day
and came back tired

Nouvelle cliff

in a modern open commercial space with a lot of glass
there were some escalator things,
large open boxes, waist high,
moving up and down, one floor to the next

at the top of one floor looking around
not knowing if i’m going up or down,
i don’t remember,
it wasn’t important

looking to my right, i am on
the side of a soaring flat stone cliff
with a length of rope nearly the diameter of my wrist,
i needed to tie a bowline to climb safely,

it was almost my turn, i was going next,
looking up about a half mile the others
were hanging under an overhang
three or four in a line, climbing up

then M’s there, and wants to climb too,
that strikes me as odd, i know she doesn’t like heights,
and right now it doesn’t appeal much to me either,
that’s when the neighbor's dog barked and i woke up

County Fair

we saw the youngsters
showing their sheep
a slight girl of ten, ready
to walk her sheep into the ring,
was near tears,
holding them back somehow

is she okay?
her mother answered,
said in the first round of the showing
the 220 pound sheep made a turn, knocked her down
and stepped on the 90 pound girl

i looked in the eyes of the stiff-lipped girl,
as she readied to go back in the ring
to show her animal a second time,
she seemed tense, sad, maybe somewhat worried,
but determined to finish the thing

frog statues

i was idle-knocking around when
M. called me out to the pond
i haven’t seen them for days
where are they? she pointed

on rocks at opposite ends they sat,
M. sprayed one with a hose, it didn’t blink
we croaked to get them started, herb, herb, errb
they remained gothic frozen in stony silence

hey, here they are here, there i mean,
right there in the pond, we saw them,
but play time is over for this year.
so long for now, Herb, croak with you later