sweet dreams, my little ones

hey, be calm, relax
no need to kick and hold on tight
you probably won’t die of fright
tonight

when the time is right
you’ll softly elevate to the light
absolu-way-lutely out of sight
no kidding, now, nightie night

so without another peep
start countin’ sheep
shut your mouth
and go to sleep

Our collective intelligence
can be strengthened by individuality
not conformity.

answer

to resolve the troubles of the world
religion, money, government, greed, fear, hate, all of it
don’t unify against it,
although that seems the way, it isn’t,
act independently
not unified
that is it

start by slowing the programming
turn off the TV, the media
you’ll get plenty of media seeping in, don’t worry,
the internet can spread the ideas, that is good
but not the same thought and ideas
we’ll have 6.7 billion people walking around
thinking for themselves

David Icke has a lot of it right
but the answer is not a unified response against the evil
break the chains
by not thinking the same way
think independently
use your head

a change in the weather

yesterday In the final hour of afternoon
beyond, and just over the long road west
a giant red sun, larger than I’d ever seen her
waiting, hanging like a swollen planet Jupiter
poised for going down

i paused my car in the parking lot to see her
like a girl set for glamour, she wanted to be seen,
and now I know I’ve seen one of the best
a Goliath, placid and serene

then this morning
what surprise do i log
but a blanket, the complete cover
thick and heavy, dawn’s pearly fog

Ohio Sweet Corn

way back
a’ fore's born
Ohioans crowed
‘bout their corn

folk’s different,
albeit dull to bright,
but Ohio sweet corn
they got that right



that damn sweet corn, clap your hands
damn sweet corn, damn sweet corn
sweet corn, sweet corn
oh, man, they got that right
(repeat and fade)

town in my head

the old town’s in my head
or so my wife said
and looking around
i tend to believe her

cause it isn’t all here
like the market that was there
where is it now?
gone, i can’t see it

the pressed tin ceiling, wide wood floors,
tall shelves, the old doors,
a large revolving fan,
the man wiping his hands on his apron?

there locals gathered
to talk while they shopped
amid the chatter
stories were swapped

over the years changes were made,
so where did they go
the kids and the folks
that i can hardly remember?

now, even the lot’s vacant
but that was the corner
that had the store
that is no more, except what’s in my head

generations have said the same

enough, I’ve had enough
generations have said the same
more than likely it is true,
before you slap yourself on the back
look around

greed and war
the world has dummied down
we’re not alone
I know it is so , I remember
so do you

running the hundred faster
doesn’t raise the bar for intelligence
listen to our athletes speak,
watch TV with attention if you have no strength to turn it off,

how long before you are
text messaging before the accident
everybody’s talking
who will listen?

USS PROVIDENCE

In 1969 while serving as a Navy Journalist on the staff of Admiral Bernard F. Roeder Commander First Fleet aboard his Flagship USS PROVIDENCE out of San Diego I wrote a US Navy published book of poetry complete with wonderful photographs taken by Photographer Lt. Marc Schuman. Although I have copies of the poetry, I carelessly lost my only copy of the book. The following is one bit of poetry that brings to mind memories of that time.

rolling
in all
weather

seas
go on
forever

my niece had a baby

my niece had a baby
well she still has it
it was born today
that’s how she got it,
the conventional way

now you know everything,
that’s as much as i know
except that she’s a girl.
now, will she smile
when she says great uncle?

village evening report

checking from our front step I feel a slight breeze out of the South,
in the East an oval, vertical-egg moon hangs, with blurry Mars to the right,
a few houses away at the corner an occasional car passes,
slightly left of the moon, two hundred yards from my door, a barge dredges the river
with constant engine hum and a soft horn blast every few minutes
and that woeful musical note echoes along the river.
sixty-six degrees at nine this Thursday evening
with ten thousand crickets, then a distant passing train horn,
while inside our home the sound of clocks ticking
accompanys the muffled turning of the barge engine,
and we’ll read until bedtime.
that’s this evening’s small village report

piano heartbreak

eighty-eight years
well alert and knowledgeable
she studied in Europe for over twenty with a student
of a student
of Franz Liszt
first a pianist in concert
now in lesson
as i sat
performing a bit of flourish i added
to “constellation” by Mendelssohn
“jack,” she smiled touching my hand
and causing it to pause,
“you cannot improve upon the masters”

and what a heartbreak that must have been
for her to leave the lights and the continent
to end up in our lame little town
instructing second rate kids like me,
young and reaching to change and grow,
leaning forward into the newness of the future

military scientists

to evaluate their possible use in defense applications
military scientists launched a battery of tests on the intelligence
of elephants, because everyone knows they are smart.

a final group of twelve animals selected from around the world
were flown to an undisclosed military base
for complete mental exams.

the elite dozen pachyderms were ushered into a classroom
where it took four days to get them seated at their desks
before testing could begin.

expenditures for the nearly month long project
were in excess of eleven million dollars
and a whole train load of peanuts.

the end result was, yes they were smart,
but could not shoot rifles
as they have no thumbs.

heaven's command

the crunching of empty freight train cars
backing into each other,
with no metal tearing, just boom, boom, ka-boom
was thirty-five liters of leftover August thunder
poised to tumble, then poured out at dawn,
over my head onto the bed,
in gusts of twisting dry wind without rain
drenching with
just noise this time
for all it shouted,
bidding wake up,
get going,
a slap across the cheek
good morning

long ago old faces

old faces in the echo bar
wept and laughed
all worn, wrinkled and tainted
looking into quarter beers on tap
or blended whiskey and water
sons and daughters
making visions for each other
about where they used to be
their living is courageous
their strokes are bold
paint them with thick lines
and somber colors
or what have you
they won’t mind

writers beware, you hear!

no email submissions accepted
don’t even try, Fancy Pants
cause if we get one from you
a guy will drive slowly around and round where you live
sunk way down in the vehicle
only the top of his head visible
wearing dark glasses and a hat pulled low
yeah, kind ‘a like the Blues Brothers
only not funny and extremely ugly,
then we’ll think poorly of you all day and night

so forget about making email submissions
we’d rather chop a tree, use paper, stamps and mail carriers,
we’ll get into the Twenty-First Century
when you can wipe your butt digitally,
when we damn well feel like it
and not a year before

bring back the pony express!
and use glue often!

witnesses

we saw two birds
driving down the road
well, we were driving
they were flying,
I said two crows, she said one
and a spotted red tail hawk,

witnesses
see what they can ,
see what they did
say what they see
but don’t always see as it was

a child of less than two

a child of less than two
and so attentive
that i gave his hand a pencil
to observe how inventive
the golden boy really was

kneeling on the chair
at our table
he pulled the paper under hand
and make it stable

looking me deep
in the eye
i sensed his mind unable
to say the thoughts
i knew he was thinking

then with a swift stroke
he made a mark at random
just a line
not definite or clear

without so much as looking
it seemed to me he knew
that there was no need
to continue the line he drew

and then we both were
somehow together in our way
he knew, and i too, that he
would learn to draw some other day

on the tracks

it’s not easy to tell, but it happened
when I was growing up in our village
there was a most likable kid everyone admired
his dad was a well liked preacher, and passed away,
one night on the kids birthday
the town was shocked to learn
the boy’s mom knelt down on the railroad tracks
before a train, and let it take her life
the tragedy deeply saddened all

now many years later i had returned to the town
never saw him around, but heard he was still was there
leaving in his same family home,
our house now was right around the corner,
he was a well liked kid when i knew him
though i never looked him up, i thought of him
and hoped to see him around

then one day i heard that the night before
the eve of his birthday
fifty years later to the day
when he knelt down
on the same spot on the tracks
where his mother died
and let a train take his life,
we don’t see on the outside
what one bares on the inside

green & alone or hard over stone

of two places I live
both places give
light, and to paint
oh, it is the light

Ohio, place of one home
same latitude north as Rome
so the light is the same
every day, every season

I choose light with green,
secluded and serene
or life crowded and quick
over stone and old brick

poetry al fresco

plant the seed
when weather’s fair
for poetry al fresco
under shade trees in nature,
taking inspiration
with someone dear

on a soft summer blanket
a wine glass to your lip
as sweetly you drank it,
slowly you sip
softly you touch
again, slowly you sip
and share warm embrace,
now, don’t drink too much

the wild scent of an apple
as sweetly you nibble
from the hand of the one who is dear
from the dear one at hand
from the one headed deer
deer?
hey, that’s a deer!
There’s a whole flock of ‘em!
grab the basket, let’s get out of here!