flew in fast

a bird flew in fast,
landed on a wire
and wiggled to perch there,
as the wire bounced a lot

didn’t look easy, looked dangerous
considering how high up, how far the fall
how embarrassing it would be,
I’d say that bird was skillful

and you’d say,
aw, that’s nothing.
oh, really?
well, you try it


Addendum & Errata -

Why me worry?
So, I spend time worrying if I should use three stanzas in four lines, or three stanzas in three lines. This sort of thing can use two or three hours of my time, maybe several days. Not all at once, of course. I have to worry a while, then walk around and do something else, then come back and nothing has changed so I worry some more. Hey, I do my best, take my time, and worry when it doesn't feel right. For me feeling is what it's all about.

bury me deep

bury me deep in your heart
draw me faintly without a face
make soft lines far apart
keep me hidden without trace

use colors bright as autumn
in lighting right, no doubt
when you near completion smile easy
leave some space to sign me out

have i told you

have i told you
you make me smile
in oh so many ways,
dear silly thing

from morning’s dew,
each long day through
you are the dream
of my heart

i can hold you
let me enfold you,
please, be the one,
dear love of mine

poetry au jus

sample poetry au jus
whipped up fast and free
add a dash of rhyme
simmer all slowly

pitter-pattering like the rain
keep from dribbling down your chin
add a spoonful for your brain
remember, use your napkin

you may have to use a straw
if it starts to run too loose
above all, don’t get any on you, it makes a tasty stain
you silly goose

call to the past

In an out of the way small town restaurant I noticed a fellow at another table having breakfast and when he stood up something about his long face and old jacket reminded me of Kit Carson. I’d recently seen a picture of Carson on the Internet.

Doc Holiday, then Annie Oakley and Buffalo Bill, the Earps, the James, the Clantons, a whole string of names began to run through my head. I sipped coffee and looked through the window toward a field and wooded area beyond as my mind skipped along like a blowing tumbleweed.

listen to the roar of their guns
on the plains
in my head
something i know about
from something i’ve read
of the Sackets, then Gus and Cal

and the real heroes of their time
when cowboys roamed the plains,
trains ran new on the long way west,
Indians had freedom, straight arrows and power,
Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse and Geronimo

slow rolling wagons carried settlers over ruts
as buffalo roamed through clouds of dust,
bound by rawhide, rope and dime novels,
bittersweet on a tough line
camp fires to build, meals to fix
new trails opened, then road upon
to wherever the river or next mountain valley leads

their lonely song - a mournful lullaby
song by cowpokes, scouts and others,
names like Bowie, Boone and Crocket, Williams,
Stevens, Whitman, Tabor, Bonneville,
Sacajawea, Carson, Pike, Fremont,
Smith, Clark, Lewis, Colter, Hickok
Annie Oakley and Calamity Jane

legends
one and all
live on in memory and yarns
thanks to fine story tellers like Louis L’amour
and Larry McMurtry

along with other names on those trails,
carved in trees, scratched on stone,
spinners of the tales,
told over open fires on starry nights
weavers of the dreams
that keep them
rolling on in our minds and along through the old west

Z. and caring

Captain Z. was in town
we left his freighter in Cleveland
and brought the Polish Captain home with us
that night we Skyped Poland,
a visual conference call with his wife and son
as we sat around the table and talked
oh, technology

first thing in the morning
October crisp day began
She’s working in the garden already, Z. said
no, I replied, this is not work for her
though it appears so and She does it everyday
it is caring, She is caring for the plants.
if there is justice in the heavens,
the plants appreciate and are loving her as well

why didn't i notice?

why is major media
biased, controlled, blind and out of mind with us?
they speak so hard,
what happened to education? what happened?

should I get a tattoo, and pierced,
wear hats backwards,
then yell kick butt,
cause we’re number one?

did i grow up around such fear,
violence hatred, stupidity and complacency?
was it because i was young and busy
that i didn’t notice us crumble?

luck runs

luck runs with you or against
it follows in life’s clatter
how you take it or leave it
really doesn’t matter

at times you seem to hear it
or it comes silent on the wind
when good arrives we’re happy
the other we’d rescind

since good and bad both happen
try not to let it matter,
for it often turns to good, you see
or perhaps the latter

diamonds in her hair

one at a time,
each step she takes,
diamonds in her hair
there ought’a be

her gracious swings
for all the would-be kings,
moon light talkers on the sideline
you know there’d be

it’s sweet beings like her
that comfort dreams
for many men like me, every time
or so it seems

delicious lips
unveiled in smiles
somewhere
I want to be

Canadian Geese

black and white on the field of cut corn
amid apparent disorder
they walk in circles, rest and feed a bit
some chatter among them
until well after dawn they at once rise off the ground

swiftly crossing cold morning sky, sailing strong and fine
onward flapping in V-formation,
hear their calls when they pass
overhead as large wings beat
Canadian geese on flight so grand

bailout 3

You can't convince me that Congress really knows what they are voting on.

Individuals are getting a quick explanation from someone they trust and hope it's the right thing to do.

Why can't they take more time to figure this out? Hundreds of billions is a lot of money.

bailout 2nd try

Congressman Ron Paul is against the bailout.
I believe in Congressman Ron Paul.
When has anything been thought out well
in a week? Even my crappy little poetry
usually takes longer than that.

protect and serve

in little towns they hide
and wait to trap
oncoming cars may flash their lights
to alert you

i thought my friend was paranoid
when he told me about it
beads of sweat on his forehead
he seemed nervous

they sit secluded day after day
in different spots
on corners, behind tall bushes
hiding low in their squad cars

you can see the top of their heads
they sit with sun glasses on
watching for you to slip up
so they can nail your ass

and maybe they ought to
you probably deserve it
and, anyway
they need the money

not a dry well

it’s not a dry well.
they gathered around the hole
there was nothing much to see
so they stood around

five or six guys chatting anxiously
the women on the porch talkin’ over tea
what do you mean, not dry?, one asked
we’re only down sixty-five feet, it’s moist

it’s going to take a while
i think eighty at least before we hit water
we have to check the bit and see if it’s okay
that’s some hard rock we’re going through

the rains are gone for now
he turned his collar against the chill wind,
the dog lifted it’s chin a sniffed the air
as the drill started up again

before October

here, two days before October
dark green frog Herb sits
under the board that crosses the pond,
he’s quiet, but okay
collecting thoughts

haven’t seen him for a month
although I’ve looked every day
must be the season to lie low,
has another month before hibernation
so I think, but I don’t know

seconds before sundown

river gulls soared toward the lake,
crossing low overhead as last low rays
flashed white bellies and orange beaks golden
in the final light of setting sun

the picture in these words nabbed the blink and sheen
of that few seconds, gliding brilliant light,
a glint like polished steel, fencers thrusting
before the background, sorrowful gray autumn sky

through every season

this morning i went out in a light jacket when M. called to me
she found a dead frog lying outside the pond,
probably an inexperienced cat got it,
tried to eat it, then left it,
though tasty cooked, in the wild they’re notoriously bad cuisine

the victim was either Herb's girl friend, or a light rain traveling stranger,
our frogs have been out of sight for a month.
and so, in sadness, begins the advent of fall in Ohio,
with Roma around the next corner
and spring – a long winter away


(the Lord giveth
and a cat taketh away)

a quick call

just before cell phones i was
by the wharf in san Francisco,
ten in the morning, had to make a quick call to my agent,
as i was getting out of the phone booth
a guy appeared out ‘a nowhere, average looking guy

he wasn’t waiting for the phone
but came right up, crowded by the door so i couldn’t exit,
inches from my face, and said rather hard
“if I had a gun i could ‘a shot you.”
then he walked quickly away

i was stunned by the threat,
yelled, “Hey!” at him, he kept going,
now, years later i remember that
nut and wonder if he
ever got a gun

bailout

Bush tells us in a serious urgent tone he needs
seven hundred billion by this weekend . . . right . . .
let me get my checkbook
how will this help the regular people?

was that war money or loaning money you need this time?
what kind of parachute is that? explain a bit
if i run my business into the ground,
who's going to bail me out?

I know this is beyond my usual lines of poetry but anytime nearly three-quarters of a trillion dollars is on the table, i get a little out of sorts.

modern times

who would have imagined
we'd have to line up and
take off our shoes
before we board an airplane?

it sounds like something
someone's grandmother came up with,
she should have kept to knitting
they don’t frisk our socks, as yet,

we’ll see how it goes,
it may be next, wanna bet?
then you’ll have to spread your toes
and shake out the rug
to get a glass of milk and a cookie,
how's that sound?
or maybe get on a scale naked
and buy your ticket by the pound