additive walk

on narrow cobblestone ways
a November dark day
under my feeble umbrella
held against strong gusts

bought sugar, salt and virgin oil
they gave me change and a plastic bag
forgot to bring my own, and was lucky,
some stores charge for plastic bags

then homeward, i glanced into well lit shop interiors
where waiting well dressed workers looked out,
chaos seemed subdued
by wet afternoon darkness

a drenched shrieking girl passed on a bicycle
moving too fast in heavy rain
though she tried she didn’t fall, i didn’t look,
i was busy taking a step at a time, she shrieked again

do you get less wet moving quickly
or by going slowly in a downpour?
this I considered while avoiding puddles
and the missing cobblestones on my way home

i didn’t forget my keys, so I got in easily
but the light was out in the hall,
made it to the store and back,
overall, i must have had a ball.

forgot butter

in the realm

often reflections are from light in the rain,
developing traits are reactions
some things are to be worked on
others, left alone, unfold in time

worry is for amateurs who make messes
while concern is kin to concentration
read, talk and listen, calmly evaluate
tend your affairs like a garden, as best you can

the media provides answers always later, not sooner
they report the news, not make it
life has ebb and flow
like water, finds the way in time

wheels turning

take off your shoes and belt,
walk through the big magnet thing,
can’t bring my own water, buy theirs?
wheels turning, spinning, line up again?
like a mill, an engine
it’s me thinking, or feeling like
I’m flying
could be doing nothing
eat and sleep, wait and see
change planes, what happens,
read and sleep,
I should get there,
tomorrow

chronicle of the leaves

wear a cap as they come,
bud, shoot out, green,
unfold, form, stretch, flex,
hang tight in rain’s glory

limber, develop, mature, flutter,
toss your cap high as they change,
turn, yellow, expire, dry, orange, surrender,
spill. tumble, repel, watch them go,

bow you head, as they depart,
cascade, drop, coast, float, descend
say a word for all as they lie there,
wither, roll around, crumble and rot

Paradox - some places have poetry on or coming out of them

some places have poetry on or coming out of them
i’ve found them by carefully examining small beach stones,
under trees and near water, on forgotten notes in the pockets
of jackets i haven’t worn for a while,

on city streets, especially at corners,
in crowded stores when the music’s not too loud
or on buses, on hot days or in rain or snow.
when gears shift and someone is directing traffic,

i feel it when i’m there, later, or passing by
no telling why it is so, a fireplace helps,
the coffee shop when the dream starts, or birds fly
a cloud tilts a certain way, how the waitress
places the menu down and walks
already a block away in her mind,

the touch of polished old hand rail
while taking a soft carpeted stair
and the colors like a painting,
a landscape i once saw in a book,
that reminds me of
some place i want to be

hello bob

hello old bob evans without music
we’re back in style
did you miss us? we just put in our order
how much oatmeal can i eat
before i turn into one myself?

i’m a day behind on louis l’amour
no, i finished him, i forgot
i’m in china now, literally, that’s right
living with a mother and daughter in a detention camp
and enjoying the cultural revolution
well, i am enjoying the story that is.
breakfast i’ll enjoy when it gets here

tuesday i fly to Roma
it’s than time again, so soon
later that usual, how quickly it arrives
the faster it goes, the slower we get
Roma is old, and I’m getting there myself
well, I’m not flying, the plane is

dead fish

a fish died in our pond today
the first to go in eight years or so
not a floater, lying on the bottom
on his side, all alone

i scooped him out
laid him in the garden
and said words of goodbye,
he was white, formerly orange

i call it him
instead of it or she
don’t know why
surely doesn’t matter

the next day he was gone
don’t think he resurrected
something recycled him for dinner
so some good came out of it

last night

last night i slept floating
in a powdered soup mixture
of dream and train whistles
stirred once or twice
by wind in the trees
a creaking somewhere in the house
and a neighbor's running-barking dog

as last all became quiet
and very, very still
until grey cracked open by dawn
panned out as morning

leaves end

the fall colored foliage
fluttered then fell today
in a breeze
and all together
a veritable blizzard of gold

leaves that swirled around
blowing with a crinkling sound
fell in as thieves thick on the ground
now to rake the gold, clean the eaves,
but this gets old, by then it’s cold, geeze

brushing teeth

I am surprised how many times someone discovers this site by searching the Internet to find a poem about brushing teeth. This is a link to one of mine. One of mine? Who am I kidding? It's not as if I have six more stuffed under the mattress. It's one poem. A little one and it just happens to be about brushing teeth.

i'd love

i’d love to love you
a few weeks would do
to give my heart
but hold some back

could upset you, i suppose
can make you laugh, fix things
and will eat anything
we’d be happy, have fun

of course nothing would get done
soft touches, cold lunches
and warm smiles,
time simply divine

although, instead, if you’ll be my friend
no hearts will be broken
no wrongs need we mend
i’ll dream of the ocean

you go read a book
do your own thing
we’ll talk like sister and brother
although if you have time

call when you feel like
and i’ll come do you
up one side the block
and down the other

soft night train

no screeching last night in quiet light wind
the train was someone in grandma’s slippers
sliding along the linoleum kitchen floor
hardly going anywhere 

and the whistle was not a blaster
instead it gave soft puffs
like puh, with a long breath between the next muh,
mah, ma, as if needed to be picked up and cuddled

barack

a world class, educated man with loving family,
a cultural reflection of the JFKennedy era
Barack for all the people,
calling in truth and reason

he is spark to ignite hope
lain dormant long years,
to turn us away from hate and fear,
toward renewal of the glory days of America

American Dollar Pie

gas over four, now nearing two
I mean say wait - until election day
they’re not through, it’s gu gu candy, sudden death,
how fast can you chew? rots your teeth, hold your breath
dollar pie, can you sling it, do you have the move?
they’ll tap your phone, wait for what’s next,
can you say charge it? you’re the wrong sex, fair enough?

friends line up
get a little spillover of 700 bill
new car, new house up, up on the hill,
or a simple five star month hanging out
on rich man’s island in the tropics,
unlimited mai tais, hula girls included,
plus other unnamed topics
disclosure deluded
member f.d.i.c.

big three bailout

older, thinner and wiser now?
my new jeans have an ass but I don’t
and i can't get my belt tight enough
our thirteen year old Geo squeaked
until we tightened the belt and still
get forty-five miles to the gallon-city,
more than belts, sometime
tightening hurts, leaves welts
there are 50,000 automotive jobs
in the state of Alabama alone,
the Southern belt is squeaking
how many times did America indicate
it wanted more economical vehicles?
we didn’t buy in North or South Korea
I guess Ford had a better idea

in the end

writer Studs Turkel , age 96
champion of the little guy
worked in Chicago where over forty rounds
from an assault rifle went off in an apartment
a boy aged two was shot in the head
both are dead

learning curves

in schools they teach more, earlier
today's kids take after their mothers
and is it from drinking too much milk
that makes some dumber than udders?

lost time

we drove through the city
on a long, slow straight line
where traffic lights were timed
so we had to stop every block

testing brakes, trying raggedy nerves
I cruised on cigarette time, an estimate
of the number I could have smoked,
enough lost time it may have been a ufo abduction

phone book racket

do they think we wait for the new ones to arrive?
is a forest a year cut for paper?
hey, buddy, need a phonebook?
i have twelve already, thanks

most people use phone books once
to see if their name is in there
the bored or forgetful may check often
you know someone is making money on this.

major web site

at major company web sites
often a pop-up ad fills the screen
there is always an option to skip the ad
how many people watch the ad?

who pays for the pop-up ad?
and how stupid do we really think they are?
even if researchers say one of every seven watches the ad
that one who watches - they don’t want

fix it

fix the house
look around
there’s more to do
when you have it tight
you’re thinking what’s next

buy another house
you’ll fix that too
they fix everything but the great pyramid
probably fix that too, She said,
they just don’t tell anybody

IMPORTANT

this is important, computer stuff – the wireless is out
when I told her She departed the room
to do less boring and more meaningful
things with her life

re-did everything, wireless is way gone
computer friend says get an new external card
no waiting factory to send internal card, bought card,
didn’t fit, rewrapped very crushed box and returned it

computer friend says remove plastic drawer out then card fits
back to store, bought card second time - install disc no run
Koko thought cd driver g- g-g-gone
found tape g-g-g-glue on cd disc, cleaned it with alcohol

threw away plastic drawer, card fit
reinstalled card, let’s have a beer
kickback and listen to the radio, mate
on the wireless Internet

fall in my eyes

I was reading on the title on my blog
hah, everyday life indeed, you tell me
is there any such thing?

another thing - fall mornings start slower
don’t know why the sun keeps away like that
but let me tell you something, this Internet goes to the Southern Hemisphere
Australia, New Zealand, etc, I don’t have to name them
so they’re getting into summer - incredible

And, hey, we saw snow last night, just bits, and some sleet
i couldn't think of that word in English,sleet, it's that time of year
my Italian brain opens for business

window to the rains

through the large maple tree
I nearly ride on clouds flying in the moonlight
where they ought to be

and thinking the Captain is taking Isadora for
a nice freighter ride to southern Spain
and I didn’t go along, I was bumbling around
while their plans were in the air
and now they’re going to Barcelona
from there I could have taken an overnight ferry to Civitavecchia – neigh on to Roma, only fifty kilometers by train

it is so clear in retrospect, but it wasn’t that way before
and I didn’t want to leave Her at home alone for two months
although it would have been a vacation for both of us
it’s like looking into a mirror and right is turned to left
only I didn’t know what was right
and I never left

number you are calling . . .

I left a comment on Tom's blog about voting. A minute later the phone rang.

"Relax Sweetheart," I sweetly sang to her, "I'll get it. Do have some chocolate, Dearheart." I want to make this dialogue as true to life as possible in case this report is picked up by a major news service and circulated around the globe, uh . . . and the call could be something very important, maybe it's Tom thanking me for . . .uh, something ...

"Hello, Jack residence, Jack speaking. May I be of some assistance to you in your endeavors?"
No Tom on the line, shit. It is an Ohio official, I forget which one, calling in support of issue five. He was a recording anyway and was already speaking as I was still answering, that's how I knew it was a recording - so I couldn't tell him I voted yesterday.

I hung up, relieved I suppose, one less thing to do. Day complete, I can read now. Three seconds later the phone rings again. Phone defect? Should I answer? I pick it up because this could be very important. I don't say anything, I listen because he's already talking. I don't recognize the voice. It's a certain presidential candidate calling, another recording. Uh, I didn't vote for him anyway. I voted for change. I prefer the younger man. We have enough old farts in Washington.

days from November

near icy fast rain came cold on the wind
stirring then tossing tree’s colored leaves
beating yards, houses, fields and the road
so cold, it’s that time again

welcoming change seemed good reason
jacket tight and hood up I stood back to the blow,
for the first time this mid-fall season
we’re now just minutes from snow

times driftin'

times driftin' by the river
running dirty in the winter
hiding out from a January rain
backed up to the window again

two drifters by the water
lonely son and no one’s daughter
couple of days to set them at ease
couple of friends who just do as they please

times driftin', driftin'
could have worn the red wood deck out
waiting there for the time to check out
times driftin', driftin'

it's in the telling

She is telling me
of a talk show host
who doesn’t own a TV
while I speak about
digital data link layer protocol;
and that is why
even lovers box ears
and poems are not written everyday.

Brevity and Levity

brevity and levity
walked
hand in hand

brevity started to say
something...

levity just
laughed

i'd do it for you

through a mishmash of horrid dream I hear chains dragging
and a haunting of slippers shuffling the hall,
from under the covers I pop up to think of breakfast
and feel icy cold fright, hear scratching on the wall
is there bread for toast, are there eggs for two?
yes, it’s only four a.m., but, start the coffee, will you?

beware slimy ghost drippings on the stair
don’t get bitten
heading for the kitchen, don’t say I didn’t warn you,
keep your eyes closed until the lights are on
you can feel for the button,
i hope nothing grabs you
don’t be long
you know I’d come along
but I’m a little sleepy

About You

songs about you
someone should write some
songs about you,
you know I do, babe
this one’s for you

there was a time n April meant good fortune
that’s the time we met and started courtin’

now April comes it brings to me a sadness
wrapped around memories of madness

when kissing you was gasoline on fire
arcing like a hot electric wire

songs about you, someone should write some
songs about you, cause you know I’m through, babe
although this one’s for you, babe,
it’s the last one for you

away

welcome back, old friend
or have you never been here?
oh well, if it isn't said
it doesn't matter
and as for mattering silently
you are able to figure that one out
silently

i'd like to bring you up to date
then again, i like most things anyway
oh well, what's new for you?
why don't you write it down
and read it in two years

so it is a matter of priority, is it?
who's?
why not write that down too
take a look at what's happening for you
don't lie - that doesn't work
and don't waste your time reading this
i don't know anymore than you don't
know anymore
don't know

wind blows

wind blows soft
on the plains
everyday
soft as velvet
quiet and smooth
like a lovers touch
a comfort to men on the way
toward the storm

then wind blows hard as it tears away
at the hopes of each man
in it's way

wind blows hard leaving ruin to lay
after the storm

wind blows cold over the barren plain
stiff and bold to steal it's way
cross the endless road
leaving hopes as cold as the men
left behind

work again

standing up and wiping my brow
the sun hangs low
it’s quitting time
enough for today
time to put stuff away
i’ll wash up now
there’s more to do, of course
there always is
save some for tomorrow

with luck at all
some food and rest
i’ll be back
to do my best
to work again
to do my work again
it's what i do, how i live
knowing I’m taking care of you
makes it all good work

cards

I’ve looked at cards in the game
bet them hard, lost the same
seven in, several fold
kings up, jacks I hold
he has a pair and I have three
this one here belongs to me

another hour tables change
spades and heart rearrange
voices rise, drinks go down
one is sober, one is clown
friends together, time we pass
another game, another glass

seventh day

working on the seventh day
is Sunday in it's sobriquet
well away from Saturday
no such thing as holiday
looks well on the resume
but on Sunday i stay away

what's what

seeing what’s what around the house
while she’s picking up and straightening
did i make this mess?
well, seems good weather’s in the air
quiet as a mouse i stop on the stair

run fingers through my hair
can feel her stare
turn and smile to see her there
alas, two different people
but we make a fine pair

compatability

be done with fear and anger
there’s too much of it
half the people sleep with the light on
the other half throw a shoe at it to turn it off

go with beauty, and finer things
to hell with killing,
we die soon enough anyway
enough angry voices on the radio

we need poets and musicians cooks and bakers
these are our real movers and shakers
let’s say it again like we said it before
take it easy, babe, make love not war

Cowhand Lance

Cowhand Lance
Cowhand Lance
you gots a chance
to see him prance
he goin’a puts you in a trance
when he give dat slo-eyed glance
you gots ta sees him do'at dance
da way he shake dem fancy pants
goin’a wrap you in a fine romance
dey say he from duh South of France

27aug77

i haven’t seen a sparrow for
what seems like years
last night i sat on my bench in the back corner of the yard
and looked at the moon
full that night
quite a sight
racing as it does
for years that come too soon
for years that passed entire civilizations
coming, going in phases of the moon

and we have all sat there
looking at the moon
somewhere
between things to do

i went back into the house
and made some tea
i don’t know
what you did

autumn

raindrops are grace on the wind
amid pumpkins, honking geese and apple cider

fresh rain pelting in autumn’s rolling colored blowing leaves
ride soft pink cheek taps of breeze
and whisk over my collar with a shiver
in gusting chill October

this night’s clouds will
damn near catch fire
as whispy black and white goblins
zoom by the moon

at times i wonder

at times i wonder how the old boys are doing
and the ladies i met along the way
we had our moments and our pleasures
seems like it was just the other day

there were some good times that i thought were never ending
sometimes i think just like a child
they say the nights are colder when you’re older
i guess we’ll find out in just a while

take good care of your self you’re a lot like me
take good care of yourself you’ve been good company
and when i thought it wouldn’t end
there’s nothing now like there was then

once in a while when a cold wind is blowing
i’ll ride off on some memory
i may visit you when you're sleeping
don’t mind it’s just a fantasy

the gears of time are always shifting
there’s nights i wake in dreams so real
like the tide i keep on drifting
just telling you now so you know how i feel

take good care of yourself you’re a lot like me
take good care of yourself you’ve been like family
if my life was a book too torn to mend
i’d flip back to see how it would end
and if i never see your face again
here’s wishing you only good luck until the end

“This morning this was sleeping all snuggly in the ground in our back yard,” she said with a comforting look. I had to give her my annoying chilled stare for that one. Although, yes, it was true, this evening we were eating the root as horseradish sauce. She made it, after watching a Youtube video for tips on the fine points of the execution of horseradish sauce; which is something not spoken of everyday - the proper execution of horseradish sauce.
Also this morning we saw Herb in the pond, our favorite frog of this summer past. And he might have a new friend living with him already.
My these are big reports of big doings. (big deal)

Hershey Mine

we heard it was there and were looking for it
after a drive and long hike in the dark pine covered
Piute Mountains of the California Sierras
from a rocky ledge above we finally came upon
the remains of the old Hersey Mine
visible far below

because the rock strewn road was so steep, so bad
we could never have driven down
and expect to drive back up again
so, descending carefully on foot
we passed along the way a few abandoned
old trucks and a car that had started the
perilous ascent in the 1930’s and remained,
never to make the return

at the mine site we found mining equipment,
leaning wooden buildings, part of a locomotive,
rusty solid steel, great metal pieces laying about
everything, as if in the middle of their labors
they took a meal break and kept walking

about fifty years after they shut down
we entered the mouth of the gold mine
it was a dark hole, we were ill equiped,
and so we quickly turned around
the mine shack had tools, old dynamite boxes,
no dynamite, of course
.
the few small cabins were in shambles
we checked out those living quarters for the workers
here and there a tattered decoration,
a stained torn curtain
as in the large main building,
most furnishings were missing or destroyed
they must have carried out what they could
when they closed the place

only a few stragglers like us had
wandered there previously
it was too far back in the thick woods to easily discover
at that time we lived in a cabin in those woods,
casual day trippers wouldn’t have had
the time or the information to find the place

the dilapidated remains now sleep dust covered by time
somewhere deep in a rocky valley
up there in the Piute Mountains
after an hour of looking around we
climbed back up, that was it
and although we have spoken about
the old Hersey Mine, we never returned

special love song

let me sing you a song of how it can be
a special love song for you and me
soft lights and flowers
we’ll spend the hours as you’d like them to be
just a little bit for you and me

here comes my tune to fill up your head
the sun and the moon flies over our bed
since time beyond ages the wisest of sages
sees life like you’d like it to be, just a little for you and me

carry on to Eldorado
by pyramids and golden bars
fly the Phoenix from the ashes
beyond the stars,
just a little for you and me

house moving

when i was five i saw my friends house
moved from down the street
to the lot behind our house,
there it sat for a lifetime

then five years ago i happened to be driving by
the day they put that house on wheels again
and moved it miles away to the next town,
saw that house come, go out

my old home was torn down years ago,
house, lawn, garage
garden, trees, bushes, everything is gone
the whole thing is an asphalt drive way

stuff comes and it goes
sun goes up, sun goes down

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

speed limit

anachronisms are dialing a phone or rolling up a window
a misnomer is the “speed limit”, not the end at all,
not the fastest you can, only how fast you will go
and not almost, exactly

I propose the term should be simply “speed” so signs read,
for example, “speed 65 mph”. It will bring more opportunity
for the police to bring in revenue. Then they can also arrest you
for going above or below the posted speed. a two-for.

Extra money they make using less paint
and gaining fines they can send to me and
I will put it back into circulation, to the best of my ability,
no questions asked, glad to help.

the seat belt light came on

the seat belt light came on
the Captain came on the speaker
told us to remain seated
and buckle our belts.


it's an hour and a half into the flight
he reminds us it's a no smoking flight
also,  we shouldn’t disable the
smoke detectors in the restrooms,


it's time they write new scripts.
i looked out the window
we were over Casper, Wyoming

why didn’t he mention that?


.

Utah

ideal passengers we
flew west and saw

antelope island at great salt lake
claims two million tons of salt, how’d they figure?
now there are four hundred bison
on this barren, treeless island, more or less

the island named by explorer John Fremont,
Kit Carson and others, who said they shot two antelope for food to eat
and named the island in tribute and thanks to the animals

Sundance in the mountains, as you’d expect,
wonderful, beautiful, tastefully done
excellent brunch
Rob Redford was a no show

a good
time had
by all ,
by-by all

To Read

to read stories in this world
is to travel there, everywhere
mountain, sea, desert, city
trains, planes, on horseback, farms, so pretty

taste the dust, the cold, frost,
rust, ice, craters and gators,
soft waves on warm beaches
it thrills and teaches

set sail alone, all near
all here, all there
as you wander the globe
from your favorite chair

Poetry I Hate

i hate using that word hate
i hate it, haven’t you learned anything?
it’s silly to hate
unless you're talking beheadings
or sitcom reruns

give me a break
i hate that too, break what?
bally wallys?
how about it? i think i could develop
a long term, serious
ballsup and retching
dislike for that too

hey, "ballsup"
that’s mine
i made that up
stick your happy face on it, vandal,
if you’d be ever so kind
soon as you withdraw your head out of your . . .
oh, never mind

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!

my garden

my garden today was weed crowded,
a task undone far too long
so that work today, was my purpose
the labor in sun was my song

begin where it needs it the most
do all that you possible can
after a rest on completion,
move forward, and do it again

each part of life is in motion
moving ahead in the flow
your thoughts are merely a notion,
love doing, and not what you know

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