it happens in Roma

it happens in Roma, chance encounters with people we know
far from their usual place in the city
today it was our neighbor on his bicycle who stopped and chatted,
near the old book market by Piazza del Popolo

a few minutes before
we had taken the little electric bus to the Villa Borghese Park
so my lovely could do seven laps on the walking track
days before she was walking, looking at the
wild parrots in he tree when she fell,
folded up like a ham sandwich
and skidded in the gravel

today i lumbered one lap then stood
near the road noticing the older couple
slowly passing a few feet away, with unobtrusive security men,
one off on each side, two more farther behind,
it was Giorgio Napolitano the President of the Republic of Italy
of the few people in that part of the park
maybe half knew who he was
that’s how it goes in Roma
we use a little space and share it with others

our time

taking our time, soaking up what we have
see how it goes,
start something new
shake off the woes

don’t have to make plans
do the best we can, cause it keeps flying at you
all new and moving
can you feel it? hopping, spinning, grooving

while morning rain falls, or it’s cold and snowy where you are
winter here, summer there when you flip around the globe
riding the Internet, the information highway
getting bigger, exponentially

when i was a kid we never even dreamed it would be like this
and going faster wider, deeper, non-stop
makes my heart seem small to me
when I read a book I get off the roll for a while

then come back to get food and pay bills
keeping up day to day
a shower and clean clothes
more and the less, that’s how it goes

a note like this will tell you
that through it all I am still thinking of you
and hoping you keep doing your best
cause it’s changing and there are few choices

except to keep running like my wind up clocks that tick again
the same song, one note after another
tick, tick, tick, tick
crack out some sunshine and smile, keep loving

roma winter

bleak cold rainy days this winter
we have had our portion dished
lined back to back two months now
the river has flooded once already

slippery streets remain awash
umbrellas tattered from overuse
talk is quick to friends you meet
bring home pants cuffs soaked

poor time to ride a bicycle
more grey time spent lights on indoors,
looking out to watch clean drops splash
good period as flowers prepare for spring

Nico in the Piazza

throwing crumbled bits of bread into a
cloud of pigeons that form from nowhere
seemingly magically on the cobblestones at his feet
here in the piazza where the action of others
swirls around us

to whom i am a large blurriness
Nico, stands erect on his five foot two frame,
scant inches from my face he speaks
bouncing a bit, ready to burst with energy
his longish wiry white beard jiggles

i notice the bulging layers of sweaters,
his dark ancient sporty coat,
while topping his head is a
wintery wool sea farer’s cap

at a point i interrupt his dissertation on nature
to ask what he is doing in these days with his time,
his life work, he reiterates, had been varied
acrobat, artist, dancer, always within the arts

now he is thinking about the mysteries on the globe
that's how he put it, forming one with his hands as he spoke
with a smile on his face he says nature,
he thinks about nature and the mysteries,
using nods of his head to show how much he means exactly that

last year i wrote about Nico
click here to read that piece

609

609 and I always think of the current one
the one I’m looking at
like it’s the only one,
no time to think about it,
yet every number flashes, 611, 614,
so many mornings I have seen those numbers

oh, they’re there, all right,
whether I see them or not,
wake up times
get ready for work,
going to catch a plane time

not only another morning,
my morning yesterday,
last week
a series of mornings
every morning
that led last week to last month,
back to last year, five years,
ten,
to my youth, then my father’s youth and his father’s,
his father’s father’s, and beyond,

instead of seeing a new one each time
it’s the same one over
609, look, there it is again,
the same repeating
on this long line I’m on,
we’re on,
with grandpa there, and his grandpa,
me on the other, not the end,
somewhere in the middle,
cause it’s a very long line,
out on the line
that goes back and back ,
all the way back to dinosaurs and the first sun of dawn
609

think it

if we think it,
it can be so
there’s much to do though,
a long way to go

when you have the idea,
with merely that nugget
you begin putting it together
float that dream until it’s light as a feather

let it soar, twist then meld
into a solid, cooled and jelled,
roll on away, butter babies,
roll on away home, roll all the way home

up and down

got up at four
as i’ve done before
had to squeeze myself twice
to believe it

raring to go
but wouldn’t you know
ran out of gas
no fire below

back in bed at five
felt barely alive
fell fast asleep
to relieve it

in a pile
ants look the same,
soulless are they?
tell me about it

cause they don’t bow their heads to pray?
until you study them under a church pew
with a microscope
you don’t know for sure what they do

well, I suppose some enterprising lad or lass
would have squealed the news by now
so we can probably bet on the fact
that ants apparently don’t appear to pray

plans

we make our plans
and choose our actions
sometimes based on reality
often times on dreams

the attractions to our suit
can be distractions to the root
not tailored to patterns
that follow the seams

a portion of careless thought
plus a dash of hurry
often results in more
than a full day's worth of worry

Salute to Diddley

want to try me shopping?
I’ll keep you hopping
come along, tap into my head
easily said,
I’m looking now
while I push the cart
with all my heart
cause my wife says
when I walk along
what I see is Diddley
it must be a natural ability

she’s sure of it
no messing around
her reasoning’s right
her judgment sound
so quietly now
I am seeking bound
did you like that, seeking bound?
wait a minute, I have to finish,

cheese? of course I can find some
and pick one out? are you ready for that?
did Yeats really start this way?
run forward, troops, with the big guns and
fire when you are ready, Gridley
have no doubt, I’ll point it out,
for i see Diddley

reflection

I glanced into the mirror
as I turned out the light
to quite a surprise before my eyes
the face that I saw was my father
why I saw you was a mystery
how’d you come back out of history
where other generations never known
and hardly shown, are hidden in reflection

you’re looking good as you should
and younger than I recall
here’s looking at you old man
thanks to you i do what I can
and remembering, Father, how long you worked for us all
we didn’t vacation and I never knew the difference
you had work to do and I grew up just the same
and maybe better for it

well, good to see you again
to be reminded of your existence
and how it was, when it was
under your persistence
and occasional insistence
here’s to you again, old man, my dad
and I’ll keep my chin up

dream rider mine

how can you be so near,
yet so far away from me,
my petition to the heavens
calls for the full measure of you
to pass by slowly in my dreams
where clouds lift as it seems
pleasure lives anew
within sight of you

the sound of your voice
the light in your eyes awakening
to your smile,
makes all time worth while

how very sweet you are
my shining star
a gleaming heavenly light,
calming attraction for my heart,
my only treasure
would be the pleasure
of your smile
when your eyes meet mine

baby snug

baby snug and packed in
wadded and stuffed
to keep warm in the cold
sights are seeds in their heads
glazed over without deep thought

this is the time
to be totted in
mom and dad comfort
before the struggle begins
no wonder kids are cute
wrapped in a blanket
they ought to be

time's driftin'

times drifting 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
a couple of days to set them at ease
a couple of friends who just do as they please

could have worn the whole redwood deck out
waiting there for the time to checkout
two drifters by the water
lonely son and no one’s daughter
time’s driftin', driftin'

coronation

queen gets crowned
sounds like a comedy thing,
it was a moment i saw on TV
2 June, l953 I was eight,
and even to a kid like me
she looked like a girl

that was our first TV,
small, fuzzy black and white,
with a round screen
like a heavy vase for a carnival goldfish
it was extraordinary for us to
watch an event in England
from our living room in Ohio

now look at technology growing exponentially,
even that word didn't mean anything to us,
while a google was a hypothetical number one with
a million zeros behind it,
watch your back,
what's coming
is going to amaze you

New Year's Daze

i am running out of material
down to tables and chairs and little used appliances
threw it all out the fourth floor window at
midnight the way peasants
threw slop never mind, are you with me?
like brail on a dark hall to guide the way,
keep one hand on the wall and “stay close to
the candles the stairway can be treacherous”
(Mel Brooks - Young Frankenstein 1974)

so we slept long this morn, definitely not
as a result of partying too much,
hell we ran out of psilocybin before supper and the explosions,
but from silence that begun this day,
due to a lack of services running on city streets,
no cars or buses nor people walking, or children calling
because sleeping was long and hearty like
a great bear in a winter cave
following a night of total cheer and merrymaking

but from – I liked that
but from, butt from
but from, butt from, fight, fight, win

so allow me to go through this four hundred yards
of wadded multicolored ribbon I just tripped upon
in the middle of the room that could have been an illusion
resulting in inclusion
for the final solution
of my repertoire
propping up material
that’s around
and dripping in the hard rain
the only sound on this day
that’s left around
not run aground
still dripping down
pounding hard, ricocheting,
climbing over each other and flowing
to be first to enter
the bottomless drain

pure air

pure air today, aria pura oggi
depth of perception from a bus window
possible on a clean air day,
after long rains, winds off the Med,
no car traffic for several days of holiday
is atmosphere sharpened that turns back time
to an earlier era, creating a 3-D world again

at Piazza della Repubblica I looked to the roof of the
church built over the ancient baths of Diocletian
the form atop resembled a giant cartoon white duck
what the hell is going on? modern art?
as the bus turned again near the train terminal
i looked back, facing directly the front of the church,
at the pinnacle i could see the duck was now a large white cross,

the bus was clean rolling, smooth stopping
with no hitch, other than the under one skin head,
aka a child under one, who bellowed resistance,
also aboard, a plethora of raggazzi, many youth,
one sat next to M. and chewed his nails non-stop, as if famished,

now i thought of a cute young blonde girl who used to walk her
pet duck around the block every day,
why she thought the duck needed good legs, i never asked
having no interest in her duck,
maybe it was good for the ducks mind,
it certainly was good for mine

hey, let’s pack up ’08 like fish in a newspaper
take on 09, already lined up and waiting

addendum:

In Italian scarpe means shoe. The day after the guy threw the shoes I saw a newspaper headline that read “scarpe diem.” Hey, I’m done and I probably won’t write again, until tomorrow.

prehensile union

now forming , and you can be a member
of the greatest union on earth
to coalesce all of mankind for the first time,
completely without prejudice
men , women and children, any race, creed and bank account
are welcome to the prehensile union,

come on, take a breather
sorry: no dogs or cats and no monkeys either

and if everyone on earth will send me a penny i’ll serve
as Honorary Fabricator and token Rich Human
that means i won’t have to take my shoes off
or spread my toes to board an airplane.
and if i see you somewhere i’ll buy you an ice cream

. . . addendum:
i like monkeys myself,
at least i think i do, although
i’ve never met one
except that one who lives on the top floor
and he’s more of an ass than a monkey

keeps going

she would throw her stuff in the car and go to her sister’s
how much abuse did he think she’d take
driving a damn bus this size in city traffic wasn’t easy
didn’t the bitch ever think about that

did she think i was having fun all day?
with difficulty the old woman boarded
and a young woman offered her a seat
of course she still was of sound mind,

would pay more attention this time and not miss her stop
it’s so inconvenient, not to mention how
difficult to find her way back
the kid was examining three dress shirts he had grabbed

hopefully no one saw him get on this bus
they’re not his size, so his might just
dump them on the floor and split
the guy in the back wouldn’t have been so drunk

if he had money to eat
finding a start isn’t easy when you don’t know where to go
at least he can sleep and ride where it’s warm
until they throw him off

when i got on the bus i was immediately uncomfortable
had to move forward to get away from the stench of that bum
does he deliberately run over pot holes and
slam the brakes so hard

bouncing around,
a scraping sound, we just side swiped a double-parked car
i’m sure of it, i heard it and he didn’t stop,
still going, everything keeps going