Friday, April 17, 2009

mediterranean see me

I may change this a bit, but here it is for now. I can critique my poem and say I should stay on target. See the objective, figure out what it is I want to say, and which way the words have to go to get me there. Today I prefer to do as the crew of explorers and let myself hop on board and ride willing to participate. Letting the caravan take me wherever.


mediterranean see me

free this morning
we could get in the car
and drive five hours to a corner of heaven
for sure we’d love it
we’ve been there

with the long blue of the med,
hearing it from our bed
and the morning fishermen
in little boats
sun hats and coats
so near on dawn
so clear over calm

in a sleepy town
with Filippo’s Pizza
the best dough out of Napoli
they say, I’d say
anyway

how far do we have to go
so I can hear the shore’s chill water?

rolling stones like breathing in and out
making them rounder

smaller in long eons
until they are tiny white grains
lesser than sand
blown away like dust
off the back of my hand

thrown up by the wind
lifted straight to the sky
soaring above birds
blown riding the blue

far off out to sea
over storms
circling the globe
above the Captain’s stout grey ship on the Atlantic
twisting back into time and Grandmother’s wagon
crossing dry Arizona in the late eighteen hundreds
over arrows and Indians

then sucked tumbling down
deep in the California desert
none too soon
by dull light of moon

it's stuck deep
where it will keep
in the bark of a Joshua tree
that lives a thousand years

Thursday, April 16, 2009

jungle fish

you and i
haven’t seen it all
don’t say you have
don’t think about it
no need to

not all the world caresses
some hurts
and dumps upon us
in papers and magazines
the news of course, they call it that
the video, the Internet that brings pieces
bam banging slapping sounds
pumping games flashing colors into children's heads
Marshall McLuhan was right the medium is the message
now i add, TV did more to destroy the world than educate
I have seen Guatemalan jungle natives in see-through straw huts
watching far away New York soap operas
on TV powered by a noisy gas generator
the soap opera had NYC folk
in nice clothes and makeup
drinks in hand and the natives,
ready to throw a spear through a monkey,
were sitting women breast naked in
a rag covering their crotches
and I’m walking by their hut and
can look right through it
and see them sitting glazed over stuck to the screen.
maybe they flashed me the peace sign
and maybe I gave them the finger
cause they were screwed

media chunks show how people dress and hold their heads
how they clothe their pet animals
while city buses so full
those at the door exit to let others on
dead fish are laid to rest in tins and wait consumption this way

passing by are the rich and famous in their rings and finery
with guards tagging alongside
lest reality get too close
best they remain cushioned
aloof from commoners and dirt poor

on the street notices are
handed by strangers to strangers
pasted across shop windows
stuffed in trash cans or
dropped they litter the streets
are stepped upon, pushed along
where the head count clashes with
the clean, pressed white shirts and latest ties
and we, hats on backwards
in over sized sacky things to cover how fat we are
that resemble sports team garments,
wrinkled sweat stained bags with a bright bold number on it
the number of a hero on the squad
named for a predatory animal
as a sweaty tourist screams at the counter waitress
give me a coke before I die

and I see them sun glassed now
all the while quick stepping alone
bumping into each other
unaware, as if stoned
talking on cell phones
while the senseless talk to themselves
and need no phone
who is changing the world?

for all the while
the sun goes up
the sun goes down

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

reflections

remember someone holding
a dandelion under your chin
seeing the reflection of yellow
to determine if you like butter?
kid stuff

be good though
the day on your face
is a reflection of what you carry
in your heart

how you slept
how you’re eating
who you love
which dog you’re beating

how well you are doing
how life’s going
you may forget, but all
is written on your face

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

hope

On Pasquetta, Little Easter, the day after Easter, also a holiday because Italians have to have a holiday after a holiday that falls on Sunday so they can have a day to recover. That is how it is every time.



the large crowd in the piazza
generated a buzz like
flies on week old fish

they were tourists, few Italians
it was Little Easter, Pasquetta
Italians go out of Rome
on the little holiday after the holiday

Franco who has no means
to get out for the day
and no family to visit if he did
was in the store next to me
getting two more
scratch-off-to-see-if-you-win gambling cards
what winners get most of the time
more cards
more opportunity to hope

we stood shoulder to shoulder
he didn’t see me,
i noticed that what i thought
was a plug in his ear lobe
injured the last time he fell
was only a scab

from the way he was weaving
I knew not to speak to him
he was holiday drunk enough
to still walk
and scratch cards

while i’ve learned
there is no hope
here it was
standing next to me

Monday, April 13, 2009

linked

we are linked to life
whether cabled-in or wireless
red lining in the fast lane
all comes naturally
as weather is to nature
dressed in style we are
in cars shinier and larger

while lousy poor people
obviously don’t care as much
they never go to club dinners
to hear the speakers drone on
or eat cake at the benefits
they don’t know the meaning of
acid indigestion

Sunday, April 12, 2009

all turn to see
as she
walks proudly by
nearly prances

an angel
on heavenly loan
empty headed
with a mind of her own

Saturday, April 11, 2009

round perhaps

when she was young
she saw
the sun and moon
as circles
then she saw the ocean

walked in up to her neck
and figured
because there is depth
to consider
perhaps the ocean was round


.

Wednesday, April 08, 2009

bed of nails

It is estimated there are thirty thousand suddenly homeless, clustered in many small villages near the epicenter that were destroyed by the recent powerful earthquake and aftershocks.
40 are dead of the 350 residents of Onna, Italy, one of a dozen villages completely destroyed.




another small family
a few more people
among many who feel fortunate
now living in their car that escaped disaster

near their fallen home, half collapsed,
the remainder in flames as they fled
near their neighbor’s blank faces
amid devastation and debris like bombs went off

dad does his best to cover the pain and terror
mother bursts into tears often, covers her face
wishes for her simple worn sweater left behind
she didn’t even have her favorite old sweater

close to what is left
of what they owned but can’t get to
protecting it, protecting themselves
with not much to go on

charity lines for food and water
the unknown is growing
encompassing
hugs and tears and hope

Monday, April 06, 2009

six point three

at 3:32 a.m. my dreams included
the bed moving
then noise
from above and the floor below

i opened my eyes to see
the hanging lamp swinging
and swinging

epicenter was
fifty miles away
having lived in California
we were experienced to know
a strong earthquake

follow up report, 9pm

30,000 are homeless.
light rain tonight.
150 dead. 250 missing.
1,500 injured.
all counts will rise.
water supplies have been cut.

Saturday, April 04, 2009

by train to the sea

before leaving Monterosso Al Mare
i am already aching for the beauty
paining for what
i can not take with me
the voice of the sea
the breath of humidity
it is my life
my heart of hearts

II.

an hour later on the train
with five hours to go until Rome
i was beyond my longing
lost like yesterday
those far away days

over the water
over the Med
my sweet

resolved to get over
and get on with life
i let love slide

it was not coming back to me

III.

we clack the track
we’re in the first car
behind the great engine
powermeister of the rails

she asks if it is smoother in the last car
the one way behind
or do they get whip lash?
i don’t know
i think the ride is all in the
suspension of the car we’re in
something hanging over the steel wheels
kept us floating above sparks

IV.

some time later we stopped
still not there
i did nothing
for many minutes
then it occurred to me we weren’t moving
i thought to go out
for a smoke

i made it as far as outside our compartment
a know–it-all looking guy with dark darting eyes
who obviously thought well of himself
looked as if he worked there
was standing in the isle
he had the time
he had the exact time
said we had five minutes before the train started again
five minutes
he spoke with authority
i asked if he worked for the train

i went out, down three steps,
and began to lite a cig
the doors closed before i puffed
the train was moving
i barely got back on the train
my shirt caught in the closing doors
good thing it had a rubber seal
or i would have lost a piece of it
i put the cig out on the step
saved it for later
the know-it-all guy
was nowhere to be seen


.

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

a pause

My wife’s sister is here in Rome for a visit. I will pause in this daily writing as we journey north to spend a few days near the sea.


.

wind chime

varied length tubes
left over plumbing copper
thumb flop strung in the wind
rolling drum bongs
ding songs bling

or mum sometime
that’s fine, until the line
they are hung on zings tight
bouncing in the wind
the string goes ting

unfolding hollow tones
chime resounding clings
so light clinging rings
follow plings and gongs
the song sung sounds long



.

wood chimes

above walkway bricks
wooden chime sticks
bound with cord
dangle and click
as they nick
neatly tick
or tock when blunt ends
meet slick wind flicks
trick track nicks
crick sticks in the wind



.

Monday, March 30, 2009

perspective

if you gave someone
one dollar every second
in twelve days you can give
a million bills

at the rate of placing a dollar
in someone's hand every second
to give a billion dollars
would take you thirty years




.............................

Sunday, March 29, 2009

here's to all

here is to all
the uncles and aunts
cousins, sisters and brothers
fathers and mothers
men and women of strength
and pride and layers of familial love
never worn tired of happiness
who burst into the day
dressed so well
all in their Sunday best
scarves, bright colors, hats and ties
with a handshake, warm embrace
old jokes and nicknames
to stand side by side, so tall
smiling proud laughing

we gathered together
seeing which children were taller
which old folks were slower
gave gifts for the occasion
and undying love
as dogs barked skipped in circles, nipping
while the children chased each other
all played coats off games outside until it rained
or became too dark to see
so we kept losing the ball

then inside to sit at a well set table with candles
share a fragrant delicious meal
the mothers had prepared in love
grandma made her special desert
then all partied and drank with my folks
the old friends who stopped by
and laughed together
my God how they laughed
there’d be music
dad played his violin
and they sang a well known favorite song of old times
in harmonies, how they tried
always some little cousin kid ran through,
tripped, fell, again and again until he cried

then at the end
when day was complete
in cool dark as
outside lights were turned on
and tiredness moaned
everyone frantic to gather their things
went outside for hugs and kisses again
to warm up the cars
already in anticipation of the next holiday
already longing for the next time
when we would do it all over again
and to wave goodbye

Saturday, March 28, 2009

a bank worth a lot of jingo poem

the 1893 Villa Banca Italia on Via Nationale opened its doors to the public for the first time, one day only, today must have been a thousand in line not lira just patient people maybe nuthouse patient candidates way too quiet and orderly didn’t throw a fit after an hour and a half in line before we took a step ninety-eight point six per cent Italians unreasonably orderly and quiet if you ask me especially because one at a time, two line jumpers got in by us both short guys over sixty one started with the ploy of talking to M., saying he had to use the bathroom, remember and use that as an icebreaker at your next social gathering of course i chimed in and had to tell him where he could go to find one after five minutes i realized he had established to those behind us that he was talking with us, must be with us the second line jumper, another pro with a ploy slipped in and began peering ahead intently, like he'd been doing it for a week, and stayed that way, not looking around, hardy breathing, an infractor actor playing statue, after ten minutes he was in we strategically stayed ahead of both of them and let the people behind deal with them those people acted like they didn’t notice Italians being polite? no way! they were being non confrontational okay, okay, so we went into the villa walked around a while and saw where the rich people had a fine bank palace, a lot of marble, big stairs and held meetings over a table maybe fifteen steps long the longest table i have ever seen in my life what did i do on the second floor? i had to peek through some front window curtains and look down on the street we came from then we left, end of poem

Friday, March 27, 2009

spring to chaos

spring to chaos
stuffed with energy
here to the brim, back again
carried by people
in sighing light wind
laughing bright colors
leaping over piazzas
honking from buses
blue shadow and makeup
wine served with pizza
the short-skirted on mini-stilts
tap-tap clicking down old alleys in heels
checkered cloth and waiters
bells chime the hour
to the cobblestone sun
coffee at outside tables
amid smiling faces
talk a lot

Thursday, March 26, 2009

off line

off line and fried
am always tied
to the black machine
packed with electrodes
that touch me together
with the world, it’s my life
like a fish on a string
i feel the sting
of that flash‘n’glow stop and go
bring me to life, Herr Frankenstein

been down maybe an hour
no way to tell
didn’t lose power
it’s a looking glass black hole
with road signs to hell
i really can’t wait
for now i am toast

Aces Wild

Okay, Annie, Julie, Tom, Sweet Talking Guy, you’re all in the game, aces wild. Now before we look at our cards I want to tell you thanks for the comments. You have all been helpful and I’ll try to mend my ways.

This is a highly personalized note to each and every one of you. Let’s do dinner! That’s a private joke I’ll let you in on.

One time M. and I had to vacate an apartment after only a few months tenancy because I got fired for the first and only time in my life from the last regular job I ever had. The owners of our apartment were being gracious and had us over for a glass of wine. As we were leaving they said that they’d invite us over for dinner sometime and asked if we liked fish. That was the capper, asking if we liked fish.

Of course that was the last time we ever saw or heard from them. To this day, every now and then, after someone makes a promise or invitation they are not likely to keep, M. privately says to me, “You like fish, don’t you?”

Okay, you can look at your cards now, and I’ll try to do better in my responding to your comments, but don’t bet on it. Now, one question, who dealt this mess?

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

sweeper

a street sweeper with a long wood handled straw broom
the kind witches flew on, no kidding
was down below cleaning last night’s reverie
doing half a job she was,
all the way up the alley

i did better sweeping my dad’s bar when i was eleven
without city wages or a hat and badge
and a uniform with a wide iridescent orange stripe
up the middle and over the back
so no one runs her over

sweeping cobblestones isn't easy
i'll say that for her,
a lot of cracks, you know
yet it is something to do

so she’ll go through the motions,
put in her time
make her wages
knowing her father won’t come by
to check how well she did the job

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Weather Everywhere You Look, Up and Down

everyone is talking
about rainy days these days everyday
it is raining all over the world this year
or so it seems, so they say, my uncle said

because i heard neither the planet nor God
is making any new water
maybe a dash of global warming
is increasing the humidity

so it appears there is more wet about
at the same time, don’t you know?
didn’t mean to get ultra scientific
hope i didn’t like lose you

what i am saying is: maybe the amount of water
is the same, but because there is more rain
it’s not drying up as quickly and it looks like more
i'm not selling umbrellas or anything

Monday, March 23, 2009

keep moving

moving slowly, making plans
the slate is clean
haven’t had a slate for years
that’s how to keep one clean
easier than the car with city parking
scratches, road dust
kids doing whatever they do
running in like dog packs in the night
slate is the flat rock that breaks off
and falls in the river we used to swim
strewn with plastic bag pieces now

working out details when we get to 'em
for what comes next
be prepared like the boy scouts used to
don’t know what they do now
maybe they lost money to operate too
we never had money and we did okay
volunteers and mom and dad helping
and I roll tumbled ahead into whatever
not knowing and nothing to compare it to
just going ahead, sometimes with the crowd
sometimes with my own stupid ideas
at least working came easy
even getting up early in the morning
cause it seemed the right thing to do
and I had learned how to do that
my family taught me well
it was work and sleep and eat
and right straight ahead
and still is
time's no limit
it’s all we have
best use it well

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Marathon Sunday

woke early in silence
slept deep all night
jeeze it’s quiet when the neighbors
two floors up don’t party 'til dawn
a regular Sunday start, eyes open
shower, coffee, getting ready

a morning walk and heard helicopters
checked our car in a legal parking place
no one damaged it, the side mirror still taped on
two streets over by the river we saw them
something i read in the paper two weeks ago
then of course forgot to remember

over all, how quickly a year passes
here it is again, Rome marathon
with fifteen thousand running
legions more on the side cheering encouragement
convincing spring to open up for real
while morning was cool, no one seemed to mind

certainly not those running, throwing their shirts on the street
she rejected a few than picked up a good one
from the Dunlin Marathon 2006
five minutes at home for the finish by the Coliseum on TV
then off for Chinese food, spring rolls and shrimp
saw Alex and his band jamming for coins in the piazza
still a regular Sunday in Roma

Saturday, March 21, 2009

so the fish

so the fish takes a summer job at the plant
the foreman asks who could drive a fork lift
the fish says he could because the foreman
didn’t ask who can, but who could

the fish thinks he could
so he steps forward, gets in the fork lift
and uses his mouth to turn the key
he has no feet to reach the pedals

drives out and away, jumps into the nearby river
swims down stream and never looks back
because he has no neck and can’t turn his head
to look behind even if he wanted to

he told this story to his children
and eons later ancestors evolved
grew fingers and hands and feet
and wrote this story down

Friday, March 20, 2009

bookmarks

don’t have to remember anything
can bookmark by the number
i have a few new bookmarks
and plenty already there

to organize alphabetically
sort them out, files, folders, labels
many i have never seen before
don’t know how they got there

seemed a good idea when i clicked them
then never went back except now
to clean up my bookmarks
by eliminating at least a hundred never used

if i miss them when they’re gone
can always add more
i’ll make a note to do it
if i don’t get to it today

Thursday, March 19, 2009

birds

birds on a wire
won’t fly higher
because they start from a better position

like people, it’s how well they can do
not what advantage they have
that determines how high they go

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

march bites

march bites the unwary
mouth open snapping
on low turning, moving sky cotton wisps
where winging fast birds
rise from napping
appear shot from a sling
dip low then soar far

keep jacket on, cap in hand
ready to zip up and button down
for after an hour’s pleasant sun
darker grey colors of change hover
ready to toss the covers from secret hiding
and leap, riding gusts on quick padded feet
so the next patter you hear
may be cold, hard rain drops splatter near

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

rushing waters

from a hotel room by the quick river
we see and hear white ripples
rush dancing over smalls falls
in non-stop fluid symphony
all day, all the night it goes on, and on
like eternal traffic sound
without pause or change
the same liquid white noise
over and over and over
packed splashing full in moving file
never with thought or pause,
while traffic ebbs and flows
and people are behind it
rushing fast mountain river water,
is a senseless spiral bound book
with no words on the pages
it keeps turning, turning
flipping ever forward
with no beginning or end
for ages, liquid ages

Sunday, March 15, 2009

born a fish

it’s new and i like it
born a fish
not so bad, i don’t care
food floats by all the time
don’t have to wash or decide what to wear

home life is odd
never sleep in the same bed
and today i got rushed over a falls
i know why they call ‘em that
but i didn’t get hurt

keep swimming
they say i have to watch out for fishermen
whatever that means and such
we swim in schools
but i haven’t learned much

Thursday, March 12, 2009

scarpe diem

the Iranian shoe throwing Journalist
was sentenced to three years in prison,
give him, me, and the world a break
within reasonable perspective
it was an insult
not a weapon of mass destruction

had he hit Bush in the face
prosecutors would have had something to talk about
as it was, only insult was done
and that won’t be retracted by prison time
harsh injustice would be promoted
in what we envision as the civilized world

pigeon feeding

we stopped at the small corner park
never got comfortable
a woman had a twenty pound bag of feed
throwing it out
a hand full at a time
to more pigeons
than I have seen
gathered anywhere at one time
in my life

all grass was destroyed in that half of the park
when we tired and left
the woman showed no sign of slowing
although her intentions were well based
this feeding is not good
for people
or for pigeons,
look it up

two or three pigeons
are something to see
two or three hundred
is something to avoid




Please don't feed the pigeons!

* It affects their health
* It attracts vermin and is a risk to human health
* It damages buildings
* It makes pigeons dependent on people
* It deprives other birds of food

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Calcata

this cool march morning
mid week on a stone mountain top
high up and off the beaten route to anywhere
with one way in, and one way out

pass under the arch
to enter the town
then on three sides
it’s a straight drop down

pretty as it could be and so very old
we drove there for another look
at the bohemian artsy haven of Calcata

prices there are high to live and buy
and there are few stores,
what you find for sale are
hand-made craft items for tourists,
locals seeking necessities must drive a ways

the village we saw was the real one,
out of season, worn grey, cold stone dead,
lonely, cool and needing

then this and every weekend
the curious will come

some other day, another season
even we may return
with the reason of showing friends
what ancient, remote, quaint
and wonderful can look like

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

for the children

teachers are good people
to put up with groups of children
who are aptly regarded as a handful

we mustn’t whip education at a fever pace
until it’s homogenized, generalized,
historically meaningless to them

we can help at home by passing along
lessons learned from our past, personal stories,
events from our family elder’s lives

so what lesson do i give?,
my grandchildren are spinning so fast
they couldn’t hear me if i knew what to say

perhaps i’ve written something here for them,
or perhaps their children will read it, some other year,
they’ll figure out life's mysteries when they’re ready

when they wonder and amaze
about who they are
and what we went through to get here

before TV and computers took all of our time
when sunset and a rainbow
and music played at home was family entertainment

when the evening sky filled with brilliant stars
horsepower was hitched to a wagon
and every barn had hand tools and a saddle

when we made promises
and did our best to keep them,
while looking forward to the challenges of tomorrow

Monday, March 09, 2009

weather broke

winter snapped
like an old branch
a bird tried to sit on
maybe wind kicked it
a cat licked it
or a dog dragged it
cause the stick made it’s way
down the bank
got into the river
and floated away

part of me
must have gone along
for the ride
cause I feel the change
right here
deep inside

Saturday, March 07, 2009

do you want toast

do you want toast?
this is morning, the weekend
and we always have toast
both of us, and two coffees
always - as in everyday,
not only weekends

yet she asks as if it’s a new idea that
just crawled over the top rim
and dropped into the cookie jar of her mind
metaphysically speaking, no disrespect intended

of course, she wants toast,
always does,
she thinks of toast first,
every time

says she wants toast then
asks me if i want toast
and then i say yes, i'll have toast
that’s how it goes

and then i rose up and made...wait!
i didn’t rise like an ascension of angels
although i understand why you might think it
i plain got up, as from sitting is to standing

and then made a second coffee
for each of us
cause it just hit me in a flash to do that
it seemed a fine idea
albeit within the scripted and rehearsed
tangled woven bounds of the ordinary




x

Friday, March 06, 2009

city life

city life has so many faces
walking, standing, waiting,
on and off the buses
in and out of stores
you won’t see them all

when i was just about home
heading down a narrow way
a face in the crowd startled me
it was the recognition of a friend
that had caught me off guard
a friend now deceased
uncanny the resemblance
at first glance

stopping just ahead of me,
this man had his keys out for a door
same graying hair, same smooth movements,
equally well-dressed,

and as his head turned
he first casually looked my way,
then when his glance caught me
he peered directly into my eyes

i slowed my steps
and he smiled, first in apparent recognition
then his look changed to something else
that i couldn’t read,

we exchanged nods then greetings
i thought you were someone i knew, i explained
so did i, he said, you remind me a lot of a dear friend
we used to meet for a drink at that bar near the corner
he live in this neighborhood for quite a while,
then passed away a few years ago

Wednesday, March 04, 2009

how it began, went looking

checked for used cars on line
then went to a showroom,
two buses and a tram later
we were there

walked around ten minutes
looked at stickers on car windows
then went to our favorite
Indian fast food restaurant

to celebrate, hurray,
we went looking!
many long journeys begin before
you get in your car, or have one

Tuesday, March 03, 2009

D.S. Al Fine

large and growing
the net brings change,
knowledge disseminates
for the world that will be




it is not important
flowers know
it is the sun
they wait for

Monday, March 02, 2009

fiction is stranger than truth

the one who said truth
is stranger than fiction
brought cookies, apples or flowers
to the teacher everyday

wagged his hand so much
trying to answer all the questions
that he lost blood circulation in his arm
they nearly had to amputate

always had hair evenly parted on the same side
wore a cute little red sport coat
kept it neatly buttoned
even on the playground

never believed in
monsters from space
tried to be the peacemaker when
we played cowboys and Indians

in short, was a dullard
possessed absolutely
not so much as a speck
of imagination whatsoever

ran under a tree in a thunderstorm
was struck by lightening
six times and was toast
I do so verify

Saturday, February 28, 2009

the best

the wellness of being,
goodness in all respects
remains a narrow line
to travel upon

to shift slightly
adjusting temperament
in kindness
and giving

in full field
out in the open, on my honor,
although it's a mess
we're all doing the best we can



I'm still working on the above. I read it again this morning and it didn't read well. It changed, or I changed. It didn't work. I changed the title and a few words and then I pushed it out the door anyway. I guess that's the best I can do today.

Friday, February 27, 2009

four a.m.

i wake to put on neat earphones
with fresh batteries
and hear four a.m. radio
news from the BBC
fighting in the Congo, a report live from Deli
China in the headlines, corrupt leaders everywhere
staggering economies, some with more than they can use
and taking more, cities overflowing,
the world in disarray

TV pictures run in my mind
of a tired young woman with a bucket
getting water from a hole dug in the ground
somewhere on the plains in Africa

she is too thin and wears rags
a poor child stands nearby watching
all is dusty
there are no pets
there is nothing extra for them
this is their water
this is their life

while i sleep in a clean warm bed
with a comforting blanket
a refrigerator in the next room
a shower in the morning
i’ll make coffee and toast
play a digital keyboard
plugged into my computer
and know that even twisting, darting, colorful birds
under white clouds and radiant blue skies
will not turn a head
will pass unnoticed
by so many struggling each day to survive

i cannot help them directly
but i can notice
and compassion is a first step
toward resolution

admit they exist

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Franco

Franco is of indeterminate age
past mid everything, some wrinkles and thin,
of the seedy man who looks dangerous it’s difficult to say more
dull winter layers of tired clothing deceive

he fell into a coma some years ago
friend Alberto visited him in hospital
a watchful grave nurse shook her head
there was little hope afforded him

Alberto approached where the patient appeared clean and comfortable
as the nurse stepped out to leave mournful respect
the dormant Franco lifted an eye and whispered
“I’’m not gong to die, Alberto.”

and so Franco lumbers on, helping the piazza flower venders
moving things, making deliveries on stiffening legs
eyes that give him problems,
drinks too much when inclined, when he has money enough

his mumbled Roman dialect across
lips holding a burning cigarette,
looking up in apparent sneering smile over broken teeth
“sun is warm, the day is good”

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

pond in the woodlands

carefully I trod
amid bent blue grass and weeds
on low rolling bubbles of hills
around a dark pond

peppered with wild life
rippled in fishes
who keep eyes to the surface
watching bugs circle

when touching down,
with no warning become
a snack in a snap,
a quick fish’s morsel

in this natural chalice
harvesting life
teaming with chance,
is nature’s balance

In The News Reflecting Our Ways in These Days

Swedish princess to marry fitness trainer

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

with man

times are most difficult
going through a lot
she’s working way too much these days
and always with undue stress
it takes all she’s got

so very hard her life
handling however she can
she is not with child, you see,
much worse, she married him,
she’s with man

Monday, February 23, 2009

nightime thought

resembling a wad of socks
little mental rockets explode,
shoot off then drop like rocks
into the back side pockets
of my mind

many engraved with happy faces
others wrapped, still sleeping
patiently wait to be taken out
each a little frosted cake
with a prize
in the middle

Sunday, February 22, 2009

overnight

overnight
when sleek kitties creep under fences
lone dogs will bay
at a sound or a scent

moonless, under cover of darkness
stars are blocked by thick waving arms of trees
and flying vaporous clouds
a witches eve for brews and fires

on shallow brown river water’s edge
a large white bird is napping
as some do, standing on one foot
with head tucked under wing

above, the back road traffic has ended
and directly below the bridge
silvery stream water gurgles
then overhead a streak, the long white,
a lone gull shooting swift as an arrow on the wind

while some animals prowl night away
others sleep, practically smiling
dreaming of their friends and family
waiting for the morrow, sun again

Saturday, February 21, 2009

i have no need to worry

i have no need to worry
my fortune's not 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 my means i remain this person
and you are able to run the way you do

if i write stories

if i write stories
they won’t be scary
only fuzzy animals in mine
all of them will wink and smile

my happy birds will fly and sing,
joy they’ll carry near and far,
my creatures won’t eat people.
Steven King, wait in the car

way inner

can’t feel my face
by the grace that is saving us
in this place
where high above
stars ought to be over my head
on a night like this
I’ve got a ceiling instead
finding space
for glimmer
isn't easy

Friday, February 20, 2009

Roma Old and New

twenty-five hundred years
of lost objects, spit and trash
split and bashed,
devils and angels
corners and angles
ground under the firmament
by carts, tramping feet and chariots,
covered by layers of stone and tears
worn smooth, remodeled, invaded,
sweat upon, bloodied on,
beaten down, burned,
demolished, polished and paraded over,
made new again

into the boring years and motorcars
when time passes evenly, eventually
like watching a candle burn,
artisans , widows, beggars and whores
Publicans, demogogues, farmers and stores
teachers, dentists and shopkeepers daughters
make bread, make wine
tend the animals
keep them fed and in line

crushed stone rolls well and blows like dust
in the wind on the sweeping wings of time
theirs, yours and now mine,
clamor carries on forever
in the magnificence of proper order
the significance of restructure,
honorable poets, let us drink to life
sing songs with laughter,
chatter long and loud and stall the vandals

Thursday, February 19, 2009

dreams of flying

M. dreams of flying
soaring, looping in joy
picking lovely bright blue leaves
from the tops of the trees

I dream of flying
and I’m packed up to my eyes
with no leg room, jammed between
two sweating, farting, bad breath fat guys

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

letter to you

like a letter to you
it’s practically personal when I say
how’s it going? You doing okay?
take car of yourself, someone has to

we’re doing fine, the best we can
I said to take car but I meant take care, cause i was thinking
to mention we bought a car
did I tell you before?

we know our way around the city well because
we know the bus lines from years of practice riding
we just don’t drive where the tram goes
they go on tracks, and so far we don’t

I’d write a poem with birds and flowers
but we live our hours in the city
so this is filled with double parking and pedestrians
still, it’s so very stone old that it’s kind of pretty

hey, I’ve got to go now
time to turn down the lamps
I know this is a strange way to write you
but I’ve saved on the stamps

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

certainly

do your daily deeds
take care of the needs
of those that depend on you
to do the best you can

if all begins to unravel
or gets rough around the edges
no matter, you continue,
turn uncertainty into certainly

it’s the only way, everyday,
you know it‘s true
that’s how life goes, so keep it up,
allow someone to count on you

Monday, February 16, 2009

in motion

in motion, a million wiggling amoebae
in the overflowing Petri dish
of cell phone talkers, rushing shoppers,
urgent motorcycles,
scooters, bicycles,
cars, trucks breathing fire,
varied species of shiny multicolored metal rhinos in commotion

once jaywalking in front of a giant i fell
broke my arm in three places
got up quickly
the bus elected to brake
and not hit me

most dogs on leashes pull owners,
while sensible cats choose not to run
remain near home
lick themselves senseless asleep in Rome warm sun
and rarely break anything

Sunday, February 15, 2009

weather map

oh, it could be many reasons,
but i choose the official Italian
Government issued weather maps
to drive me up the wall, daily

a typical day is coming our way
the latest weather map shows
forty-six suns over Italy,
4 suns over Sardegna, seven over Sicily

Dress properly and have a nice day.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

not by the clock

not by the clock
nor sun’s final ray
the arch of the moon,
or shadows of what others say

will i change pace
for what I write
tumbling, veering, loose in space
off to places beyond sight

freely setting it’s own course
running when and where it might,
a sleek dark horse takes me where i go
with no remorse, I sleep well at night

Friday, February 13, 2009

dreamed i was

i dreamed i was someone else, you see
i said my name
and it wasn’t the same
when i looked she was where she ought to be

it never before happened to me
cause i was in the right place
it must have been a case
of mistaken identity

Thursday, February 12, 2009

intention

friend Tom called to mention
i didn’t post a poem that day
well, he’d missed mine, i’d say
and every day was my intention

it had been a year then i forgot,
simply, other things were going on
i wasn’t playing the sleeping pawn
a prognosticator i am not

i missed a day without remorse
now i’ll hop back on track
and write a stack
of poems, you see, i will, of course

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Walker - one wholey knight

Walker Texas ranger in Italian
with the volume down
no messing around
the man’s a stallion

the show starts with a mess of guys
getting beat up by the ranger
and other helpers, no stranger
than the fact that no one dies

the old man sneezes
they take him to hospital
where he wears his hat, sitting tall
in bed, i mean, Jesus,

he stays there until he mends
walker beats up more of the bad
fellows, and i’m glad
i don’t watch until the program ends

i know the final score
Walker beats up everyone bad
and of this i’m glad
i’ve seen the show before

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

how can i best explain

how can i best explain
the trees and trails
the woods with clean water hills
that i knew in my youth

oh, somewhere there is a partial picture
that shows a wooded area
but it doesn’t taste of seasons
it doesn’t show the turtles in fall
the thin ice of winter
pollywogs in spring
or sasafrass roots in summer

when we were ten we listened to the frogs
in the forgotten pond
we dug forts and swung on vines
walked over the creek on the trunk of fallen giants

our highway was an overgrown remnant of
the old street-car bed
we knew it well, we read its signs
a garter snake, a portion of broken tie
the occasional bend

i may never mention it again
but hope some day to take you there

Monday, February 09, 2009

teach the children

if my kid’s kids lived next door door
instead of next moon moon
i’d stop in and say hi or they would
i’d teach them to do and quietly enjoy

to notice birds watching them
even the cat who sometimes isn’t really sleeping
keeps an eye on them
i’d try, i would, but example is the only way

for kids do as their parents
mine are destined
to continue the line
of doing lucky well

they have grown middle aged now
with families of their own
and live far away
my teaching is over

Sunday, February 08, 2009

click, click

i'll put it here for you
once in a while we’ll click
you and i click. . . click,
click, rolling the same track

there is no order
no turning back on the blog
keep sifting drifting through
find something in the fog written for you

too bad it’s not leather bound
so you could hear the click of turning pages
and feel the weight of thick
paper on your fingers as you leaf

until then, brief poems will continue
to fall like drips from a faucet
into a pan – dap – dip –dap
scroll on down the hall amici, you can

Friday, February 06, 2009

all roads lead to Rome, more or less

a partial sun sparkle through bright clouds
is fine for a drive out of the city
until time to return becomes a curious
many hilled meander, for all roads
lead to Rome, or so it appears
according to all road signs

believing the signs can get you lost,
run you in circles, nick your patience,
rob you of hope, reroute you once
or twice through the nearby states of
confusion and despair before you
finally bumble-roam home into Rome

Thursday, February 05, 2009

got gas, the cook-with kind

went to the bombola man
he sells gas, the cook-with kind
from his store on the corner,
an old, old man and his wife
that’s their life, serving this community

how much do I need?
I begin to put my hand to indicate the level of the tank
he says thirty euro and I tell him yes
does the doorbell work? cause the guys rings it
then I’ll run down to let him in
no problem, i know I’ll hear the motorino
and be at the door before he is,

gas me up baby, we want it now
got to make coffee,
need some hot chow
gas me up baby, do it now, do it now

Wednesday, February 04, 2009

1502 and now


the document for this building where we live
shows that in 1502 the first two floors were erected,
three floors above were added later



early morning can be silent
here in the center of Rome
whose blocks and alleyways have known the ages

robust characters that laughed and cried,
lived and died here are forgotten,
covered in the dust to which they have returned

of them i feel not a trace
though i stand in their stead,
walk in their space,
have taken as mine their place
of joys and sorrows,
yesterday's tomorrows

there are no echoes of lingering bygone voices
in these halls of musty deeds, worn life pages
that have long passed along these walls
rubbed thoroughly into the mists of gone ages,

into that silence of the night
I will follow

Tuesday, February 03, 2009

good blue

absoblulutely skyness
all over the place
depths in waves
on my arms, my face,
blue and beyond I’d say

that sort of day we had
not so cold, not so bad
you’d like it, I know you’d do
and I mean it, really,
very blue

Monday, February 02, 2009

Daws Butler

Daws was a friend of mine
one fun, wacky, hard working, intelligent guy
loving creativity and exuding it
in every way, at all times, for everyone
truly one of the best

recently i was lacking in something,
feeling cast distant from my desire to play music,
write poetry, write other things, do art,
unable to burst forth with things
then i thought of Daws, my mentor, my friend
That’s what it is, i miss the guy

the good spark, absolutely, one of the best,
talented and giving, loving life,
never one to criticize, always quick to encourage,
he issued all the license to have fun,

he was an inspiration for creativity and humor,
humor, go ahead, say it again, be redundant,
Daws would, then make a face or do a funny voice

it was wonderful having spent time with him,
Daws knew what side his toast was buttered on
and if he’d put an elbow in it, he’d look sad
say, “oh, yuck!” in such an exaggerated way
just to get you to laugh

Sunday, February 01, 2009

sorted photos

been a while since I’ve seen the
old times, the different places,
if everyone has taken a thousand pix,
let’s call them that, pix,

and we are going on seven billion people,
that comes to . . . uh, let me see, let me see
exactly more images than we have to save
rev ‘em up

open the flood gates of our drawers
and cardboard boxes on closet floors and free them,
let that stack of birthday faces and holiday places tumble
build houses out of them

course now they’re on digital files, a load of
air ball pie, pre-evaporated and doesn’t exist anyway,
so why did I spend Saturday night sorting
when i could have been cavorting?

Saturday, January 31, 2009

drove out

drove out of the center of Roma,
a big deal to vacate our precious street parking spot,
then arrived in a stone city with kitties,
topped with a castle on a hill,
Palombara Sabina,
it only took an hour
to drive six hundred years into the past

following an hour walk around
we stopped at a restaurant on the way home
with two dozen hunters inside in camouflage suits
we wondered if it was safe to go in

as we got out of the car in the parking lot
three more hunters were getting out of their tank,
i mean “car”, they also wore head to toe camouflage
and didn’t smile

we asked them if the restaurant was open,
maybe they were having a secret meeting,
they said sure, and to go right in,
i said “we don’t have any costumes.”
they laughed instead of shooting us

yes we ate well,
the best lasagna of the ages
drove safely back to Rome
and found a parking space
a minute walk from home

tonight we sipped amaro
and talked about tomorrow

Friday, January 30, 2009

in line

two of my friends lost their moms this month
one, and then the other,
mine went a few years ago,
all the dads have been gone a while

my wife called the parents a buffer,
without them
we’ve all stepped up,
and we’re at the head of the line

on the phone Les mentioned school
how our town was, who we were
we knew it all so well,
and how way back then
is only a mind’s blink away
in first grade I was sent to stand in the hall
for pulling her pigtails in class

way, way back then, in that other time
we weren’t aware how young we were
during the summers of fun, the apples of fall,
crisp winters, happy buoyant beginnings of spring
the teachers, classmates, dances
the whole thing whizzing by
in the tempo of a Souza march
every bit of life rang rain water sparkling clear
with ups and downs, and most often, fine times

as pages turn somehow
and here we stand
look at us, we are
those same kids we remember,
older now,
next in line

Thursday, January 29, 2009

time for

reading and writing
all I have time for
what am I slighting?
where is the fun?

still I can’t get it all done
it seems either, or
one after the other
from sun to sun

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

beauty

beauty without
something behind it
is a thoroughbred
never trained

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

roll on until you coast

I have to think about this. What I am doing here? Wait, It’s not what you think. I know I’m writing brief things each day. I am talking about the how as much as the what.

A different site is one option, because it’s hard to think of longer poems on more than one page of the computer. Then you have to scroll down. No one in their right mind wants to get into a lot of scrolling. Based on the unpublished comments to this blog however, i have a few readers ripe for an all night scrollathon.

So, I need pieces of paper with poems printed on – what normal people call a book. On the blog you have to read the two or three parts of a story backwards. That is a problem that needs resolution from the techies of this cyberworld.

Or I could use a guy standing on a hill reciting my poems - some other guy, not me. How about Peter O’toole in his youth? He can do it cause a blog is like a dream, isn’t it? I just dream it up and it comes about? Or what?



sailing to the coast
on a silver ghost
buckle up in motion
they pour that magic potion
movies on a jet plane
the hero’s
singing in the rain

now, it’s a primo flight
gonna fly all night
when she brought my tray
i heard her walk away and say
life is but a dream
a matter of time
now you've made the scene
so you may as well unwind
go ahead and dine
on crackers, avocados, cheese and California wine

Monday, January 26, 2009

for the better

Obama is changing the world for the better
it is inevitable, for as you know,
in all organizations
things trickle down from the top

Obama is atop a worldly big one
good for him and good
for the rest of us
the good will trickle down

Sunday, January 25, 2009

dark eight

dark, eight in the rain
on a goodies run in the glare
Saturday night, doin’ it right
lamp light here and there

carefully of course, not to fall again
yesterday, a stairs slip may have broken my hand
saved the pizzas though
i’ll have an x-ray if the hand stays swollen

oh, yes, the rain run tonight,
saw a hunched dripping guy
walking by, said hi, Giancarlo
the optometrist round the corner

been to him over the years,
makes me feel the local I am
wandering Roma alleys in the dark
out on a lark cause we gave in,

she had a sore throat,
so i put on my coat and did the need
with good thought and speed
brought home the chocolate

Saturday, January 24, 2009

thick and the lean

the thick and the lean times
turn over like phases of the moon
riding sure and steady,
change be along soon,
go ahead look round,
stay at the ready
for the next roll of the lots
is coming down
be sure with the toll,
put coins in the slot,
cause you’re on a roll
pay up, pay out,
like it or not
it’s what you’ve got

Friday, January 23, 2009

do not open any attachments

when writing emails is launching
rockets to the wind onto far mountain
old pictures in a drawer, stacked in a file
someday to be sorted,

the unidentified guy in the photo, throw him away
looks like uncle whatshisname
clean it up, game starts in half an hour
a lot of billion people, some dressed in rags,
some searching for the next meal
and we shoot emails into the wind onto far mountain
wondering which sweater goes
best with the rest

of your costume, hit reply and pass it on, into the nether
suddenly she really needs that picture of Uncle Bart
i thought his name was Mark, I threw it away
squirrel looking with a mustache? right?
pack it up, stack ‘em up, start over

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Information

i phone information to get information
lousy nondescript music crackles
then, without pause or warning
a rapid, highly distorted recorded voice
speaks quickly and ends with press one,
followed by another quick garbled sentence,
then press two, etc. three and four

I called again
the second time through I still understand nothing
but took a guess and pressed four
twice a live guy hangs up on me
the third time through a woman was helpful
see, it works, if you are willing
to struggle and persist

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

car

we bought a car
maybe blue, maybe green
we’re not sure,
in the photos it's shiny metallic
looks like new
it's nine years old

got title and insurance and then
on the second try, a parking permit
because the first time i went to get a parking
permit for my car i didn’t bring
a registered copy of my apartment contract
registration tax having been paid
how silly of me
or how silly of the bureaucrats of Italy
who have difficulty collecting tax,
but that's another poem

we’ll take possession today
drive it and get the feel
yes, bought it without driving it

see how it goes, learn new things
then park it on the street
until we figure something better

meanwhile, it will change our life
we’ll see what that means
we have no idea what that means

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Obama

when our leader steps forward
all aboard will rise to his intelligence,
drawing us forward
in power to sweep the decks,
turn the ship around,
guide us right again

into the wind and against perils
to earn respect
find cause and direction,
renew belief in goodness,
and as it comes down from the top
so we will rise for the occasion

Monday, January 19, 2009

pause

I could use a pause
so this doesn’t become a diary
today I was going to say I forgot
the type of acid we use in engraving

then woke knowing it’s muratic acid
in either six to one
or twelve to one solutions diluted with water,
but didn’t know whythis could be poetry

unless it made me sad
and I cried about it
then would it be poetry? another thing,
does poetry end with question marks?

Sunday, January 18, 2009

new word day

longren is out to be a word
i put it there, pushed it into the cold
or is it longeren, or longern?

here under a tree
with a dish for food
another with water

long low lengthy days of winter
when sun sleeps longern i do
i know it does

Saturday, January 17, 2009

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

Friday, January 16, 2009

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

Thursday, January 15, 2009

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

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

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

Monday, January 12, 2009

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

Sunday, January 11, 2009

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

Saturday, January 10, 2009

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

Friday, January 09, 2009

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

Thursday, January 08, 2009

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

Wednesday, January 07, 2009

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

Tuesday, January 06, 2009

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

Monday, January 05, 2009

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

Sunday, January 04, 2009

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

Saturday, January 03, 2009

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'

Friday, January 02, 2009

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

Thursday, January 01, 2009

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