mission to the moon

as in the Wizard of Oz,
pay no attention to the man
behind the curtain,
no need disturb the flow of thought

the U. S. government announces
returning to the moon
to look for water
a space craft is going there,
up and away

in no unfamiliar logic
the best minds available in government
boasting the world's most sophisticated technology
have decided this scientific endeavor,
so we'll be bombing for water

squirrel feeding

started feeding the squirrel
the mother mostly
M. was first to hold a peanut
in her hand as Mother Squirrel took it
two younger squirrels are in the nest
but come down only occasionally

then I fed Mother Squirrel, hand to mouth
now a hundred peanuts and a few days later
Mother Squirrel is just as jumpy and quick
as the first day,
does no good to tell a wild animal to calm down

it comes around when we are out, to get us moving
then proceeds with extreme caution
every time, it moves backward and forward lightening fast
unsure where to go, as if half blind
M. says it is because the eyes are the side of it’s head
good point, but i think it doesn’t see well

bit my finger once, and oh so gently
not like crunching something
i felt the teeth rubbing my finger
she was looking for peanut
and got it the second try,
so who’s learning what here?
i guess we're both learning the other's ways

aviary action

all packed with baby birds
here and there are the nests
up and down in trees, on low hanging eaves
then when mostly empty of the first brood
all over the ground the parents guide the newbies

hawks and the occasional eagle are overhead
along with seagulls, egrets, herons, geese, ducks,
swans, robins, doves, black birds, sparrows
wrens, hummingbirds, orioles, woodpeckers
and the lesser known in these parts, unidentifiables on migration,

fluttering aviary teams in lines, flocks or mismanaged irregular bunches
twisting in air, turning, soaring and dashing
a natural world of allusion and distraction,
color, movement, flight, flutter and action,
i imagine, also involved is a bit of birdly satisfaction

in the beginning

how frogs got to our pond in the first place
is an imponderable
the fenced in backyard pond is remote for a frog
a block from the river
a large cove is a block to the north
another cove is a few blocks west
they aren’t taking taxis to get here
no blinking signs written in Frog advertise room and board

a year ago four came late one eve
Herb, our second season frog, called them, I know,
on rainy nights they move,
sought his alluring voice
it was the season of hot frog love

their voices are all alike to me
but it was three girl frogs that showed up, triplets no doubt,
maybe girl frogs croak also, sing that is. or whatever,
that male frog noise to them must sound like a siren to Ulysses,
or Sinatra at the Copacabana, cause they came

now they’re all gone
we’re starting from scratch
so when it rains
who is going to call them?
do they just stumble around the neighborhood,
after a rowdy night on the prowl
until they find the place?
heaven only knows

already mid june

a last look from the porch before bed
a robin, born a few weeks ago, loudly chirps
alone, perhaps unsure of his new life
has returned to spend the night
in his now abandoned home nest

a harmless insect, junebugs, from the lake
Canadians call them Yankee soldiers
on this side Ohioans call them Canadian solders
swarm in from for two weeks each June,
food for the birds, annoying everyone else, they come to die
their corpses make a mess, litter everywhere

today’s the day, the very day the last of them,
they are through living
as I close the screen door to enter the house
a flash of yellow light catches my eye,
it is first firefly,
now it is their time,
my California wife thought they were a Walt Disney invention
never saw a real one until we moved to Ohio
the arrival of lightening bugs is a changing of the guard,
a turning of the key,
like a winding of the clock
summer moves in

south africa

one point four kilometers down
61 dead in an abandoned gold mine
illegal workers
in a part of the mine that was closed
because it was too dangerous

children have been orphaned
and women have been widowed
they weren’t looking to get wealthy
but to eat, care for their families
and perhaps get away
to where they could live

Frog One-One - Reprise

Now in these hollow frogless times, indulge me as I turn back to a year ago for this forgotten frog favorite.



Frog One-One

i got in the car
and drove to the shopping plaza
it was about empty and i was going slowly
driving in circles
in the parking lot
my brain was on overdrive

my turn signal on
it blinked, but i didn't
until i nearly ran out of gas
and then about cried when i realized it was true
cause i triple checked, twice
there was no store called
Frog Aid

i want to explain, dear reader
we saw them, well she pointed them out to me
now there are four
like a Sergio Leone movie
four, tall in the saddle
well, . . . in the pond

and she says they're the same four
"Which same?" i yelled

"Say that three times fast," she said
as she did it, "Which same, which same, which same."

i tried and couldn't do it
once i had to read a commercial for Misses Pauls Fish Sticks in L.A. at KBIG
and i finally turned it over to Dave the Slave in the midnight cave,
another announcer, cause i couldn't say fish sticks smoothly

"which same" gave me the same trouble
as fish sticks

but my gut feeling told me
these are all new guys
four hiding, sneaking frogs
lurking out there
waiting for sundown

i drove home, cause i knew what i had to do

"Frog One-One, may I help you," the voice said with authority

"That's what I want to know. There's four in the pond."

i heard him drop the phone

then, "Is anyone at home?" he asked.

"I'm calling from home."

"Get out of town!" he said.

"I'm on my way."

"No, I mean are you kidding?" he asked.

"Uh, . . . what part?"

dial tone

that was two hours ago
i've been back at the shopping plaza parking lot
driving in more circles
determined to find a
Frogs Are Us
. . . i need to make a donation

four a.m. again

open my eyes to red glowing lights that read four a.m. i’m thinking poetry in absolute silence where words float in then sitting I’ve got jazz passages in my head for Some Enchanted Evening hearing Enzio Pinza sing a few lines i didn’t play anything didn’t hear anything just started thinking about, it’s nearly dawn, street lamps just turned off the coffee i’m putting on good morning world life’s a song isn’t it? how are you doing anyway? waking easy i hope thinking too much is a hell of a way to wake up

oiling

was putting linseed oil on the plank floors of my lab,
it used to be the cookhouse
back when it was constructed in 1838,
as i do, the old place needs tender maintenance

my knees ache from today’s labor
but i cleaned up, and one more section’s finished
M. went out to town for food shopping,
she’ll put a fine meal together by sundown

now sitting here typing, working these words out
i see she just drove in the drive, and it’s a good thing,
though life together isn't always a bowl of cherries
i’d sure miss her if she wasn’t around

too bad we couldn’t just oil up each other,
rub it in slowly with a nice soft cloth
in easy circular motions
until we both looked and felt like new

stronger than steel

after several days parked under a tree
our car developed a spider web on the rear bumper
a massive heavy weave laden with the insects
that swarm a few days every June
when north winds carry them in a cloud
across Lake Erie from Canada

I tore off three corners of the web
and left a major strand holding the load
of snagged Canadian soldiers
and thought of it dangling as I drove
to a nearby store, then home again

as I passed one car I wondered
did he see my web flapping like a pennant
I wasn’t ashamed, oh contraire, i was nearly proud
it was an experiment
what man made thing
could hang tight in a torrent of wind like that?
certainly not me by my shirt
or maybe not me from my belt
strand for strand it is said spider webs
have an incredible tensile strength stronger then steel,

so after a few wind blown minutes to the store and back
I pulled the car into our drive, parked,
then immediately checked the web
it was gone

hyphenation

why do only women do it?
I’ll hyphenate my name
to honor my mother’s family
give me a bigger name
to confuse and aggravate people

wait, instead I’ll do it right
and use a commercial product
and perhaps the company will
send money for the endorsement
call me Jack Sender-Campbell Soup



(cash or money order only)

four thirty-seven a.m.

when I looked at the clock
it was wholly night - totally

big still and darkness
hung air

no wind blew
nothing could be heard

no trains, no traffic
no light
no frog, birds asleep, insects quiet
it had become the meaning
silent night

garage sale

an alert notice bannered the local paper
attention – don’t miss it
the once-a- year whole town garage sale is a happening
and god almighty good glory the sun is shining today

folks in colorful, rumpled, weekend-casual
doin' a bit o'work leisure wear
have unloaded all manner of goods
that pack, end to end, the parking lot
where make-do tables and stacked boxes are set
row upon row
displaying once cherished items
now calling for your money, money, money
just a little of your money
cause these would-be venders don’t
want to store it any longer

more or less recently fresh coffee
and bakery goods are available at a trailer
all moderately priced for the good spirited group
now streaming like buffalo
amid sale items that are overall:
fifty per cent plastic, twenty percent broken,
the rest miscellaneous or generally non classifiable,
including the chipped and rusted
all discounted to rock bottom prices

no music blares, only excited hometown chatter is heard
in the flood of curious meanderers
in sun hats, suspenders, comfy shoes and canes,
elbow to elbow walking proud

including children on bicycles, in strollers, some towed
all in a great moving wave
along the sea of heads down, eyes alert,
hard core bargain hunters,
seeking and assessing under priced treasures,
most destined for little use
or to be packed away
until recycled again
some other day
at a future, as yet to be announced,
be ready when it comes, garage sale

if women

if women are so damn gentle
why does she get upset more than me?
I mean, i swept the porch,
she didn’t see,
only the lousy pile of debris
I left on the other side,
from sweeping the drive
sakes alive and Wah!
so it wasn’t put in a trash can, thirty lashes
we have four days before the trash guys arrive

she works hard and right
I commend her, she keeps all neat
runs her half of the ship tight
my list of good I do includes mud
not tracked in on my feet – how ‘bout that!
am I sweet, or what?

have to remind myself
she sees things her way, not mine,
cause astrologically speaking – we were born in
different places at different times,
must allow for different hearts,
different stops, different starts, different graces
we get things done at a different paces
boys versus girls in the human races
and so it goes

now, if I’m not hard enough
maybe it’s because I wake up early each day,
my skin gets too soft
from gentle morning sunshine
baby kissing my eyes,
she’d probably say the sun light in my eyes
goes in deep alright,
and has dried out my brain

reflection

as i reflect it seems
there are two extremes
beginning and end
with which to contend

my report begins in motion
a start somewhere in the middle
for the real beginning was so long ago
that i don’t hope to know

and beyond my lines
the end will come in view
but more will notice
when the end is past
certainly not me
and i doubt if you

the wall

the wall between us
is nearly transparent
as i can see
we can live within, i have found

and walk around half off the ground
through misty vapors
crowned with windows
to gothic cathedral height

invisible as sweet music
unfolding with the stars at night
treading softly on the grass
all seems so profound

as easily we pass
turning to the sound
with outstretched arms
we circle, around, around and around

enough of this that both
gladdens and saddens me
it is for you too
look around, go and see
i am yours, you are mine
we share the way
it’s ours this day
if we’re so close
why are you always
on the other side?

mourning doves

more than any other bird not on disassembly lines
an estimated 70 million are shot by hunters annually,
while other birds make happy songs
mourning doves emit a plaintive lament - coo coo coo
a favorite sound since mornings of my youth

look for them not in deep woods, but in open fields
and sitting on telephone wires
doves fly a swift 55 miles an hour in straight lines
eat only seeds
their poorly constructed nest tends to fall apart

unlike other birds, doves blink
sad like circus clown Emmet Kelly
who swept the spotlight with a broom,
they are cute,
yet, pitiful

Clockster Doctorettes

it’s three o’clock
my god – stop the clocks
you know which ones
take the weights off and the pendulums
load them in the car, gently
don’t forget the wind up keys
we’re on our way to the Clockster Docterettes
who claim knowledge to repair antique clocks
good luck to us – we’re on the way

speeding through tiny towns with hills wavy pretty
looking like that’s what snow is made for
send me a picture
then grant, sycamore, and state streets
where we dropped off the clocks for an estimate
oh, my – an estimate
hey , they run fine
give them a squirt of clock oil
not a frontal lobotomy


on the way back we passed camp Quilter –
she thought it said Quitter
at the local small town roadside drive though feed house
she got a large soft drink
the size of an Opel Cadet,
any larger it would need turn signals

i popped my ears trying to suck a small shake
the consistency of a goodyear tire
i sucked and sucked and then popped up a freezing slug
that hit the roof of my mouth and landed on my teeth
like two hundred pounds
of frozen dancing reindeer in tap shoes
i saw stars, screamed in pain
nearly passed out from the shock
but kept the car on the road
and sped us home

no call yet from the Clockster Doctorettes

beyond the pale

the one left in tall grass
behind the building out back
there is no hope
there just plain is

screw loose and fancy free
I have the time
and the inclination
don’t forget loveable

too bad I’m not magnetic
with an important message
like one you love and stuck on the refrigerator
but know so well by heart you ignore it

major antique barn

motor down the lonesome highway
to the major antique barn
that says it all
has it all
got to be haunted

pristine condition
repairable for the most part
hardly used or damn near worn smooth
from the ten thousand times junior
threw it down the stairs
dragged it down the street
and left it in the rain
before he buried it in the backyard

keepsakes once stuck in dusty corners
hidden by crazy aunt Beulah under the floor,
uncle Ned found it behind the attic
from the back of drawers
the bottoms of closets
taped behind a false wall in the bathroom
pulled out and sold off by the children
or left behind in the garage after a move

come look and wander by
wonder at thousands of memories

treasures from some once upon a long time ago
been in the family for ages
made there and carted here
old when grandma had it
original paint
each item a loving story now forgotten
there may be all for some
and could be some for all
break it - you buy it