thunder blue

thunder blue
are you true
had to write that true line cause it sounds
like a mid twentieth century torch song
in a night club with burgundy velvet drapery
the clinking of glasses, voices and laughter
and a lot of smoking going on
this table, please
i want to be close to the band stand

lets put rain beating against the windows
and Bogart and Bacall hats down walking in the rain
this is where the thunder comes in
hey, there’s Gene Kelly
he wants to dance in the downpour
holly mackerel, it’s a musical
no wonder i got up early
i didn’t want to miss anything

spare a quarter, spare a quarter
you win some and you lose a few
there’s the line by the church
they feed indigents breakfast
that looks like your mother
and it’s you she’s carrying
how’s your cards look now
little smarty pants

my son was here

now to put away in my head that my son was here
with his wife and two young daughters
children and grandchildren, ours for a week
they’ve gone back home

m. and i must reassemble,
meals once again quiet and simple
in the old house silent
where already clocks tick louder

we’ll drive fewer miles
with no one to show,
the heavy and hard to reach special chores will be undone
without assistance from the skilled, able younger man

and no one will thrill looking hard for berries, frogs or eagles
the happy calliope of the ice cream truck will pass barely noticed
soon leaves will dry crisp and golden unseen by them
as the flapping wings and honks of wild geese soar low overhead

seasons turn rolling like clouds on the wind
the lake will grow wild and thrash
then grey lie calm still, iced over
without their attention

while great joy lingers
there is also sadness in the wake
for all great moments are not all game winning seconds
the first and the fastest and the farthest and the medals

sometimes the joys are quiet
as were moments seated on the back porch
at night in low voice talking
saying nothing in particular

life is a trade of joys and sorrows
here’s a toast to them
warm toast and butter to the joys
with homemade jelly smeared all over it

a crowd of poets

a crowd of poets
is a sad thing,
they're always holding hands
and crying

lincoln train

I found accounts that showed it came near the village of New London, Ohio, only a few miles from here. The year was 1865.


cool for April, spring came late that year
somber groups dispersed along the track
as far as the eye could see, neighbors in the night
reduced to profiles in the darkness

by the hour all were really tired
nervous in anticipation, wishing it’d arrive
3:25 in the morning, there about
there was a spot of wavering light in the distance

the same instant a voice cried out
then young Earl spotted it
“it’s coming” his wavering shout rang like a shot
over the now silent multitude assembled

some sobbing could be heard
as the lumbering of the locomotive slowly passed
the dark shadow of the funeral train
carrying the body of their fallen leader.

another season

i heard a frog voice last night at three
once every thirty seconds
old Herb did every fifteen
but that was a month ago

another month,
another season,
another frog?

you could spell the frog’s name Herb,
but what he said was erb
guess that’s herb with a small H

maybe frogs
have trouble
with their h’s.

spell

hands over apple carts
heels stomping knaves
strapped on a barrel
pearls hidden in caves

after line thimbles
knotted in haste
stumble and dribble
cookies to paste

orange, blue and pink
everything beckons
don’t even think
of askin’ for seconds

oh, i lost it
I did, more or less
t’was casting a spell,
least, that’d be my guess

where do i park it

in my head I still have
my 52 Chevy pickup truck
that i sold fourteen years ago

was the same make and model
as Phil’s who had the gas station
across the street when i was a kid

where we used to play
while he worked on cars
and i rode in the back when he took
his son and i out to the family farm

i found an old truck like it, loved it
got it back like old and new
it ticked, ticked, ticked

so now where do i park it
in my mind?

leaping leapers - good fortune

i fell, what the hell
washing the car
didn’t fall far
and i rolled

like Batman Senior. jumping out of an airplane
my feet didn’t tangle in the parachute
wasn’t about to break anything on the landing
not with a bucket in the way, not this time

lying on my back wet in driveway water
staying put, looking at the sky, like i oughter
knew i learned my lesson the last time
and that was the - way last time

i figured a clean front fender
wasn’t worth a month in a cast, not again
man, i was computin’ fast
tuck and roll, tuck and roll

now i have to call my friends
tell all the good fortune i’ve captured
or maybe just take a nap instead,
either way, i’m smiling, unfractured

direct, indirect

being a direct descendant
of one hundred fifty ten thousand years
off the Polish isles near the bleak Russian tundra
i hugged a widdle blankie over my shoulder

my french/scotch/irish/cherokee bride
on the other hand, spurned all covers
as one born in the boileroom of the boiler making plant
generates her own heat and some for the city of Minneapolis
and for Pittsburgh

special on the board

on the board two, scrambled with cheese
get the signal, shake off a menu
heavy hitter Nicky takes my order
try to see the newspaper
down the pipe, over the shoulder of
the guy at the table in front of me
on the board it's three for, two opposed,
the ayes have it, no rain today

on deck, waiting my order, making notes
off the board it’s two flips and a tuck
did a flip back and curl into reality
tasted good, grease is good
I like bacon, sipped coffee,
left a buck ride on the table
am I fit to drive?

winky and blinky

winky and blinky out at night
by light of a cheddar moon
laughed til they cried and hung on tight
as they pranced to every tune

hop a diddle they could
crisp and doodle might
doing what they really should
and thusly passed the night

see the hours fly on by
wrapped to the skin in fest
spinning, swimming eye to eye
of course you know the rest

planted on a quiet hill
on the road to the hereafter
some say sometimes when nights are still
you can hear bits of their laughter

poetry masters

oh yes, we’ve poetry masters
like America’s Walt Whitman
who thump covered a lot of bases
green waving fields, lightening flashes
blood red and dead gray fallen soldiers

bubbles of crystal clear rippling streams
by farmer’s long faces and torches
on the global sphere mystery and chants
for ten thousand of thousands of years
forward and back leaping

know how times have changed
for all of us
for in all of his words
of roots, songs, joys, and power,
of fury, nomads, nations, legions, submission,

banners, fires burning, pageants
and frost-mellowed berries
in those cherished times of olde
some lonely dim shadowed snowy eve
with walking staff and collar up

Walt never mentioned
stopping on his way home
to pick up a lotto ticket,
pizza with his favorite topping
or a movie

if here now, today
maybe stop for a pizza and a beer
i don't know, don't think he'd own a TV
and, stewards of the earth,
where'd the clear water go

ain't got money

even though we ain’t got money
i’m so in love with you honey
Kenny loggins wrote that near forty years ago
today i heard the anne murray recording
over the speakers at the festival
where the clock seems wound back years
in the heights
a small Ohio town
that managed to stay that way

this morning to the fire station for pancakes
this afternoon a short block walk
from the single village stop light
to a barbeque downtown

like it was
so it remains
small talk
happy voices
familiar faces
a peaceful village
god bless the little towns

where'd de go?

no mosquitoes okay
but where’s the lightning bugs
or fireflies, as some say,
but that’s in other parts

not here in humid hot hell
take a breath and sweat
stick to the chair summer
winged beetleful ohio

where’d de go?
gimmie da glow
i wanna know
those delightful iridescent call 'em yellow lightning bugs

da filthy rich

yeah, buddy? you say
you got a million bucks
well that’s just fine
now take a step back in line there, son

we gots us some real money folk comin in
you noticed the world making money
and stealin’ what they have to
well, only out’a necessity, that’s all

i’m telling you, kid
they don’t mean nuthin’ by it
what chew called there?
yeah, you. . . .

oh, that’s fine, now like i say
the rich gets richer
while the rest of you Head Count
is not needed for much of nuthin’

unless is for being
good foot soldiers
we need those, you see
they pick up things on the parade grounds

and i don’t mean jes communicable diseases
hah, hah, pieces of paper and shit like that
an' they can walk in a straight line
an' everything

an' look fine for when
the real important people,
the important people, make their speeches
ya hear me? - don’t chew see?

now step a little closer,
crowd in here,
that’s it
so’s i donze haz ta yell

nightmare

i know you were renting,
well, your home is our house now
you see, we are going to buy it
would you move out please

wait, what i said last week
forget about it
yeah, cancel the movers
we changed our mind

see if you can get
your deposit back on the new place
oh, and here, this stuff
was in your mailbox

i guess it’s yours again,
most of it’s junk mail anyway
hope you don’t mind,
i clipped out all the coupons

when i'm flying

often we pass a certain high tension pole
supporting large power lines
that run for miles over the rolling country side
in mornings, large birds called turkey vultures or buzzards
set on the metal branches with wings partially spread
to dry them from nightly dew

one of the most skilled aviary flyers in the Americas,
these giants have been seen to soar
as long as six hours
without flapping their wings

today on the pinnacle of the tall vertical metal tower
a bird perched, wings fully extended
in it’s full six foot span
gallant as an eagle on an American emblem

seeing that bird atop all, in golden morning light
my wife put words in that wild creature’s beak
when she said,
“this is what i look like when i’m flying.”

at the same time
he whispered to me
“i can soar higher, longer, faster
than you can ever dream.”

tend your still

words on a note
i know i wrote
cause it was on a piece of paper
in my pocket

couldn’t figure why
i asked her and yes, she said it
that’s why i wrote it down
tend your still

nice words together
i asked what it means
she said it’s what you do
in West Virginia

three steps

needed house front steps,
didn’t want wood,
in our town it’s normal to call a cement contractor
that’s a guy who has a truck and pours cement

not a problem, i’d call a guy, then another and another
the job to pour three steps was too small to be bothered with
they had big jobs, long driveways to keep them from tiny steps
so i thought and thought - and thought of stone

at the stone quarry they said they could do it,
cut Indiana Blue Sandstone i selected, and deliver it,
set the stone down one , two, three
all i had to do was provide the dimensions for three blocks

three weeks i planned. the first time i measured i thought i had it
a few days later i checked my figures and they were wrong,
so i did it again, three blocks, one, two, three on top of each other
it was many days to get it right.

i had to prepare the ground, no one else would do it,
so I raked, then measured the first block, the second had to fit
back under the wood of the door, and the third
had to be even with the inside floor. one, two, three

on and on i figured stone dimensions, and finally had it right.
the bottom block was largest,
the second and third were equally smaller.
it all would fit, everything tight.

the day they delivered the stone in a large truck with a crane,
they had one block cut wrong by two inches on one side.
I recalculated and told them put them down. one, two, three
in a half hour i had them down and perfect,

you can’t tell they made a cutting error.
now we have our three stone steps
the bottom, the second recessed under the Georgian doorway
the third level with the inside wood floor

come back in two hundred years, you’ll see
the house may be gone,
but the steps will be there
one, two, three

dry my tears

dry my tears
in my dreams
i'm in my world
you are you

i may yell
but don’t cry often
hug my fears
then they soften