summer gone

dark hard rain and coolness
how soon summer turned away
still another week before august ends
so quickly warm days have gone astray

just picked raspberries
it’s not time for apples
we’re not ready for pumpkins
corn and tomatoes are yet to ripen fully
how can days lounging at the beach be over
there are short sleeves and sun hats to wear
it isn’t time to put them away

need i collar up against chill wind?
where have they gone - the kids on bicycles?
even the mail man is bundled up
and sits longer in his truck

brutal quick summer why have you departed?
you’re the season we want to last
and went on by like no other has
so quickly you have passed

jungle country vacation

when he was ten
and I was the age of lightning, long hair and magic
my son and i journeyed to Belize
to swim eat explore, and we did

returning through Mexico
border guards were hesitant alert
as we were afoot toting light luggage
but took a chance and let us enter their country

that overnight dirt road through jungle toward the north star
hobbling potholes packed on a tired rusty dull blue bus
amid ripe fruit, peasants, potions and shamans
my son secure and asleep, i fell into dream in some rear seat

awaken by rays of yellow dawn light, my head resting
on the breast of a congenial country woman.
we departed the bus later that morning
all waved to us, she was still smiling

oldies

heard songs on a oldies station at the dentist
made me cringe, tell you way,
Buddy Holly, Peggy Sue,
get this: fifty years ago it was an oldie

it was recorded fifty-one years ago
i remember it the first time,
and they all sound different to me now
the individual instruments can be heard

how i process them in my mind
how they sound technically, remixed
the space between the notes
the sound with decent speakers

now reproduced in stereo
add my own playing, knowledge, abilities
all the sounds of the passing years
packed in my head

a half century of music
enough oldies, plenty, i mean it,
i’m full, where’s sophistication?
time to turn the musical corner

vacuum space time

The top paper among physicists in meeting Belgiam 2009
was presented by Nassim Haramein.

vacuum space time
warp space time
zero, zero, zero, zero, point one percent
of all space is material

way down, down
to the other end
into molecules
is infinite space

half

half is woman
Afghanistan is voting
the world is waiting

they are hoping
they can do
half are women

wake up
we are in
this world together

the Commander

the Commander is flaps down
on approach to the final tarmac
wrapping up his mission

Pa is on the way out
or maybe in
depending how you read it

a few years ago he drove us
back from Tony’s Restaurant
in an Arizona hill town

as he sped hard to pass a truck
i commented, “so you miss
flying those WWII PBY’s, Tom”

we all laughed
and to tears will laugh again
saluting the Commander

counsel

keeping my distance
working on other things
well, on the porch sipping coffee
while she does garden cleanup

the trash man is coming
i tell her it will be 90 today
interrupting drinking and heavy thinking
she calls me to help

as she attempts to stuff
a seventy pound glump of zucchini plants
into a thirty pound capacity bag,
providing counsel i advise

i can’t be done, won’t be done
and she does it anyway
then lugs all
to the curb for pickup

instead of yard work
perhaps i could convince her
to collect postage stamps,
they’re easier to lift

market watch

with real time quotes
I can watch it all
second by second
keeping a tight hand

today i set all in place
had my coffee
did other things
often reviewing

checked often,
after two and a half hours
i realized it is Sunday,
the market is closed

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