review

each day i note in quick review
stories true or fabricated
nothing untoward in what i do
brief impressions are here related

passing trains inside our head
haul events that we recall
piled higher than our daily bread
no way can we digest it all

lived in a ghost town

lived two years in a ghost town,
was a small graveyard
and a few cabins
there on the mountain

four or five folks lived within a few miles
a few more came on weekends
the judge married us there
amid a gathering of family and friends

we lived an hour from the nearest town,
our post office box,
traffic, a store or two
and people in general

electricity, none to speak of,
running water was a stream
and our well we pumped by hand
on a log tripod with wooden spool and rope

we had a battery powered radio
the scary programs on CBS mystery theater
was our nine p.m. entertainment
with a fire in the pot belly stove

and wind in the trees,
on moonless nights
after a scary show i’d accompany her
to the outhouse

once a park bear
that got too used to handouts
was dumped off in our part
and showed up on our porch

he got his nose
in some white lime powder
then stood on our porch on his hind legs
and left his powdery white nose print on our screen door

lucky for me he went away when i yelled at him
and he didn’t step through the screen into the kitchen
or it would have been suddenly
very crowded in there

stories and good times
we had a lot of them
our time in the woods
makes me smile thinking

The Internet Alerts Us

my morning coffee ritual
in our dark somber apartment in Rome
was speed jolt interrupted as
M. read aloud the full story

direct from the Internet
of the alarm caused by a guy
who smoked in the first class restroom
aboard a plane flying to Denver

when asked by security what he was doing
because they had smelled smoke in the bathroom,
he jokingly said he was lighting his shoes on fire.
they slammed him in his seat and cuffed him

causing two scrambled fierce military jets to accompany
the airliner while landing or, if need be, shoot it down.
bringing to mind actor and later President Ronald Reagan
who once said, “Lucky Strike means fine tobacco.”

as i quietly sipped my coffee in the far away zone
and thanked my lucky stars the Internet keeps us
informed and alert to the goings on
in restrooms high over Denver and other places

then went back
to finish watching
a six year old prodigy
play the piano in China

been on the road

been on the road and made it
back to Rome from away
quite a week it was.
label us vacationed to the hilt.

she drove the lion share, has the stuff
to persist, fight traffic and hold the gate.
now back, unpacked, thank goodness,
tomorrow we recuperate

can't see it

i can’t see it as a whole
not as well as you.
yes, i write this everyday,
from the middle where it’s spinning fast

i don’t see it as others do,
for it pops in pieces in front of you
in carefree digestible bits.
you have an idea how it goes

better to look from afar,
analyze the pieces.
and then tell me what happened
when it’s over

another life

in another life,
i’m pretty sure
i wasn’t king or queen
or dog or cat

i think i was a dandelion,
and we’d just grow
with nothing to know,
tens of thousands of us

turning our heads
to honor the light of the sun
we sang together
a lot of songs

never had words to learn
we’d just turn
to the sun and knew the music,
we were like one

water spray

the water spray
sky is gray
this early April day

and we rise for the occasion
content being here,
having been bestowed this reward

approximations

Italian national TV news at seven
is an approximation of the starting time,
could be three or four minutes later,
it all depends,
so don't set your clock by it

lines down the middle of streets in Roma
also are approximations,
indications for vehicles
that give a general idea where to drive,
you better bet your life on it

of the sea

the music of continuous waves
beat cleanses my soul
repeatedly bringing dreams,
stir turning clear waters

until fragile yellow
washes dawn silver sea,
sky grows light blue
and new gold day begins

somewhere, down Italy
to here by car or train
have returned to dream, digest and breathe
this thing again

from the terrace
over sounding waters
star light calls, i tell them
let’s go, take me

until that time comes
i’ll dream and wait,
these waves in my heart
have a place for me

somewhere out of time
a poets corner of many words
beyond the angle of night
a deep universe in order

i live near the sea
no matter where home
appears to be
or where rest my bones

in high wind
the long blue and fish
is where i begin,
my deepest wish

by the snap of sail,
pull of the tide
when you tell the tale
know there i hide

for i am of the sea
through not by address
a longing inside called water
calls to me more often than less

Antonio Salvatore

on the little electric bus
i sat next to a fellow with a case
and a bandaged right hand
we talked, immediately got along well

a very interesting guy
with a home in the Albino hills outside of Rome
a boat he loves in Sardegna
i told him we lived ten years on a boat
in Sausalito, on San Francisco bay

he’s doing a concert in San Fran April 24
he’s Antonio Salvatore a world class violinist
always first violinist for Ennio Morricone,
travels the world, many awards to his credit

we talked until my stop ended our chat
i’m sorry i didn’t have a card to give him,
an immediate acquaintance lost in fleeting encounter,
best wishes, Antonio

pajamas

my wife bought me pajamas
some wives do that you know
these i’ve had for a decade
and don’t like them, never did

they look like Polish clown pants
ok, so i’m of Polish blood
and i do clown around a bit
so . . .
. . . . hey, wait a minute
. . . . . cancel cancel
. . . they’re really not that bad

bad rainbow

my umbrella worked
wore it low like a hat
had a stick on it to hold on to,
was psychedelic in nature

the color was majorly blue, dark
ominous, but nice handle,
you had to own one like it
to understand

alone at the wooden table
a glass away from foul weather
i peer out disheartened,
where did my lousy umbrella go?

self satisfied

self satisfied are you?
i need your attention,
this is about you

when you feel you know,
when you have finally learned
that you’re not as smart
as you think you are

that very point is equivalent
to dawn in you,
the breaking open of daylight’s first rays,
the new beginning

don’t think about the afternoon
or days end as yet,
you still have a long way to go
until lunch time

Giancarlino Benedetti Corcos

hats off to Giancarlino
he did the floor tiles for a bar on the corner
this is a step for his ever changing face
in the art bowl

as he moves on in art
making a mess
turning in the tide
doing his part

while nibbling on the money bone
he’s having fun
and i respect him for that,
that and being a good person is what it’s all about

It’s what you figure out
and convey in your work
that will let everyone know
you are really a writer.

another space between

another space between
on a bus way out again,
way up denial, 27 march,
one month into chronic birthday digestion

make a note
sound waves, light waves, ocean waves
slow waves, fast waves, wet waves
more stuff you don’t have to Google

on the bus with folks from Nigeria
the six year old kid was quiet and observant
obviously not a TV junky, make a note -
dots of sun light from a board with holes - do it

not thinking of you, like the two end to end
parking spaces open and a one car pulls in the middle
and essentially takes two
he was not thinking of you either

deep up denial again, but it’s all true
i could tell we were far out of the city
when we saw a guy leading two camels,
at least they were on the sidewalk

sometime notes i make on the bus
can’t be deciphered because of the jiggle
but i know what i saw
about the camels i mean, i do so verify

note: when Italians count on their fingers
unlike America where one is the index finger
here, one is the thumb
just thought i’d let you know

m. just read a news story online
about a man arrested for trying to revive
a road kill possum
with mouth to mouth resuscitation

then TomC writes to say
he couldn’t digest his cornflakes or something
cause i skipped a day
pshaw! maybe when i was ten

i could have skipped all day.
what i did was lose a day just like
Ray Miland in Lost Weekend, Billy Wilder, 1945,
in which he played an alcoholic

and i just saved you more Googling
maybe Google lost some money then
and/or will make it up
somewhere else

note - if i wrote this in paragraph form
and you printed it, it’d waste money
on ink for big letters and periods
or space there of

city advantage

we saw one of three films featured
by the director Kurosawa
from 1949, in black and white,
free admission for the early show

a two minute walk from home
our neighborhood theater, time was right,
students and old people were there
subtitles in Italian, you can’t have everything

the theater was warm, i held my coat,
the people in the film were hot
sweating, every scene
we could see them beaded, dripping,
mopping their faces to remind us

after two hours it began to rain
just in the film,
still the heat continued for them and us,
but now muggy with rain

for 17 hours that seemed like 2
if you still believe in clocks
then it ended, and they let us leave
just like that

we had endured and
liked it a lot,
that’s what years in Italia can do to you,
so watch yourself

massive paralyzing total transit strike

another
massive paralyzing total transit strike
averted,
canceled at the last moment.

as they run, so we shall ride
into the dark heart of urban chaos

didn’t want to get halfway into
the jaws of hell,
some lonely half-deserted road
left to hike out,

have done that already.
what’s this?

a woman trying to be sixteen
and fifty pounds lighter
boards the bus
in brilliant shiny ultra high spike heels
with dagger toe points like a swordfish
waddling from pole to pole
a performing penguin
with red claws,
dainty as can be

as making notes
i ride deep up denial
longing for looking
on something for always,
or pizza for eating,
just a bite
save me

i can’t help it
or me or you
so don’t ask
i’ll say i never heard of it
just the truth
nothing butt,
take me up denial,
cruise by,
say,is that the Sphinx on your head
or just a stylish new hat?

getting off the bus
i look down to see
a flash of white in front of me
my zipper is half way down
and my shirt is sticking through
about half a foot's worth
like a large white rabbit's ear

as they run, so we shall ride
into the dark heart of urban chaos

graffiti

on a bus ride
that took us
to the other side
of the city

by the University of Rome
a large sign roughly spray painted on a wall
read: spegni i muti, scendi i bance
extinguish the fines, light the banks

8 in my pocket

i carried an 8 in my pocket
cause I heard it would
bring me money,
the next day got 500 euro

cash in my hand
came to me unexpectedly,
i immediately counted it
as coincidence

when the purpose of
carrying an 8 in my pocket
was to bring in money.
what do you think?

should i continue
to carry the number 8
written on a piece of paper
in my pocket?

tell you what,
i have a friend that needs it
i’ll give him an eight
to carry in his pocket