Saturday, May 01, 2010

folly of spring

I
here i am, there are no geese.
must i go looking
in the usual places
where they congregate,

i don’t think so;
they can wait
and better they do,
a lesson for them all.

they know only their own reflection in the lake.
if they can recall other than their own image,
let them vent their wings and
see if they can find me.

a walk on the pier will show me many fish,
occasional mouth open bobbers and long swelling floaters,
but i don’t want to encounter any geese;
not that way, not today, not yet anyway.


II
wretched clean up
after a winter of winds blowing sticks,
knocking things about and new spring growing,
making a mess that we will reassemble into order;

it has to be done,
our part of the bargain
for being people living in this community.
have you noticed, the lucky nonliving don’t do shit.

they lie still in the recently frozen soil
watch the stars, wait for visitors,
or walkabout, return to favorite haunts in cover of darkness
or in thin air, thinking thoughts they didn’t know they could in life.

so i gave a kid relative of a neighbor
five bucks to cut our long front lawn.
when he finished tipped him a dollar for immediate service.
his two minutes would take forty-five from my life.

the kid is a tall, well built,long hair seventeen.
at that age i could have sliced weeds and then run the gauntlet,
now a wobbly sixty-five, can use the help
and kids always need money. good for both of us.

earlier i asked the school teacher next door how much
should i offer the lad to mow, he said five or ten.
this neighbor cuts it for us for free when we’re away.
teaches fifth grade math but not economics.


III
Frank the bluegill is gone from our pond
should i cast along the bottom with a net
dragging for skeletal remnants, traces
or did an invader, man or egret, go fishing.

no frogs yet, not this first of May.
they’ll come home in due time,
when it’s warm, humid, still and bugs are about.
scratch that last; there is one out there barking now.


IV
old friend LeeH. wrote to tell me of poet Wallace Stevens;
said my stuff was reminiscent. thought he joked
until i kept reading; it's a stretch, but now with a thousand
poems down i learn something new. that’s how life goes,

especially when you tire
of your own reflection in the water
and then pick your head up and look around.
there are nearly seven billion of us in this pond.

Friday, April 30, 2010

reading sign

i need go over again,
searching carefully each clue
as to where is up
for me, for you, it keeps changing

there’s been faint trace
like a bird puff gone to wind,
aloft - the shifting of the old tree.
ground level - wind licking long strokes in lawns

stuff is old, i see it around me
don’t let me kid myself
the wind is cold by night
as day old dinner left lying on the shelf

rampant speculation leads to inaccuracies
following closely pit padding heels of worry
abandoning hurry, do softly tread,
leave no space, show nor dread.

as we race handle our duties,
scurrying about have no doubt,
in the end, as my mother said,
kid, everything always works out

Thursday, April 29, 2010

the egret has landed

more a to a less play the drums tap tap
in my head riding, some.
last time i opened the window
i didn’t know it was the last time

if people dressed better
would they treat us better?
on the other hand
they treat us like cattle, so dress for it

saw a disheveled motorcycle man attired for a sleepover
had on a t-shirt with a decal picture of a motorcycle on it
give him a country name
call him Harley Woodpecker

hug the cushion
to your chest
in the event of evacuation
i’d call that an event all right

don’t mind
much of anything
words people say
or what aggravates

out the window
looked like two fat puffy bunnies
parked on the tarmac
call them big planes in their team colors

lock tray tables down in their
full upright position, why is that?
will it rattle, fall and break on takeoff?
hug the seat cushion to your chest

in the event of an evacuation
or if in need of a cuddle, not while plane is in motion,
or they’ll want to know why you’re taking their plane apart
don’t forget, do not forget this is a non smoking flight, don’t forget

woke up at eleven pm last night your time
been flying, well, riding mostly
go ahead tell me it’s a non smoking flight
nearly forgot, thought i'd quit or something

hurry driver
take me home so i can find the Internet is down
cause a ten cent piece of plastic broke when they
thought they reconnected the stuff no problem

throw out that dot of plastic
get it in the ocean
so it floats with the rest of it
and won’t ever be lonely again

Monday, April 26, 2010

ordinary coffee 2

between time has begun in earnest,
sliding along a step at a time in this land
where coffee is not only a drug
it is the ritual, deeply set

saw Alberto a final time
had coffee, bid our goodbyes.
neither here nor beyond, i’m in prep time now,
thinking the way

then near home, woodworker Franco
tells me he’s moving from his shop,
saddened. his friends, already
thinking of his friends

twenty-five years in this place,
Franco has ripened and aged in this studio
of worn brick fabricated in the late middle ages.
he knows these ancient walls, having laughed and cried here

and we all have our paths,
the way for one is never
easy as it may appear to others.
expect and accept surprises

on the way keep your head up,
be alert through change, though fear it not.
remember - it is always easier to ride the horse
in the direction that it is going.

ordinary coffee

ordinary coffee and a roll with apple
at the bar unchanged for years
dark haired daughter works Monday
she knows our routine

M. went along this regular
laundry day for Bill and i.
now Luciano will be closing his place
moving to Thailand the end of the month

chef Bill will spend his 43rd year in Roma
then is on his way
to live with his brother in Atlanta,
we’ll return in the fall, that’s the plan

yesterday it was Chinese food
with Maria, Bruna and Luciana,
a Trastevere summery Sunday
we bid our goodbyes

quickly all happens,
so sudden to depart
our friendship. our adventure
oh, melancholy heart

Sunday, April 25, 2010

more or lessing now

this whole thing is amazing
there’s seven billion of us
mostly the same
one head and the other parts
we put words together
that’s one way it starts

then what i come up with
is not all that unique
we’re in this together
that’s what i think

my poems are like yours
when you take ‘em apart
they’re all from the brain
run by the heart

so a salute to us is okay
from one and for all
give it your best,
have a nice day

Saturday, April 24, 2010

saturday first thing

Saturday first thing
the crack of eight, remember that,
it's the hour to ransack Rome,
cause Romans sleep in the mornings

from our window above i observe a Bangladeshi
load the large wheeled wooden hand cart
for Campo dei Fiori venders Marco and Isa,
the guy needs the work, and they’re older now

we go out and down the alley way,
find Corado working alone at
Rosaria’s store, talk a bit.
he wants to see America some day

then to the laundry that still isn’t open
a half hour past the opening time written on the door.
after fifteen minutes of staring at the sign
we drag our cart to the Laundromat a few streets over

Crazy Mario is working, usually i go on Monday
with Bill the chef, when Luciano works there,
forever grumpy and dreaming aloud
of Thailand beaches, warm weather and low prices

our chores finished, we leave Roma by car to discover
it’s the day, it’s the hour, it’s what every Disneyland in
the world wants to be, charming as Sacrafano’s
medieval village center, rock village on a hill

now freshly green, deep springtime in the air
we have a coffee and walk around.
then to Alberto’s delightful home in the wild,
for lunch, half Calabrese cuisine,

half plain out of this world
Albie’s an artist, even when he cooks.
i’d tell you more but the page is nearly full,
must save room for desert.

Friday, April 23, 2010

road again

some road cops on the cruise
with nothing to do get a kick
driving fast and laying on the siren
they passed us like a bat out of hell

stopped for lunch at a mom and pa diner
in an atomic particle of a town.
out front a parking space for two was open
‘til that guy in front of me pulls into it

goes right in the middle
takes it all, he does
not thinking of me or you,
that’s how Italbillys do

during, before and after pasta,
vegetables, warm pie and coffee, i sort
piles of notes from my pockets
x ‘em out when they’re done, i do

at home i keep one of the old cigar boxes dad used
little notes and numbers
written all over it
a boy has to learn somewhere

the Giant Cyclops had it right
tell the villagers to leave some sheep
tied up by the cave at the bottom of the hill
or there’s going to be trouble, problem solved

lunch was home cooked good
made new friends
learned the river was down,
not rushing like years before

a local truck, vegetables in the back
parked outside
after lunch we gandered,
chatted, got fruit, we did

the road home, windows up against the chill,
all the way we could smell the strawberries
nestled in the trunk of the car.
now that’s a poem, partner

Thursday, April 22, 2010

i smile satisfied

crossing traffic
with bullfighter ease
having done it before
it’s a breeze

turning left
then I squeeze
across the lane
step, step

like a dance
kind of nifty
Hey - that SOB
almost hit me

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

baby down the well

baby down the well,
what the hell?
half a world away people talk
like it’s going on next door

next thing the playoff games
shadowed out by Dancing with the Stars,
you need some more distraction,
we’ve got robots going to Mars

so many i don't know

been through so many books
don’t know what all i’ve read,
who wrote them
or what they all said

while some of it took,
seems the most of it, i dread,
is floating here somewhere,
swirling downstream in my head

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

since the colosseum

in Roma the paper trail
dreadful long, runs deep,
employment for a relative,
nothing to do with efficiency

if they’re selling chances
don’t bet against it,
the outcome is fixed in stone,
that’s how it goes

Roma has the reputation
to convolute everything,
and lives up to it
every imaginable way

Monday, April 19, 2010

out of Roma ahead of the volcano

set a land speed record
on an intercity bus to the termini
the driver was in a hurry
to smoke or pee or call mama on his break

at the train station
oh the humanity
European victims of the volcano cloud
hurrying in, to find a way out

training south we stopped at Formia
a knowledgeable passenger said we’d be stopped a few minutes
i was three seconds from stepping off for a walk outside
as the door snapped closed and the train took off

a guy who saw it all
said it was close to disaster for me
and nearly smiled
when he said it

through Naples we passed
a dozen twenty story
apartment buildings with balconies
on all sides, all the way down

in Sapri stayed at a downtown hotel
a small park away from the sea
the racket was traffic and breaking waves of humanity
it was a fine afternoon

that evening at a local bar
i had a beer, M. had a glass of wine
served by the youngest bartender in Europe
my shoes are older than him

crashing waves
whish of the trees
laughing people
between us and the sea

so the volcano puffs
airports close
we had enough
soon we’re heading home

fat mouse sleeping

fat mouse sleeping
is how we travel usually,
but not this bus, we let the good one go,
and took one with the square wheels

and the driver who that very morning
dropped off his mother,
three sisters and fiancee
at the nut house

his grin as he drove reminded me of the odd man,
a regular at a lunch counter in San Francisco,
with the black rubber toupee that clung to his head
like a sleeping alligator, i shuddered

and looked over to M. to see how she rode,
one hand on the saddle horn like a broncobuster
grinning without hanging on
and knew she was fearless

fat mouse sleeping
is where i wanna be
but not on this bus
the one with square wheels

Friday, April 16, 2010

the world's most expensive carpet

6.2 million dollars, the world’s most expensive carpet
sold, how about that and what do you know,
my carpet is for sale right now
for 6.3 million, the one by the door

put that in the Guinness record book
as the highest price asked for a carpet
call the queen or someone
Paris Hilton or Sharon Stone maybe

i’ll put a sign on the back of my pickup truck
and drive down to the Pied Piper
the local ice cream place and celebrate
i’ll buy – they’ll probably only get small cones

wait – let me think about this,
i won’t need a shot of botox will i?
couldn’t they use an old picture of me
or one of Pierce Brosnan and say it’s me?

maybe i’d better just drink
my morning coffee and think about it,
yeah, i do want to be reasonable,
yeah, that’s me, good old Mr. Reasonable

Thursday, April 15, 2010

so life is but a dream

so life is but a dream,
here’s one to sleep on,
we rocket back in time, she and i

take our journey in a flash,
contract it into a night
to see some high points

spend two days at that place
high above the beach in Zijuatenejo
have a nice dinner under stars

two days in the Piute mountains
our cabin , old friends dropping by
the wood stove, where it all began

two days on the boat in Sausalito
the cat’s there lying in the sun
what a decade that was

two days with my folks in Ohio
two with yours in Arizona
make those family festive occasions,

two in Hawaii on bicycles and camping
two in Italy on trains, busing, walking,
wine, pasta and pizza of course,

add two in Sonoma on the crazy oats ranch,
a couple of days here, a couple there,
a whirlwind happy couple dream

we rode the long ride
rose and fell with the tide
and iknow, sweetheart, we’d do it again

like gamblers with fortune smiling
we had the cards and the stars in our favor
someone’s watching over us

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

packed for business

waiting by the stop, standing there
saw one aged, elbow high on M.
looked shorter, had tall hair,
the bus arrived, all boarded

thirty minutes later i tried to call M.
to let her know i was still on the bus
and that i was thinking of her,
sadly, i found her phone was off

she was up there somewhere
in the front of the same bus as me,
stuck and folded in the pile of humanity,
excommunicato

out the widow i saw at a glance a guy walking
head down thinking hard hands in the pocket of his pants,
nearly walked in front of the bus
where the hell was his wife?!

SRO, never seats enough
designed in Italy for beauty,
never function, you want to ride,
you need a ticket and gumption

and we made the run
had some fun
got stuff done
it’s never easy

doing what we can
as woman and man,
plus a crowd of others,
world sisters and brothers

and to you i can say
whether work or play, until it’s done
let it gleam and shine in every way
cause this is your day in the sun

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

tram this time

riding an underground mortuary
with the undead, where the noise of screeching
is paralyzing, the cost of grease must have
rocketed on the wings of the price of oil

eight stops and one-half migraine later
above ground, near empty ears
vibrate from a train passing
in the other direction

at last we had finally made it
to Hell’s End
to wait for a bus, it was sunny
my jacket now too heavy

thirty minutes later the bus arrived
when all boarded
the driver left
for a 15 minute break

foreigners aboard
heading for the office of immigration
to redo papers and fingerprints in case they changed
all for the pleasure of remaining in Italy

with the bus seemingly packed
at the first stop
we topped off, packed again
just to be sure it was filled to capacity

now my jacket acted like a heat blanket
felt a draft of cool air,
must have been a mistake
or the breath of an evil spirit

at the new office
200 people in a space for fifty
18 windows do business,
three were open

we had twenty minutes
window close at 1130, then reopen after lunch at 330
but we made it in time to hear
we should come back in the fall

seems we were here just a century ago
when we got back in the subway
zipping the way they say takes time
off a test-tube rat’s life

then near the termini
the happy people, 2
sat down for Indian Fast Food,
ate lunch and swallowed defeat

Monday, April 12, 2010

the elevator

across the street
workers were taking down letters
of the store name - Rinascimento
large metal script going one at a time

right into the trash
the name of the store could be read
on the unpainted wall
where for years the letters had hung

only O remained,
i was thinking
how i could use it
before it went down the drain into history forever

on my way into a nearby building,
a guy by the door was playing a violin so badly
he should offer people coins from his cup
for the aggravation he caused all too eagerly

i barely squeezed into the elevator
as the door closed it took off shaking chains,
one of those old rattling jobs
that sounded like Jacob Marley’s ghost

the little barred box we were in
was a packed rocket ascending,
as i noticed over the elevator door
900 kg 12 persons, a warning

i saw it too late for us,
we were locked down in a cage of the type
used to load wild animals
aboard a ship in Borneo in ancient times

there were too many in here,
couldn’t count them all,
that large one counts for two
had to start over three times

carry the four, 900 kilos divided into 12 people
is how much? nine into 12,
two zeros left
I’ll use them later,

reminded me of the letter O
i left behind,
must do the math quickly
or ring the bell and run

it’s about an eight floor building
high enough if it goes down fast,
i suppose there is a basement,
count that as another floor to drop

i broke out in a sweat
as the box quit shaking
and hung there
having arrived at some floor

didn’t matter where,
the door opened everyone bailed,
headed for the stair
before we all got impaled

Sunday, April 11, 2010

your invitation

to walk in the woods
birds over head, rolling clouds in the blue
by roads end, long grass and sticks,
kick around shall we, with family and friends

some sunny afternoon time together,
stretch into evening purple shadows
bring food and drink to share
we’ll make a warm fire

take along your musical instrument
for sweet sounds, we’ll sing along
remember a soft blanket to sit on
goodwill will ring in our voices

when you like, old friend
whenever we can
let’s make it happen,
consider this a personal invitation