Friday, December 31, 2010

2010 - the end

to mom and dad,
uncles and aunts
neighbors Phil and Rosey,
the kids i grew up with,

the women i've loved,
to my kids and theirs.
stack ‘em up,
all the way down.

to creeks jumped
and those fallen into.
bridges crossed,
those ducked under.

to all frogs and the fish,
the birds and the clouds,
rain in the forest,
over brambles, through fields,

and down long highways.
in sun, snow and heavy sea,
flowers, weeds and vegatebles - this is it:
a salute to the finish

of the first decade,
in this twenty-first Century.
for bygones well done,
the best to you from me.

Monday, December 27, 2010

postcard from Rome

postcard from Rome
also to Rome
if like say you live here and I’m
sending this to you. but don’t kid yourself.

i am sandwiched like peanut butter and whatever,
between languages and cultures,
an example of contradiction and/or combination,
that, more or less, function, even thrive

or seem to, in this chaotic basket of the active world.
not an angle, not a corner.
a catch-trapping thing,
like a basket.

a walk over the bridge Ponte Sisto before noon.
where one can see the Vatican.
or two can see the same thing.
ponte means bridge, none the less.

less is more? by the way,
whoever said that should go back to school.
perform penance by subtraction, and quit
making up esoteric sayings like that.

when i cross (the bridge again)
the Japanese accordion guy will be on the bridge.
i will drop un euro into his case,
then go straight ahead toward Fontana Trilusa

then on into Trastevere and lunch.
Chinese food with our friend Maria.
it’s our usual Sunday in Rome, or call it Roma
if you’re Italian or if like say you live here.

you know, they call this city Roma,
and the Roma are the people from Romania,
who are also called the Gypsies,
but are on the wrap-around periphery of this poem.

and did I ever tell you
the Chinese lady who runs the restaurant
is also called Maria, and she picked that name herself
because her Chinese name is unpronounceable for Italians.

oh, i never say an euro, it’s always un euro.
cause i’m not speaking English
when i’m talking euro. hai capito?
who can blame me?

well there you have it, now mark the bridge
with an X on the picture postcard,
and write – “we are here”
that pretty much tells the story and should do just fine.

Friday, December 24, 2010

hot ride

a can full of fish, this bus
all gray; water and oil nearly dripping off the walls.
sealed tight, standing,
packed for shipping, we are.

temperature rising, heater on.
not a window open.
must be sales on perfumes, colognes and smelly food,
or they’re rubbing it on people as they board.

jerky stops,
jerky starts
hold on tight,
it’s good training for pole dancers.

everyone on cell phones
talk it up, talk it down.
welcome aboard,
we’re going to town.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

we svelte

she claims it is a sign of getting old
when i mornings move myself mumbling
whether to wear a belt or suspenders.

yet, i never have to back up
at the check out counter
to reach into my front pants pockets.

it is a known fact of material mechanics,
pants often stretch
from repeated washings.

spiritly jaunting across the street,
my trousers sag,
legs flapping in the wind.

obviously, persons of girth
never have to suffer
what we svelte must endure.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

like old times

pizza, a slice for me, a short walk away,
just across the bridge; then looking,
almost shopping with M.
this is the holiday spirit, about that.

she went on, while back i went
for a white plastic plate and fork,
and steamy hot carbonara, 2.40 euro and tasty.
with the workers and locals in line, got mine ,

ate on the street outside,
propped up on a road thing,
that stuck up there as an indicator
and good like-for to lean on.

for every season
there is a reason
turn, turn, turn
onwards and upwards.

Monday, December 20, 2010

sixteen chimneys

sixteen chimneys
close together
like the wet slippery street cobblestones
close together on one small roof top

maybe there were more
lost count
street stones, gaps, spaces, irregular
wet and slippery.

thinning out for the holidays, traffic
light, so they go faster
amid patter of many feet
and the mutter of motorinos.

at Pasquali’s ordered pasta gregia – grey
eating it when
M. said it was
pomodori and zucchini

i had enough red pepperincino, hot peppers, on it
hadn’t noticed it was not grey
cause while i ate
i was still thinking about chimneys.

Sunday, December 19, 2010

papery thin

papery thin
that’s my skin,
physically, metaphorically
and that’s okay, it’s a fine day,

and i’m used to my skin,
been around with it a while.
just today we had coffee together,
even wear the same shoe size.

now watching sun pouring in.
first light, my favorite.
dawn’s early,
as it should be.

got me thinking, as the sky
blue poco loco shines from above
in this doggie dog world. i don’t know why.
must be the heat, or the lack thereof.

so, what’s new?
how’s you been in your skin?
staying well? getting enough rest?
do your best. i’m pullin’ for you.

savor the moments,
laminate these layers of time in your head.
and don’t worry when you go to bed, you can’t know
what to expect, ‘cept it keeps getting better.

Saturday, December 18, 2010

thunder and snow

a week before Christmas,
in cold enough Rome,
clack rattling hail and rolling boom thunder
shakes walls and smacks windows at home.

looking out, blurry blue snowgusts and
patches of ice, show by street lamp light,
now in dark, and still wind,
hard rain falls tonight.

Thursday, December 16, 2010

the unmarked bus

what is it? no number.
here comes chance.
an opportunity?
boarded it, to where it was going.

found a seat easily
because two uniformed
ticket checkers were aboard.
somehow arrived at the termini.

on the street a lad was selling colorful plastic,
blobs to throw on the sidewalk, where
it splatters like an egg. then, as if a sci-fi movie
it immediately forms into a ball.

talked to friends Rocco and Stefano
at the pizza box, then to Nicola, Cecelia,
Teressa and Corine at Sfizio, meaning whim,
where i enjoyed red yolk eggs for breakfast.

M. joined me for coffee, we walked to Piazza Vittorrio
and to Mas, which means more in Spanish.
four floors of store like a maze.
the basement alone winds on forever,

with at least twelve rooms
and connecting, elongated,
narrow, irregular levels
of corridor.

tried on pants in a dressing room
where behind a curtain the entire contents
of that room was one wooden knob,
mounted head high on the wall. no seat.

and then caught an old tram that ran on tracks,
circled Piazza Maggiore the magnificent, huge
stone Roman gate where centuries ago
you entered to get into the city.

switched to a bus,
got off near home.
it was one o’clock.
time for lunch.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

route change

a.

on to Pasqual’s for polenta,
something not on M.’s diet.
I ate knowing,
but she abstained.

i mentioned it Wednesday,
said i’d go Friday,
she said polenta is Thursday.
how’d she remember? i ate. it was good.

b.

opposite the restaurant is the building
where Samuel Morris lived around 1831,
eleven months. long enough to earn a
marble plaque on the exterior wall

that plaque says he invented
the electric telegraph magnetic writer.
which means, with different words,
about the same thing in English,

c.
then boarded the small electric bus
and rode into a student demonstration
with traffic stammering, then blocked.
we gyrated around as best we could, the driver did.

having just eaten and
had a few glasses of wine to boot,
the days was right to ride around
in that little electric charm.

there were four other passengers.
to help talk away the ride.
while the bus made a circuitous route
to get around blocked traffic.

warm and sunny,
he drove us well.
no one minded the
improvised route.

in the end he got us
nearly where we
all were going
in the first place, anyhow.

note

the unfortunate part
of not making note
is forgetting what it was
that i never wrote

Saturday, December 11, 2010

we have to love it

first it kicks me,
i nearly fall,
then with all nearly lost
it loves me.

office of immigration
twenty years of doing it legal.
now take metro and then bus
to fight the crowd.

of twenty-one service windows,
four are open.
several times we go there
to be treated like dirt.

at home, alberto’s gallery
is right around the corner.
then, Campo Dei Fiori
just another minute away.

see old friends
and meet new,
early evening,
a pause to chat.

a movie tomorrow,
minute walk, no more.
got wine at the shop
on the way home.

it is the city
outside our door.
when it loves us
we have to love it back.

Wednesday, December 08, 2010

we were put here

we were put here
born, planted, however,
to do things over and over
until we get life right.

so we may as well
get on with it.
it’s our nature to struggle,
not to cause trouble.

be kind, do well, .
stack up good deeds,
move on the side of the light.
it’s quite a ride, hang on tight.

Sunday, December 05, 2010

gray dawn

gray dawn and hard to
get up cold mornings, no kidding.
zero centigrade, freezing like 32 F.
spells Rome winter.

have to get going now,
Alberto’s art show
at eleven. Sunday morning? something new.
friends to greet. nice time.

home for lunch and a while,
then bus 87 to Colle Albani,
that’s way out a ways, way.
directly we climbed into a pasticciera.

that means pastry place. write that down.
it’s a good word to learn. tasty.
stick around, no kidding.
i’ll help you squeak by.

plastic bag heaven

plastic bag heaven is being relocated,
it’ll have to move, no doubt.
“there is no going back”
said the Italian minster of the environment.

in January, Italy will be done with them.
not ministers,
only the bags this time.
a giant leap for mankind.

why just the other day
i threw out many bags and wondered,
a thought too large to form,
an idea whose time has come

or will soon, Merry Christmas
and then goodbye bags,
i mean it, at least someone does,
that’s for sure,

it’s the law.
will our world be the same?
what shall we do?
oh my, what'll we put stuff in?

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

outside in the rain

outside in the rain this morning.
walked over, enjoyed it.
thirty minutes early at the appointed place,
the witches bar, la strega.

closed, but known to locals
as if it were still there.
not waiting for James today,
it is Giacomo, his dad.

called him at nine thirty-three
to say i am American and he’s 3 minutes late.
he understood the humor. everyone waits for
Giacomo and we Americans live by the clock.

he arrived and drove off in heavy traffic
and rain. oh yes, i was riding with him.
i rode behind him. a refrigerator was in front
and in back with me also.

heading for the mountains
on the high road we saw
layers of solid fog
between the mountain peaks.

we got to the quacky little town
if you ask what that means,
let me call it a charming, quaint
very old stone village teaming

with only the sort of mountain villagers
you’d imagine could live remotely.
not bad quacky, good quacky,
all the way up, all the way down and sideways.

on our way back to Rome
we passed a flock of sheep on our left,
Giacomo surreptitiously waved to them.
i noticed this tiny gesture and commented.

he explained if you see
sheep on your left side
it brings you money.
although that did not explain to me his waving at them.

Thursday, November 25, 2010

giving thanks

the pilgrim’s Mayflower didn’t pass this way,
not Rome, Italy. an email from M. told me
she’s off to my brother’s for a family dinner.
that’s how i found out it is today.

went out this morning to bus away,
to the large strange market Esquilino.
first though, i wandered a bit, then decided
i already had enough vegetables for soup.

took coffee at one of the remaining old bars,
for old times sake, in celebration of the day.
this bar remains leftover from the Nineteenth Century,
while most places change, for the sake of change.

i passed into the piazza of Chiesa Nuova.
paused in a steam of golden sun, to think, to rest.
a familiar beggar quickly glanced, quietly went by.
evidently he remembered this time, i am a local.

then Campo dei Fiori. faces i know.
jokes, calls and small talk abound.
sat on the ledge at the base of the stature of Bruno
in the warm hold of morning sun glow.

Prospero, the veteran salesman, as of late
it's a plastic tool that cuts veggies into squiggles,
who says a few words of banter in many languages,
has a man working for him now. to sell to tourists.

Prospero came over to where i sat,
we’ve spoken many times. said he remembered,
waving, pointing, when i painted in the market everyday.
there and there. memories of the ebbing last century.

we talked of the old and current changing times,
of those come and gone, of this market now for tourists.
he is older and played these streets as a ragamuffin.
i'v known these waves of change a meager twenty years.

much of the old has been discarded, renewed modern.
he recalled the beauty of the faded unpainted stone exteriors.
i told him our building’s 400 year old worn smooth marble steps
have been replaced by sharp edged cheaper new ones.

then nearly home i saw my friend Franco, wood worker.
23 years in his unchanged ancient shop on our lane,
where more than four hundred years ago
it was named for the hat makers, via dei Cappellarri.

in these hard times Franco’s landlord has tripled the rent.
Franco is saddened to be leaving to an area farther out.
i will miss him and the picturesque shop that is sure to change,
a left over. as fewer and fewer of the old shops remain.

again another beggar passed, going the opposite way.
with sad face he called back to me, “Ho Fame.”
readers, that means i am hungry. what do you say?
and this morning i learned Thanksgiving's this day.

surely not only the poet has heart,
and feelings run deep as large fish in great rivers.
whether warm or icy, under clouds of rain or sunny skies,
we must accept life as it is given, and should give thanks in return.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

another rainy day

another rainy day.
the only people on the street
were selling umbrellas.
need a back up? or bigger?

from the corner where i stood
i could see seven or eight umbie salesmen.
like mushrooms in the spring
they pop out when it rains

there were no other customers seated,
one or two for order and go,
came and went.
i like a quiet breakfast.

a man came in then,
set a suitcase down,
right in the middle of the floor
and then left.

didn’t hear what he said.
i knew the case wasn’t heavy
so i doubted it was a nuclear explosive,
but thought about it as i ate.

my eggs were already scrambled sufficiently,
so was i. then the man came back to eat,
then i drank my coffee,
then bid Roberto a good day when i left.

a dead fish

a fish died in our pond today
the first to go in eight years or so
not a floater, lying on the bottom
on his side, all alone

i scooped him out
laid him in the garden
and said words of goodbye,
he was white, formerly orange

i call it him
instead of it or she
don’t know why
surely doesn’t matter

the next day he was gone
don’t think he resurrected
something recycled him for dinner
so some good came out of it




I happened on this in the archives. It was from a year ago. Now it's out again, for you.

Monday, November 22, 2010

went to the dentist

went to the dentist,
haven’t seen this one in five years
so i missed my bus stop.
had to walk back up the steep hill.

a delivery truck was there.
a man carried on his shoulder
a huge refrigerated something that
looked like a cold white leg of elephant .

at a small outside market
got two bananas, 6 tangerines,
a pound mixed vegetables for soup.
very low cost, it's out of the center.

on the upper street i asked directions.
the dentist was two steps further.
took the small elevator to the third floor,
couldn’t get out.

doors opened to a flat wall.
i read all the signs twice,
then found the other door
on the rear wall of the elevator.

at the only door the nice lady said
the dentist was one floor down.
i apologized to her.
although the sign outside said it was this floor.

in the dental waiting room a newspaper headline
said China invades the USA.
also front page story, the Harry Potter film
was blood and sex.

saw the dentist and remembered
why my last visit to him was five years ago.
i didn’t like him.
he gave me an estimate for 1,345 euros work.

the receptionist made three appointments.
first one way later this afternoon.
in less than an hour i was home.
called and cancelled my dental appointments.