so let us say

for the wind and the rains

the mountains and plains,

for robins, pigeons, red birds,

fish in the sea and high above eagles,

for waving sweet corn, carrots and round melons,

the fruits and vegetables,

meat and potatoes and little bugs,

for dust and the dirt, ice and rust,

in sunshine, strong winds

on starry nights, hefty ocean waves,

first morning light, moonless thunder

and during seasonal change,

for gone cowboys and Indians,

war paint, wagons and horses and buffalo

the bankers and doctors, kind women before us

the trees again, the breeze again,

lawyers, bums, gamblers and dentists, islanders,

pick a card, it’s who we are. to the Chinese,

south Americans, Europeans, Africans, the other ones

mark my word everywhere under the heavens

through clouds and fresh falling water drops

for all these and more, we pray

until do us apart,  until we part anyway,

some day, anyhow, all together  -  amen.

Frogologist

other careers you need credentials and study

more than merely tend and look each day.

too bad it doesn’t pay banker bailout money.

it captured me via strings-free curiosity.

true enough, October cool,

the chill pool is nearing winter

and there on the edge today,

diving down is Shorty Skinny,

no doubt a sleek light green youngster.

ten years i’ve seen them  all,

know well their schedule, summer to fall;

he’ll winter in the icy soup.

son of another home ponder,

count him present

for chill sleep down under.                                   

pond frog score: three home for winter.

Giancarlino remembers

talking to an Italian friend

about a music group from years past,

he said they were two  folk singers, big hits. 

i suggested Chad and Jermey? 

Ian and Silvia? 

finally he remembered, “Peter Paul and Mary”. 

That’s Giancarlino,  so Italian.   

he thought it was one guy,  Peter Paul  and a girl,  Mary.

pond from scratch

since i made this pond

more'an a decade’s passed

so it’s practically natural now.

the frogs think so.

this morning seemed the pump stopped.

couldn’t see it,  couldn’t hear it;

wasn’t any moving water to speak of.

pulled the pump, it was purring.

coated thick with great-green,

though,  pumping away it was;

checked the falls, found it trickled.

heavy  growth  covered the drop.

pulled then threw thick green gobs away,

minutes later all seemed okay;

on a warmer day’ll clean it all for winter,

today it’s late and i’m tired.

tomorrow’s out, heard it’ll rain,

day after’s soon enough for me.

you can’t do everything at once,

heard that said and belive it.

the good news is

two frogs set to winter here.

watched one, for sure, grow from little.

fish are sleeping deeper now.

while above, leaves keep blowing

and i scoop ‘em out of the pond

and wade the yard through red and orange.

as trees are changing differently,

seems definitely an unusual year

that will result, you know,

in the same affect;

for waiting around the corner,

coming soon, is winter.

we the resting

our bed of theater

banner front row center

space over town is evident

full mystic river flows left to right

far train crosses, rattles bridge

as off-left plant rumbles lowly

cue distant car from unknown faraway

birds fly  too late to call, hear wings flapping

we the resting

amid pre-morning

hold thought tight

hallowed be the night

Wonder Bread believer

helped strong bodies eight ways

for about a year

before clever scientists

found four more ways

then Wonder Bread

helped build strong bodies

twelve ways, no kidding.

so why’d they quit?

it’s been fifty years now

and if i don’t hear something soon

i’m going to quit believing

in advertising.

homeland security poetry

okay shoes off.   could be

weapons o'mass destruction in them

so down on da rug boys and girls

and spread ‘em

we followin' orders lookin’.

‘n don’ matter  none 

what ‘scuse  you got,

cause dis b Merica.

 wann’ a ejication?

put  chez  in da army

‘n  learn yez  practico

like  drive a tank n’ shoot

 

while on the other side,

a lesson in how to do life

at the Amish auction.

six  young  boys in a small cart

pulled in a circle for an hour

by a Shetland pony.

while all of them,

boys  as well as the pony,

kept mouths shut

and eyes open

making the circle,

enjoyin’ the go around.

and there’s equipment

to listen to your calls,

an we drive round

and listen in your house

we’ll feed you

hints in the media

and blur you

with delusion

anymore ‘n that

sheep  jus  don’t

gots da need

ta know

when she asked me

when she asked me to turn

off the sprinklers in twenty minutes

i nodded and  noticed the kitchen clock

and then the one in the living room.

they were ten minutes apart.

i began to tell her and she said

“Oh, jack” in that tone, you know which one.

“This is not science.”

“go make a clock then” is what i thought

but didn’t say,

then forgot where i was going with this

so i returned to the spot where i thought it

ever do that?

it usually works  -  to capture forgotten thoughts

return to the spot where you thought it.

this time it didn’t work.

looking out the kitchen window

there on the back of a chair

a squirrel sat intensely

looking in at me.

i had a plan where i was going with this

but  now, before i forget again,

i'd better go out

and turn off the sprinklers.

why i'm not writing everyday

a second summer tooth extraction
this one fractured on a rock
in take-out Chinese food,
kidnee stones, broken toe on my bear pad foot.

and i could be writing poetry
but got distracted.
how’s your summer?

i claim all the trees i see
and the three gulls above
in steady wind just right
that float near still like kites in a photograph

off shore wind
yellow morning sun
seventy eight degrees
still air, no breeze down here

a perfect day just now has begun


(  Note:  I wrote a word incorrectly in the above because in an effort to make more money Blogspot has sold out to a medical information company and alters blogs with difficult to delete site links.  More and more in this Twentyfirst Century it's all about money. )

happy anniversary

Pookashell-With-Kitties-All-Over-It
jumped into the shower
then came out immediately to kill four spiders
and although i was in the other room

yes, i caught hell
for i am The Man
guilty as charged
for as long as we both shall live.

not alone/ conspiracy

been working on this more than a week and can't decide how it really goes, but thought it was time to let it out of the box. i'll decide later.




not alone

everyone feels to be
number one in the universe.
although, not one is truly unique.
not squirrels, frogs, birds nor people;

yet, all living things can touch
the center cog on the wheel of life,
precisely the point
where consciousness is connected.


not alone b.

there are too many of us
for any one to be unique.
yet every squirrel, frog, bird and person
feels to be number one in their universe.

still, all living things can touch
the center cog on the wheel of life
and share consciousness precisely at the point
where we are connected.

what'd i say?

this quiet morning the robin returned
sat at the same spot on the fence
where the other day we had a chat
from the porch i gave the robin whistle

it looked directly at me
hopped one hundred-eighty degrees,
faced the other way
and flew away.

i copied

i copied the two note whistle,
the same as the bird in the tree.
the bird liked it enough to reply
and we traded calls back and forth.

for ten minutes our whistles continued
in changing patterns and pauses.
so now i've conversed with a robin,
yet have no idea what was said.

robinses

set to write good of them, i was,
cause hard workers they are.
first up early, feed the kids.
even give them lessons when they’re out.

always up at dawn, retire by dark.
mid day one'll sail in to sit and stare.
tween times sitting to think about the day,
waiting, staring at me, doing nothing.

then when i mow my heart grows cold against them
for i see the yard torn up here and there where
those hoppy bobbing, worm searching peckers
haven't replaced their divots.

days are like eggs

days are like eggs
some sunny side up
they’re hard, or scrambled
and, thank god,
always a few are
over easy

we live in small town ohio

on the back porch
sipping morning coffee watching
our pet wild squirrel,
not pet really,
call her acquaintance,
who takes peanuts from our hand
and presses her paw on ours
gently, touching the human goodbye
and thanks, as she pushes off.
we’d like to give her fuzz a rub
but she won’t stand for it;
she may be squirrel
but is not nuts.

now high above.
on a taunt electrical wire stretched pole to pole.
there she is comfortably sitting,
relaxing, thirty feet in the air.
then casually turning around

below is our small backyard pond
four hops long and three hops wide
where four large frogs
each on a different pond side
sun on the rocks.

a swooping shadow across my old wooden lab
then a splash in the pond
the first of our two mating ducks arrives.
she climbs out on a rock and twists her head around
to preen her feathers
looking good, feeling good.
he'll be in in a minute.

while practically downtown we are,
traffic here is wildlife.
rabbits i haven’t seen this year.
a large fox just sauntered through our yard;
he’s would have seen them, would eat them.
out front passing deer
are early risers.

plans - revisited

we make our plans
and choose our actions
sometimes based on reality
often times on dreams

the attractions to our suit
can be distractions to the root
not tailored to patterns
that follow the seams

my garden - revisited

my garden today was weed crowded,
a task undone far too long
so that work today, was my purpose
the labor in sun was my song

begin where it needs it the most
do all that you possible can
after a rest on completion,
move forward, and do it again

each part of life is in motion
moving ahead in the flow
your thoughts are merely a notion,
love doing, and not what you know

oil change

bused around eyes open.
needed an oil change, not me, the car.
that sort of service wasn’t what we noticed
before we had a vehicle.

in Rome nothing is easy.
i asked friends, several.
a bus ride took us along likely avenues
found a place, we’ll give it a try.

need oil drained,
the correct new oil put in
and a replacement filter, yet i know
in Rome nothing is easy.

discarded the idea of the place we found
drove out of the city.
found another oil changer
on the old salt road.

the guy was quick, kind and did it right.
when a job is complete i can relax
for it seems, for a while, that
everything in Rome is easy.

four and four

four seated facing four.
an interesting ride
for three others and i observing
enthusiastic constant chatters, as we rode
in an otherwise silent little electric bus.

three were on cell phones talking
in exceptionally loud voices, nonstop.
a fourth looked out the window
no phone, but spoke vehemently
to another someone, unseen.

the future

i'm an old man
and little kids are here in my future.
did i catch up with the future
or did it catch up with me?

a video clip of an Ed Sullivan Show
TV appearance by Buddy Holly
i may have seen live in Ohio
when i was a kid in 1958

i’m watching in 2011
on my computer in Rome, Italy.
the future is here for me.
so i caught up with my future?

little kids have their future ahead,
out somewhere beyond starlight.
so if i am in my future
what are they doing here?

When old clothes were new - (from sept. '09)

archeologists say
first clothes were made
seventy thousand years ago
more or less

before that? you tell me
what’d the cave man wear
sticks and clam shells?
maybe dinosaur skins

now in a cave in the Republic of Georgia
archaeologists have found colored fibers
that indicate the cave that may have been a factory
engaged in producing colorful textiles

found were strings and ropes
dyed fabric yellow, gray and turquoise
and one in pink, twisted together
carbon dated to thirty-four thousand years ago

scientists, not prone to speculation,
estimate that even then the fashion styles
changed every six months
and runway models were skinny



Scientists credited with the above discovery are
Ofer Bar Yosef, George Grant MacCurdy
and Janet G. B. MacCurdy of Prehistoric Archaeology
in the Faculty of Arts and Sciences at Harvard University
Bar Yosef and colleagues have been working in this cave since 1996.

earthrings

worn for ages
tree rings and planet loops around the stars
neither pages nor sages enough
to say what events have been

or to count the multiplying hours.
now don’t cha go thinking cause you have a fancy title
that things are going to happen,
nothings gonna happen.

Piazza Plebiscite where plebeians gathered
or fled, to get away from their boss
or their wives
same matter.

we knew the bar they hung out in at
(i say it that way for the like English speakers).
a photo of the bar could have done it, i didn’t have it,
and it wouldn’t really do, anyway.

in black and white, the brightest color grey
nondescript, old, sparse, gaps in wood.
local tired day end guys at worn tables, one room.
some few drink wine, others beer.

they were medium, halfway into life
one with cane, a couple younger and spirited,
some old, there was the Bar Keep woman
and then M. and me.

half the customers and the Bar Keep are there now i bet.
plenty of drinkers and talkers, light thinkers,
don’t ask me to say i wrote that unless you understand
it’s a tribute. for sure what they were thinking. they were saying.

we had draft beer at a table outside the door.
the church was practically in the bar yard
we watched them parking, with which some had
a hell of a time to get right, never straight.

M. went to a machine
but they wanted too much for so little
so she came back without. then Bar Keep
brought over fried snacks. she had a heart and vision.

i could see across the way Filipo’s pizza
near to opening for the evening
had two white lights
on either side the open door.

it was still late afternoon, very late,
after seven, maybe eight, and still
while i was deciding the real time
the clock on the church tower rang bells seven-thirty

‘s how i know now my report is accurate.
an i made a note.
street lights came on then,
beginning yellow tired.

i asked abut mosquitoes cause the sea’s a few streets over
and Bar Keep said, “here it’s not so bad, just normal.”
but we all know that can be bad enough
when you’re not in the mood to entertain

damn mosquitoes zam blam slam.
but i’m just saying now
cause we’re too early in the season
to have reason to get alarmed.

everything you see, you don’t simply take
you make it what you want
although a gondola ride isn’t romantic
for the guy who rows everyday to make a living

like they make toast

like they make toast
windows closed
on the bus we rode
hermetically sealed

jackets pealed
lady seated by me fanned herself
so hard i thought
she’d lift off

then to an eatery so far from the center
that we looked like locals
where plates twice as full
cost half as much

ate in the shade
and thanks be to God it made
for a real good
sun shiny time

she grips tightly two

long handle wooden spoons
stands over an empty large metal can.
has learned Morse code
and is writing.

quiet, listen.
dit, dah, dit,
dit, dah, dit, dit
ahh, it’s an audio ebook.

return of the love meter

love test - completely accurate short version

question one
has he ever told you
that he’s finished watching
either live or televised sports
and would rather be
shoe shopping at the mall
with you?

question two
if the answer to question one is yes -
did you know he was lying?

question three
what’s for dinner?


Saturday, September 26, 2009
TomC said...
I have only attempted that ploy when maneuvering for more Harley chrome goodies. Emphasis on "attempted"...

Saturday, September 26, 2009
Julie said...
Ha! Ha! I love the poem! What's up with dragging hubby along? I've never understood why women do that.

Sunday, September 27, 2009
Annie K said...
What's for dinner? Frozen lasagna. If hubby can help you make the salads, he passes the test!

Reprise - from feb 09

if i write stories
they won’t be scary
only fuzzy animals in mine
all of them will wink and smile

my happy birds will fly and sing,
joy they’ll carry near and far,
my creatures won’t eat people.
Steven King, wait in the car

saw Nico

saw Nico, told me
he is sad
yet always laughing

sees only shadows
lives alone, has
friends to visit

nearly ninty-eight,
walks like fifty,
talks like thirty-five.

he thinks of the big mysteries
that are not in our hands.
says he's sure all life is poetry.

full day when 65

woke up at nine, i did
shower and dress, coffee and out the door
no one in the building but we
lock it up, catch a bus

wait 45 minutes cause i’m early and prompt
or he’s late, no one knows for sure,
neither of us care
one dental stitch removed in two minutes

walk two clocks and back
for a dental x-ray
full mouth, with empty mouth
so short guy comes in, tells me stand up

and stand still
sticks plastic in my mouth for me to bite
like a bit for a Rex the Wonder Horse
then he is gone, the short guy

i close my eyes
whirring noise
i know what is happening
being completely conscious

this is when entire life zips by
i am playing sand lot ball and swimming
pledge allegiance, practice piano
graduate, get married

they tell me go out and wait
then i get the xray
walk it back to the dentist
two blocks is nothing on a sunny day

other dentist is returning from lunch
i give x-ray to him
saves myself a flight up walk
everyone happy, he was going there anyway

then bus to Pasquali’s
do i want amatriciana or white
with speck and zucca, that’s bacon and squash
son and cook sister convince me to go white

quarto of red wine
pasta is very good
M. had an oh-hum salad with tuna
and effervescent water in a plastic cup

take a small bus home
the driver is whistling
killing me softly with his song
with headphones on

and we’re home again
by three p.m.
mark it down as a full day
when you are 65

on the marble steps

at Chiesa Nuova
1:30 in the sun
afternoon begun
we get away

in roar and soft speak
voices, buses, motorinos erupt city air
between buildings there
on Corso Vittorio

faraway together
Rome February fair weather
taking it in
our vitamin D

then at once the ragazzi start
to depart the sun
leaving the heart
of the city

this pretty mid week
mid day some hug
touch cheeks wave
or simply smile away



Chiesa Nuova means new church, a few hundred years old
mottorini - are motor scooters
Corso Vittorio is a main street through the center of Rome
Ragazzi - means young people

explosion of good time

still in bed
woke to worker’s
voices in the hall.
amid the banter

one called softly, “Jack”
the voice of my dad
only it wasn’t, or was it.
who can tell

though it was enough
to make me smile,
remember and feel warm
somewhere deep

b.

the two guys from Romania
are quiet good workers
the kid, twenty
is a Bugie

in Italian, our common language, i question.
he’s from Bulgaria, they respond
as if that explained his immaturity,
and being consistently noisy.

c.

explosion of good time
we left home
packed for shopping
off in a rush

Esquilino Market they serve
fast with plastic bags,
paper and crowds, trucks unloading,
wooden crates, moving faces and sales

a background of green leaves, no music,
light talk humming like chicadas.
had coffee and a sweet roll
coffee man and his wife recognized us

red egg yoke lady
in good tune
spoke to M. about how to
make a tasty frappe for Carnevale

got two large plantains at another stall
not bananas you know, she said
i hope not, i replied
i'm going to fry one with an egg

a call to alert - make way
for a box-loaded hand cart
a small man
pushing metal on wheels through

many greens, hand cut minestrone,
hot peppers and nuts we bag away
a moray eel we saw but
did not take one home

moves like a city ghost
rides like a bumpy carriage
over cobblestones
our practically private bus

cause our car has found parking
too sweet to vacate
alberto has re attached a side mirror
for some other to scrape off again

and Friday the soggiorno went well
all persons helpful for us to live here
call them kind
Roma loves us again

to better swerve

traffic cops in Rome have special uniforms.
high leather equestrian boots,
white tall helmets like dessert legionnaires.
one stopped our bus in the center of Rome

hopped aboard to hitch a ride
up three stops on Via del Corso.
he was knocking off early,
or had hot shopping to do.

anyway,
viva the good guys.
may they hop a bus
anytime.

to joseph no apostrophe s

an intercity eatery found
when the old worn mechanic
pointed, there’s where to go,
enjoy a buffet spread long and fair

among good people working
it was an honor, a delight mid-day
care taken in particulars,
choose desires well prepared

with no haste, to taste time
and a glass of red wine
can this be Rome
seems like coming home

meant to so verify

morning laundry and coffee
with Texas Bill in attendance.
43 years as a freelance embassy chef.
you’d think he’d have learned his lesson.

now he’s growing a beard
for a Shakespeare play he’s in.
i know he has 18 lines,
he told me 29 times.

we’ll see an early
show if we can stay
up that late hope
they talk fast

hey, so-called every day stuff
also happens in Rome, you know.
but life is a poem anywhere you look
at it skewed with jelly on as i do

pay only

3 euro a week ,
to any Tim phone,
call 'em often,
talk long as you want.

Giacomo changed to Vodafone
so he’s made my list
of whom to call
less often.

i left 44

where 62 was next
at the other post office.
now 73 is up at this one
and my number is 97.

28 potential
customers are waiting.
with 11 windows,
6 are open, more or less.

it was 1890

it was 1890 when Bill was here
traveling Europe by train.
Naples, Rome, then Florence
with horses, Indians and Annie Oakley.

too many large stones and rubble,
and he had wanted to do the
wild west show in the Colosseum.
so they decided to perform right outside.

i know he had a drink at the bar on Via Condotti
on that corner by the Spanish steps,
cause 121 years later i walked over there
and saw the photographic proof

taken there that day in all his glory,
and is still on the wall.
even 12l years ago they called Mr.Cody the name
we know him by - he was Buffalo Bill.

deep searching

m. is reading about
a deep mine in England where
scientists search for dark matter.
world over they are looking.

they need a space
where gamma rays
and cosmic rays won’t penetrate,
kinda like my closet.

i asked her what they are going to make
out of this dark matter
when they finally find it.
she said, “shoes”.

feeling not seeing

this morning thinking of them
from half a world away
i am faraway observer
recollecting now

those come and gone
friends, accomplices, on this earth
linked, liked, loved and endured
is it even necessary to recall

one's loved best of all
and so many, many others
come and oftimes vanished
pieces in the puzzle

apparently we didn’t put it together
just found ourselves here
tap-dancing the boards to the rhythms
in this game called life

pillows you dream on

please don’t send me
any more pillows
that you dream on.
especially not C.O.D.

as it is, the house and car
are full up with pillows,
in fact, it’s getting hard
to make a right turn.

if you send more pillows
i’ll have to rent
a storage space. anyway,
i think i’m being watched.

fish and water

fish and water
get along,
and better they stay
where they oughter.

don’wanna catch ‘em
one morning
laughing together
on my back porch.

eclipse

off to see James in the morning
when on a walk toward the tram
Mirella passes and says an eclipse will be
in five minutes by her watch

i suggest there will not be much change
as she went eyes skyward upon her way
when two minutes later from
the opposite direction came her husband

and i told Roberto good
day there will be an eclipse
in a moment but do not
expect much change

i will mention the eclipse then
to James when
i see him
and ask then if he noticed

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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?