in the art museum

had a coffee first thing

are we becoming Italian?

used the bathroom and

got in free  -  cause I’m old

in the great stone  building, the modern art museum 

i met face to face a large metal sculpture by Alberto Giacometti

who i got introduced to metaphorically,  fifty-three years ago

by  my art teacher Dick Foley.

now this day i stand facing  the slick, stick

tall  human image – like a person,  strange for sure.

cast artfully in dark shiny metal; lumpy and smooth.

imposing, patiently poised.

i take a seat and gaze a while,

see other things and come back to it

be nice to have  at home to admire

thoughts can drift with it, but go nowhere in particular

  

more should be said, others have tried

as it looks good. 

it is most interesting to look at

that’s why it’s here in a museum

art open  here - in hours of viewing

witness the work,

 reaching out,   

grasping;

these efforts of art master’s

 unite the environment  in  color and shape,

in style and form;  from the ages,

for now and  all time.

my time to see it all is limited

but I am thankful for what time there is

that is a good reason to come by

into this museum of contemporary art.

on writing a poem

consider what you’ve  been thinking,

 wheel it around;

 sit and think about it more

and then a bit  more, until  it’s okay.

so then you write some parts,

and then add a little more.

do it all in a day

or kick it around for a month, either way,

then it all comes out

like the washing machine when it stops.

open the door and  sort it,

folding and stacking pieces together,

and that’s  why you write a poem.

why?  that’s right, of course.

to put the pieces together

and if you do it right there’s nothing left over,

mostly nothing.  the truth is you’ve got the

rest of you life left over, so it may, more than

likely,  occur to you to do it again.   another day.

don’t ask when,  and if it rhymes, that’s ok.

remember, you need some luck

and if it quacks

you’ve made a duck.

some say – well, Emily Dickenson alluded that way.

message no bottle

hand on my chin, gazing through the window pane

a letter by hand, quill dipped in ink

envelope, delivered via horse

this house to that

pen becomes a throwaway,

then, type written ,  i grew up that way

with letters sped away by aero plane

changes as with spelling

now about to skype call far

face to face we see and chat

imagine that.  we again seem near,

by extension it seems there is  here.

some day you’ll walk through the gate

and be there.

i imagine grandma will be able

to bring some cookies along.

a great pyramid

to construct the  great pyramid in Egypt.

is moving 2.3 million blocks

 weighing  as much as 70 tons

 from  as far as 600 miles South of Cairo,

they did not have the wheel or pulleys.

how many slaves to push one?

and you want them stacked how?

to build the great pyramid it in twenty years

you must move 800 tons a day

feed ‘em well.    what, a million of ‘em?

tell ‘em not to crowd.

are you sure it makes sense? 

 it’s what slaves are for.

wait - can slaves do miracles?

wrap me in pathetic

wrap me in pathetic

a thin coast will do

and dunk me like a doughnut

it’s up to you

and as the italians say

non e culpa mia, it’s not my fault

we’re all doing the best we can

my crazy friend john barlow told me that

his grandfather invented the Barlow pocket knife

and that wasn’t his fault either

me free

me free, M. too, there you go.

 it was easy this time

the way it ought to be

to enter the modern art museum.

recalling the ancient city Herculean

near Pompeii two years past where

the young man at the desk shook  his head.

he checked my Italian id document – American docs. won’t do.

then it was  three days before my  sixty-fifth birthday.   

no way;  he wouldn’t let me in for free.

i knew at the time an older clerk would

know by my eyes the wear of years;

 and thus bequeath me three days.

three lousy days short of 65 years.

and welcome  me  enter -  freely.

“please do enter.   welcome,  new senior citizen.”

i should have told the kid
to tell his mom and dad about his victory.

dry robin

 

felt weather was coming, finally;   

saw it on radar.  we needed it

and it took all day to get here,

then quickly most of it passed

until late afternoon the old dry robin

came out in the sprinkles

on the promise water’d get more.

waiting he was as we were.

set up position,  it did.

to see if a worm’d  come  out

an before there was much to talk about

light rain that came in went on its way.