Sunday, June 17, 2012

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.

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

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.

Monday, June 11, 2012

bird in the path


morning sun up and golden
summer daybreak  warm and still.
inside, from the open window
my first glance caught it there

a lone baby bird sleeping
standing up,  hunched over.
no doubt comfortable as all get out.
ruffled feathers, head under wing,

leafy plants all around, it was right in the middle of a path.
not hidden somewhere  off to the side.
didn't pay attention when mama said keep cautious,
stay out of sight while your dreaming.

Sunday, June 10, 2012

t-shirts



seeing you i’d be cautious
as a duck crossing the street
i’d tip my hat, let you chat
and tell me how your doing

their  t-shirts got my attention. i read,
then  asked them where they were from,
“margaretta”  they replied.  
that’s a small nearby village

high school girls, of course. 
i don’t know if they just graduated
or this fall will be the new seniors.
they wore identical  blue t-shirts

it must be this years class slogan.
printed on them were the words,  
“the world may be ending
but we’re still here – 2012”

Thursday, June 07, 2012

m. worked the yard


m. worked the yard early this june morning.
i ran drag on cord as she edged the pond,  
along a  stone block wall surrounding flowers beds,
low on the wooden back porch in sugar maple  shade;

the electric edger whirred,  getting all neatly clean.
she paused, changed cord.   i saw her wipe her brow,
slowly, casually check all around.  a survey of the situation.
 still frogs alert were quiet,  ready to jump if necessary.

might have mentioned 
her great granddad was first sheriff of Abilene.
it’s in her blood to get the job done.
my advice is keep out of the way.  don’t mess around.

Wednesday, June 06, 2012

dappled


taking a shower thinking i am dappled.
oh, i know feeling groovy thanks to paul simon,
the only time in my life i was dappled, possibly,
not sure; also then, feeling groovy definitely
was not happening in our neighborhood.

maybe, given time, it would have happened naturally,  
if we would have slowed down and thought about it, 
but in our parts that would have been asking a lot.
slow down?  thinking?  feeling? hah! 
paul, before you said it, only horses were dappled.

Friday, June 01, 2012

over time



on my desk i have ten beach pebbles
no function to explain
yet reason enough
to remain and remind me
what cannot be put into words
only feeling

and to pick them up
is to hold the smooth
of time ages and the sea.
rolling, turning
worn in time, over time,
over and over again


Thursday, May 24, 2012

doesn't even have a name


doesn’t even have a name
no shoes, no clothes, no house
sleeps where he can, where he wants i suppose,
never seen him eat

always alone when i'm around,
just a big green frog, another one.
the leader. Herb was the first one;
that was some years ago.

he’d call HERRRRB; we would too.
that’s how he got his name.
we learned our frog ways with him.
don’t know exactly what he picked up from us.

every year there’s always a king pin,
the boss of the pond - stays for two years or so.
then a new big one comes in and the old one is gone.
New takes up in a favorite spot, to his liking.

a few we gave the sobriquet to honor the orginal Herb.
now they're nameless.
call him the big frog.
we know who we mean.

it’s a full house this year
five frogs in the pond
and sure we can tell ‘em apart
we’re not frog stupid

different sizes, different colors
the thing on the ear, where they sit,
a lot of indicators as to who’s aboard.
and yes, they do keep an order.

today i had the camera ready to film him
first pushed the motorless mower around
to get him warmed up for talking
works every time. i don’t know why.

He spoke up and i egged him on with my frog word or two.
then got right down in front of him,
two feet away, camera rolling
and he swelled up like a balloon.

was the star of the neighborhood, no doubt.
major frog noise coming out of him.
i was proud of the frog;
that’s our number one.

transferred the pics to computer
all stills and only one video.
it was the short vid before he got going,
nothing of the great talking scene was captured. nothing.

but i was there and he was to. and we had a time of it.
now these words will remember;
how happy he and i were;
why - he done us proud, his day in the sun.

Thursday, May 17, 2012

advance

progress from walking
with a stick
to riding a horse -
an advance beyond the past.

then over fields through clouds to some long faraway,
that is where we are right now
look around while you
take off your shoes for inspection.

then, walking through an arch
and instantly be in another place,
oh, wow it is as yet, somewhere else,
and someday soon.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

on the back porch



on the back porch
heard tires rolling on the by pass
near a mile away;
wind from the west is coming our way.

talked to a friend with a mountain place.
recalled our two years on another mount
when in quiet the only sound, the only sound
was of the earth itself.

how was that sound? indescribable.
beyond reach of words or imagination.
something other it was.
private. complete.

and now the grandmother clock
swung low and steady
was it the tick from two rooms away
or the house expanding that i heard?

it’s not the frogs
they sit silent in the pond
waiting passing hours
as slow rising sun rays approach

erasing sharp shadows with gleams,
bringing the warmth to our day.
what do you know,
what do you say?




Sunday, May 13, 2012

59 f



59 f now, 15 c
feels warmer, light wind
good morning sun
it’ll be 20 degrees they say.

cool this week
last week it was 28c, 82f when i left Roma
also here when i arrived in Ohio.
now it is normal cool springtime.

5 frogs in the pond.
it is a full spring count.
the large one is there and remembers;
he calls when i go around with the push mower.

squirrels - three bushy tails in the tree.
i won’t speak to them this year,
must be careful to keep them away
so they won’t scare people who come to buy our house.

last year Squirrel #1 was aggressive,
would climb up our leg
looking for peanuts.
must ignore them. won’ talk to them.

our (1838) house quickly sold the first week,
then the husband and wife argued and said no.
now we wait other buyers.
this is not a good market to sell.

our new/old house (1866) in Norwhere
is nearly ready for us.
a good old man paints a ceiling this week
then we will start to move into Norwhere.

now i came inside to write
it is cool in the shade on the porch.
M. made bacon and eggs for breakfast.
now it is eight-thirty and quiet.

if i were on the Mediterranean aboard Isadora
i would be aware of cruise ships, visit every port,
read some, write some,
and keep looking ahead.

Monday, May 07, 2012

interconnectedness



morning shower, i know where the soap is
talking inside shower, not the weather
clothes to wear, have an idea of my choices
another Monday, nothing particular

frog at the pond has my number
knows where i stand or sit with coffee.
the smell of cigarette smoke is familiar to him or her;
may be my frog friend, but we haven’t talked sex,

some things are less important within friendship.
the robin has seen me
busy hopping
has work to do.

if the clouds above had thought
we’d be acquaintances.
roll on sun behind the rain
know you’re there, hope to soon see you again.


Sunday, April 29, 2012

goes like waves


goes like waves
after another, another
not rapid though
smooth, continuous
its dream, i’m on a train,
scenes passing. sheep and cows.
there is the movement of the waves
then a coffee in an unfamiliar bar
somewhat dark,dim and comfortably cool.
the bar old, oiled beautiful polished wood.
i turn at a desk at home, the sun on my back
warm. i feel it.
looking out the window it's apparent
how pleasant sleep can be


Saturday, April 28, 2012

The Ocean Trip


the ocean trip can get unruly rough
then you can’t pull off the road
to wait for conditions better
slowly you keep going knowing

weather changes, all will calm
for surely the sun
will come out bright again
some soon other day

Monday, April 23, 2012

life is a moving train

life is a moving train
sometime fast, sometime on the upgrade.
was talking to the conductor afore i dozed off;
he’s been on the job a hundre . . . a long time.

glanced at my ticket and nodded.
was going to ask him when to get off,
right then he was looking at the view out the window,
seemed content. wasn't necessarey to bother him.

a lot of people riding.
saw a cat and a dog and a bird in a cage.
big train. kept moving.
i was happy to be onboard

taking it easy, writing at little, reading a little.
i’d check the time but don’t have a watch.
decided wasn’t important the hour. been a few.
just doing the best i can.

Saturday, April 21, 2012

like new-new shoes

for six agonizing months
my new shoes often came untied
no matter how i tied them
finally took laces from old shoes i wear

changed longer new laces for the old with care
all fit in their new shoe lace places
my new shows are now staying tied
the faithful old shoes, however, i haven’t tried

life is a car

how shiny cute in the showroom.
take it home and keep it clean.
friends comment when they see it.
keep it tuned, fluids up, taunt, looking good.

protected from bad weather, inspected,
for years return several times for checkups.
always be aware to avoid accidents.
though over time scratches and dings happen.

then when at last it is worn, aged, paint becomes dull,
more difficult or impossible to repair; it’s seen its day.
taken to a new home, or left unused, nearly forgotten.
that’s car life; leaving you with photos and memories.

Sunday, April 15, 2012

so the marathon

so the marathon
number 18 in Rome. not my number.
didn’t run but walked instead
to see the start

under blue skies and helicopters.
we were on the small hill near piazza Venezia
they ran right by us, twenty thousand of ‘em
no, i didn’t count, someone else said.

one runner was shocked to hear
voices in the crowd shout “die” as
he ran by the coliseum.
he thought they didn’t like Americans,

but these were Italians
they yelled not die, but dai,
equivalent to “go for it”
or “give it all you’ve got.”

sleeping or so then

sleeping or so then
sometime before three
caught myself dream weaving in and out
turnip trucks turn up as i meander

fast lanes, grocery lines, three apples
talking someone pleasant, bagger boy.
rolling in the sheet, passing hour,
then two more, still night

re-fluff the pillow ’nother time, now it’s right.
around four, passing minutes in fifteens
as i look now and then at the clock,
no stopping, it’s spinning on

then at five alive to morning
a lot of words and thought rush thinking,
am putting exactly this together
without note, nor music or computer

this stuff written down
on the backroad of my mind
takes jog maneuver, a bob and weave.
time for oat meal hot enough

brain sipping what i was dreaming of
recalling best i can, what’s fit to recall
writing , mostly awake now
yawning good day y’all to all, finally.

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

head's not empty

head’s not empty when
i lay there coated in dream dust
no sir, not a bit, you see
begins sometime after three

but im asleep so that’s a guess,
filled with visions more or less
bubbling walking, topped off
great adventure motion coastin’

the best, all rolling long, along
spinning, bubbling on and on, apply the brake;
smelling color, cooked well, dandy and polite enough,
good-time fancy dreaming 'til dawn occurs and i awake.

Sunday, March 25, 2012

in this classroom called life
every day is another lesson.
do your best, stay true;
all moves on.

Friday, March 23, 2012

Roma's sun

Roma’s sun
is light you can dream on
you've heard of it. and so it is.
here so fine, this new day

softens colors
no winds to speak of
with river bridges
to look out over

up at pigeons
down on floating seagulls
i'm pleased to say this mellowing sight
is the the result of early morning pastel light of Roma

Thursday, March 22, 2012

peeped out

peeped out this corner
of the muffin i was sleeping in
unfolded to a world of sunshine
over long green warm waving
howdy you and the day

blue sky, clouds rolling by
cookie cutter decorations dancing wow,
a happy dog skipping hills yonder
by fragrant flowers and a spinning water wheel.

kitty sunk down watching
from low in long waving green
wiggles forward
keeping a quiet low profile;
content as he ought to be;
perhaps a tad more alert than we
to the general overall goings on.

Monday, March 12, 2012

reflections mid march

wardrobes reflect mid march
call it spring or thereabouts,
warmer, light jackets, more people talking,
now taking life at a slower pace,

ease and joy is growing,
morning chill has lessoned.
while i off one way, M. to the store
wait. read. making notes as i go.

called to happy birthday
professor Roberto in Torino
with two more years than me
it’s fine he leads the way

zippin’ afoot on streets i am.
practiced maneuvers take me through;
it’s repeating my self to mention, but then
that comes with my lease, i’m old.

M. rode the tram. no Billie Store today,
got a new one, kinder gentler.
M. said the tram driver drove with anger
as if he’d just broken up with his mother.
couldn’t do it anyway,
can’t write these everyday
there’s got to be a secret cache,
i double checked - i’m not Ogden Nash.

Sunday, March 11, 2012

airport security

M. when at airport security
the man asks her
“How many chicken legs do you have?”
she looks up worried,

“Chicken legs?”
he shakes his head.
took a breath, then he said,
“No, ma'am, check in bags!”

Friday, March 09, 2012

Rome is always like this

walked down for wine
like a Johnny cash song
went down the line
and the morning’s fine

for venders and buyers.
on getting food for the table
that’s the general idea of it.
warm in the sun, cool in the shade.
Roma e sempre cosi
that's how it's made, i guess.

at the market i salute my friends.
making ends meet they are, listen -
resolute in packs and calls
over pole and canvas market stalls

a crowd of tourists browse not buying,
instead take photos of vegetables
after a night a carousing streets and alleys
that link and form ancient Rome in new times

in the initial hint of spring this year of 2012
not going to delve meteorologically, just got up, i’m sleepy
so i’ll just go out and buy wine, out there where i said,
so i can get on my way back home again and see what happens

Wednesday, March 07, 2012

notes on to do

let's not call it poetry today
in my land of a stuff i write
this rich field is opened,
soil turned, dug up a bit

in the work area are partially realized
objects on the bench
moved around and dusted just enough
i can find most things when i need them

pieces for up future construction
some i know by partial-temporary names
and look for a glance to say "not yet"
others are forgotten and then rediscovered

mail arrives later,
one less thing to do for now
email anytime i care to look
it's a mystery - perhaps or perhaps not

too bad they don’t use horses
my granddad used to
wash them in the military
he wasn't a colonel

don’t know if grandfather had a brother
while some families
can track before 1600
only to uncover that the defect persists.

what did the Lord do the one day he rested?
did he have hobbies, wear shoes, have regular chores?
did God write poetry, or,
was fabricating the entire universe
enough creative expression to keep him occupied?

make a note: are we better than
bunnies, ducks and rabbits?
it’s good they invented eyeglasses
say, and when we’re done
are we really done?

center in the heart

the ghetto piazza
border to yesterday
with benches to sit
where there is sun

between not so high old buildings,
piazzas large enough to linger.
this fine spot to pause
during the rush of pre mid day

softly cosmopolitan this part,
forgiving in manner,
proud and stable,
a center in the heart of Rome.

song of the waters

song of the waters
quiet nearly, not quite,
there is a calming murmur,
thoughtless;
the sea in prayer
remembers with swirling soft motion.
how it moves
in seagulls and sun;
shining glimmers,
fish jumping.
the liquid heart of the earth;
the ever so. bloodline.

all rights reserved

M. today suggested
after observing yet another
very large ass jiggle by and by
and jiggling, on and on

there, she pointed,
these could earn cash;
perhaps with a sign
on the backside.

advertising everywhere
a billboard butt - all rights reserved.
money earned could be donated;
either that, or buy a lot of Snickers.

Monday, March 05, 2012

street tapping dancers

in sun and springtime here they come
the two dancing girls are heads up, reeling
sunday in the piazza, prancing in style
see ‘em strut to the old tunes.

made note of 'em last time so i know
was four days shy of four years ago.
they’re still in uniform, taps and hopping.
get back, they’re doing to what was once called swing.

their vintage music in a box - hear it ring.
got the action crowd pausing at the thing.
a small girl picked up their mic, then
they gently coaxed it back again.

the songs from the forties were jumping.
a drunk got up in line, danced along for a bit,
his few practiced moves were brief,
just a minute in the sun, in his groove, to our relief.

canes, bold black and white costumes, top hats,
click-click, tap-taping, roll on sunshine, click, click,
coins drop in the hat, amid appreciative smiles.
rat-a-tat-tat, oh, they left the crowd clapping.

Sunday, March 04, 2012

no books

no books in piles around me anymore.
it’s electronic read things
manufacturing each other
while singing “robots are good cha cha cha”

i hear their chant in unison,
like the mechanical mice they practically are;
tapping feet to the beat.
enjoy their music? click, click, click.

people had to rest and eat,
even wanted money – hah!
the new system is up and running
serving the rich and whoever’s in.

so with technology improving
tell me when will i see
a little spilling over,
helping write my poetry?

Saturday, March 03, 2012

first poetry written for a dolphin

hi, dolphin
sky is blue
water is too
how are you?

we call ourselves people
at least now we do,
that could change

please understand and forgive us
we are not as stable as you
and have a difficult time leaving
things as they are

and the world pristine
as it was in the beginning

Friday, February 10, 2012

the morning

with the commotion at night, the way
the moon and stars rock around
you’d think we would hear stretching sounds
or at least an echo

rising is the nature of the business
on the quick side of the clock
in first light, birds and critters, me and you
after a good sleep night, got ‘a go

the morning has its strength on then
straight up and at it, when, no horsing around
you can watch it go, my heavens.
time rolling into another new day rhythm

i love the sidewalks then
dashed with a streak
bright as butter yellow when
sneaking through the trees

Monday, February 06, 2012

Retro Rita Hayworth

on the jolly little bus again
for sure arrived via time machine
how else would heels like that get here
to pirouette uneven cobblestones?

as newbees eating ice cream in the rain,
hop aboard in place, in packs, presently isolated
hats on backwards face to face on the little traveler,
this gondola through the maze.

italian, german, inter european, extro mundo
from far north, far east and the americas.
hear them in groups like squirrels chattering,
flashing dreams and fears, some brave outspoken.

retro Rita has stockings
with a long line up the back of her leg.
phone out and twirling it, undecided
what is next to conquer in the ancient city today.

Sunday, February 05, 2012

we finished dinner

the olives can go in the refrigerator
is what she said to me
can they now? that got my attention,
i looked at her

didn’t believe her, not then.
that was absolutely not true.
those olives can’t go anywhere,
watch them; even if they tried.

i know for a fact, no doubt about it.
take a load off, olives,
you can put the load right on me.
your going days are over.

Friday, February 03, 2012

Rome winter dark

heavy jackets abound, zip 'em
this grey day soaking mystery
hats on, umbrellas out and up
collars furry snug an' high

walkin' wrapped an' head down,
dampened sound, scarves tight around
through slush against wind chill we are
wading, by shops closed, traffic’s light

an’s only past noon by the clock
look ahead, more’s on the way
just you wait wait until tonight an' dark,
o'course we fear tomorrow’d be a similar day.


continued:
it snowed last night, a bit and cold.
many out walking taking photos
no snow falling now, enough we have
Rome is freezing, closed for the day.

Thursday, February 02, 2012

in the key of life

i heard the marching band go down the street
the school’s a block over
i’m reading, thinking while upstairs a worker
finishes, hopefully, tile in the bathroom

some pictures, i see where i could hang a few
overall the old house is coming along
this the second year sharing life with contractors
give us a break, wrap it up, how much can we take?

not writing enough everyday has me off pace
though the year rolls warm and friendly
i note 67 creeping my back stairs
you can find out how old is some day

nights i dream of things to write
instead of getting up to make notes
i sleep thru and tell myself i’ll remember
you know, those distant trains hardly wake me anymore

Wednesday, February 01, 2012

parking at all costs

walked our streets today
searching space where i may
move, not me, my vehicle, see,
so the car not far is going to be.

in this old town it’s tight, you know,
parking is a premium, so
if available, although it's free,
you need a card on your dash like me,

printed with the correct information
then authorities from the traffic station
can read i walked the walk, got papers and paid the price
to park near, all because i live here where it's rather nice.

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

January squeeze

‘bout squeezed all the January
we’re goin’a get out of this one;
can’t cut off some of the rind;
no scent left to save for later.

so did you use
this month as expected,
‘bout how you wanted it to unfold,
or did you even think ahead at all?

planning goes right fine along,
neigh on to a point, and then,
there’s an amount of stuff,
call it stuff, that just happens.

here's when best wishes come in,
so figure what you goin'a do;
cha-cha right into another month.
Mr. Fate is following you.

Monday, January 30, 2012

gold country

was long ago,
did i really live there,
San Francisco?
like wine don’t you?

other fog may be thick,
in San Fran it’s romantic.
morning sun on the golden gate
where red/orange is the color.

how about all those boats on the bay!
lived on one ten years with our cat,
and the U.S. navy flying over in jets
putting on a show. mind if they roar?

hi Karl Malden window shopping Maiden Lane.
a store with a little outdoor food festival
in front of the radio station where i worked
my young son asked if it was a fish fry?

M. thought the car parking too expensive
pulling into the lot she saw the sign:
seven dollars min.
waved me off saying not there, go, go.

no way
would we pay
seven dollars
a minute.

famous attorney Melvin Belli
sat in his devilishly wonderful old office
conspicuously on display downtown
with a large window for all to look in
don’t bother to wave at him
he’s working

so much more,
Tony Bennet on his birthday
at a table in the next room.
George Lucas at our agency party

and Something-to-do Bob
in the lot, crawling good morning
out from under his overturned skiff
chin up sincerely asking, “day do you have?”

friends and sea breeze
fresh out of the west.
all in gold country,
one i loved best
we loved it the best

Sunday, January 29, 2012

phone message

this is harsh.
get ready to boo.
now this volley
could be aimed at you.

you are annoying
if you have a phone message
with everything on it
except your name.

why hide your name, i have your number?
and don’t repeat the number i dialed.
i know that part already. what i need to know
is if the person i called is there.

how can i leave word with an unknown?
i won’t leave a message
so someone can call back to say
i left word at the wrong number.

if I call you i want the message
to tell me it is you, right away,
or - no message for you.
now have a nice day.

an if i ever have a job
where i have to call and tell you
you won an enormous amount of money
and you don’t have your name on the message

i’ll hang up,
leave my station,
quit the job , pocket your cash
and take a long vacation.

Saturday, January 28, 2012

a lifetime forever

to live a lifetime forever
on a mountain under eternal noon sun
with sweet wine touching lips that touch mine

where the omnipresent fragrance of soft flowers
and gentle green
caress thoughts
and cradle in your mind mellow notions

the only sound being
two hearts playing
the softest lullaby in creation



first published August 06, 2008

when i woke

when i woke i had you on mind
must have sung song your song ten thousand times
and every time i start
it’s like cannons in my heart
going off half-cocked
while i’m half blind
i fear i better stop
afore i lose my mind
how in hell did i get myself in such a bind

Friday, January 27, 2012

Porta Portese

often we have wandered
the Sunday market at Porta Portese
do pay attention when you go
into the psycho mad circus crowded zoo

when weaving around
winding through the buzz
keep a hand on your wallet
before anyone else does

legions sell anything and everything
to would-be buyers in the slew
questions asked will be responded to
with answers custom fit for you

for a price
if you like
and it's right
pay up and take it, do

Thursday, January 26, 2012

laughing to the extreme

was in the hospital,
had my appendix removed
three of us in a room
one guy told jokes.

he was hysterically funny.
made one poor guy laugh so hard
he broke his appendix stitches
had to be wheeled back and sewn again

day two more jokes from funny guy
same guy broke his stitches laughing again
day three it happened a third time
they wheeled funny guy to a private room

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

the color of reflection

from the porch of a mountain lake cabin
i painted the scene
a new sedan parked in the shade
under tall pines was the prominent theme

surroundings were rendered to my satisfaction
but the reflection in the car windshield,
a smoky, somber still blue sky perfection
came forth in just the right grayed hue

the mixture of color, and pure good fortune
made it happened, for although i’m experienced,
art in free pure spirit form, that works well at a glance,
often comes down to a matter of chance.

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

kid threw

kid threw a ball across the street
meri saw and crossed over to get it
before she was back
the kid threw two more across

these are little kids
ages three and two
big throws the ball
little stands and watches

learning ways of the world
from their own front yard
the mother talks, their eyes glisten
but they don’t appear to hear or listen

Monday, January 23, 2012

crowd talking

people are crowd talking
jammed on their phones
in cars, on city streets
hear the chatter?

doesn’t matter,
keep moving.
though i’m surprised more aren’t
running into each other.

in the future you’ll hear
talk crossing the borders of time
“Mr. Lincoln on line three.”
“Again? . . . tell him i’m in a meeting.”

when phones are imbedded
we can walk around talking
to everyone who isn’t there. RING!
“i’ll get it . . . since i’m the only one here. hello?”

“ i’m callin’ Michael uh Jackson , tell him it’s Elvis’s.”
“Oh, i recognize your voice, Elvis.”
“Well, will ya put Michael on.”
“i’m sorry, Elvis, you have the wrong number.” click!

Sunday, January 22, 2012

Rome seen as a park

Saturday we walked a bit
a block beyond the Coliseum,
off the end of the Circus Maximus
by Roman ruins, under an old church,

out into a park with parrots and benches,
sunshine and shade, trees and peace;
it was as if we were some hundred miles away,
this sanctuary in the center of the ancient city.

now today got up and showered
selected attire appropriate
so then decked out right for our day
walked the bowed crest of the old bridge.

first stopping in sunshine, in the middle
to see the calm, wide moving river below
and walkers on one sidewalk side down there,
the Vatican dome straight off a half mile away.

that’s how we got to Trestevere
where we had coffee amid locals
saw only a dog or two out today
looking, listening, in good humor, having fun

seems everyone was taking Sunday easy
and that, you know ’s proven the best way.
so overall uneventful yet pleasant this Sunday
you don’t even need a weather report about it.

let me say right now
that this slow, dull, average day
and this entire weekend was all around okay
to the point of being worth mentioning.

Saturday, January 21, 2012

two extremes

walking this narrow centuries old lane
under shade rendered by old stone buildings
on our narrow cobblestone way
a young mother ahead is pushing
an empty stroller with her right hand
stooped forward holding the hand
of her tiny toddler with her left
as he advances in hesitant wobbly steps
i amble alongside them
in tentative pace indicative of age

on the graph of human existence
heading along the path of life
aside the mother are two extremes
one is nearly there
the other fresh out of the gate

Friday, January 20, 2012

in box

you have your in box
and you have your out box
that seems clear enough
now let’s take a look at them

do you want to chat and blend a conversation
invite a third party or more
how about you do it in an elevator
or on a train, in your pocket in the rain,

make it tiny with a phone, put plugs in your ear,
include photos, movies
distort the voice. what? no 3D?
baby has one with a rattle on it.

give me the old ways
like bows and arrows
three bears and Goldilocks
an in box and an out box

Thursday, January 19, 2012

busy

ok, so, i'm busy, you're busy,
that's fine, now to continue:
i do read poetry i don't get.
it is either beyond me or crap, or mostly crap.

then there is the good stuff,
really fine, you’ve seen it.
literally beyond me.
i understand that situation.

it’s like fencing,
mask, vest and foil
against a professional opponent
could cut you to ribbons,

or at least prong you well, for sure.
but anyone claiming to be
a professional fencer
is either lying or a 300 year old pirate.

now, thinking of people who read blog poetry,
weep and read it three times,
and weep themselves to sleep. hey, read a book
or clean the house, it’s better for everyone.

to read for enjoyment.
with dictionary on my knee.
is not, i say, not my cup
of soup, of wine or tea.

i’m old fashioned, spoiled.
and prefer to understand what i read.
so don’t try to impress,
just entertain me.

poetry is a gift
for the people.
make it easy
to unwrap.

i had some of my paintings
sent back from Rome, and then
with knives and scissors and rolling on the floor,
it took a half hour sweat to open the package.

were they afraid of attack
by the mad mailed-picture pirates,
or are they paid by
how much tape and string they use?

that’s it; and now, to both of us
good luck, good day, soups on.
be on your way. let’s be on our way.
you’re busy, i’m busy

Sunday, January 15, 2012

Cincia's roots

late this sunlit afternoon i passed Cincia,
a lovely good heart with long hair,
half owner of the vintage clothing shop
across the way on this old narrow lane.

“The metal discs of the street cleaner
yesterday nearly tore into the vine.”
checking we saw the stem unscathed.
“In spring it blooms full and beautiful,” she said.

one cobblestone removed, so it grows by the wall,
swings high, arching over the entire doorway.
she planted roots when they opened there.
“was that three years ago?”

looking up at the vine contently,
“It has now been six years,” she said,
i said softly, “Time does pass.”
nodding with a soft smile she said, “It runs.”