the commander and lulu

the commander is flaps down
on approach to the final tarmac
wrapping up his mission

pa, and lulu with him,

are on the way out or maybe in
depending how you read it

a few years ago tom drove lulu, meri and i

back from tony’s restaurant
outside payson, an arizona hill town

as he sped hard to pass a truck he floored it  

and we were all thrown back in our seats.

above the gas sucking engine roar i commented,

“so you miss flying those pby’s, tom?”

and we all laughed
and to tears will laugh again
saluting the commander

and his real lulu



(wriiten for
the spreading of the ashes
from the mogollon rim)

standing mid market

standing mid market

see and hear the poetry of life

this early april now

another rainy morning

through drips and pauses
crowds that never cease

dragging puddles

tireless as vegetables

photos will remember 
where they have been

remind them of when when was

and they were really here

the poet among

speaks for them.  at night 
a gypsy one moment flash recalls

and will not say of one seen again

thus we travel boundless
colors, shape and sound

the world around

in and by affect

3peat

mercoledì, agosto 26, 2009

to enlighten mankind

martedì, agosto 25, 2009

middle of the night

lunedì, agosto 24, 2009

a dark figure

from the front step i saw
in the stillness of heavy dusk
a lone dark figure
amble my way down the street

perhaps it’s that bushy headed cute girl
with the cheery hello, who lives next door
that always sings walking her kitty
and has a happy word for everyone

i waited a moment
as the figure drew near i saw it was Rollo
the waddling ancient groundskeeper
from the local cemetery, tugging his little dog

and who rides the loudest riding mower in creation
always yells in your face, is irritating and grumpy,
with a chill in my spine i slipped into silent shadows,
maybe next time i'll say hi

olding

now I know why
old guys wear suspenders

cause there comes a time in life
when a man has no ass,

and that’s about the time
you finally realize
that you see more old drunks
than you do
old doctors.

between time

afternoon turning evening

twilight quiet January damp

meet  Mauro in the covered pass

beyond the Buddhist church

under twin aged stone arches

to him my email with  parting wishes

as he heads to the south pacific

on a  quest to find his way

then campo dei fiori nearly empty

this cobblestone field of flowers

when a  friend of twenty years stops. 

we exchange new year greetings

good words,  good minutes between us

always satisfying is our exchange

never knew each other’s names

but know a friend when we see one

then i see nico, he barely sees me

his  hearing also is wavering

one hundred years and counting, on this

street he was born and lives alone

somehow an empty city

bringing friends together briefly

passing in the light fading cool

of yet another winter late afternoon

roosevelt and her student

roosevelt and her student
were going dancing
to work out a new two step.
however, the cab caught fire;

so they changed plans and their shoes.
on a park bench laughing, telling stories
amid wavering shadows of a large oak
the ufo they waited to see watched them.

what'd you do tuesday?

what’d you do tuesday?

the other day, or a few ago,

days in the week, weeks in a month,

12 months,  all those days in the year,

stack them up and keep track  . . .

wait, that’s too many.

let’s take what we can handle.

simplify said Thoreau; a good idea.

we need three days:   

yesterday, today and tomorrow

more passed is for your history book

ahead is practically science fiction

god can you hear me?

god can you hear me?

if i am thinking?

in italian or English?

or if i mispronounce badly in Francaise?

do you know my question

before i ask?

would you tell me?

but isn’t truth relative anyway?

i don’t think you need praise

or  the company.

if it’s company you want

you can always make someone.

do you know i am talking to you,

and what i will say,

and how everything will turn out anyway?

if so then, what’s the point?