tight squeeze

tight squeeze this

early evening, where ahead

a small car parked parallel 

half on the sidewalk

a full grown German Shepard

reclines there.

shop workers, a man and a woman,

sit chatting, backs to shop window.

walking, i approach where lies the dog

to whom, firm, clear,

non threatening, i say, "Allora."

which translates:  "well, what now?"

the large animal lumbers to his feet,

slowly circles, moves out of my way

i glance toward the woman sitting there

who shrugs, with an expression that says

"well, sorry, you know dogs."

in turn i reply with my face that tells her,

"i understand, that is life, the way of the dog,

it's not always a dog's world"

or something to that effect.

at the same time

to the dog i did say

as i passed,

"grazie."

chance note

a variety of consciousnesses

preamble the talk, that other eve,

now past, forgotten, thank goodness.

change of  idea sub stratum  .  .  .

to Angelo i say, dirty water,

what they call caffe Americano,

first savored, then vetoed.

cappuccino me forever.

tension hangs air

as blown perm heavy in leopard pants

parading by, pulls small dog on chain.

forward - another day in paradise.

on wing time goes by. 

stumbling,  i make my way

taking choices

to live,  to learn - a veritable gamble.

then a bright flash idea occurs to me

which is immediately

lost amid random papers 

on the kitchen table of my mind

morning's rain

  morning's early rain fell lightly.

          tapping witth large drops in groups

then the soft sound like glass chimes

on and on again

 

in the moderate day-beginning chill of mid October

when it is cool, but not so much so

i left one window open

to my sound carnival

root spring

from roots deep we spring

as child with family and pets,

friends, cousins, uncles and aunts.

in school and holidays, we grow

a spinning maze

overlapped and interlaced

in motion.  when in a flash

we're old and recall gone days

then in a breath

we are back

to where are

our roots

three errors

impatient to go

couldn't find my keys

at last found them in my bag

they belong in my right pants pocket.

going down the stairs

i remembered my phone, go back,

unlocked the door, went in, searched

until i found it where it shouldn't be.

while inside i remembered

to check the gas.   i had left it open.

valves were off, ok; but

i close the tank for safety, always.

keys, phone, gas.  ID in my pocket

all was in order.

on the street i stopped,

made note of my errors.

noting errors is not important

remembering to think is.

if i have to make note to

remember to think i will.

when the first baseman

makes three errors

he gets to think about it

while sitting on the bench.

no one has taken me out
i am still in this game
will do the best i can. i believe Yogi
"it's not over 'til it's over."

baby bunny

morning's first light is golden, it seems.

worth seeing.

from the porch today i observe

she picks zucchini flowers large as panda bears.

pulls the stamen;  puts the lovers in a basket.

informs me the little bunny,

the one she talks to in a sweet baby voice,

has munched the stem and destroyed

the top off a pepper plant;

thus gaining disfavor.

stuff in our heads

mouths closed, silent;

opening the day calm, in order.

the many, the workers,

cool, fresh and clean.

if we could assemble

our confusing and jumbled

Rorschach pieces of dream

there'd be more we'd know.

Rome city life

Rome city life is to wait

opens at nine, and then some

no need to worry, enjoy the day

then Abdul showed

from afar he calls my name

more than a year since i'd seen him

my friend from Senegal

i left and brought him a coffee

our road is the city

there is no shame

honor is in friendship

we do what we can

four minutes on the dryer

walking closer it was fifteen

like life, you never know for sure

how much time is really on the dryer.

silence please

the silence of the morning

is like no other

except yesterday

and hopefully tomorrow.

i think even in sleep

you appreciate it;

benefit even, no doubt.

although i had to mention it

so nothing is quite

as simple as it seems;

with the possible exception

of that jerk that lives across the street.

cherries today

sunny early,  already warm

take your time.

driving out in the country

you know the way from past years

they give you a basket to fill

ladders are out there

old farm dog barkless, has seen it all before

select your first tree

point out good bunches

start picking your own

going up, reaching

farther, higher

eat plenty-many, that won't make it to pie

fluffy cat may follow a while

to see if you're good for a few strokes

and maybe some roll-over belly pats

no bugs, no buzzin' bees

pack out what you pay for

they weigh it up at the end

a summer day in the country

conjectural frogs

they're out there, hidden

unbeknown to the eye

under a gibbous moon and dawn stars

by thick antecedent weeds

a circus mire abounds

muted amid stitched nests of green

sans time or sound

invisible frogs

sunday about

we stopped in a town

after another called red haw

was still thinkin' about it 

'til m. said the k fell off

ordered a breaded chicken sandwich

cost ten cents less than unbreaded

an' they said it was bigger

hoped it was local, not out o' state

had water to drink

with ice cubes in the glass

stirred it with my fork

ordered at 2:10 p.m., ten minutes after closing

m. pointed to a sign on the wall

"Free Idiot Test, Limited Time Only

Act Now, $5", reached for my pocket

m. put out her hand to stop me

later driving, slowed on route 250

for a wild goose crossing the road

walking, and taking his time

in fine easy stride

not alarmed at all

when we whizzed by

that black sleek road warrior with the

white neck band like a cleric

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