Monday, February 17, 2014

Monte Carlo Pizza



first in for lunch
at monte carlo pizza
two pastas we chose were so so,
served on metal plates, not charming.

the boss now 20 years later
is wider, heavy, worn. 
the house soon packed as always.
a waiter remembered us, and we him.

memories of the white-walled place
stirred a taste of long ago,
nearly forgotten good time evenings,
perhaps nevermore to re-kindle.

Monday, February 10, 2014

what i' d like to do



what i'd like to do -
can that be a poem?
and when i think of you  
i might include that too 

could be partially amusing.
if it weren't confusing.
isn't that a fine
how do you do?

Wednesday, February 05, 2014

woke at three




woke at three
got up to pee
then slept again
dreamed hills and trees

woke again at 115.
someone had kindly
put time back
on my clock



Sunday, January 19, 2014

lone warming thought



a passenger plane flew over
purring like a freight train.
oozing a low rumbling hum of vibration
that cloaks all stone of intercity Rome

many someones gliding on approach
are on the pattern.
seat belts buckled, landing gear deployed
i feel them in their excitement.

when the plane has passed
all is quiet morning again.
the next sound is a vender
pushing a squeaky steel wheeled cart to market.

sweet comfort is familiarity.
a shout echoes,  jarring predawn.
then stillness,  allowing me again to slowly awaken
in the comfort of lone warming thought.

Wednesday, January 15, 2014

90 miles



about 90 miles
is enough to travel
one night on dream mountain

Tuesday, January 07, 2014

been a good while



been a good while
since he came up to Rome
from Campo Basso in '44,
an able young man of 32.

carries the years in his eyes
as he indicates with his chin - out there.
recalling for me many rolling fields,  
now blanketed in suburbia.

76 and working every day.
over the 49 years he has taxied.
vehicles and times changed.
he drove me well.

paid and thanked him,
said it was a good to ride.
he restored belief there is good among us.
in parting we wished each other well.

Saturday, December 28, 2013

wood harbinger

wood harbinger heralds the snows
up winding the path covered white
a shelter in the bark
burnt folds are open to us
we watch the snow without
from within the tree
holding on to us
talking with me
i can tickle the giant sequoia
and it laughs a thousand year old laugh
out of deer, grey squirrels, chipmunks and birds
passing shadows
making faces
marking time
on top of the mountain
slight little me
how tall and how long
can you stand in rain
and snow
in winds that blow
in sun and heat
all seasons complete
an auburn tree watches and holds on to me
and reminds me not to rush
no worry so great
no love so strong
no time to stop
letting the world go on about its way.

Friday, December 27, 2013

the biggest raindrops


the moribund  go en masse
stampeding unleashed, wild running free.
an invasion force of filler fellows,
lean, manic decoration. 

but then the real gordos are engaged
beyond the last of the legionnaires,
after the noisy wind has scampered.
during the wee hours usually

when all is quiet.  that's their time.
they are fewer.  the summation.
it seems as regular course that the very
fattest raindrops jump when i'm sleeping.

they slip, or are pushed, off the cloud,
do something like sizzle on the way down;
a faint wet hiss or whistle, a quiet, steady
sound; the only one they make.

soar in solo,  a fly ball into center.
splat what they hit.  there are no misses.
outside my window they zap a plastic tarp
covering the neighbor's motorcycle.

after listening an hour i am conscious enough
to realize what's going on, and predawn
i write lines preserving their integrity 
in recognition of their sonic contribution

Wednesday, December 25, 2013

victory

victory over sail
sweeping far to sea
onward to uncharted shores
that's where i long to be

five centuries before my birth
ancestors sat at evening meal
even to this very day
i know just what they feel

deep inside of everyone
there flicks a tiny spark
passed through daughters and father's sons
now shadows in the dark

they live anew, though i know not where
or how much of them is able
to break into my consciousness
and be seated at my table

while they have long since fallen
bone and teeth far  gone
some thing moves from sun to sun
something left undone

victory over the sail
victory over the sea
the final quest lies beyond the sun
that's where i long to be

Thursday, December 19, 2013

can i find the way?




the hum is the city

mouths closed silent
opening the day in force
moving in city numbers
calm, fresh, in a rush

good morning, meet those eyes
here i stop to make note
glance the ticking clock
now is our time

the crowd has a timbre, mood, a tone
could be the earth itself,  myself
full up this minding, hear that?
up close, it is not a hum

can i find the way?
undulating through combers
of people's notions;
some minikin thoughts are mine

though sustain on unattached observation.
as moment by moment
days rolling upon another
changing dream clusters

in motion. emotion. commotion.
my ship in harbor, no anchor holds me
waves of people walking, not talking,
not talking, although know well,

in their hearts everyone wants
to detail aloud their current concern,
ailment, injury, or when nothing else
is available, news of a friend or relative
                                                                                    
yes, pain sells like rain to the weatherman
if night dreams lingered
there'd be more to write about
but days would be confusing, jumbled.

again i take pause to note the ticking clock;
now is my time.  now is our time.
long ago my ship left the dock
can i find the way

moving maze forward
through waves of people thought
fumes haze the brain
coat a glaze,  damper the blaze
                                                
now call bill to meet for coffee.
after hello he said today is paper day, a reminder
knows well the trash collection schedule.
he'll tell more when we meet at Angelo's

there, he talks, i drink the coffee.
though i try to subsist on keeping track
make note again, eye toward the ticking clock
now is our time

my fortune cookie said




my fortune cookie said
well, it didn’t say
it read,
that is to say, i read.

should i start over?
that’s not what i in the cookie read,
but it seems a good idea,
starting over.

if we have a choice,
if we’re not rich enough, healthy enough,
or have loved enough,
food to eat, place to sleep.

let’s work on it.
make our own cookie fortune.
print it by hand,
send it to ourselves

with insufficient postage,
then act surprised when
the postman returns it to our door,
i mean, to my door.

it’s not our door
cause we don’t live together.
well, we may,
but not you and i together.

you may live with someone,
that is possible,
but, if you’re not M.
you and i don’t live together.

but then, i am me,
you are busy being you.
now give me
my fortune cookie.

you have to make life
as best you can.
make it up.
make it out.

and i know you will
because we all
are doing the best
we can.

i don't have
to read that
bit of truth
in a fortune cookie. 




reprise  - aug- 2010

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

together


knee-deep in wild weed let's walk
an afternoon together
you tell your tales, i'll tell mine
kicking a stick

tossing dust to the wind
a sampling of this
to determine that
a perhaps a small fire and coffee

under the sweet warm leaves canopy
as sun shoots rays
pressing against our cheeks
and in our eyes

brother to brother
sons and daughters
fathers and mothers
friends all together

these things
and more
will always be
as i say, as they are

i have an island



i have an island in my room
i keep it in my bed
it's there i sun and walk on sand
and swim inside my head

Friday, December 06, 2013

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."

Saturday, November 02, 2013

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

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

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

Friday, October 11, 2013

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

Thursday, October 10, 2013

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."

Saturday, October 05, 2013

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.

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

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.