best difference

there is a difference between

doing to gain, doing again

or doing cause you have to.

best is doing cause it’s what you do.

is poetry an answer?

off with my coat i sit down
socks are hanging off me
yes, i took off my shoes
then my socks

set them on a step nearby
then on my sleeve is a fresh sock
over my shoulder one more
are these the clean pair from this morning?

what have i been wearing?
have i carried this clean pair around all day
attached to my sleeve and shoulder?
can this be happening to me?

literally being

life as a series of errors
and ambiguous good intention
gives me pause when asked,
“are you all set?”

standing, at a loss;
pondering reply; oh, my.
it takes time, mine and thine,
to respond forthright acceptably.

the red drop that flew

white shirt fresh crisp clean.
neat me at table, served pasta
fragrant smoking tomato sauce, how lovely.
upon first bite a noodle fell back into sauce

at which point leap exploded a gleaming
rocket red drop soaring free
toward the sky, oh my; i watched it go, time lapse,
exposing my childhood, holidays at grandma’s, events flashing.

before entering earth orbit it veered, aparkled,
held, then dove, streak skidded sure, long, hard
across the prominent center of my shirt.
need more? not i; it was quite enough for one day.

when long skies

when long skies open wide
for puffy caramel colored animal-shaped clouds
rolling by

it’s fine time to mellow
and consider 

 . . . .  whatever.

parked i am

still trees, open arms
above early fallen leaves
near where parked i am
on a bench in this park

around the pigeons hunt and peck
bob heads in time to internal music
no wheels needed, pigeons these,
hop decked in curiosity

central bronze statue of a man with a finger
that marks page in book held low at his side
seated, nearly reclined, as if sleeping
other hand to forehead, eyes closed

dallying as i do, making notes un sung
in a sign of my times
this another october,
this fair sunny day

of courses

black horse, backhoes,
black shoes, of course - that’s it.
two pair under my chair where
i leave pairs there.

put one on, shoe that is;
being too literal, i need take care;
then reached under the chair
for the other.

could tell you i retrieved
another right shoe discreetly
tried to put that on, but, come on,
literal is not stupid, completely.

is not rain

is not rain
only for babies
like damp diapers
inconvenient, perhaps

this day will not slow
roll out your thunder
then push on it
food good for make strong

see this day grey
i hello you
cover from water falling
is enough, is so

open, heavens above, come on
not holding back
do as i know you can
give me all your thunder

coping

as the small bangladeshi and tall senegali
simultaneously squeeze departed
i tapped a shoulder; she half-nodded,
and took the inside window seat.

packed we were in fine october rush morning,
rolling slowly in traffic congestion
amid calm low voices and little movement
the girl, now seated next to me in the final row,

wearing an elaborate blue with white
lightening designs on a headset,
privatized from the throng;
when further, from the depths of her large purse

deftly extracted a tiny round compact,
opened it
and peering into the mirror
on the pretense of inspecting her eye,

i in a glance observed
as she melt-glided
swift deep away beyond time borders
into private mirage eternity.

the buffalo

some rainy, foggy, chilly midweek

when secretaries call in sick
and postmen wear goulashes
go to the zoo and take in what’s left

splash along the water-covered concrete
past occasional trees bent, looking away
from the wind’s lick

see the muddy, mucky, peanut-shelled patch
where there stands the buffalo
knee-deep, with dirty, unkempt, matted hair
his eyelids closing out the drizzle
shoulders that held up america

clothed the indians in a montana mountain snow
fed starving wagoneers not quite to the promised land
mark of the plains
symbol of an era

it is fitting that he be visited
for his eyelids are closing now, america

day lilly

they only last a day she said

as she picked the fading flower

some of them probably think they'll go on forever

like some people think they do

sun to sun
got'ta have fun

sun to sun

see how they run

the man in the moon

what you expect when you look up.

to home of the big shiny

in what is otherwise dark,

nearly black, but yeah

there’s color and i’m an artist, even we,

including Michelangelo Buonarroti who didn’t pump

red like blood under the sculpted fine Tuscan

Carrara marble  skin of the Pieta -

the  Madonna and dead Christ,  

have a tendency to round things off.

like i‘s saying, it was dark,

the pale  moon bright near white

or there abouts.

and low you have it

creeped down on the side is the face

as drawn in olden times, in antique mysterious hue 

as per the season, moisture content in the air,

time of night, cloud drift in the way, all of the above

come together, perfect, scary and complete;

needed only dreadful music, wind blowing

and black cat leaping, shrieking, but this is life

not hollywood remembers, not even a mouse

so, that’s how it goes

and went leaving

an impression on my mind;  

like an inside job wall brain stencil.

the air that i breathe

the air that i breath

thankful i am for the invention

and skies above

another fine intention

ground to walk on

amid the clutter of people

in city hub bub

seemingly without direction

as birds soar above

fish swim the sea

waters rain upon us

streams flow

frogs jump,

nearly hidden cats lurking, see all

here, where we can, on good days,

nap in the sun

Morning, noon and night doesn’t cover it.

It’s all before, during or after a meal.