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?

just woke and wrote

just woke and wrote, i did

something cause i haven’t been

able to write and forgot about you

then i did that and opened

google which is slow on my computer

and there your were - M. The Email.

oh, darling, can you refrigerate

bananas or is that bad?

wow you said you slept two

hours felt terrible when you woke

now feel good, except it’s  like the flu?  

sounds extreme.   i’d sleep on it.

geeze the thumb is sounding terrible,  

out of hand, so to speak.  i was hoping

you’d  adopt it,  that is: get along,

or can  a  doctor cut it off . . . the bump thing?

look, i have to rush.  a Plumber and electrician

will be in the building this morning and

i have to shower and pee before

they cut the water or the ele

Dumpling Realizer

without a glitch she passed
through the force field poles
that undoubtedly scan shoppers for weapons
or maybe just make pictures for the boys in the back room

as into market fighting for position, she goes
we’re having soup she said, i saw zucchini laid in a line,
a clerk with a braid came to her aid, once or twice,
she bought magic stuff to make dumplings

amid a symphony of vegetables, meat and a lot of cheeses
she had taken her wheeled cart along
the one that is Scotch red and blue plaid, jesus,
i have no idea why they decided to spell plaid that way

we paid for all, including her Dumpling Realizer
what most earthlings call baking powder,
i thought i’d mention that,
as it is the name of this poem

braid, maid, raid, laid,
paid, aid, and plaid
there i said it and i’m glad.

i'd spell plaid a different way.

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