in the back of the bus

a pair of rain wash angels,
bone cold hearts worn
skirting desperation
seated in somber silence

poised, pensive,
tightening spirits,
as we bus rush away
from the maddening center

the princess sisters observe nearby
two younger girls, heads together,
soft giggle working in a word puzzle book.
the older sadly perceive fate of the younger

while along this traffic-bogged way
there are no costly cell phone calls for these riders
full of thought with the occasional low murmur,
remain packed fish in a tin silent

we are like globes

we are like globes,
similar to the one we live on
with different regions, aspects

when i see you
perhaps my soviet union territory
is facing your north America

always like that
sometimes turned a bit
yet exposing familiar surfaces

we are similar on the edges
where we overlap,
though, if we were to part

then return after a revolution around the sun
and my Australia faced your South America
we wouldn’t recognize each other

we might not even see each other. so
as a point of contact, as reference, as renewal
show me your china, i’ll show you mine

Giacomo drove

day began with a walk across Ponte Sisto,
where today machinery is tearing up one end.
wore my dark clip-on sunglasses
couldn’t see at all in the sidewalk glare

rain was on then off in bright sun
if there was dog crap on the sidewalks
hope walked me around it
i knew it was there somewhere

felt comfortable with extreme impaired vision
sight is not only seeing, it is sense,
that’s how camel- back wanderers crossed deserts,
how they decided where to set their tents

my friends arrived quickly as i did,
first son, Alex, glad
to see me, and i him
then a car came - Giacomo his dad, tall, thin

aging son of a Grand Prix driver, mother set speed
records on motorcycle, being first moves his blood.
you have to be crazy to ride when Giacamo's in a hurry
i rode in the front passenger seat

we launched into a fresh rain challenge
Alex had the seat in back
Giacomo drove us to parts of Roma unknown
near the airport, near the river

far, and turning fast enough to make me shiver,
into the land of warehouses and such, we picked up insulation
enough to pack the car to the ceiling leaving no room for us,
then we got in anyway, and sped away

soaring through heavy traffic, now rain again,
a red light blinked while a dash alarm sound every few minutes
i asked unconcerned Giacomo what it was
he said it signaled something, and kept going

and on we went, a couple of near misses
i heard groans or whimpers in the back seat from Alex,
Giacomo rolled down the window a few times
giving instructions and suggestions to other drivers

he kept driving hard
in the rain
in heavy traffic
in the name of glory

we must have made it
cause i wrote this,
ready to go again – anytime.
with my friend Giacomo

ship of dream

the large dark ship of dream
asleep on a flat blue bay,
a cardboard moon above,
nearby sometime in the future

violet tinted creatures reading this
say the continuum has altered
i can’t speak your language, i interject
surprised - they evaporate gracefully into their own time

i use mine to determine what has happened
while a crowd of clowns gather on the dock,
casting off lines on our large dark ship of dreams
“say there”, Bogart says to me under his hat, “easy”

at a glance he appears congenial, overdressed,concerned
leaning on a rail and flicking cigarette ash over the side,
“go easy, and pay no never mind”, i nod absently
all is subdued, dark silent, i’d like a sandwich

the yellow paper moon overhead hasn’t moved
the clowns are gone, Bogart’s smiling, the ship is sailing
on a dark flat sea, just for you,
just for me

i don't have

i don’t have ideas for poems
i have things i see, things i do, have done,
want to do, others to do, climb on,
best wishes to all

the music of words puts poetry together like a wave.
get on aboard, ride it out, one has your name on it,
a shooting star in the heavens,
discover the universe

physics of reality

physicists says properties in
the real world
are observer determined

so if a kid wipes a popsicle on the side
of your face, you’ll see orange dripping.
then you can simply turn a mental page

or chase him down,
sit on him ‘til he squeals
and quits laughing

or when you wake in the morning
you can just keep your eyes closed,
tuck in and think about things cozy

so your reality can wait chilling
and nothing will happen of consequence
until you decide to get up and observe something

2012

cleaning up scraps of paper
a lot of it receipts, tickets etc.
never ending piles of trash
trees cut, ground and milled

pressed into paper, inked, stamped
and cut with dotted lines
what is it for?
Berlusconi the wealthy Italian premier

has companies that make money printing tickets.
after we pay our money
why do we need a ticket?
there is one door in, one door out

when i was a kid a hundred was a lot,
it was the big number,
the maximum in everyday big talk,
bet you a hundred

million was something we heard about
but was beyond practical
used occasionally in conjecture
now population is counted in billions

i was ten when i read about the Maya,
their calendar ending in 2012
now, holy smoke, there's talk about it
it's closing in, as the world staggers

scientist talk about sun trouble,
near misses from soaring objects,
the out looks on several fronts are not encouraging
weather is changing, spare a quarter?

give me another ticket stub, i’ll put it
in a jar at home, or admire it for a millisecond,
tape it on the refrigerator, or rash it right away,
let city workers carry it away to Neverland

scraps of paper, pennies in a jar - the new economics,
floating plastic and submerged mush in rivers and oceans
rapid chopping trees like a cook does vegetables
oh yeah then, something i can deal with - what’s for dinner?