misdirected

I.

the seasons are variable.
don’t know if it is warmer before colder,
or colder before hotter.
close the window anyway.

hah, and you think this is a diary?
it is: of disinformation and the like;
with possibility to forecast severe weather, predict
elections and ball scores. still working on horse race results.

wait a minute, the window sticks.
i know it is the weather;
any weather will do, or won’t
– as in: window won’t open.

II.

the aggregate outlook remains unpredictable,
as churning beach sand under pounding waves,
turning clouds belly up, masking out the stars.
so dark now i have to count on my fingers.

III.

hah, and you think this is a dairy; nearly so.
we drive by a field with sheep each day
where the new ones are a plenty now.
we saw a mother lick off a tiny lamb just arrived.

good for the farmers and the 4H club.
they still have a hand on the soil, thank goodness.
rains are good for them
in reasonable measure.

IV.

you think maybe I just pull these poems out of a box
ha – a thousand times ha!
i grind this stuff out
the way someone grinds bones

okay, so i don’t know who grinds bones
but i’m sure where there’s money to be made
someone is doing it. so in warning:
watch your bones.

going, going

while taking the whistling graffiti marked train
the grey way across town, clack clack,
the exasperated bald headed man ten rows ahead angrily barks,
i hear every word of his cell phone conversation.

then from someone beyond,
through the door open to the train car behind,
paint peeling blaring terrible mechanical music
the kind of Steven King’s mad amusement park

got my attention;
redirected it inward, whir, clack, clack,
recalling bygone days when civil people
respected others space and tranquility.

what am i telling you for?
you don’t appear unaware to me,
you must have a modicom of sensitivity
hell, you’re even reading poetry.

robins - a lesson

I.

May isn’t easy.
not for all
as i saw
from the kitchen window.

chill wind blew as
wet slicked mother and father robin
work diligently in hard late afternoon rain
taking turns, to and from

the partially sheltered nest
to keep the kids protected,
parents fly off in turn, and then return.
dad just gave a worm to the young .

i watched as it
grew darker and cooler.
the rains slackened,
the robins didn’t.

II.

i would guess the two birds met recently.
i have no idea when or where.
maybe they were having a drink somewhere
or pulling on opposite ends of the same worm

they aren’t related, though maybe with robins it
doesn’t matter. genetically they aren't going anywhere.
from their dedication to each other
you would think they are star crossed lovers.

they have no religious ceremony, in fact,
no known religion, art or music.
only small nothings to each other,
and the humming of the earth.

no games or TV, can’t read. their apparent entertainment
is activity. seeing what is around, and the work they do.
they are here for the complete apparent purpose of
finding food and caring for their young.

salt and bar - my song

mr. safety town i am
but let her drive anyway,
and put my arm out for additional signal.
it rained well this May morn.

contractors said it must be done to code ,
electrical outlets every 2 ½ feet,
enough room heating ducts to fry bacon
cooling sufficient for a polar bear circus.

notes on life start with a B flat.
my times and observations,
write that down, some are joys
and, yes, aggravations. stay with me.

reviewing a few of my league deep of poems,
(that’s six feet in terms of water depth)
surprised myself, there are more than i recall
but the stuff is me, and i like water by the way.

make a note: sometime when i was a kid
i told myself i’d write a thousand,
figured it’d be about the number and it is.
so if the kid was a wiz – well, what the hell happened?

then the cell phone rings and they’re telling me
i win free digital hook up that is going to be required by law,
and M. is telling me to hang up cause it's costing money
on the cell phone; but they said we won something.

i guess i shouldn't trust telephoning strangers.
did they have my number
or was it a just lucky chance call that they got to me?
where was i? about here, i’d say:

you can find pieces and make more
but a thousand poems is a fair guess
at the total number, more or less,
overall, i did my best, so did i pass the test?

note: i like the funny
always have
and the running like the river ones
makes me glad. oh, there’s water again.

i thank my mom and dad for not stoppin’ me,
and all the blood generations for centuries down;
and if i had another choice i think i might’a
been a red nose, funny hair, big shoes clown.

oh pshaw not really, forget the clown thing.
that didn’t last long.
to paraphrase my friend old Lonesome -
what i say you better divide by two.

and whatever time you put into reading this
is your business, i think mostly monkey business,
but i’m grateful and other things , etc. etc.
okay, now let’s go sip something refreshing

say, did i ever tell you
you remind me . . .
oh, never mind. M. would say hang up now
cause it could cost us both money.

age of technology

could get a new TV
sit for hours
take popcorn showers,
go dizzy spinning channels.

or in this era of inquisitive technology
forget about watching TV
go about my day
and let the box view me.