joy

joy in discovery of a photo forgotten,
from a church dedication, now bygone,
far back erased from our town.

featured is the crowd of spectators.
revelers clad in celebratory finery. captured
in black and white and grays; note the hats and horses.

you can feel their thoughts. they are in their eyes,
neat and clean. there must be light talk and music.
subtle, wonderful celebration is captured on their faces;

all stand firm in time, in their places
on a now forever bright fall day ago.
they are forever to remain satisfied.

burmashave

this cross marks
where he met his due
now on this bend
I’ll use one hand to
Burmashave.

vegan wagon

night dark on a curve
fell off the vegan wagon,
toppled it, let it skid down the hill
over the falls, disappeared in the rapids.

last seen breaking up,
heading downstream,
sails up while under
a full head of steam.

wasn’t my fault.
collided with a
sweet scent
at the fair.

wouldn’t buffalo you,
nothing was fare.
like love, babe,
you just had to be there.

Master of Hah!

jack of all trades
all of my life
i am writer, actor,
musician and artist

friends have said,“you can do everything”
to these i say Hah!
don’t ask me to do your dental work
or adjust your brakes.

so goes life,
you get what you see.
though, i have been a doctor -
played one on TV.

flaps down

one night in Arizona heading home
after dinner at Tony’s
the commander driving us
through the mountains . . .

he floored it to pass
we went heads back in our seats,
I asked then, “Tom, you miss
flying those PBY’s, do ya?

and we all laughed well,
ah, yes we did.
now we pause to remember
our time with the Commander.

miracle banana

on the internet a picture of a face
on a banana. some speak of miracles
others question the face
of john the Baptist.

why no beard?
others explain he
was only about twelve or thirteen
when this banana was taken.

words unspoken

mystic words unspoken
scribbled out in haste
placed in a box
the lid down tight

all were not thought about
until today when, as the plane took me
over the patch work quilt leading to Philadelphia,
suddenly recalled those fragments

not entire to be called poem
so no one under the wind will recognize
precisely what those pieces are
until i weave patches together

the still life

walked by one of mine
stopped to straightened it
in pause i saw
captured in arranged space

the shelf and wall
with objects irregularly lined,
positioned with care
as painted there
in restful scene forever.

working the morning hour
every day for less than a week
to collect the relative same natural light
before the sun moves and light changes.

in reflection of colors,
a recreation of the space,
this representative reproduction
as I see, as I do
within time available
a man makes art
then hangs it on the wall

why you need poetry, or poe what?

twisting slosh clobber
ten thousand splashing waves crashing,
screaming into the face of the wind .
looking over i see the noise is emitted by
a kid at the next table eating breakfast cereal

daily bread
do not donut
why not
pilgrims cry
George M. Cohan sang
sailing, talking, running
for the long song
and that’s the short of it,
it’s all about the wind.

why do you need poetry
connected and rhythmic?
are you going to dance to it, or
lie down and cry over it?
what you have is your money’s worth

see what happens.
see what shows.
its now or over,
depending how
your day goes.
and the price of gas

a collection of words
to get into, gain light, float away,
or use it to better roll along the bottom.
endless are the possibilities.