rain on

take a steady winter rain,
enjoy the dreamy patter.

tail end

the whole thing is nearly over.
dot  all the i's, cross a few t's

did the year
start by slipping along quickly...
seemingly well oiled...
month after month.
quicker than I imagined...

is this an interrogator?
a part of speech.

moved right along. daily.
did you see it go by?

rain about

not enough to hardly say
more than a word about...i can
hold out my hand and feel
a drop i suppose...have to
walk down to the porch,
and it's early for that.  but '
i can hear it. that's the
best part...well, writing
 is good so you can
see it. all i've got to say is:
pretty damn warm for the
 last week in december. 

day beyond

Blank, oh
starting empty
and there is gladness for whoever needs it...
day after Christmas

speeding horse-drawn buggy
she's off and we're going to breakfast.
we pulled out lighter coats to wear.
we should be staring at each other...questioningly.

partly cloudy 62.
instead of buckling down for a snow storm.
it's off to shelby then to Planktown.
i wait in the car and watch

as five guys are
taking the old roof off,
putting on a new one.

slam bam, day after Christmas, it's sunny and dry.

world holiday

woke sneezing...
left-over cold held me tight.
It's not right,  it's time to move on.
for goodness sake
 Yeah, time to move on.
where are you?
forget about the cold business.

my dad was in the coal business.
folks shoveled coal into stoves to heat their homes. 
imagine winters like that?
i remember. i was born into it.

now, today, we're doing Christmas eve.
no snow anyway.
put your sleigh away, daniel.
plus, here's another thing,
we've turned the corner with the shortest day of the year.
so look ahead.
no need to shed a tear. summer is on the way-o.
we'll love the days ahead.
ole'  ole'

a.m. i am

i feel like corn on the cob.

riding around in the wagon with my pals

getting smashed up all day.

or this may be morning thinking.

give me some coffee and a half hour,

i'll put this all together.

times

many the times
we've  walked worn
grey, stone lines
alternating shadow and slips of sun,
a town rough to touch
smooth on the heart
under cold night lights or sun.
going to sit now and think about it.
here's a place.
ice cream and coffee.
just right in this
city of my dreams

been there

not too cold for Christmas.

but you want to have a picnic
better get a space heater
sunshine if it's daylight
and reindeer if it's Christmas.
go ahead, you choose.
the shoes is on your foot.
many options open.
so pick one, or not to be.
it's your wagon.
i think you can do well.

fish and hibi

had fried fish
small and entire,
at a table
in the sun, just off the street;
with a good glass of wine.

next day we crossed ponte sisto,
saw hibi and his bride.
that was a treat ... he reappeared.
i wish them well.

we see

seems late in the season.
give a reason
for thinking again
about ducks flying over ...
rather work a while, eh?
they do have a strong voice.
sweet if you're not too close.
power in a honk.
nothing sweet about it.
need a lake.
let ducks fly.

***

noon rain,
take it or leave it?
come and get it.
set your watch ...
missed today, good.

arista, pork roast and spinach

on vittorio emanuale
a 46 took us away.
 1200: bells chimed.
 may rain this 2 jan 2020

sirens as we crossed the river.
our bus crowd had gained strength.
everyone heard  the loud man with a voice squished, as he kept  talking.
a street car bell from a century ago sounded once sharply, sweetly.

we were aboard with
 a good bus crowd. stirred up.
privately we had anticipation of lunch 
i saw gorganzola on the menu and knew i would order it.

fury falls

inside is always silent.
a sound tight apartment we've rented.
from inside we heard the rain.
looked out to see a storm unleashed,
pounding like no other we've seen.
a memory rain apart from all others.

changed form

went to Trionfale, the market,
along our way,
at a corner
i met a Bangledeshi

speaks five languages
talks to people on the street,
small groups,sells them tours.
that's a slick talker.

angelo, simone

we don't
wake early
as they.
start in motion.

give joy,
serve all the potion...
in good attitude
day after day.

oh, they do;
and do again.
people keep coming back.
they make a visit there a pleasure.

four- twenty a.m.

four-twenty a.m. and i’m thinking poetry
in absolute silence
words run by
then piano phrases enter my head
for Some Enchanted Evening,
hearing Enzio Pinza sing some lines
it’s a heck of a way to wake up

and it’s nearly dawn,
street lamps still on
i'll make coffee in a while,
think of other things.
good morning world
how are you?

no rain tonight

running dry.
cool and okay.
on the road
low and our way.
see more silver
hollow help us,
heavens hold on.

tell me true.
turnover, take a right.
slow down will ya.
walking. on we go.
tenderly, so tenderly.
...
 rolling words on
and on.

where ya be?

my poem readers,
lookers for sure,
who or where
i have no idea.

***

i read new
poems daily,
warm and donut fresh,
sweet, no sugar,
with the scent of angels.

calm water

another rain day,
complete. inside
looking out.
then dress for
water everywhere.
gallons of it. more
 than seems reasonable.
hear splashes, patter.
dripping. splatter. drops.

i keep my neck covered,
don't need drafts...heard that somewhere, thought it seems reasonable;
getting comfortable.

it's winter, that counts a lot.
keeping from thinking chocolate.
 sounds desperate but
i'm just working away from candy,
when i call it candy i want to leave it alone.

new rain

warm day,
new rain
comin' this way
they say;

got to figure
if afternoon
brings wet falling,
like i hear
as they tell me,

we'll see...
bring umbrellas,
and count on it.

on the way

met some time ago.
we talk now and then.
while years have passed
ticking easy time
slowly off the clock,
his mom is ill,
he's off to see her
wish all the  best.

world spins,
moves again
don't need acres
of words rolling on.
write clean on steel:
cold and true.
when you call that guy's my friend,
like me and you.

Travel in

cold morn
sun'll be heatin' by noon,
then i'll dump my jacket.

coming now cruisin' low on the center line,
semblen a limousine;

them dark windows showin' a
car full of importance.
with a tight group ridin' in.

some know where they goin',
some just know how to get there.
careful: don't overload your plate.

main stay

here with partial net
and wit i go round
seeing old acquaintances.
finding value in talks some.

o - well

football on tv,
where it ought to be.
don't want to pay to sit outdoors.
cold enough outside,
so i'm inside
reading two good books
back and forth.

i follow the weather out the window.
visionally.
anything thing can happen,
write that down.

broken arrrow

yes, good morning
i noticed old man former
quarterback Terry Bradshaw
is 3 years younger than i am.

yet happilly, in all my years at work no one
ever tackled me.
i'll have oatmeal, please.
and rye toast.

wake up and
before you know
you're driving by Walmart.
in very light snow.

five minutes later the coast is clear.
fewer cars, nearly zero big trucks.
coffee and donuts always near.

traffic build up keeps happening
like ticking on the clocks
that used to tick, years ago.
now what do they do...hum?

in fields near the lake
it's time geese get on their way,
they see it's nearly winter
by watching the fields they fly over.

blew in

wasn't a blaster,
just light scattered flakes;
still early in the season.
seemed could'a laid out a mess'a snow but didn'.
gettin' ready...i suppose.
maybe next time.

preview

drove for breakfast in the country.
a glaze of snow far off
will be coming in this afternoon,
to winter us a preview
of how it's going to be,

as the best fires, best cookies and best

books keep us company.


.

poem for us

what poetry means
are soft words
how we feel
blanket warm
in light of dawn

morning more still

notice how quiet
now pouring November
pies on the table
holidays you remember

fix it

fix the house
look around
there’s more to do

buy another house
you’ll fix that too

they fix everything but the great pyramid,
probably fix that too,
just don’t tell anybody

no deer

3 starlings and a blue jay.
 seen while we
talk about the deer
we've not yet seen
but know they're near

five robins in the yard
now this 5 november.

sunshine in the fall
on the wall
on the floor, steady.
chipmonks  outside;
running, stopping, looking
in the autumn rush.

loud noise

27 august 1883
the loudest noise our
planet has ever heard.
circled the earth four times.
if you were nearer than
ten miles from Krakatoa exploding
you'd be deaf.
floating pumice fields 10 feet deep
clogged ports,
there was so much ash thrown in the sky that in Nicaragua, on the other side of the Pacific, the sun was blue. 

Janny squeeze

‘bout squeezed all the January
we’re goin’a get out of it;
can’t even cut off some of the rind;
no scent left to save for later.

so tell me, did you use this first
month of our new year as expected
or did you even think ahead at all
‘bout how you wanted it to unfold?

planning seems to go along fine,
right up to a point, and then;
there’s that certain amount of stuff,
call it stuff, that just happens.

that’s when best wishes come in.
so go ahead why don’t cha,
try again. that's where the circular
motion of the planets comes in.

***

so this is from last January
but never left the shoot.
 but nevcr got out the door.
  but was late leaving the gate.

yes, we move

best we can.

birds in the marsh.
perch a long while.
are they thinking
while they're waiting?

meanwhile, what can we do?

we've cooler temperatures,
wouldn't call it cold yet.
'cept bedtime,
or first thing in the morning.

yeah, well, good thing i've a list.
where to go,
what to get.
keeps order, don't you know.

you just get it together.

nearly winter fields

a geese flock 
lifts off at once.
it is time they are on their way,
geese can tell it's coming winter by
the look of the farm fields they fly over

downish

on the porch

in silence,
feeling off mark.
summer heat rising

i look to the sky,

the mighty cumulonimbus clouds.

fat, jolly, slow rolling,
out of control.

my spirit lightens with the sight
in the afternoon light,

i smiled.

what delight.

seeing Tim

at the tree dedication for Chris and Jesse,

Tim, you said hi, and we moved on.

i was surprised. i haven't been home for a while,

people don't often know me.

i can't drive to your years ago place in Rye Beach.

won't find you in the non-existing phone book.

can't go back in time for a Monday to see you in school.

so here we are.

my brother thought your dad the greatest coach.

i had him for one civics class.

he told us we had one thing to learn in that class,

he wrote it on the chalkboard, 

1066, The year of the Battle of Hastings.

no one has ever asked me when it occurred,

he didn't teach us about that turning point in history,

but, because he said to, i'll always remember the year.

your dad was a heck of a fine guy.

nether be

Netherlands has returned;
all 200, well, 197 souls

reading my blog every day.

the new counting system has engulfed me

smoothing these pages of time and mention,

thought i'd say.

in addition, i see you again.

Netherlands i've regained you.

don't know why. a nice place.

all fine i say

see solid blue up there.
not a cloud in the sky
simply quiet without a breeze, 
while we're running through October.

in reds and yellows
pure as gold that gleam
in yards, on streets.
leaves rolling in a stream

counting

what happened Netherlands?

200 souls reading my blog every day are gone.

a new counting system engulfed me

smoothing these pages of mine,

in addition, i saw the subtraction

of the Netherlands from the list.

a nice place. two weeks of

a few museums, Van Gogh,

art and science.

oh, tulips. Springtime.

we came during the right week.

sailed off on the great cargo ship Isadora

for America, with Captain Z,

Ralpho. a crew of twenty,

a good time.

a life-time adventure.

b.

this will put it right

my blogger control is out of hand.

why did i unfasten the gears?

even this is double spaced...why?

rain'll

waiting for the rain
they say is on the way;
dandy, eh?
i like it.

dark grey now.
lights'll be on
soon, baby, soon.
starting to look pretty out there.

our times

after food and shelter are satisfied
seek beauty in your life
keep order in your space
everything in its place

appreciate the out of doors
complete your chores,
stay within the lines
do your best, enjoy the times 

 

 

at Tuesday, December 09, 2008

anon

Anonymous said ...

Superb blog! Do you have any recommendations for aspiring writers?
I'm planning to start my own website soon but I'm a little lost on everything.

Would you suggest starting with a free platform like Wordpress or go for a paid option? There are so many choices out there that I'm completely overwhelmed ..
Any suggestions? Thanks a lot!

anon? aspiring?

begin writing each day,

or so often you're confused

and it seems you are.

i use Blogger, it is free or

they haven't sent me a bill yet.

about twelve years, so they are tardy.

i write because i do, not for money.

that's fun to say. i suppose if i blogged

for cash i'd have quarters all over the table by now.

MandyTwo, could i have more coffee

and a bill, please.

say, anon, you have offered a good comment;

my suggestion to you is; read and write. enjoy yourself.

thank you, anonymous.

make a name for yourself.

Sound of day and nite

at last the quiet
sound of afternoon
is holding low, i feel so near.

so soon the evening
running through the grass
in small steps touches my heart.

soft night train

no screeching last night.

in breaths of quiet, light wind
the train pattered in grandma’s slippers
sliding along the linoleum kitchen floor,
hardly going anywhere 

and the whistle was not a blaster,
instead it gave soft puffs
like puh, with a long breath between the next muh.
muh, ma, as if needed to be picked up and cuddled

at Wednesday, November 05, 2008 1 comments

memory drawn - bused up

 

Monday, December 28, 2009

bused up

bused up
on the little bus
to the hill over Rome, Gianicolo,
where the noon cannon is fired

ever since the pope back in 1847
wanted his churches to
all know what time it was,
at least once a day

a crowd gathered to hear it
the cannon is loud
wasn’t precisely noon
should have covered my ears

then walked warm weather down
to old Trastevere
where our new favorite restaurant
was tried and confirmed

while walking back traffic was stopped
a helicopter hovered overhead
we waited to watch
something was about to happen

one cop called it a VIP cortege coming by
his word not mine
some Italian cops are literate
glad to hear it, anytime

fifteen cars and as many motorcycle police
and more police afoot every corner
all the way home they go to the Vatican
because the pope king went out for lunch

event over, we walked home
didn’t stop traffic
and didn’t cause any trouble either
as we shuffled along, all the way home

my cell phone has a clock on it
i could have told anyone the time
but no one asked
they must have heard the cannon

target

i wrote to my classmates,

this gave me a place to shoot my arrow.

with a target in mind i felt better.

the package contained reason.

years ago i knew i needed a target.

i let the idea escape me,

now i feel the tank again is filled.

put me on the road again..

also, thinking of poetry i've read

and parts i didn't like,

makes me feel better when my own weakness

i discover lying there in the street.

work in sandstone

watching young men
work with sandstone;
chip it out, lay it in place.

designing a walk in pieces.
to last if not forever
at least for a very long time.

Paradox - some places have poetry on or coming out of them

some places have poetry on or coming out of them
i’ve found them by carefully examining small beach stones,
under trees and near water, on forgotten notes in the pockets
of jackets i haven’t worn for a while,

i found poetry on city streets, especially at corners,
in crowded stores when the music’s not too loud
or on buses, on hot days or in rain or snow.
when vehicle gears shift and someone is directing traffic,

i feel poetry when i’m there, later, or passing by
no telling why it is so, a fireplace helps,
the coffee shop when the dream starts, or birds fly
a cloud tilts a certain way, how the waitress
places the menu down and walks
already a block away in her mind,

i feel poetry in the touch of polished old hand rail,
while taking a soft carpeted stair
and in the colors in a painting,
a landscape i once saw in a museum
that reminds me of poetry
in some place i want to be

and, about you,

do you feel poetry today?

alarm some

much alarm about the harm

dividing a nation can do

i'll be quick, makes me sick

wacka do, wacka do, wacka do

***

no candidate wants to surrender.

not hillary when

people wanted bernie.

not bernie with a heart attack,

not trump when people

aren't aware how government...

fumigate it all, please.

politics is clean when i run it

in my dream.

you can understand the lure...

wave money and power at a politician,

make them damn near royal;

yet we don't know it all,

what are we missing?

thanks for

thanks for stopping.

oh, the world is wide.

so much to see. rising,

falling, great is the tide.

my drop is company.

for both of us.

hold to the path.

we all lose our way.

clean water, clothes,

warm supper

made with love

and good intention.

crumbs a lot...for pleasure

i like two pieces

of toast in the afternoon.

at 18:07 i ate a sandwich m made.

will keep me looking out the window,

working or reading, wondering why
i can't put together another 

best poem. ingredients must be

here. rye toast. now, that got me

thinking. butter on top,

what it is, soulful surrender.

i misread seafood sensation.

thought before i read.

empty all pockets before

throwing pants in the wash.

man, i miss those maple trees.

grow overly large; however, do make a mess.

ok, i'm thinking about the above. it takes time to gel.

Sure red

there is color around,
fall sound cracking,
Practically out of dream,
all you wish to hear.

yeah to the cities
to the mountain streams west,

while here in the midwest
we take our fall dry
and consider it best.

may as well because
color is the coat we're wearing.

early evening

reading the news, occasionally 

glancing through the widow

to see the sun progress down,

thinking it comfortable,

convenient not having

to go out in public for work.

a renown sitar player performed

at a concert hall nearby,
i chose not to go.

supper was a tortillia with

chicken and cheese. quick and easy.

thanks, Meri.

i had a glass of red wine,

the first in a month,

now i am sitting quietly.

sometimes poems contain
no explosions.

bali

island jungle music
the islanders in waves of exploitation.
rapid rhythm gongs,
never heard music like it before
Oberlin college opens another gate
this is the strangest concert i've ever attended,
and i enjoyed it. i'mglad it ended when it did,
i can only take so much strange and bell sounds.
---
An 18-member ensemble weaves layers of intricate sound: the punctuation of deep great bronze gongs; charismatic leadership from the drums; stunning interlocking percussion from the bronze gangsa; and finely elaborated delicacy of voice and flute.
---
we go in the auditorium,
she wants to sit farther back this time.
i pick seats in the seccond half, middle.
the musician people come in and play.
it happens that fast.
strange music.  little gongs mostly.
some slapping and knuckle knocking on wooden drums.
indescrible. it goes on.

---

Internationally hailed as one of Bali’s most forward thinking music and dance ensembles, Çudamani is known for their exceptional creativity and superb artistry and also their unflagging love for the classical treasures of Balinese tradition. Nurtured and trained in the village of Pengosekan, the group is among Bali’s most respected and accomplished.

One of their many singular features is that many of their artists are multidisciplinary, mastering gamelan, dance, voice, and visual art resulting in artistically unified presentations.


The ensemble touches the soul with a program that spans the spectrum of human emotion, from sublime to fearless, from reverent to unapologetically playful. Çudamani intrigues the mind and heart and a radiant flash of their eyes invites you into the transcendent experience of Balinese gamelan and dance.

Gamelan Çudamani

rain september

fall rain is the best;
or i'm just saying
because it's so firm now,
happening, tapping
itself out like a song.
you're smiling.
  

thorn

returning from the mailbox didn't linger,

walking up the back steps...

i slipped...crabbed for the hand rail.

caught a large rose thorn with my finger.

told meri when she got back from the store,

she said to ask the troll people for help,

it's four o'clock and she has a game to watch.

my finger is blood smeared, i didn't yelp.

plain day

cherry pie and vanilla ice cream,
what's what i remember of lunch.
coffee too, that's it. that additional thing;
black coffee, no cream no sugar.

dry september

half-hour drive into the sun rise,

light traffic on the road.

found our slot in the lot behind the restaurant.

a breath of wind, calm autumn.

took a table along the back side.

place full up, yet easy going.

course we started with coffee.

slid into wednesday morning.

pancakes and eggs over,

rye toast and butter.

she did the driving,

picked up eggs at Planktown.

the way of rain

we're in a gap, a dry spell.
comes as a surprise, not thinking about it,
it's pouring or not.
then we simply forget and it dries up, hot.

i'd rather walk or drive in the country.
i know it'll be wet again soon.
that was yesterday, this morning i woke to wet all over,
light, clean, cool, it's raining.

make a line

if you have a parking lot
park all the yellow cars together,
see who notices and asks you why.
if we worked hard we could put together a load of ideas.

stack cars on top of others.
based on heaven knows what,
meaning: i can't figure how to do it.
one hand can hold your hair back.

start there, think what you like.
get a menu, you can pick and chose.
i'm looking around to see
what can be found.

there is one thing to say,
shake it out, dust it off.
next, we're on the border-line.
don't want to keep you waiting.

someone said  kind words about this writing
i'm grateful. i'll sit a while without a sound
taking time, it appears i'm thinking.
you're looking fine.  is that a distraction?

drag on

ok, so, for all who support me,
can you make toast, eh?

falling leaves in colors orange to red.
is that the order? does it matter?
this morning the sun is sparkling in my eye,
feeling good, warming. festive, practically.

and sipping coffee, thinking toast...
how about you...how you doing?
good morning...always a good start on the day.
what do you say, going my way?

i read some poems and was fascinated
by the thinking, or the ways i'm led
by what is said by word thinkers - writers.

some putting poems in their heads,
reciting to others...crash poems.
a bag full. i can only imagine, or listen
or read them.  a speed zone full.

hey, with sun in my eye i prefer
a slow hill climb, to the top,
taking it easy, geting my fill that a way.
taking time to think about it.

mr. safety town

mr. safety town i am.
but, let her drive anyway;
put my arm out for extra signal.
it 's fun riding with bare feet on the dash.

noise void

nothing hardly,

windows open,
no sounds in utter quiet.

old house to us blank empty,
barely anything,

sleep on mats,

clean echoes, zero to hear.

two street lamps across the street

shine all night on us
in our cottage in the woods.
why the lights?

apple cake

Thursday, September 03, 2009

apple cake

from a peg on the wall she took up
her worn canvas bag by the shoulder strap
said come on, we’re going to pick apples
near the corner across the street in the empty lot

there’s a neglected, half dragging to the ground,
poorly shaped, unremarkable old tree
not worth a glance,
and loaded with apples

we ate one to sample
half red, half yellow, a little strange to look at
but fresh off the tree
it was some old variety

forgotten, unattended and delicious apples
she filled the sack with a dozen or so
when she said she had enough,
we walked home

late that afternoon, after other tasks
by September sun streaming into the kitchen
she made an apple upside down cake
augmenting a vintage recipe found on the Internet

an hour after dinner
we each had a piece
of the best apple cake
i ever had tasted in my life




It would be too easy for M. and I to eat the whole thing, so I took the rest to my brother’s family. For us, there is always tomorrow.

at Thursday, September 03, 2009 2 comments Links to this post

the heights

Monday, September 21, 2009

to the heights

to the Heights, a country small town
nearby, yet aloof from modern ways
where farmers and country survive
and some of their kids go away to school in the cities
take jobs, live afar and return now and then
for holidays, alternate years

their folks stay on
in touch with the soil
clean, neat and country casual for a Sunday
standing tall as they can
walking leaning, a bit slower

these remaining have been small town friendly for years
know the families, names from long ago
and can recall some of the faces
now under the headstones
on the treed lofty knoll

there is a chicken barbeque today
at this conservation club
no telling what they are conserving
kindness and good will for sure

the building is set back on a large area in an otherwise field
the road in waggers as if the guys who dragged it out
changed their minds two or three times before
they settled on how to get from here to there

and the twenty or thirty cars already there
were parked in the field over a few acres
like dominoes thrown out of a box
and where they landed is where they sat
independent parkers they are

this yearly event we’ve been waiting for
three hundred tickets were sold they say
the money raised will keep the group going
about thirty folks there at the start when we were
maybe fifty
half again that number just neighborly helping out
i didn't try to count, they were spread out nicely

rear double doors were open to the beginning
of the green and rust colored stick crackling woods
in mild temperatures and near idle breeze
on the cusp of another change
summer to fall

had covered long tables, sturdy folding chairs
set with plenty space between to walk
and clean silverware, no plastic for
these folk of dirt, cast iron, seed and steel

the building’s maintained in good repair
someday they’ll pave straighten that winding road in
or sell the whole damn chuck to a developer, if and when

barbequed chicken was the draw today
and these hens were as large as small dogs
and twicet as tasty as you could ever imagine

spoke with old Reece, one of the volunteers
heard he deeded his downtown brick building
the decorative grey century one on Main
resplendent with curiosities and used books
to the local historical society

our common friend dick, who visited us in Rome
will be coming soon, here’s where he was raised
with a smile on his face and mud in his toes

today's group was quiet well mannered
stayed on the business of eating
and getting to the desert table
in no rush orderly fashion

i had a slice of crispy near warm apple pie
made from experience by Aldean
as she stood alone by her kitchen window
taking care and good intentions
thinking of her family while using well hewn skill
that would’a made her mother proud

after we did the deed on the chicken
during which time we made new acquaintances
and refreshed old ones
we waved goodbyes and moved on
out the door and beyond
into our own tomorrow

i am Wicks, i'll be your server tonight

Thursday, September 24, 2009

i am Wicks, i'll be your server tonight

well, Wicks, hi, i’d shake hands but
obviously, you’re moving too fast
i’m jack, but i’d prefer you call me grandpa
no one else does

well they do once in a while
but they live a half a planet away
grandpa jack is what they say, but
plain grandpa is more enduring don’t you think

my grandparents lived thirty minutes away
but people didn’t drive as much back then
a half century ago, one i’d see one once a year
the other i’d see Christmas and Easter

anyway, doesn’t matter to anyone now does it.
say, my sister Nita taught me to drive
when i was eleven in her old Oldsmobile on Rye Beach Road
i’ll have to ask her if she was married then

parts of the story are unraveling
and half the cast have gone away
i’ll look into that, gone away stuff,
someday, won’t we all

listen, Wax, you don’t mind if
i keep talking to you, do you?
not out loud, in my head, think talk like
blink if you can hear me

at Thursday, September 24, 2009 4 comments Links to this post

all to say

mom, your baby boy is old and crippled.
sitting on the porch when the mailman came,
heard the lid on the box close;
said hi but no reply,

talk too softly usually.

i told m, she got the mail from the box on the gate.
that's my poem for today,
full up, emptied out, all i had to say.

fred's in sausalito

how many do you want?
we knew the system.
the waitress drew on the order pad.
one circle for each pancake ordered.

weekends they came a long way
to order circles.
we walked a short distance
to order our circles.

sun over all

average starting day.
a nothing special time of the week.
a period of hours from
sun to sun, of this i speak.
pressure added, atypical.
look. there is sun.
warming. totally wonderful.
sun full of wonder.
oh, yes.
all you do is look around.

a trip

so soon it seems
to be back again,
it is called a trip
to the dentist.
hear me now: the guy is smooth.

August 1

First day thinking cold.
The season has rolled over.

calm

turning to fall, calm and grey.
a quiet day.

raining

it's raining drops heavy as rocks,

solid drum beats on the roof,
haven't heard tapping like that for a while;

rain enough to slow traffic.
the bubbling puddles come alive.

new post

don't know what day it is,
not the date or day of the week.
i can guess, and miss by a mile.
it's not important to me.
this is all good news.
now i can get paint out
and capture what i see in color.
sounds good, but won't happen.
here is where i will note the day,
in thought and words...okay.
they say it may thunder,
i hope it does; that's the kind of scary interruption i like.

song writer

seeing a song written out, music and words, is like seeing handwriting:
no matter how you feel about the song, when written down
you can gather a feeling for the writer.

paul mcartney, ned washington, paul simon, you and me.

water be

you know there's
waterbe fallin', wet all over.
greets me first thing in the morning
when looking out the window.

wet all over.
so that's the kind of day it is,
i'll get used to it.

mmmmn sweet corn

corn is golden
though color is secondary
when cob roasted...then
served with butter on,
and salt.

poems on the run/roast

at times i write them
want to hold them tight
not turn grey mice poems loose
out of the sock drawer

snap go now puppies on the run
out on their own
beyond my control
out of reach, out of sight

crossing the street
against the light
a lone drifter may find them
some blue dark still night

perhaps, and take comfort
then i guess it’s alright
the preceding has been noble, thus,
considering the source, largely untrue

so there goes nobility shit out the window
chasing my poems
what is left pass around
to you and you and you

it’s okay, Descartes wrote:
i think therefore i am
okay, i think i can
go along with that.

an some sonofapup drifter is liable
to catch my poems
cook them, debone 'em
or eat 'em alive

steps

needed front steps, not wood,
in our town it’s normal to call a cement contractor
that’s a guy who has a truck and pours cement
no problem, i’d call a guy, then another and another
the job to pour three steps was too small to be bothered with
they had big jobs, long driveways and whatever
that kept them from my three tiny steps

so i thought and thought - and thought of stone
okay, they wouldn’t come to pour cement,
our house was built in 1838, i’d get vintage stone steps

at the quarry the nice folks said they could do it,
cut Indiana Blue Sandstone that i selected, and deliver it,
set the stone down one , two, three, all i had to do
was provide the dimensions for three blocks i wanted, that was it

i had to prepare the ground, no one else would do it,
so i raked, then measured the first block,
the second had to fit back under the wood of the door,
the third had to be even with the inside floor.
one, two, three

for three weeks i planned. the first time I measured I thought I had it
a few days later i checked my figures and they were wrong, so i did it again
how simple, three blocks, one, two, three on top of each other, that’s it
it was many days to get it right.

on and on i figured stone dimensions, and finally i had it right.
the bottom block was largest,
the second and third were equally smaller.
it all would fit, everything was right.
the day they delivered the stone in a large truck with a crane,
they had one block cut wrong by two inches on one side.

i recalculated and told them how to put them down. one, two, three
in a half hour there were down and perfect,
you can’t see a cutting error.
now we have our three stone steps
the bottom, the second recessed under the Georgian doorway
the third level with the inside wood floor

come back in two hundred years
the house may be gone,
but the steps will be there

jet lag

rushed out of the airport
jumped in a cab
went seventy-five feet
the guy slammed on the brakes

wasn’t a taxi, picked up his mother
made me get out
i know mama liked me
as he squealed off, she waved goodbye

zipping

like a dog in a car
riding face first
hanging halfway out the window
what a highway we’re zipping

on a ball sailing through space
throttle to the floor
don’t need a pedigree
any mutt can do it

this is big fun
i wanna do it
my cheeks are flapping
hey, is anybody steering?

early america

went back
to a corner in america,
checked it out a few days.
how different to go there,
was like another country.
so quiet; with more trees than automobiles.
silence the way it used to be.

back then,
shorty after the united states was found
the population leaped in number.
they wanted more room.

the first town in the country's western expansion
is Marietta, on the Ohio River.
across from West Virginia.
so may trees all around.

we went through the old village and cemetery.
in the center saw the ancient Indian mound.
then rode a paddle wheeler to an island,
where we took a wagon drawn by two horses.
deer in a field stood still, looked back at us.
stopped in two museums.

the trip took us back in time.
many workers wore costumes of the past.
in all,  it was a good trip, different;
a good time
on a hot august day.

italian holiday

Ferragusto, a public holiday. Introduced by Gaius Octavius 'Augustus'
after his victory over Mark Antony at the Battle of Actium on 2 September, 31 BC.

time to escape the heat,
anywhere you can go;
at the mountains, lakes or seaside.
it'll be a long weekend celebration or most of august.
friends and family gather
for the Italian mid-August summer holiday

with music, food, wine, and joy.

in the hills, on farms, in villages...

summer's celebration.
Don't you love it.

light summer rain

driving easy through light summer rain,

refreshing fields and flowers.

chi

Quiet, easy.
Move with the sun.

the team

young and old together, excited talking fans standing ready
for the gates to open,
soon to be electrified by the game;
a double-header.

at last gates open...the crowd comes apart.
we burst in en masse.

our seats are good,
we overlook the diamond and field,
so do the rest of 38 thousand
Cleveland Indianites.

we are the fans, we cheer.
a fight until the end, both ends.
our team is victorious - twice.

from the shire

look and see, anonymous commented,

and there must be a group,

because they claim to be starting a

"new scheme in our community." those words caught my attention. it seems my writing has "performed a formidable process." does that seem right to you? now their entire community, i don't know how large it is, will probably be grateful. later someone will conclude success evidently. what does this mean? give me a simple happy face with birds in the breeze on wing gliding o'er the lake.

bobber

Lenovo i've had five years,

open it everyday

and didn't know the name of this computer.

call it Becky...or Bob.

no, bob sounds too much like

fishing things in the water,

called a bobber. i more or less googled that.

that's me and fishing, don't know to call bobbers.

breakfast in Shelby, in celebration of not being there a week.

the first string working today, all okay.

Mandy 2 did our coffee, Mandy 1 took the order

and delivered.

sky is good, weather fine.

heading home, down the line
a young Mennonite in long

dress and bonnet on a bicycle,

pulled happy kid in a wagon

who calmly looked around

comfortably taking in the position

he was in on a light breeze, sunny,

warm august morning.

he'll learn different things, different ways,

but won't know the name of my computer either.

please may he have a pond and a bobber.

***

i know: some are capitalized

later i may determine what is important

Or quit worrying about it.

Why my phone rings

Hello.

Hi, this is Holly Jones from the prophecy department.

Say what? 

Hi, this is Holly Jones from the prophecy department.

You called me for something...a reason?

hmmm, packed

so much to read.
it is a pleasure
to absorb what others write;
of course, the volume is tremendous
i can't keep up. it's outa sight.

reading is enjoyable.
i'll take a few drops;

although now i'll pause
to think of ice cream, perhaps
take action, a few spoons full.

remember earlier we fought cold,
persistent showers, near freezing, wet;
now the time is baseball and ice cream.
so enjoy yourself.
coming up in a few weeks
will be sweet corn.
ah, the changing seasons.

car over

I have seven empty eyeglass cases on the counter in the other room. The glasses are here and there. One pair I am wearing. A new pair will arrive Friday or Saturday. She told me to throw away the old empty cases. I'm thinking about it, not overly or seriously.

Let me correct that: six cases...I counted.

This paragraph is a chapter in

Taking Care of Counting.

However, nothing was thrown away or accomplished.

everyday i sing a song for you, meri sweetheart.
now you see i'm being tested for my head workings;

wow, they can do a new reworking.

a shortcut to happiness, soon as i get plugged in.
they can, but they won't;
probably it's too dangerous.

i fabricated that anyway, they can't make me better
by plugging me into their wall socket.

ok, now; going to see the Cleveland Indians.

then, doctor/wise, real testing...the type done to old people.

if you have insurance get on board.

i would not pay for it out of my pocket.

ballgame first, then next day doctoring,
so close, driving wise.

wait all winter for warmer days

to drift the river

taking the turns and straights,

going nowhere in particular,

what summer is for.

we can think so,
and remember, love, the Pleiades,

there is nothing brighter.

would like to take the bright stars in from the Pacific.

so where is my boat now?

ohio roading

big sign for a bump in the road...
what they don't tell...on a scale from 1 to ten.
.
a swing left Around a tractor.

then saw a house on a lake on the highway.
.
going easy;
stopped at a hand painted sign
in Sullivan for a chicken dinner.
they said now it's hot dogs and hamburgers...
chicken starts at four o'clock.
got back in the car and started for home.

rain steady on

the weather seems steady.

we have rain again,

it's not the rolly, fat cloud, stormy kind we had for a month.

this is rain regular, thank you.
.

other parts of the country may be filling up soggy.

we're handling it. it's running off, somehow.

our fields aren't puddles

but i wouldn't want to run a tractor in it..

i'm listening to myself

thinking that i'm not talking about
faces i see on the city streets of Rome.

for the lack of those daily familiars  my heart aches.

hot yes

thickated, the time of year.
plants are full, leaves are all out.
carrying wads of green
more than you've seen
for a while,
oh, full summertime.

on an elevator

to the next person on a crowded elevator he says,

“Hey, a couple of lifetimes ago we were

both Indians and we used to hunt together.”

the person he had spoken to glanced over and said,

“Are you talking to me?”

geese around these parts

the large black and white Canadian geese know their own reflection in the lake.

would vent their wings to find me if they knew i had corn...a handful in my pocket.

found stones

nearly time for the show,

things to do...to be a participant.

checked all shelves and drawers,

every pocket. 

then got 'em, to my relief they turned up,

found the tickets. good looking tickets.

made with care.

time was short, had to leave now.

hummed a tune to myself all the way.

when i got to the exhibit

filed in with the rest, in order.

line kept moving.

yes, very crowded.

at the show looked with pleasure.

partly sunny, cool, light wind, and comfortable.

stones on the beach

are well shaped, softly colored,

attractive to spellbinding.

now the tough part:

long ago i heard, though it's wild, you don't take

rocks away from anywhere,

leave them where they are.

doing life

how are we?

working hard, sleeping well,

eating right, exercising?

make a list.

keep in line.

oh...enjoy life.

folded mountain

a beer from Rochester, New York is what i'm talking about here.
first time i heard of it.
the beer. i heard of Rochester.
the beer is called folded mountain.
not surprised. they had to come up with a name for the beer...could have been happy mountain.
5.8 percent alcohol.  got that?
okay, so, it's a hot day.
went to the porch.
sat in the shade.
sipped in the shade. ole'
drank my beer...most of it.
wanted a smoke,
thought of it; it's been a month.
so give me a break.
oh, i'll get over it...again.

space

postal worker
drove by today.
leaving nothing.
thus creating
space.

go warm Sunday
who turned up the heat?

turn to good weather

sunshine roars in,

working on golden sweet corn,

also readying, heavy, juicy water melons.

you know the kind.

 then on a twelve hour from Boston drive,

hug hi niece, hello eat next day go,

she's three more hours to Indiana.

 while here awhile, all kept rolling.

hiya summertime some, been watching for you, and enjoy what a season, thankful for all we are. 

chill dawn

chill dawn
on the road to shiloh.
a violet, rose haze,
with blue on edges of far fields.

1844 carved on the stone house on a rise.
other old homes
blanketed in vinyl.
all barns red, newly covered in looks like tin.

there's no balloon on earth
like the fiery red sun
rising in all her glory,
marking the start of new day


...
This last set of four lines I wrote so long ago.  I can't locate the original text, and I see there is a problem...I want to get it right. now the "marking the start of new day" has the meter.

growing corn

you drive along

then park in the lot by the fence;

so you can get out and walk the field

feel the heat doing a burn

it's how you learn

what a sunny day feels like doing a job

right now on the cob.

waving in the wind, getting tall.

the corn is coming up i see,

now you can bet there'll be an ear for me,

i'm getting ready, going home,

fetch butter and salt...that's all i need.

what summer's all about.

quaking

a 7. quake in California,
50 miles in a line to our mountain land
where we lived when we married.
the shake would have had our attention.
now thinking of Jerry in his grave by our cabin
i'm sure made a joke before he cried.

do not lose your head, yet

Shakespeare today

a three hour play,
measure for measure,

in wilting hot weather

with windows open.

am i thee not kidding,

or am i? or am i?

a whamie...off with his...
at times culture is needed

a shake at wendy's may save me.

ole, ole

chickens and the cows don't mind,
if you're the kind
to have eggnog on the fourth of July

ole. get it going, buttercup,
every time, it'll be fine. ole, ole
hold the line, Zabaione

happy holiday.

i think of eggnog,
for my Italian friends,
call it what it is: Zabaione, oh yeah. ole.

Zabaione: the thought
that will not go away

your dad

got hot here.
ninety-two road melting
degrees...and humid.

indoors is cool air fine

how is your living going?

are you still the head dog? 

Meri told me the term today.  

Alpha Dog. yeah. there you are.

and she has a bunny in her garden now.

it is eating the purple plant, 

larkspur, expendable; but i'm
sure it'll develop new appetites.

thought to write you
something...but i
forgot what

but not you.

we got 68 mpg with our 2017 KIA Nero today. 

wanna spread the word. don't see their advertising.

got 58 mpg on the second half of a thirty mile trip.  

the air conditioner took the mileage down.

you made me smile

and you didn't do anything.
see how easy...

love your dad

the game

game begins, this is major league baseball;

right away it's 2-0, 

then 3-0, made me flinch.

end of first inning, it's 4-0.

the game just started.

end of the second inning,

the pace picked up,

8-0.

went to bed.

woke for a final listen on the radio, 

seventh inning, 9-0

really, really went to bed.

woke game over, heard it ended: 13-0

stains one's impression of the home team, 

the good guys.

is the feeling everlasting?

how could it be...it isn't even July.

fall is the big time,

and always, always there is hope again next season.

cancel, cancel

second game the following day against the same bottom ranked 

Baltimore Oriels and our hometown heroes lose again  

by the identical score 13 - zero. 

but i write more. these are the golden boys of summer who two years ago in 2017 won a record setting 22 games in a row.

now Rocky Colavito is touring with his book. in 1959 when i was 14 and routing for him he was Cleveland's outfielder and hit an amazing four home runs in one game.

gee the seasons change,

yet they do go on.

let us

lettuce tastes good;

can add the high point

one a sunny hot lunch day,

meant on a sunny,

there a difference

is well enough,

when in soaring high temps,

shell we, by the sea say?

yes, lettuce. pretty well.

is swell. swell enough.

day's hot. what we've got.

out of space, outer space.

lettuce taste.

brakes on. brake is on.

bake is on.

summer regular

creep along the road

by the fields of wheat;

rained the other day,

wasn't it neat.

hot, yeah, turn up the heat,

cook your brains a while,

then smile, smile, smile.

we loves ya, doll-baby.

i'll take summer regular

the way i do recall,

a light wind, we had rain.

now...not at all, not at all.

sunday now

sky is mostly blue,

good to see it for a change.

weather is drying, first time in a while.

what i know about farming is nothing.

i can only read reports in the news,

already a day old when i write it.

will some farmers plant today...i can't say.

i read they need, desperately need a few days dry weather.

they'll see what's ready...when it is.

i'm able to read reports and hope the best

for them, for fields, for us.

planting is serious and farming is a gamble.

farmer

long hours 

confronting and enduring

powerful, shifting challenges;

this year persistent and excessive rain

during planting season

in order to produce food for

where and when it is needed.

this is the accepted duty and obligation 

of the farmer. fear not, for he is tough 

and suited for the job.

how about the river

a couple of lines

to do with the river,

right downtown;

flowing in,  moving out to the lake...

standing there looking at it.

warm weather for sure,

the light house in the background,

why not let the fog horn sound.

i know a clear day is better,

the fog horn gets your attention.

how about testing it​?
that happened only once in a while.

it sounded louder without the fog too.

wet air makes the air thicker.

takes an edge off the horn.

when they test it you want to jump

because that fog horn comes blasting.

one shot, it works. go back to peaceful.

a good day for all.

okay, enough for the river and the lake too.

now you can just think about it.

water

one fourth of India residents 

have drinking water at home. 

in some areas a family gets 

eight to ten gallons a day. 

American households use 

three hundred gallons a day. 

India grows more populous, 

hotter and dryer; is running 

out of water.

summer for

wait all winter for warmer weather

to drift the river
find water ways,

taking the turns and straights

going up steam in

light wind, clear sky,
the boat and i,

what summer is for
no need for more

and to dream and splash

amid jumping fish and gulls,
any summer night.

flying

woke out of dream,

peaceful, serene.

the house is calm, so am i.

an award to robins: last to sleep, first to wake.

my pet birds are outside,
their wings shake,

fending for themselves,

free flying...flying

seasons

for native americans

names differentiate each  month.

Algonquin tribes saw the june moon

time to harvest strawberries.

in various parts of Europe it is

the honey, rose and mead moon.

overall, intervals of time tracked

independently of one another.

Zuni Indians of New Mexico named the first six moons,

the remainder are called by colors associated with

the four cardinal directions;

thinkers in tribes, as did white man,

invented systems much complicated,

listened, observed the nighttime sky,

sat quietly by fires, smoked pipes,

fed sticks to the embers...
and seasons passed.

the rose

watch it everyday,
summer on the way.
sweet rose on the vine,
flower so divine.

splash

i remember the dive
we called the canon ball.
off the pier we'd go.
yelling all the way down.
what summers were for.
one of us made the greatest splash.
yeah, we had fun in competition
splashtacular.

water down

got up, made my bed, 

showered soapy, water, rinse.

as i parted my head, my hair in the middle,

over my shoulder the electronic calendar read,

clearly a synthetic voice said: "congratulations,

you've made it to another Saturday;

coincidentally, a free rolling weekend,

absolute-mentally disengaged,

with liberty and justice for many,

and ten straight days of rain forecast." What?

"with no humps or little boats in the stream;

thought it best to get it out of the way and tell you clean,

going to rain, keep raining. rain some more.

which size oars do you wish?

for sure keep going and

float to the right."

creek

flows the creek in constant motion,
smooth ripples ferry to the ocean

seconds before sundown

river gulls soar toward the lake
crossing low overhead as last low rays
flash white bellies and orange beaks
golden in the final light of setting sun.

the picture in these words nab the blink and sheen
of a few seconds gliding, brilliant light,
gleam like polished steel, fencers thrusting
before the background, sorrowful autumn gray sky.

door broke

had breakfast at our usual place out in the country.
sat way up front, few people there.
i went to the restroom, then couldn't get out.
the door knob wouldn't open the door.
after thinking two minutes i
knocked on the door six or eight times,
a waitress heard me knocking and let me out.
she said she just happened by,
i said she should tell someone the door is broken.
i don't think she thought about it again.
back at our table, finished my coffee,
ten minutes passed, i was watching,
no one went to the restroom.
we paid our bill and left.
as we were a few miles down the road i wondered
who's trapped in there now?