my cat is on the skids

my cat is on the skids

that's where he lives

lying in the sun's rays

he sleeps his days away

he's easy, won't hurt a fly

doesn't care, really

doesn't have the time

Gandalf must be the oldest cat in the world

but i'm sure he likes it that way

when my car pulls in

he runs home

that's the only time he runs

and when he's sure i'm holding the door for him

he slows down to a walk

i'll look at him

but hardly in the eye.

we know how to get along;

i feed him, and he comes around for it.

grey day

have you noticed the space
between the grey, cloudy,
dark, dismal and
 slowly starting days?
 
think about it while i align poetic words
including frogs, bogs, deer, beer and summertime,
that last a special season. ours, mine.
 making a poem for an empty street.
you can hear heels moving slowly, tapping ... the echo.

now let's play slow music and dance, shall we?
all of us, lining the walls,
shoulder to shoulder.
come on, get up, arm in arm. 
with hardly a sound
let's march.
put aside thoughts of the dread from this virus.

you know it seems like yesterday,
remember,  when we put on records
and played our favorite tunes.
 today we are waiting
for better news.

day's news

first thing i wake for coffee
and the daily news dose.
a gulp of what's crude
to see how's it going ...

quiet all around
cause the news is bad;
got to stay off the street,
hideout from the virus.

meanwhile, i slept well
 dreamt well
didn't hear the squirrels or birds;
they were all sleeping too.

doing what comes naturally.

Kia Edit

sail on.
smooth as a goose landing on calm water,
we glided along.
the voice said:
continue on ohio 511
north for three miles.

 this regular day we're following instructions from the global positioning
system/gps through rain and light mid~day traffic.

how much should we notice?
looking out the window it's
North Olmsted, practically Cleveland.
i lived a few miles from here 45 years ago.
seems i'm going it again.
didn't mean to either time.

how much should we care?
the kia is going in
for an oil change.
not by itself.
It's good, but not beyond reality.
got the con.

meanwhile coronavirus
is running rampant.
it has been talked about ... we'll see what happens.
   

ache

it is the ache inside
i settle with,
 hold on to ...
keeping me company
between stormy nights
and looking over morning coffee.

i can tell you the
plans for my next poem are vague;
 as they should be. i suppose.

when the time comes i will
spell out something,
maybe have a vivid dream when
i don't expect it. or there'll be a big wind
and a change in the weather.
that'd be alright.
now, walking to the corner,
turn right or left?
feels good wondering.
you know. the day is ok.

like rain

wind early.
 snow, coming down like rain.
for a few hours in the afternoon'
falling thick when i'm looking out at it.
i'd like to hear it beating on the roof.
a heavy, foreboding sound.
 while i'm wishing,
how about a bowl of popcorn.