poetry - jack sender - all of my life
red clock lights
blinked away this morning.
hello okay.
blinking meant the current was interrupted.
good morning anyway.
don't blow a gasket.
i'm surprised the flashing didn't wake me.
how are you with blinking?
good thing coffee settles everything, that's my thinking
glow on.
good shoes, the right jacket.
open land to the end of the field.
cross the piece of woods beyond.
dry weeds snap and crackle as i walk
through the short stretch of brush
to the pond. it's morning
and already a pleasant day
can be seen ahead.
the good sun, light breeze. sit and listen for a while to the soundsof the day. a bird or two and large clouds. enough to make a full world.
make a note: a very good time of morning for an easy hike
such torture the world suffers.
unnecessary to endure.
not stars nor flowers or love.
come out of that; turn a light on above.
the tale that I can’t tell
just meditate and don’t relate
you know the story well
i’ll tell you what the prophet sees
the things I can’t relate the thoughts you’ll twist into your toys the things you won’t debate
it’s not what you expect you see that’s how we play the game we hesitate instead of flow as the world remains in change
the greatest words I’ve written the wildest things I’ve said were sung by children half-asleep and wetting in their bed
there is secret news I’m going to say it’s sleeping in your heart but take your time, it’s here with mine don’t leave before you start
it’s coming from the sun there’s nothing more than that the fire burns, heats the earth and here the poet sat while knock, knock, knocking the postman at the door brings coupons free, some for me and still I look for more
but there’s something that I’ve written the wildest thing I’ve read when world began in secret news the words some others said it’s not as you expect, you see that’s how the world does go we go about trying to learn instead of forgetting what we know
while knock, knock, knocking the old man at the gate chases his hat, loves his cat and that’s more than he can take
beyond the last tomorrow when the old man loses sight thoughts will rush like choir boys passing each by candle light
it’s coming from the sun
i can see it coming down
what it is our words won’t say but there’s sure enough around
it’s fitting that I say no more of the tale that I can’t tell
after all, I’m only you, a poet too, as well
the bay in light winds, always ready
on clear, fine temperature, sunny days.
i love how your waters rolled under me.
Cousin Don. Sharlett. Crab louie.
Mike, dock workers, familiar faces.
at home on the cove.
beyond is my bay.
with the great, steel, red-orange bridge.
call her the Golden Gate.
how did you slip from my grasp?
i know you're waiting for me
as i for you.
i had so much life to live.
time for good weather
here it is now and what do you know?
our deer friends nibbled buds off everything they were able.
little trees, good bushes, that's their table. way to go.
they snip sharp as scissors.
deer do. snipping whatever.
good luck now. today a Pot luck after service.
can't wait to see what everyone brings.
nonsense, of course i can and will...for all sorts of things.
i love good taste like deer do.
warm and I walked our grounds
not muddy but soft.
would be great if it drys.
and jo's lemon pie was a winner;
one of several at our pot luck dinner.
