test of endurance

cut my beard off - way.
left mustache mine,
trimmed like Hugh O’brien
as Wyatt Earp.

driving down the lane,
the city rescue truck
large as a wingless flying box car
pulls out in front of me
going 23 in a 35.
i exhaled slowly.

behind me, swoops to my bumper,
the milky white, lights on, Battle Star Galactica.
a sporty, bushy - bonde Klingon at the helm.
chewing either a wad of renegade rhino
or gum.
close as she was
i could hear her poppin’.

passing the golf course
the earthly remains of Euell Gibbons
in a large black late-model boat of a car
pulls out in front of everyone
going slow –w –w –l - y
obviously looking for flowers to eat.

thus i learned
why the marshal in the old west wanted everyone
to check their hardware,
instead of riding through town
packin’ loaded six-guns.

September Eleven

sold our tv
years ago,
a few days after
we had seen enough.

got up late that morning.
as i entered the living room
m. had the TV on -
terrible news.

a newscaster on the street in Manhattan
a plane had hit . . .
that instant behind him we saw the second plane
soar into the tower

September Eleven
i recall the terrible day
planes excluded from the sky
after the event in Manhattan

i went outside to look
because there was one plane
unaccounted for
coming our way

and it was there, nearly overhead,
over Lake Erie,
the only thing in the sky.
halfway between Cleveland and Detroit.

i saw the large commercial jet turn.
that never happened before, never.
the only plane in the sky
and it looped completely,

made a circle
over the lake
and then headed back East
toward Pennsylvania.

no dogs

no dogs, no friends, no air conditioning.
make a note: no friends this season.
they don’t know these closet poems exist,
it is no rhyme, for little reason.

let me cover what i’ve written
with my hand so no stranger sees.
pretending i am - doing this at the library
in air conditioned leather arm chair comfort.

no time for dogs.
no need explain,
had one before,
don’ need one again.

there is heat going on,
and one more thing:
also there is plenty
of no air conditioning.

our unit is down,
away mechanically, and electrically,
imploded, internally squat ,
no boom.

could have gone to air conditioner school
i’ll day dream about that
while i wait in line
to take out a loan for a service call.

now if i were writing this at the library
i’d be in absolute comfort - way!
and maybe that would make all the difference,
words would flow and not stick together either.

sweet corn is very good this year,
thought i’d tell you a good thing.
had more today with plenty of butter.
envy me,

and while your at it
do me a favor - envision me
eating warm fresh sweet corn lightly salted,
seated in cool conditioned air comfort.

another space between

another space between
on a bus way out again,
way up denial, 27 march,
one month into chronic birthday digestion

make a note
sound waves, light waves, ocean waves
slow waves, fast waves, wet waves
more stuff you don’t have to Google

on the bus with folks from Nigeria
the six year old kid was quiet and observant
obviously not a TV junky, make a note -
dots of sun light from a board with holes - do it

not thinking of you, like the two end to end
parking spaces open and a one car pulls in the middle
and essentially takes two
he was not thinking of you either

deep up denial again, but it’s all true
i could tell we were far out of the city
when we saw a guy leading two camels,
at least they were on the sidewalk

sometime notes i make on the bus
can’t be deciphered because of the jiggle
but i know what i saw
about the camels i mean, i do so verify

note: when Italians count on their fingers
unlike America where one is the index finger
here, one is the thumb
just thought i’d let you know

m. just read a news story online
about a man arrested for trying to revive
a road kill possum
with mouth to mouth resuscitation

then TomC writes to say
he couldn’t digest his cornflakes or something
cause i skipped a day
pshaw! maybe when i was ten

i could have skipped all day.
what i did was lose a day just like
Ray Miland in Lost Weekend, Billy Wilder, 1945,
in which he played an alcoholic

and i just saved you more Googling
maybe Google lost some money then
and/or will make it up
somewhere else

note - if i wrote this in paragraph form
and you printed it, it’d waste money
on ink for big letters and periods
or space there of


(reprise from march 2010)

brushing teeth, mine

brushing teeth, mine
i fell asleep brushing my teeth
thinking how my grandmother used to like
Saturday TV with the midgets wrestling

"Your mother's mother?" she asked
"Yes," I said.
"That figures."

now what was that supposed to mean?
i gave her a sharp look, i did
you should have seen it.

anyway i didn't really fall asleep
zoned out into brushing land
more like it.

a mild trance state
perfectly normal
it happens, right?

(reprise from March '08)

these are the Amish

neat and country clean,
shiny faces,
bowl cut blond hair boys,
girls heads white wrapped,

chin to ankle dresses.
hand made clothing
neatly pressed.
brains stilled of the noise.

save click brush sweeping of the brooms - whisk, whisk.
and heavy clip, clop stepping horses
pulling black carriages.
the family is a unit.

we turned in at the hand made sign
but they were fresh out of eggs.
notice also said donuts.
girl said they had ‘em.

gave the nod, she left her push mower,
to kitchen storage out back.
walked barefoot the length of the gravel drive
in her ankle length gray swaying dress.

returned with an assortment in a plastic bag,
seven or eight doughnuts for a stiff five bucks,
weighing in slightly less than near a pound apiece.
puffy fresh, sticky sweet, tasty mighty good.




why wasn't there a coma after tasty?
cause the rule is: you write 'em any way you like.

simplify

occasionally friends tell me things
and i recognize the words
that i told that person
some years before.

now a good friend has told me
he remembers and benefits
from something i told him,
“Simplify”.

i thought a credit to his intelligence
for him to remember who told him.
then i had to look it up
to see where i read the thought.

It was Henry David Thoreau who wrote in Walden -
"Where I Lived and What I Lived For"
“Our life is frittered away by detail... Simplify, simplify, simplify! ... Simplicity of life and elevation of purpose.”

Walden Pond was on land owned by Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Henry David Thoreau once wrote
to his friend and mentor, Emerson,
"Simplify, simplify, simplify."

Emerson wrote back,
"Don't you think
one 'simplify'
is enough?"

my fortune cookie said

my fortune cookie said
well, it didn’t say
it read,
that is to say, i read.

should i start over?
that’s not what i in the cookie read,
but it seems a good idea,
starting over.

if we have a choice,
if we’re not rich enough, healthy enough,
or have loved enough,
food to eat, place to sleep.

let’s work on it.
make our own cookie fortune.
print it by hand,
send it to ourselves

with insufficient postage,
then act surprised when
the postman returns it to our door,
i mean, to my door.

it’s not our door
cause we don’t live together.
well, we may,
but not you and i together.

you may live with someone,
that is possible,
but, if you’re not M.
you and i don’t live together.

but then, i am me,
you are busy being you.
now give me
my fortune cookie.

you have to make out
as best you can.
make it up.
make it out.

and i know you will
because we all
are doing the best
we can.

i don't have
to read that
bit of truth
in a fortune cookie.

ten o'clock in london

ten o'clock in London
BBC radio reports

fifty dead, suicide bomber in Bagdad,

Israeli soldier posed on Facebook
with blindfolded, handcuffed old Palestinian women,
under the caption life is good,
said she was doing no harm.

scientists estimate
four thousand elephants
left in the wild.

also, to keep you listening
a tease about the Beatles in Germany.

you know that’s not a recent event,
the beatles left germany fifty years ago.

that story would come at the end of the news
to keep you listening.
they’ll promote it several more times,
stay tuned.

our time

in the comfort of home
while reading a story of American Indians,
a scene where others watched
from an open tent flap,

a brave arrived in camp
left his tired horse
then laid prone at the stream
to drink clear water

in pure air
under heat of the sun
quiet all around
ripples of the stream.

it occurred to me
that now
is not like that anymore
and we each have our time.


I have reworked this many times, although still not entirely satisfied, the point of it was important enough that it superseded an attempt at art. We each have our time.

Honey, I'm trying to keep it simple and say it how it is.

bee

What did I find, the Queen of Queens? This fat bee was large with a black rear end the size of a refrigerator light bulb, no kidding.

I see my account here doesn’t differ much from the poem, so there you have it - I’ll put a wraps on this so you can proceed to the real meat of the bee.


bee

from the porch
i see a bee
large and in the flowers
had to walk up close
to get a good look at

yellow body
a swollen back end like the hood
of a shiny old black Buick
jeeze o’pete
zip on, big buddy
zip on

nxt!, notes on heaven

First is nxt, a strange mechanical piece, I put on this site August '08. I was looking through my files, found it, and brought it back. Recycling is good.

Also back a second time is notes on heaven from November '08


nxt!
giraffes have the same number of neck bones as humans
nxt, yr nxt
sorry, machine I was just reading . . .
nxt!
make your selection and insert coins in slot
nxt!
give me a minute, i was reading the instructions
out of order!
wait, I put my money in
nxt!
you took my money
nxt!
what is the disturbance here?
oh, nothing, officer, but this machine just took my money
machines don’t make mistakes, come with me, civilian
don’t handcuff me, is that a taser, bro?
pick him up and drag him to the wagon
nxt


notes on heaven

notes on heaven
cobblestones are laid smooth
with grass growing between,
all rivers shall run clear,
here i noticed the Tevere yesterday
golden brown, like a shiny pie crust,

back to heaven,
if you have to park the meters will
give you money. all birds and animals
and people speak the same language,
sounds like Chinese but isn’t

house at isn't der

I’m working to enter poetically into the sound and rhythm of the 21st Century, for that I’ll sacrifice conventional grammar.
Face it – “down to da ground” and "do dee dark" have poetical swing.


house at isn't der

when a haunted house
gets torn down,
down to da ground,
where do dee dark night spirits go?

would dey stay up der somewhere
in thin air,
ones formerly of creaky stairs
dat wandered upper floors by night,

dose dat whisper talked,
den easily walked
through solid walls,
like dey weren’t der? or were dey?

an tell me, can ghosts be
able to see
to remain in a house
dat isn’t der?

as light
by night
as a whiff
of scented candles.

poof!

driverless cars

With the latest technology, engineers are taking a journey from Italy to China in driverless vehicles! The 8,000 mile trip will take about 3 months!

They are making the trek with two orange vans, and each is equipped with an actual person for when instances arise that the automobiles can’t handle.



latest technology
driverless cars
give me a blue one baby,
send it to the drive through

call ahead, roll down the window,
have the attendant throw in a loaf of bread
toss in a cold beer, put it on the tab
then honk me goodbye, baby, i’m going to China.

uses the computer

uses the computer
to play solitaire.
i ask what web sites he looks at
and he puts a silly look on his face,

guessing it appropriately condescending,
arrogantly feigning intelligence,
to cover ignorance and indifference,
then puts black eight on red seven.

barbeque in the country

picked up Darrel at his farm,
first saw work he’d done,
talked a bit, checked the time
then hit the road.

off out there we drove,
a country parcel north o’ the village,
parked in grass at the part tin clubhouse
for a Sunday good eatin’ chicken barbeque

the American Legion put it on,
country eatin’ fun, for all’d come,
at the intersection of parched long fields,
on a rise by rail road tracks.

men fired slow baked glazed golden chicken,
cole slaw, barbeque beans the ladies made,
plus chocolate sheet cake frosted,
with as you please coffee and lemonade.

under yellow sun, very still this hot July noon,
doors and windows were slung open a mile,
an electric fan hummed a welcome summer breeze
in our rural, out of the way, little town Ohio.

not always the hero

ok, so, just to show I’m not
making myself always the hero,
i got off the crowded bus smiling,
saw a flash of white

flapping large as a napkin
right on the front of me.
my zipper half way down,
my shirt was sticking out.

oh, darling you'd think i hardly hear you

for me
no mail for decades.
nary a post in the box,
only cobwebs on my cobwebs.

no need for an in box.
that space by my door
could be permanent no peddler signs
for every holiday occasion.

and now this,
my sixty-fifth birthday year,
i have already received
more than sixty-five solicitations,

not from a chick
to walk me across the street
down to the corner bar
and whisper “watch both ways” into my ear.

what arrives is another offer
for an inexpensive hearing aide.
i’m sixty-five - they’ve got my number
and must be selling it door to door.

Bee Gone

You best bee learning . What’s a bee for? Bee's wax. What do I call this poem? Is it Bee gone or just Gone. I’ll work that out later. The next part concerns you.

Because you're dead doesn’t mean you have nothing more to learn. Let's start there.

You don’t just die and get angel food cake with ice cream and a gold beanie. No, seems there’d be a school for the dead to teach what they didn’t learn on earth.

Straighten ‘em out, work ‘em a bit to make saints out of them; or do you think they just get sent back to earth, recycled stupid. I suppose it could be. Let ‘em stumble along again on their own, and see if they can do any better. I don’t know how it works.


Bee Gone


sitting on the back porch
smoking, having morning coffee
a small bee came zipping around
persistent, wouldn’t go away.

i thought perhaps it could be the spirit
of my dear friend, or my uncle
coming back this warm summer day
checking out how things are going.

staying near
making circles
all alone
going fast.

i blew smoke on him,
brushed him on his way,
not to be disrespectful,
but, he’s got to learn.

The BP oil leak in the Gulf of Mexico began late May or early June.
I guess I may be stuck there.


tough time

tooling down the road
a wild turkey on the right,
standing where you’d be
if you were thumbing a lift.

i blew past him doing fifty plus.
geeze, he was big. big as a dog.
had he heard of the oil spill, do any of them know?
is that why he was out walking? was he stunned?

this is a tough time
appalling, unequaled.
great damage has been done
to the waters, to the life, to the earth.

and we are the caretakers.
oh, what we have we have left for our children,
this legacy we’ve created,
all for pieces of silver.

i thought to continue to write here, to divert attention
away from thoughts of great sadness - disaster.
let me tell you - it isn’t easy, it is sad.
nothing is easy now. so sad.