times ago when a novice to Italia
went on the road two months,
a touring play with a dozen Italians
coffee together, every meal, every day
coffee in the morning, you say
i can do that, start my day
or so it seemed, so i’d say
yet when it came all was outlandish new
disorderly turmoil, without deviation
coffee with these, the experienced,
weaned by the ages, since the beginning,
habitual action conferred by generations
my patterns needed compromise to function
i watched, i participated, adjusting i learned,
how long it takes, precisely how it is done
many roads that lead to the one
not of my bloodline,
infelicitous and extrinsic
day after day, until now,
now i am one
Saturday, February 06, 2010
Friday, February 05, 2010
Mr. Hill
Mr. Jack, someone said the other day
my minds eye brought forth Everett Hill,
fragile, thin, gray, well beyond retirement age,
stayed on the job as the sweeper
there was an agreement,
when the old owner/boss retired,
he left word that Hill, as we all called him,
could stay on long as he could push a broom
it was a large city TV station
where a regular evening crew
cleaned the offices, waxed he floors
and took out the trash
when someone would get angry and cursed,
if Hill was around he’d call out
“don’t chew be bitter now, Mickie”, or whoever,
light heartedly he enlightened us
Hill was a daytime fixture
in the lobby, if it seemed interesting
or, in one of two large studios
casually dragging his long handled push broom
our work was in the studio
getting ready, working a show
then putting our things away
Hill was always around, just around
Mr. Jack is what Hill called me
he called everyone Mr. whatever their name was,
the important ones he used the last name
we the workers were Mr. First Names
for as long as he could show up
that was the deal that Hill stuck to, often reminding ,
as he does now working with the heavenly crew,
with a smile and a shake of the head,“now, don’t be bitter”
my minds eye brought forth Everett Hill,
fragile, thin, gray, well beyond retirement age,
stayed on the job as the sweeper
there was an agreement,
when the old owner/boss retired,
he left word that Hill, as we all called him,
could stay on long as he could push a broom
it was a large city TV station
where a regular evening crew
cleaned the offices, waxed he floors
and took out the trash
when someone would get angry and cursed,
if Hill was around he’d call out
“don’t chew be bitter now, Mickie”, or whoever,
light heartedly he enlightened us
Hill was a daytime fixture
in the lobby, if it seemed interesting
or, in one of two large studios
casually dragging his long handled push broom
our work was in the studio
getting ready, working a show
then putting our things away
Hill was always around, just around
Mr. Jack is what Hill called me
he called everyone Mr. whatever their name was,
the important ones he used the last name
we the workers were Mr. First Names
for as long as he could show up
that was the deal that Hill stuck to, often reminding ,
as he does now working with the heavenly crew,
with a smile and a shake of the head,“now, don’t be bitter”
Thursday, February 04, 2010
wood smoke
i split part of a small bottle of Chinotto,
an Italian soda since 1949,
somewhat like coke, but bittersweet
M. and i sat talking and sipping
she said our flower girl, who was eight back then,
this week sent an email saying she saw
Claraville in the Sierra Nevada of California
and our old buildings on Google satellite
thirty years ago we were married amid the pines
on Piute Mountain, when we were young, before
Google, email and we'd ever thought of living in Italy
now flower girl has her own daughter eight
our friends Lonesome Al, Piute Jerry and Cutter Bill
have all gone off to some hidden mountain cabin
reeking of pine, sipping hooch and laughing
i am sure they all are all laughing
now and then, in contemplation, M. and i recall
those rollicking times, warm fires and adventures
precious, pleasant memories all,
filled with friends, long starry nights and wood smoke
an Italian soda since 1949,
somewhat like coke, but bittersweet
M. and i sat talking and sipping
she said our flower girl, who was eight back then,
this week sent an email saying she saw
Claraville in the Sierra Nevada of California
and our old buildings on Google satellite
thirty years ago we were married amid the pines
on Piute Mountain, when we were young, before
Google, email and we'd ever thought of living in Italy
now flower girl has her own daughter eight
our friends Lonesome Al, Piute Jerry and Cutter Bill
have all gone off to some hidden mountain cabin
reeking of pine, sipping hooch and laughing
i am sure they all are all laughing
now and then, in contemplation, M. and i recall
those rollicking times, warm fires and adventures
precious, pleasant memories all,
filled with friends, long starry nights and wood smoke
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
a little sun
a break from the february cold
we're in reprise with good sun
from the window
i confirm fair weather
below, the blue coated white haired woman
over from seaside Ostia on a day trip
teetering along with her elderly daughter
to their smiles i salute with cheery greetings from above
out the door then we encounter Mario
the antiquarian in front of his shop working
a piece of furniture over a pair of saw horses
we nod as he keeps sawing
then Stefano, flakes of white plastered face and clothes,
greets us, he reports that in all of Italy there are
three cases of chicken pox, one of his small children
has it, ready to pass it to the other
high up the lady who walks her two small white dogs
is at her window in the arch
that spread across our tiny street
talking to a neighbor in another window
we say ciao to Franco One
then a step later ciao Franco Two,
both do furniture restoration
in their workshops on this street
Marjia passes next, just back from a month
visiting her mother in Finland
with an imperial salute she reports this high,
snow there is chest high
Marina the ceramic painter crowds through
in her auto, where one rarely comes by
it’s the only vehicle we encounter
in a half-block walk on this cobblestone way
finally, at the corner an old store keeper
sits catching sun in a rocker
her old husband is nearby talking with a friend
we good morning them all
then to the market, the Chinese side of the train station
loading our cart, see a tiny old woman, tall as my waist,
bent forward walking, her sailor’s deck-mop sheep dog grey and
white hair blows ahead in the light wind, and proceeds her
i take the cart the rest of the way home
while M. goes for a free Christmas ball from the Vatican tree, but
returned to report the tree remains dead, decorated and standing
usually it is down by Valentines Day
we have to be there on the day they are taking it down
no notice is posted, we keep checking
as in all of life
timing is everything
we're in reprise with good sun
from the window
i confirm fair weather
below, the blue coated white haired woman
over from seaside Ostia on a day trip
teetering along with her elderly daughter
to their smiles i salute with cheery greetings from above
out the door then we encounter Mario
the antiquarian in front of his shop working
a piece of furniture over a pair of saw horses
we nod as he keeps sawing
then Stefano, flakes of white plastered face and clothes,
greets us, he reports that in all of Italy there are
three cases of chicken pox, one of his small children
has it, ready to pass it to the other
high up the lady who walks her two small white dogs
is at her window in the arch
that spread across our tiny street
talking to a neighbor in another window
we say ciao to Franco One
then a step later ciao Franco Two,
both do furniture restoration
in their workshops on this street
Marjia passes next, just back from a month
visiting her mother in Finland
with an imperial salute she reports this high,
snow there is chest high
Marina the ceramic painter crowds through
in her auto, where one rarely comes by
it’s the only vehicle we encounter
in a half-block walk on this cobblestone way
finally, at the corner an old store keeper
sits catching sun in a rocker
her old husband is nearby talking with a friend
we good morning them all
then to the market, the Chinese side of the train station
loading our cart, see a tiny old woman, tall as my waist,
bent forward walking, her sailor’s deck-mop sheep dog grey and
white hair blows ahead in the light wind, and proceeds her
i take the cart the rest of the way home
while M. goes for a free Christmas ball from the Vatican tree, but
returned to report the tree remains dead, decorated and standing
usually it is down by Valentines Day
we have to be there on the day they are taking it down
no notice is posted, we keep checking
as in all of life
timing is everything
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
in a while
once in a while,
the very while
that occurred
this afternoon
it seemed learning
or along that vein,
had to do with
keeping mouth closed
when then we saw Bruno and Wendy
Wendy’s sister was there too
that’s what Bruno said, and better that i waited
instead of asking if this was Wendy’s mother
their two kids were also tagging along
ages seven and ten
we knew them before they married
not the kids - Wendy and Bruno
the kids we never knew
because they never were
when that ago time existed
once, in a while
the very while
that occurred
this afternoon
it seemed learning
or along that vein,
had to do with
keeping mouth closed
when then we saw Bruno and Wendy
Wendy’s sister was there too
that’s what Bruno said, and better that i waited
instead of asking if this was Wendy’s mother
their two kids were also tagging along
ages seven and ten
we knew them before they married
not the kids - Wendy and Bruno
the kids we never knew
because they never were
when that ago time existed
once, in a while
Monday, February 01, 2010
day watching
day watching each slipping
gracefully along
nearly asleep walking
blinking then away
gone drifting
one moment droplets
in life’s stream, drip passing
to clear dark cool river
flowing steady beyond
lake to locks
becoming roll folding
soft blue oceans
whispers fog again
globe breathing
circling with fishes
gather mists
clouds building grey darker
all above sailing
over birds
on wings of winds
gradually reformed
now droplets
fall again lovely
light rain
gracefully along
nearly asleep walking
blinking then away
gone drifting
one moment droplets
in life’s stream, drip passing
to clear dark cool river
flowing steady beyond
lake to locks
becoming roll folding
soft blue oceans
whispers fog again
globe breathing
circling with fishes
gather mists
clouds building grey darker
all above sailing
over birds
on wings of winds
gradually reformed
now droplets
fall again lovely
light rain
Sunday, January 31, 2010
january emptied out
making notes i am
sorting words, stacking cards
one dog barking
i glance up at dark blurs
some birds boring blindly
misted into running low grey clouds
on the hill above, the Gianicolo,
a cannon fires a wisp of grey into the chill
the city beyond hears the signal and knows it Is noon
we board a bus of content silence, scarves and caps
off for a bite of lunch, our own words begin, blend,
weave and overlap with the others
then a little walking
through the crowds
a lot of talking
don’t hear what they’re saying
making plans I suppose,
some gesturing, pointing
laughing young women
heads together
recount social victories
few small children pulling against their mothers
today many little wrapped ones in blankets
lulled to silence in four wheeled strollers
temperature is dropping
who is content?
some calm hangs poised over complacency
after evening buses slow, then cease
overnight becomes the soundless
when imagination is the only border
sorting words, stacking cards
one dog barking
i glance up at dark blurs
some birds boring blindly
misted into running low grey clouds
on the hill above, the Gianicolo,
a cannon fires a wisp of grey into the chill
the city beyond hears the signal and knows it Is noon
we board a bus of content silence, scarves and caps
off for a bite of lunch, our own words begin, blend,
weave and overlap with the others
then a little walking
through the crowds
a lot of talking
don’t hear what they’re saying
making plans I suppose,
some gesturing, pointing
laughing young women
heads together
recount social victories
few small children pulling against their mothers
today many little wrapped ones in blankets
lulled to silence in four wheeled strollers
temperature is dropping
who is content?
some calm hangs poised over complacency
after evening buses slow, then cease
overnight becomes the soundless
when imagination is the only border
Saturday, January 30, 2010
old Roma does survive
just a Saturday no account bus ride
to keep oiled the well honed skill of passenger
to just the other side of the Vatican sprawl
to the new/old Trionfale Market
home of vegetables and the like
all on the first floor of a new building
where underground is parking
above, space for offices
under control now
gone are the renegades, mud puddles and gypsies
law and order has, if not prevailed,
at least made it’s presence known
saw many stalls
so many,
compared prices
walked till tired
nearby stopped at a lunch place for lunch
food was good
prices were one third - i say a third - of those
in the tourist area
all of it proving, if taken together,
old Roma does survive
if you look
in the corners
to keep oiled the well honed skill of passenger
to just the other side of the Vatican sprawl
to the new/old Trionfale Market
home of vegetables and the like
all on the first floor of a new building
where underground is parking
above, space for offices
under control now
gone are the renegades, mud puddles and gypsies
law and order has, if not prevailed,
at least made it’s presence known
saw many stalls
so many,
compared prices
walked till tired
nearby stopped at a lunch place for lunch
food was good
prices were one third - i say a third - of those
in the tourist area
all of it proving, if taken together,
old Roma does survive
if you look
in the corners
Friday, January 29, 2010
went to the bank
woke with little cash
so went to the stone block grey bank
where green money comes out,
not enough going the other way
the newly installed door into the bank
is see through amber grey space age,
first push a small round steel burnished button to enter
a slender vertical box for one
keep arms and scarves close to your body
in the curved vertical box wait a second,
large size people in heavy coats with large purses
need bank elsewhere
zzzithppp swings a curved bullet proof plastic door
closed, vacumn sealed tight, until after a pause
opens another panel - zzzipp - on the other side
to allow access into bank proper, move quickly
space age, nearly silent the door
hhhhmmmpft it goes behind me
i’m sure some one found a ufo in a field somewhere
and reverse engineered the door
so went to the stone block grey bank
where green money comes out,
not enough going the other way
the newly installed door into the bank
is see through amber grey space age,
first push a small round steel burnished button to enter
a slender vertical box for one
keep arms and scarves close to your body
in the curved vertical box wait a second,
large size people in heavy coats with large purses
need bank elsewhere
zzzithppp swings a curved bullet proof plastic door
closed, vacumn sealed tight, until after a pause
opens another panel - zzzipp - on the other side
to allow access into bank proper, move quickly
space age, nearly silent the door
hhhhmmmpft it goes behind me
i’m sure some one found a ufo in a field somewhere
and reverse engineered the door
Thursday, January 28, 2010
at times we see
at times we see
go by faces we know
somewhere out in the city,
folks from our long ago
strange how it can be
that we run into each other,
intersecting at the right moment,
by chance, without notice in advance
what a nice plan, accidents are
that good kind, the meeting,
the greeting of surprise,
in a fleeting moment of encounter
some leave our life
without a goodbye,
for a quirky reason they are gone
never to cross our way again
it’s no wonder why
and no need to be witty
to know, above all,
that’s life in the city
go by faces we know
somewhere out in the city,
folks from our long ago
strange how it can be
that we run into each other,
intersecting at the right moment,
by chance, without notice in advance
what a nice plan, accidents are
that good kind, the meeting,
the greeting of surprise,
in a fleeting moment of encounter
some leave our life
without a goodbye,
for a quirky reason they are gone
never to cross our way again
it’s no wonder why
and no need to be witty
to know, above all,
that’s life in the city
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
like a daqueri
can't talk fish out of a river
and writing story's another thing
but a few lines i can deliver
with a twist and bit of sting
and writing story's another thing
but a few lines i can deliver
with a twist and bit of sting
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
where goes the Bard of Avon
if there is reincarnation
wouldn’t Will S. make an appearance
seems by now he would
he’d want another go
perhaps a scientist this time
or a grill cook who kept quiet
live solo in a trailer on town’s edge
or as female this go around
how about a sports star
there have been a few greats
maybe a horse racing triple crown winner
and i don’t mean the jockey
wouldn’t Will S. make an appearance
seems by now he would
he’d want another go
perhaps a scientist this time
or a grill cook who kept quiet
live solo in a trailer on town’s edge
or as female this go around
how about a sports star
there have been a few greats
maybe a horse racing triple crown winner
and i don’t mean the jockey
Monday, January 25, 2010
nearly striking fortune
when i was 19, 20, 21 thereabouts
i wrote a song "Milk and Honey
that is where we have been
milk and honey
away from the streets of din"
it was not a hit
in fact, no one liked it
i knew nothing about honey and milk
milk was for cereal
and honey went on graham crackers
never graham factors,
those being factors for determining ambiguity in U.S. patent law
and what was i doing writing about din
when the only din i ever heard of was Gunga Din
i should have been writing about
things i knew like
have you seen my basketball?
i left it in the closet but it isn't there
another near fortune occurred
when i came up with
outerlated insulwear
but couldn't put it together
a definite swing and a miss
i wrote a song "Milk and Honey
that is where we have been
milk and honey
away from the streets of din"
it was not a hit
in fact, no one liked it
i knew nothing about honey and milk
milk was for cereal
and honey went on graham crackers
never graham factors,
those being factors for determining ambiguity in U.S. patent law
and what was i doing writing about din
when the only din i ever heard of was Gunga Din
i should have been writing about
things i knew like
have you seen my basketball?
i left it in the closet but it isn't there
another near fortune occurred
when i came up with
outerlated insulwear
but couldn't put it together
a definite swing and a miss
Sunday, January 24, 2010
ten thousand
ten thousand lives - nay,
ten million and more have seen
light of passing sun and moon and stars
giving this world a try
be it fresh fruit and friends
warm nights and soft breeze
or bitter cold and high winds
starting young, bending like trees
while growing daily older
honor both the day and night
hats off to home and loved ones
work long and hard to get life right
here we stay ready
to go again tomorrow
through life’s cathedral
blessed be the harmony
ten million and more have seen
light of passing sun and moon and stars
giving this world a try
be it fresh fruit and friends
warm nights and soft breeze
or bitter cold and high winds
starting young, bending like trees
while growing daily older
honor both the day and night
hats off to home and loved ones
work long and hard to get life right
here we stay ready
to go again tomorrow
through life’s cathedral
blessed be the harmony
Saturday, January 23, 2010
if in a slip stream through time
if in a slip stream through time
to pop up more than a decade ago, behind myself
just walking out the door. dressed for the day,
then on the road where traffic flows the same
a stop for a coffee in an old bar
that hasn’t gone modern, then to enter
the appointed place at the appointed time
with a last look toward the sun as i walk in the door
only half wondering at the time
if ever will i think about this day again
bring it back, this pleasant air, happy i am,
a least knowing, what a gift it is to be here
to pop up more than a decade ago, behind myself
just walking out the door. dressed for the day,
then on the road where traffic flows the same
a stop for a coffee in an old bar
that hasn’t gone modern, then to enter
the appointed place at the appointed time
with a last look toward the sun as i walk in the door
only half wondering at the time
if ever will i think about this day again
bring it back, this pleasant air, happy i am,
a least knowing, what a gift it is to be here
Friday, January 22, 2010
sad poems
some poems are unhappy
sadness need not be sought
or brought out as the printed words
let’s leave sad sleep in peace, shall we.
we’ll do other things. women can watch the men
and man can dream of girls
we will live quietly, wait and have fun
enjoy the silence and the sun
sadness will seek us out soon enough
sadness need not be sought
or brought out as the printed words
let’s leave sad sleep in peace, shall we.
we’ll do other things. women can watch the men
and man can dream of girls
we will live quietly, wait and have fun
enjoy the silence and the sun
sadness will seek us out soon enough
Thursday, January 21, 2010
stone
stone street narrow ways
give strength to the noise
echoes rolling
in ricochet
images of friends
acquaintance memories
evaporating, barely holding on
not enough to make an image
open the windows
nearly hear the dampness
on grey stone walls
absorbing life, a drop at a time
yet the blade sharpener still comes by
calling out for all above to hear
as he pushes down the street
here for your service i am "arrotino"
give strength to the noise
echoes rolling
in ricochet
images of friends
acquaintance memories
evaporating, barely holding on
not enough to make an image
open the windows
nearly hear the dampness
on grey stone walls
absorbing life, a drop at a time
yet the blade sharpener still comes by
calling out for all above to hear
as he pushes down the street
here for your service i am "arrotino"
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
time like olden days
time like olden days
lives on little lanes
off main crowded ways
when it's sunny or it rains
a lone sturdy woman
shorter then we
and rounder too
in lengthy dark country dress
carries a covered box in her hands
and a large open cardboard box
piled high with clothing
balanced atop her head
steady duck walking
oblivious to us she ambles by
showing her skill and no concern
in a manner that tireless practice has endowed
lives on little lanes
off main crowded ways
when it's sunny or it rains
a lone sturdy woman
shorter then we
and rounder too
in lengthy dark country dress
carries a covered box in her hands
and a large open cardboard box
piled high with clothing
balanced atop her head
steady duck walking
oblivious to us she ambles by
showing her skill and no concern
in a manner that tireless practice has endowed
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
until you get it right
all the dead and wreckage
poor with nothing more
than hope
in the news
far away
the destruction of Haiti
next door Donny, body like a penguin
legs like a rooster
in the can for making cash by
selling pot to his cousins
come on by, cousin
one year throwing firecrackers over
our very old wooden house and into the tree
i had to go out to speak with the drunken clan
another time party drinking three a.m.
music louder than passing trains
where are the cops tonight?
i went over to speak with them again
always a party
always Donny in the thick of it
cars on the lawn
seventeen is the record
always drinking, always noise
they hear on the scanner the cops are coming
then they are silent, trying to act
as if they were napping on the lawn
all fifteen of them
some on their feet
others in chairs, or on tops of cars
all with beers in hand
they promise to be quiet
another eve we wake to shouts
on the street at two a.m.
bending forward, hands on knees
taunting his opponent to take his best shot
then his mother runs out there trying to stop them
everyone yelling, it’s chaos, until they shout it out
then it’s calm, then he hugs the guy and all wave goodbye
we hear him call, “i love you, man”
pneumonia at home, goes to bed
geeze, Donny, you were only sick
couldn’t you do anything right?
you were only thirty-five
when we get back in ohio
i’ll have to go over
and speak with them
poor with nothing more
than hope
in the news
far away
the destruction of Haiti
next door Donny, body like a penguin
legs like a rooster
in the can for making cash by
selling pot to his cousins
come on by, cousin
one year throwing firecrackers over
our very old wooden house and into the tree
i had to go out to speak with the drunken clan
another time party drinking three a.m.
music louder than passing trains
where are the cops tonight?
i went over to speak with them again
always a party
always Donny in the thick of it
cars on the lawn
seventeen is the record
always drinking, always noise
they hear on the scanner the cops are coming
then they are silent, trying to act
as if they were napping on the lawn
all fifteen of them
some on their feet
others in chairs, or on tops of cars
all with beers in hand
they promise to be quiet
another eve we wake to shouts
on the street at two a.m.
bending forward, hands on knees
taunting his opponent to take his best shot
then his mother runs out there trying to stop them
everyone yelling, it’s chaos, until they shout it out
then it’s calm, then he hugs the guy and all wave goodbye
we hear him call, “i love you, man”
pneumonia at home, goes to bed
geeze, Donny, you were only sick
couldn’t you do anything right?
you were only thirty-five
when we get back in ohio
i’ll have to go over
and speak with them
Monday, January 18, 2010
mr. moon mixes his days
coming out of trestevere
see Giancarlolino Benedetti Corcos
used his full name cause he’s up an coming
told us to come to his art show by Porta Portese
but it was last night and i forgot
then at Ponte Sisto ran into Mark Kostobi
the artist with promotion in his veins
has a tv show now where the audience names his paintings
has a studio where artists paint his pictures
the Pope motorcade was coming by in a few minutes
Mark did a sculpture for him, it’s all on his website
asked Mark if the Pope was going to
slow down and wave
friend bill the cook met the pope three times
his picture with bill is on bill’s aunt’s mantle
bill has no money, no papers, no web site or cell phone or TV show
and 40 years cooking for various embassy events
is so inconspicious that people see the photo
and don't even notice that guy with the pope
walked by our street parked car
hasn't been damaged yet
three coins were on the drivers seat
mr. moon moved the car last week
M. provided disparaging words
but i’m working on my pockets, i said
stopped at shoe man
sent us two doors down to shoe lady
bought an insert, cause two days ago
i bought two shoes, two sizes too large
can’t take them back they say
she’s a mean shoe lady
won’t exchange them
everyone says
maybe next full moon i’ll take the other pair
walk back across Ponte Sisto,
ask and hear it myself from
the horse's ass, i mean mouth
see Giancarlolino Benedetti Corcos
used his full name cause he’s up an coming
told us to come to his art show by Porta Portese
but it was last night and i forgot
then at Ponte Sisto ran into Mark Kostobi
the artist with promotion in his veins
has a tv show now where the audience names his paintings
has a studio where artists paint his pictures
the Pope motorcade was coming by in a few minutes
Mark did a sculpture for him, it’s all on his website
asked Mark if the Pope was going to
slow down and wave
friend bill the cook met the pope three times
his picture with bill is on bill’s aunt’s mantle
bill has no money, no papers, no web site or cell phone or TV show
and 40 years cooking for various embassy events
is so inconspicious that people see the photo
and don't even notice that guy with the pope
walked by our street parked car
hasn't been damaged yet
three coins were on the drivers seat
mr. moon moved the car last week
M. provided disparaging words
but i’m working on my pockets, i said
stopped at shoe man
sent us two doors down to shoe lady
bought an insert, cause two days ago
i bought two shoes, two sizes too large
can’t take them back they say
she’s a mean shoe lady
won’t exchange them
everyone says
maybe next full moon i’ll take the other pair
walk back across Ponte Sisto,
ask and hear it myself from
the horse's ass, i mean mouth
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