away some

nine days to see,
saw my daughter and her's;
this poet on vacation
made mental notes,
worked none at all.
all went well that way,
i'd say.

ate, weather hot,
what we got
hit the spot.

then we're out of there
not even wrinkled.

i thought we were pals

the parent robins returned
fed their young worms about noon.
didn't know me or my whistle
from dee man in dah moon

launch

Final two robins launch today.
one hops through sweet woodruff
other half way up small dogwood
Mother and father sweep in to protect

stuck

stuck under a bureau drawer
her father's report card from '34.
this brings the question
how much to collect?

vacation

going on vacation,
not staying at home; rocket out.
leaving, far from winter,
side-step away from the usual.
can be done most anywhere
wake up, relax, go back to sleep.
soak it in, refresh yourself

what robin did

watched robin land on a wobbly wire.
if i could fly i'd do that.
my neurologist doubts i'd accomplish
the rest of what the robin did:
jump 180 degrees and land
facing the other direction.
i said, don't bet on it,
when you're hot
you're hot.

robins decide

we preferred them a protected corner
not a highly trafficked area.
nonetheless two returning robins
insisted on building a nest again
near the steps on our porch,
then made three more robins;
now are feeding them pieces of worms.
we have to be reasonably cooperative
and respectful of their activities.

bumps

you notice bumps on the way going out;
the same road home is always smoother.

found rocks

when you're able
display special rocks you find
in a line on a table
so you appreciate finding them

go by

on the porch to feel …
in wind light and variable.
sounds like the weatherman
but merely a morning porch looker;
and the train runs by half mile away.

the Q sounds. dah, dah dit dah.
my engineer friend 25 years ago
said no to the Q, just: long, long, short, long.
Yes, it calls the same
as a telegrapher on the plain
as steel wheels sound on the track
on an otherwise quiet morning
rolling, rolling go by

Toast for me
by the baker of the bread
been buttered she said
berry jelly is mine to apply
while there again:
rolling, rolling,
train rolling, go by

purple on

flashy purple on the Queen, hat and dress
at the wedding of her grandson
on round the world tv,
oh, I noticed; fans don that chosen color
for the Lake Erie Crushers semi-pro baseball team;
here comes now: then identical, how did it happen,
my bright new t-shirt. exacto mundo or what?
didn't fall out of the sky.
i'm talking three same purples.
m chose the t-shirt or it appeared like magic in my clothes drawer.
she didn't help the queen
or the baseball team.
you decide what's coincidence.

throughout time you can rough shod ascertain
what day in our millennium this all came down.
gives me the willeys.

won't

won't change
'cept i'm older;
jesus criminey
that wraps it up.

dreamt cowboys
redoing their movies,
they were older;
seemed 'bout logical.

knee deep

a jet trip had me writing in my head,
never scribed a note when good words
began piling around me.
knee deep in my head.
unfortunately the trip to san fran ended without blunting pencil lead.
the good fortune is the trip.

be all

nothing doing in the rain,
all is still outside my window
pit pat
except that.
as spring is set.
let's begin again.
temperate times, where are thee?

search me

The blank box in the upper right is a search box to find other poems by looking for a word, any word. Some are in the poems and some are words that will lead you to another poem. It's fun to try.
This bit of writing is an exercise in communication, me to you, and in writing. I know I should be writing more each day, but I get lost reading because I enjoy that too. I like to put my shoes on ... thought I'd mention that.

this world we live in

thousands of displaced persons
walk in the rain, in the wind. families carrying
their infants, seeking refuge, peace
somewhere.

dry in my bed last night, on the radio
i heard a young baseball player in Boston
or Baltimore had signed a contract for
150 or 160 million dollars.


.

near spring

unseasonably warm some say
i call this our first spring day.
we waited a winter
not outer but inner,
now we're ready to play.

too much hoping, too soon.
the dreams floating
unsubstantiated and doomed.
tossed in the wind,
we'll try again
tomorrow.

salt road

they put out salt from here to Peru,
route 61 to Shelby and beyond.
17 degrees, the day before's snow on the road.
drove there, parked, we entered.

sat by the window;
looking good, view in and out. joint's hoppin'.
sunny side up and good hash browns
i ordered that.

"for potatoes..." the waitress
looking me in the eye or over my head and out the window
finalized, "shredded or chunks?" wants to speak
her own language...a real think-about.

made my mind up - shredded;
she went away then it all came back to me: got eggs and all.
ate with gusto, paid and told her
"it's all fine what you have here...so's the coffee."

she believed me, an eye blink goodbye.
white asphalt, dry and salted
as we rode on home
oh, yeah




On a personal note: At times I
have to work poems over for days.
Others I share quickly;
I want to serve them while they're hot.

.

winter's day ride

out in the country we pass
a pair of beautiful high stepping dark horses,
brown with lighter beige patches and white slashes,
pulling a clack buggy, silhouetted in bright snow.
a family aboard, my camera not ready ...
i see them come,
with children smiling.
there, hear them laughing
... there they go.
bundled for a winter's day ride.
oh, joy ... and nice horses

.

20th century

In the old days when the phone rang
there would be a person calling.

.

graandma

Her warm heart. Her smiling.
Today is Grandma's birthday
I never said happy birthday enough to her, my favorite relative.

While born a hundred and many years ago,
I stand earth years older than she.
She'd nod her head and smile at that thought.

Time is greased
with no place to hang on.

i am looking out the window waiting.
this is too much.
some steel and winds
not powerful, but steady.


thinking Rome ... home again.
tumbling on the snow drift called winter
cold and rolling,
skies alive.






.

geese nap

semi-gray day, a few smears of blue
seen through parting dark clouds in the sky.
heater on, windows up.
road dry, 15 degrees.
pass 25 random spots in a field like dark plastic bags;
look again, one or two are moving. it's geese lying there.
their idea of a good place for a nap
is different from mine.

yes, there is steel in the winds ...
enough to test you.

taste it cold and ...
in skies alive that have come down around you.

while thinking Rome, at home
in the snow drift called winter

in a straight-back, lightly-cushioned chair
in the front room, in the sun,
i can spend the noon hour
thinking of how time has run.

.

challenge

waitress poured me a coffee
so high in the cup
to make it a challenge to balance a sip.

.

It's written there -
Seven, the year of it … how grand.
from dull white into passing age's smoke,
the breath of shouts, fires, and exhaust.
vapors on weathered alabaster turned the chalky blanched monument
the tone of parched and dirty fog.
worn, pocked,portions missing, others in danger of falling ...
this solemn icon known the world over:
The Colosseum

.

Borghese

A camera man setting up,
sun is bright, the day cool.
an hour to go.
fractions of quiet words in many languages
...
all wearing 21st century casual,
there are no dresses.
a few flash haircuts, to the scalp on one side.
the parade passes in masses, then thinner
by the start of the hour to begin
into the Borghese

.

it is tough

it is tough being a guy
when you get to the age
women are smarter.