special love song

let me sing you a song of how it can be
a special love song for you and me
soft lights and flowers
we’ll spend the hours as you’d like them to be
just a little bit for you and me

here comes my tune to fill up your head
the sun and the moon flies over our bed
since time beyond ages the wisest of sages
sees life like you’d like it to be, just a little for you and me

carry on to Eldorado
by pyramids and golden bars
fly the Phoenix from the ashes
beyond the stars,
just a little for you and me

house moving

when i was five i saw my friends house
moved from down the street
to the lot behind our house,
there it sat for a lifetime

then five years ago i happened to be driving by
the day they put that house on wheels again
and moved it miles away to the next town,
saw that house come, go out

my old home was torn down years ago,
house, lawn, garage
garden, trees, bushes, everything is gone
the whole thing is an asphalt drive way

stuff comes and it goes
sun goes up, sun goes down

flew in fast

a bird flew in fast,
landed on a wire
and wiggled to perch there,
as the wire bounced a lot

didn’t look easy, looked dangerous
considering how high up, how far the fall
how embarrassing it would be,
I’d say that bird was skillful

and you’d say,
aw, that’s nothing.
oh, really?
well, you try it


Addendum & Errata -

Why me worry?
So, I spend time worrying if I should use three stanzas in four lines, or three stanzas in three lines. This sort of thing can use two or three hours of my time, maybe several days. Not all at once, of course. I have to worry a while, then walk around and do something else, then come back and nothing has changed so I worry some more. Hey, I do my best, take my time, and worry when it doesn't feel right. For me feeling is what it's all about.

bury me deep

bury me deep in your heart
draw me faintly without a face
make soft lines far apart
keep me hidden without trace

use colors bright as autumn
in lighting right, no doubt
when you near completion smile easy
leave some space to sign me out

have i told you

have i told you
you make me smile
in oh so many ways,
dear silly thing

from morning’s dew,
each long day through
you are the dream
of my heart

i can hold you
let me enfold you,
please, be the one,
dear love of mine

poetry au jus

sample poetry au jus
whipped up fast and free
add a dash of rhyme
simmer all slowly

pitter-pattering like the rain
keep from dribbling down your chin
add a spoonful for your brain
remember, use your napkin

you may have to use a straw
if it starts to run too loose
above all, don’t get any on you, it makes a tasty stain
you silly goose

call to the past

In an out of the way small town restaurant I noticed a fellow at another table having breakfast and when he stood up something about his long face and old jacket reminded me of Kit Carson. I’d recently seen a picture of Carson on the Internet.

Doc Holiday, then Annie Oakley and Buffalo Bill, the Earps, the James, the Clantons, a whole string of names began to run through my head. I sipped coffee and looked through the window toward a field and wooded area beyond as my mind skipped along like a blowing tumbleweed.

listen to the roar of their guns
on the plains
in my head
something i know about
from something i’ve read
of the Sackets, then Gus and Cal

and the real heroes of their time
when cowboys roamed the plains,
trains ran new on the long way west,
Indians had freedom, straight arrows and power,
Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse and Geronimo

slow rolling wagons carried settlers over ruts
as buffalo roamed through clouds of dust,
bound by rawhide, rope and dime novels,
bittersweet on a tough line
camp fires to build, meals to fix
new trails opened, then road upon
to wherever the river or next mountain valley leads

their lonely song - a mournful lullaby
song by cowpokes, scouts and others,
names like Bowie, Boone and Crocket, Williams,
Stevens, Whitman, Tabor, Bonneville,
Sacajawea, Carson, Pike, Fremont,
Smith, Clark, Lewis, Colter, Hickok
Annie Oakley and Calamity Jane

legends
one and all
live on in memory and yarns
thanks to fine story tellers like Louis L’amour
and Larry McMurtry

along with other names on those trails,
carved in trees, scratched on stone,
spinners of the tales,
told over open fires on starry nights
weavers of the dreams
that keep them
rolling on in our minds and along through the old west

Z. and caring

Captain Z. was in town
we left his freighter in Cleveland
and brought the Polish Captain home with us
that night we Skyped Poland,
a visual conference call with his wife and son
as we sat around the table and talked
oh, technology

first thing in the morning
October crisp day began
She’s working in the garden already, Z. said
no, I replied, this is not work for her
though it appears so and She does it everyday
it is caring, She is caring for the plants.
if there is justice in the heavens,
the plants appreciate and are loving her as well

why didn't i notice?

why is major media
biased, controlled, blind and out of mind with us?
they speak so hard,
what happened to education? what happened?

should I get a tattoo, and pierced,
wear hats backwards,
then yell kick butt,
cause we’re number one?

did i grow up around such fear,
violence hatred, stupidity and complacency?
was it because i was young and busy
that i didn’t notice us crumble?

luck runs

luck runs with you or against
it follows in life’s clatter
how you take it or leave it
really doesn’t matter

at times you seem to hear it
or it comes silent on the wind
when good arrives we’re happy
the other we’d rescind

since good and bad both happen
try not to let it matter,
for it often turns to good, you see
or perhaps the latter

diamonds in her hair

one at a time,
each step she takes,
diamonds in her hair
there ought’a be

her gracious swings
for all the would-be kings,
moon light talkers on the sideline
you know there’d be

it’s sweet beings like her
that comfort dreams
for many men like me, every time
or so it seems

delicious lips
unveiled in smiles
somewhere
I want to be

Canadian Geese

black and white on the field of cut corn
amid apparent disorder
they walk in circles, rest and feed a bit
some chatter among them
until well after dawn they at once rise off the ground

swiftly crossing cold morning sky, sailing strong and fine
onward flapping in V-formation,
hear their calls when they pass
overhead as large wings beat
Canadian geese on flight so grand

bailout 3

You can't convince me that Congress really knows what they are voting on.

Individuals are getting a quick explanation from someone they trust and hope it's the right thing to do.

Why can't they take more time to figure this out? Hundreds of billions is a lot of money.

bailout 2nd try

Congressman Ron Paul is against the bailout.
I believe in Congressman Ron Paul.
When has anything been thought out well
in a week? Even my crappy little poetry
usually takes longer than that.

protect and serve

in little towns they hide
and wait to trap
oncoming cars may flash their lights
to alert you

i thought my friend was paranoid
when he told me about it
beads of sweat on his forehead
he seemed nervous

they sit secluded day after day
in different spots
on corners, behind tall bushes
hiding low in their squad cars

you can see the top of their heads
they sit with sun glasses on
watching for you to slip up
so they can nail your ass

and maybe they ought to
you probably deserve it
and, anyway
they need the money

not a dry well

it’s not a dry well.
they gathered around the hole
there was nothing much to see
so they stood around

five or six guys chatting anxiously
the women on the porch talkin’ over tea
what do you mean, not dry?, one asked
we’re only down sixty-five feet, it’s moist

it’s going to take a while
i think eighty at least before we hit water
we have to check the bit and see if it’s okay
that’s some hard rock we’re going through

the rains are gone for now
he turned his collar against the chill wind,
the dog lifted it’s chin a sniffed the air
as the drill started up again

before October

here, two days before October
dark green frog Herb sits
under the board that crosses the pond,
he’s quiet, but okay
collecting thoughts

haven’t seen him for a month
although I’ve looked every day
must be the season to lie low,
has another month before hibernation
so I think, but I don’t know

seconds before sundown

river gulls soared toward the lake,
crossing low overhead as last low rays
flashed white bellies and orange beaks golden
in the final light of setting sun

the picture in these words nabbed the blink and sheen
of that few seconds, gliding brilliant light,
a glint like polished steel, fencers thrusting
before the background, sorrowful gray autumn sky

through every season

this morning i went out in a light jacket when M. called to me
she found a dead frog lying outside the pond,
probably an inexperienced cat got it,
tried to eat it, then left it,
though tasty cooked, in the wild they’re notoriously bad cuisine

the victim was either Herb's girl friend, or a light rain traveling stranger,
our frogs have been out of sight for a month.
and so, in sadness, begins the advent of fall in Ohio,
with Roma around the next corner
and spring – a long winter away


(the Lord giveth
and a cat taketh away)

a quick call

just before cell phones i was
by the wharf in san Francisco,
ten in the morning, had to make a quick call to my agent,
as i was getting out of the phone booth
a guy appeared out ‘a nowhere, average looking guy

he wasn’t waiting for the phone
but came right up, crowded by the door so i couldn’t exit,
inches from my face, and said rather hard
“if I had a gun i could ‘a shot you.”
then he walked quickly away

i was stunned by the threat,
yelled, “Hey!” at him, he kept going,
now, years later i remember that
nut and wonder if he
ever got a gun

bailout

Bush tells us in a serious urgent tone he needs
seven hundred billion by this weekend . . . right . . .
let me get my checkbook
how will this help the regular people?

was that war money or loaning money you need this time?
what kind of parachute is that? explain a bit
if i run my business into the ground,
who's going to bail me out?

I know this is beyond my usual lines of poetry but anytime nearly three-quarters of a trillion dollars is on the table, i get a little out of sorts.

modern times

who would have imagined
we'd have to line up and
take off our shoes
before we board an airplane?

it sounds like something
someone's grandmother came up with,
she should have kept to knitting
they don’t frisk our socks, as yet,

we’ll see how it goes,
it may be next, wanna bet?
then you’ll have to spread your toes
and shake out the rug
to get a glass of milk and a cookie,
how's that sound?
or maybe get on a scale naked
and buy your ticket by the pound

speed limit

anachronisms are dialing a phone or rolling up a window
a misnomer is the “speed limit”, not the end at all,
not the fastest you can, only how fast you will go
and not almost, exactly

I propose the term should be simply “speed” so signs read,
for example, “speed 65 mph”. It will bring more opportunity
for the police to bring in revenue. Then they can also arrest you
for going above or below the posted speed. a two-for.

Extra money they make using less paint
and gaining fines they can send to me and
I will put it back into circulation, to the best of my ability,
no questions asked, glad to help.

the seat belt light came on

the seat belt light came on
the Captain came on the speaker
told us to remain seated
and buckle our belts.


it's an hour and a half into the flight
he reminds us it's a no smoking flight
also,  we shouldn’t disable the
smoke detectors in the restrooms,


it's time they write new scripts.
i looked out the window
we were over Casper, Wyoming

why didn’t he mention that?


.

Utah

ideal passengers we
flew west and saw

antelope island at great salt lake
claims two million tons of salt, how’d they figure?
now there are four hundred bison
on this barren, treeless island, more or less

the island named by explorer John Fremont,
Kit Carson and others, who said they shot two antelope for food to eat
and named the island in tribute and thanks to the animals

Sundance in the mountains, as you’d expect,
wonderful, beautiful, tastefully done
excellent brunch
Rob Redford was a no show

a good
time had
by all ,
by-by all

To Read

to read stories in this world
is to travel there, everywhere
mountain, sea, desert, city
trains, planes, on horseback, farms, so pretty

taste the dust, the cold, frost,
rust, ice, craters and gators,
soft waves on warm beaches
it thrills and teaches

set sail alone, all near
all here, all there
as you wander the globe
from your favorite chair

Poetry I Hate

i hate using that word hate
i hate it, haven’t you learned anything?
it’s silly to hate
unless you're talking beheadings
or sitcom reruns

give me a break
i hate that too, break what?
bally wallys?
how about it? i think i could develop
a long term, serious
ballsup and retching
dislike for that too

hey, "ballsup"
that’s mine
i made that up
stick your happy face on it, vandal,
if you’d be ever so kind
soon as you withdraw your head out of your . . .
oh, never mind

sweet dreams, my little ones

hey, be calm, relax
no need to kick and hold on tight
you probably won’t die of fright
tonight

when the time is right
you’ll softly elevate to the light
absolu-way-lutely out of sight
no kidding, now, nightie night

so without another peep
start countin’ sheep
shut your mouth
and go to sleep

Our collective intelligence
can be strengthened by individuality
not conformity.

answer

to resolve the troubles of the world
religion, money, government, greed, fear, hate, all of it
don’t unify against it,
although that seems the way, it isn’t,
act independently
not unified
that is it

start by slowing the programming
turn off the TV, the media
you’ll get plenty of media seeping in, don’t worry,
the internet can spread the ideas, that is good
but not the same thought and ideas
we’ll have 6.7 billion people walking around
thinking for themselves

David Icke has a lot of it right
but the answer is not a unified response against the evil
break the chains
by not thinking the same way
think independently
use your head

a change in the weather

yesterday In the final hour of afternoon
beyond, and just over the long road west
a giant red sun, larger than I’d ever seen her
waiting, hanging like a swollen planet Jupiter
poised for going down

i paused my car in the parking lot to see her
like a girl set for glamour, she wanted to be seen,
and now I know I’ve seen one of the best
a Goliath, placid and serene

then this morning
what surprise do i log
but a blanket, the complete cover
thick and heavy, dawn’s pearly fog

Ohio Sweet Corn

way back
a’ fore's born
Ohioans crowed
‘bout their corn

folk’s different,
albeit dull to bright,
but Ohio sweet corn
they got that right



that damn sweet corn, clap your hands
damn sweet corn, damn sweet corn
sweet corn, sweet corn
oh, man, they got that right
(repeat and fade)

town in my head

the old town’s in my head
or so my wife said
and looking around
i tend to believe her

cause it isn’t all here
like the market that was there
where is it now?
gone, i can’t see it

the pressed tin ceiling, wide wood floors,
tall shelves, the old doors,
a large revolving fan,
the man wiping his hands on his apron?

there locals gathered
to talk while they shopped
amid the chatter
stories were swapped

over the years changes were made,
so where did they go
the kids and the folks
that i can hardly remember?

now, even the lot’s vacant
but that was the corner
that had the store
that is no more, except what’s in my head

generations have said the same

enough, I’ve had enough
generations have said the same
more than likely it is true,
before you slap yourself on the back
look around

greed and war
the world has dummied down
we’re not alone
I know it is so , I remember
so do you

running the hundred faster
doesn’t raise the bar for intelligence
listen to our athletes speak,
watch TV with attention if you have no strength to turn it off,

how long before you are
text messaging before the accident
everybody’s talking
who will listen?

USS PROVIDENCE

In 1969 while serving as a Navy Journalist on the staff of Admiral Bernard F. Roeder Commander First Fleet aboard his Flagship USS PROVIDENCE out of San Diego I wrote a US Navy published book of poetry complete with wonderful photographs taken by Photographer Lt. Marc Schuman. Although I have copies of the poetry, I carelessly lost my only copy of the book. The following is one bit of poetry that brings to mind memories of that time.

rolling
in all
weather

seas
go on
forever

my niece had a baby

my niece had a baby
well she still has it
it was born today
that’s how she got it,
the conventional way

now you know everything,
that’s as much as i know
except that she’s a girl.
now, will she smile
when she says great uncle?

village evening report

checking from our front step I feel a slight breeze out of the South,
in the East an oval, vertical-egg moon hangs, with blurry Mars to the right,
a few houses away at the corner an occasional car passes,
slightly left of the moon, two hundred yards from my door, a barge dredges the river
with constant engine hum and a soft horn blast every few minutes
and that woeful musical note echoes along the river.
sixty-six degrees at nine this Thursday evening
with ten thousand crickets, then a distant passing train horn,
while inside our home the sound of clocks ticking
accompanys the muffled turning of the barge engine,
and we’ll read until bedtime.
that’s this evening’s small village report

piano heartbreak

eighty-eight years
well alert and knowledgeable
she studied in Europe for over twenty with a student
of a student
of Franz Liszt
first a pianist in concert
now in lesson
as i sat
performing a bit of flourish i added
to “constellation” by Mendelssohn
“jack,” she smiled touching my hand
and causing it to pause,
“you cannot improve upon the masters”

and what a heartbreak that must have been
for her to leave the lights and the continent
to end up in our lame little town
instructing second rate kids like me,
young and reaching to change and grow,
leaning forward into the newness of the future

military scientists

to evaluate their possible use in defense applications
military scientists launched a battery of tests on the intelligence
of elephants, because everyone knows they are smart.

a final group of twelve animals selected from around the world
were flown to an undisclosed military base
for complete mental exams.

the elite dozen pachyderms were ushered into a classroom
where it took four days to get them seated at their desks
before testing could begin.

expenditures for the nearly month long project
were in excess of eleven million dollars
and a whole train load of peanuts.

the end result was, yes they were smart,
but could not shoot rifles
as they have no thumbs.

heaven's command

the crunching of empty freight train cars
backing into each other,
with no metal tearing, just boom, boom, ka-boom
was thirty-five liters of leftover August thunder
poised to tumble, then poured out at dawn,
over my head onto the bed,
in gusts of twisting dry wind without rain
drenching with
just noise this time
for all it shouted,
bidding wake up,
get going,
a slap across the cheek
good morning

long ago old faces

old faces in the echo bar
wept and laughed
all worn, wrinkled and tainted
looking into quarter beers on tap
or blended whiskey and water
sons and daughters
making visions for each other
about where they used to be
their living is courageous
their strokes are bold
paint them with thick lines
and somber colors
or what have you
they won’t mind

writers beware, you hear!

no email submissions accepted
don’t even try, Fancy Pants
cause if we get one from you
a guy will drive slowly around and round where you live
sunk way down in the vehicle
only the top of his head visible
wearing dark glasses and a hat pulled low
yeah, kind ‘a like the Blues Brothers
only not funny and extremely ugly,
then we’ll think poorly of you all day and night

so forget about making email submissions
we’d rather chop a tree, use paper, stamps and mail carriers,
we’ll get into the Twenty-First Century
when you can wipe your butt digitally,
when we damn well feel like it
and not a year before

bring back the pony express!
and use glue often!

witnesses

we saw two birds
driving down the road
well, we were driving
they were flying,
I said two crows, she said one
and a spotted red tail hawk,

witnesses
see what they can ,
see what they did
say what they see
but don’t always see as it was

a child of less than two

a child of less than two
and so attentive
that i gave his hand a pencil
to observe how inventive
the golden boy really was

kneeling on the chair
at our table
he pulled the paper under hand
and make it stable

looking me deep
in the eye
i sensed his mind unable
to say the thoughts
i knew he was thinking

then with a swift stroke
he made a mark at random
just a line
not definite or clear

without so much as looking
it seemed to me he knew
that there was no need
to continue the line he drew

and then we both were
somehow together in our way
he knew, and i too, that he
would learn to draw some other day

on the tracks

it’s not easy to tell, but it happened
when I was growing up in our village
there was a most likable kid everyone admired
his dad was a well liked preacher, and passed away,
one night on the kids birthday
the town was shocked to learn
the boy’s mom knelt down on the railroad tracks
before a train, and let it take her life
the tragedy deeply saddened all

now many years later i had returned to the town
never saw him around, but heard he was still was there
leaving in his same family home,
our house now was right around the corner,
he was a well liked kid when i knew him
though i never looked him up, i thought of him
and hoped to see him around

then one day i heard that the night before
the eve of his birthday
fifty years later to the day
when he knelt down
on the same spot on the tracks
where his mother died
and let a train take his life,
we don’t see on the outside
what one bares on the inside

green & alone or hard over stone

of two places I live
both places give
light, and to paint
oh, it is the light

Ohio, place of one home
same latitude north as Rome
so the light is the same
every day, every season

I choose light with green,
secluded and serene
or life crowded and quick
over stone and old brick

poetry al fresco

plant the seed
when weather’s fair
for poetry al fresco
under shade trees in nature,
taking inspiration
with someone dear

on a soft summer blanket
a wine glass to your lip
as sweetly you drank it,
slowly you sip
softly you touch
again, slowly you sip
and share warm embrace,
now, don’t drink too much

the wild scent of an apple
as sweetly you nibble
from the hand of the one who is dear
from the dear one at hand
from the one headed deer
deer?
hey, that’s a deer!
There’s a whole flock of ‘em!
grab the basket, let’s get out of here!

my garden

my garden today was weed crowded,
a task undone far too long
so that work today, was my purpose
the labor in sun was my song

begin where it needs it the most
do all that you possible can
after a rest on completion,
move forward, and do it again

each part of life is in motion
moving ahead in the flow
your thoughts are merely a notion,
love doing, and not what you know

wooden ship sailors

wooden ship sailors
worked with creak and mast
on yawning, stretching hulls
amid thump and mallets

if only these men could spend
but a brief anachronistic moment
with today’s steel fleet
in dry dock

the sanding, poundings
would be cutting agony
leaving men begging to tend
the quiet luff of any canvas

spider

oh my god
i heard her cry
what is it, call i
coming to the screen door

do you want to see
the biggest spider in the world?
i said yes dubiously
and cautiously went near

i looked and nodded it was true
yes, I saw it, large, fat and ugly,
as she used her shoe
to smear it to smithereens

believe me, you didn’t
want to be there,
this poem, like the spider
has a smashing ending

Master Waterer

i swear
i shall
uncoil the hose
the extreme length
tote it to place

for when the dainty little misses is away
it is I the Master in charge
splashing, near drowning
the greenery at large

no lollygagging laggers or blithering blunders
are tolerated when Master Waterer
has absolute command
all hands keep clear, stand aside
out of the way or the outrage you’ll dread

my charge is this garden
now water on full, full i tell you
on that i insist,
do as i say

i guess that means me
for i am the crew,
clearing my head
coming out of the mist,
whew

i’ll just do as she said
so she doesn’t get pissed

a lengthy swift sloop

a lengthy swift sloop at sail at sea
with half a breeze and half a sun as you man her
nowhere to go and no call to go
just time to set far back
look up to the tall sturdy mast
as nylon sails snap
to the occasional wind’s lick

the ocean spits bits of water
back and forth over the bow
with a gentle lift the shore is visible
then a recline and the shore is gone
another lift and the long, low line of land is there again

no need for a shirt with warm air rushing over you
and your hair twisted and thrown and dampened by spray
a red neck feels good and a tan face
makes it better to have lived this way

strong hands hold the ship to a meandering course
from nowhere
in particular
and back again

i have no need to worry

I have no need to worry
my fortunes all behind me
this is what I have
and I’m sharing it with you

I wrote the Magna Carta
the sky I painted blue
you’ll always be another,
god sleeps at night with you

steel hauled on rail
sent from man to man
the California grey on sail
to southern waters under sun

water cycles from air to sea through me
one night I made it rain
you are written in nature’s melodies,
do you know that you remind me?

I hear the distant running dogs bark
and choose not to run again,
by this means I remain this person
and you are able to run the way you do

the sun is running

after full summer running high
the ecliptic meridian of the sun winds lower
you can see by lengthening shadows
nature knows the hour

fewer kids are heard calling
on bikes to the beach at break neck speed
school is upon ‘em, they won't get away,
they're not fast enough, to outrun the calendar

now animals are changing habits
they know the change of seasons
though many young have never experienced
what’s bred in them

when beyond the summer arch
the sun creeps on toward fall
even we take notice
cause it’s all familiar

and with luck we’ll see more
just keep riding the big blue sphere,
do note how quickly summer flashes, dances,
running, passing with another year

Flooded In India

one million people
to get their feet out of water,
families, women and children
need clean water to drink
eat some food
have dry clothes

this morning i got up early
and after a swim
went out for breakfast
had pancakes, eggs and coffee
my friend drove
we talked of the Olympics
our pals and old times
he spoke of fall football
how well his favorite team would do
then home on the Internet
i cracked into the news and the mail
weather is pleasant, the august sun
falls kindly on me
while deep i felt again
pangs of the world
and paused in thought

6.7 billion people
the Internet linking us
what can we do?
stay on high ground
hope for the best
be kind to others
we’re in for the test
survival of our ways
isn’t easy
it's all of us,
in this
sea of troubles

one million people
flooded in India
more than a headline

village

having moved away, I’m now back
in the town pokey to change,
when a guy i grew up with
i meet up with again just today

we were kids together,
never ran in the same crowd,
he’s two years older,
but, of course, knew each other

he volunteered to catch a troublesome groundhog
came over immediately,
wouldn’t take money for the job well done,
there were smiles and a handshake

not a lot of words, not a lot of questions,
nothing to prove, no points to be made,
we get along just fine,
i know him, he knows me, always have

sure time has passed,
we've lived our years apart,
but life, you see, just goes like that,
in this pokey little village where we got our start

listening to the plant roar

listening to the plant roar
not a green one with flowers
this giant grinds limestone
everyday, twenty-four hours

and a lady wrote to the newspaper
how she enjoys the smoke beacon
to guide her way home
what’s she been drinking?

she must live upwind and far,
doesn’t sleep with windows open
or care about white dust on her car
that’s how she’s copin’

so i learn she’s the PR person
paid to do the speaking,
grease for the opinion wheels
quells common sense squeaking

Old Words

old words
once spoken
lie in a box
unbroken by the years
they have slept

when in a while
ever seldom
i peer inside to
gather up a sheet

the random ink again
forms recognizable thoughts
that long time past were
a part of me

they now awake a sleeping spot
inside, and as i am looking
it returns to fill me

i feel the warmth
and hear the laughter
and lightly drift
away...

but just as quickly
i close the lid
recover the box and
the sheets i’ve hid

for time has past me
in layers deep
and thoughts in the box
will once again sleep

Mojave

beyond city walls
ancient and still
a low desert calls
“dare come, if you will

i’m old and i kill
i rot with dry heat
my winds can chill
my winds can beat”

on small tracks from near
leading to nowhere
the endless is here
timeless, i stare

yet this wonder grows
stretching on scorched white sand,
at dusk the winds blow
to torment the land

sun rays cannot keep
amber yields to blue
and as the blue goes deep
evening again lives new

with wind softly faded
a hush rises thick
the desert is shaded
darkness runs quick

cacti and joshua trees
scorpion and lizard
dry without breeze
stars are a blizzard

the moon becomes lamp
probing its light
moving over the camp
watching eyes in the night

all silence broke
in one animal shout
then spirits awoke
to wander about

the mystic dark hours
are hiding a treasure
secrets and powers
in sands beyond measure

a sky jewel gleamed
across the desert floor
the morning, it seemed,
had bolted the door

“i’m secret to the ancients,
i’m caretaker to the ages,
beauty and patience
are words for my pages”

long hypnotic waves in motion

long hypnotic waves in motion
children play, birds will run
loving my Pacific ocean
at the shore, in the sun

walking through the long deep pull
reaching water to my thighs
crashing, breaking under seagulls
white wings soaring, summer skies

the water blue, and sand that’s white
run together beyond my sight
holding one against the other
one is son, one is daughter

here’s a balance for the world
each upholds the others space
one is still, one is swirled
both entwined in cosmic pace

age

You feel, act, look, sleep,
move, talk, dress and think
just like a star.

But seriously now,
if you didn’t know when you were born
what age would you think you are?

after writing a while
talked to my wife
was sitting when i pointed
and meant to say ceiling
instead i said sky
of course i know why

a simple reason
like thistles and rabbits
thrive with old habits
it’s most likely, you see,
working with poetry
does that to me

at sea

ivory skies
flat and boundless
nowhere near anything
we can see
our wake
trailing
as a puppy
in wheat
sun fades
a day
complete

meager thanks

for the first thought and the last dot of light
for the rain and the grain turned from the earth
for the intelligible speech, the perceptible sound and the colored sight
for the lasting sleep, the multifaceted life and the miracle of birth

for the total that has been set forward
for the mystery of what lies hidden
for the wisdom yet to be heard
for the sum of all that is written

for the total beginning
for the complete end
for all that is given
our meager thanks we lend

As Leamington Feels

our first time on the water since
ocean crossing on Isadora with Captain Z.
a small car ferry took us 27 miles
across glassy, flat Lake Erie
to Leamington, Ontario for the Tomato Festival
signs advertised Mexican, Mennonite or Chinese food

walking the town we entered the culture center
oddly, a building entrance that reminded us
of the center in Porto, Portugolo
inside was a small Heinz museum display
honoring the company begun in 1875,
which came here in 1909
ke-tsiap a spicy pickled fish condiment
of 17th century China,
keh-tsiap in Cantonese, may be
the origin of the name,
a lesser and unlikely possibility
like ford naming the Edsel after his son
but Heintz never had a daughter named Ketchup

we went to a place called “Restorante Mexican”
for terrible food, not easy to do,
but the mexicana owner had absolutely no ability to cook
wasn't people friendly, the place was up for sale
we missed that indicator

driving behind a black pickup with
a beige propeller on the back bumper
the center bolt was loose so the two blades hung straight down,
it was like following a well-hung barn animal

we tried a diner that reminded us of John Belushi
and a sketch on Saturday Night Live,
whatever the customers wanted they were talked into
a cheeseburger and a Pepsi,
this diner served only tacos and soft drinks
but very, very good
chicken or beef, soft drink or water

in the park the eve before the festival
a gifted young singer sang through his nose,
what a shame, he had great tone and musical phrasing
and could be truly great with help

the morning of the tomato parade our time was up
for this most interesting change of pace,
boarded the ferry this sunny warm day
and came back tired

Nouvelle cliff

in a modern open commercial space with a lot of glass
there were some escalator things,
large open boxes, waist high,
moving up and down, one floor to the next

at the top of one floor looking around
not knowing if i’m going up or down,
i don’t remember,
it wasn’t important

looking to my right, i am on
the side of a soaring flat stone cliff
with a length of rope nearly the diameter of my wrist,
i needed to tie a bowline to climb safely,

it was almost my turn, i was going next,
looking up about a half mile the others
were hanging under an overhang
three or four in a line, climbing up

then M’s there, and wants to climb too,
that strikes me as odd, i know she doesn’t like heights,
and right now it doesn’t appeal much to me either,
that’s when the neighbor's dog barked and i woke up

County Fair

we saw the youngsters
showing their sheep
a slight girl of ten, ready
to walk her sheep into the ring,
was near tears,
holding them back somehow

is she okay?
her mother answered,
said in the first round of the showing
the 220 pound sheep made a turn, knocked her down
and stepped on the 90 pound girl

i looked in the eyes of the stiff-lipped girl,
as she readied to go back in the ring
to show her animal a second time,
she seemed tense, sad, maybe somewhat worried,
but determined to finish the thing

frog statues

i was idle-knocking around when
M. called me out to the pond
i haven’t seen them for days
where are they? she pointed

on rocks at opposite ends they sat,
M. sprayed one with a hose, it didn’t blink
we croaked to get them started, herb, herb, errb
they remained gothic frozen in stony silence

hey, here they are here, there i mean,
right there in the pond, we saw them,
but play time is over for this year.
so long for now, Herb, croak with you later

computer repair

at the shop a couple of techies don't repair
one computer at a time
they work on five or six
with others waiting
. . . phone calls
interruptions
then back to another one
scan complete
run the scan again
delivery of parts at the door

pull out the defects
order the correct part
this should be reformatted
while the scan is running look at that one
one more carried out the door
clean it out, it runs slow
can you do it now please?

this one is ready, take another
make it lean and keen
hey, look at this!
you have to find the symptoms
then the problem, and cure it

run it until it's smooth as a pond
without a ripple
simple
nice dimple
oh, i lost my place,
what a cyberspace!

Green River Ordinance

i was fishin’ by the river
with a little bit o’ liver
catchin’ catfish
catchin’ catfish

i heard this clatter down the line
and i turned in time
to see a peddler
sellin’ handles

well, there was nothin’ attached,
like a door to its latch
he’s just tottin’ ‘em in a sack...
the handles

he asked, as in a wish
for a look at my fish,
and the sack in which i’d
tote ‘em

i said it’s this here gunny
an’ he laughed and said “it’s funny”
that i’d tote that fish sack home
without no handle

he said he’d met a thousand kings
walked the world in a thousand rings
but never saw a sack
without no handle

he said he’d help a fellow man
then placed an object in my hand...
a handle

i took the handle an’ he was on his way
i got a fine bargain, don’t mind to say
and in exchange he’s just one wish
imagine...
only my lowly sack o’ fish

truck driver

for my driver friend that i don’t know
and isn’t that the way to go?
have friends you can’t see
like when i was a kid Guyle was mine,
Gerpthee was my cousins friend
i mention that because the name is so stupid
our whole family used to laugh at that one

i never asked what it did to my cousin
that her mom used to lead the laughter
but this is about the driver that lives up north,
now i respect that Dylan song, the girl from the north country

and everybody needs a song
don’t get me wrong
they’re fun to kick around your head
carry with you
until you’re dead
then you quit with it, maybe
or maybe you take it with you

so this truck driver puts me
in touch with the size of this world
cause i’m about on the other side of it
in ways other than distance
even from here

it’s the way she writes it
and i’m happy she can
put it out there to share
with all of us
cause it appears we are all in this together

bob dylan 1963

If you're traveling in the north country fair
Where the winds hit heavy on the borderline
Remember me to one who lives there
For she was once a true love of mine.

Well, if you go when the snowflakes storm
When the rivers freeze and summer ends
Please see for me if she's wearing a coat so warm
To keep her from the howlin' winds.

Please see from me if her hair hanging down
If it curls and flows all down her breast
Please see from me if her hair hanging down
That's the way I remember her best.

Well, if you're traveling in the north country fair
Where the winds hit heavy on the borderline
Please say hello to one who lives there
She once was a true love of mine.

tarnation

August brought a change, it did
the frogs kept out of range, or hid
like all the years before
there comes a time it seems,
they are no more

hidden, slippery
out there hiding
not sitting and sunning as before
silent, evermore

it was friendly time around July
a most peaceful month for all
a net was set to discourage the heron
with plenty of room for others to come and go

our green friends’d croak when we came around
and we croaked back, a regular give and take
they’d sun with us there
we’d sit
they’d stare

and i miss them like the rain
steaming through on hot winds in July
now the weather’s still
humid and cloudy, our August sky

there are reasons
to call them seasons
on them we can rely

Trashmen

each week i see those lads
and know they should earn more
for they certainly do the work
and deserve a golden parachute
more than most CEO's ever will

here they come now,
i don’t know how those boys
can heft those trashcans hour after hour,
and dump them in the truck, one after another,
all the way down the street, all over town

what a mess we’d all be in
if we didn’t have them,
and no one ever tips their hats to them,
thank God for their service,
they deserve our honor

some august afternoon

some august afternoon
the great ember rolled
into evenings ensuing blanket
that flanks the sky's end, west
casting shadows in my lemonade
nodding the okay for a light wind
to bring on the cut-grass scent
three or four crickets
rabbits, squirrels and a toad
a pale white moon
blackening trees
star one, two, three
then countless
and the sound of partially melted
ice cubes knocking
as i tip my glass
to the night

kiss a butterfly

M. drove us to Cleveland
for parts of the best of it,
first stop Little Italy
an outdoor sit down coffee and biscotti,
after a month of searing heat
the temperature falls, M’s wearing long pants
and i’m the only guy in northern ohio
in shorts and sandals

then to the wall glassed botanical garden
for a bit of Madagascar in one cube,
Costa Rica and thousands of butterflies on the other,
outside gardens remarkably done,
each of six in different themes

next, downtown to the Renaissance hotel
a walk through the expansive adjacent mall
for looking and a slice of bad pizza,
in the public square, the sculpted monument
for county civil war fallen, completed in 1895,
years before i heard that
Francis X. Bushman the silent film star posed
for a statue in the square, we asked, searched,
yet couldn’t find it

saw the House of Blues where
the Captain goes when he’s in town,
checked out the sushi restaurant
where we thought we’d go for supper.
alas, it’s fast food.

during supper in the tourist zone nearby
at a century old building
M. mentioned that she charged the batteries,
although we forgot to use it,
the camera remained in the trunk of the car

that night we watched the opening of the Beijing Olympics
on TV in our hotel room, that's why we came
we have no TV at home.
the next morning we marked
our day sojourn to the city complete and well done.
maybe i’m just a romantic
and perhaps what the little kid in the botanical garden
really said to his friend was, “catch a butterfly”

I am not a god fearing man,
unless he punishes stupidity.

be creative

for the future of mankind,
for the children,
no need to bust a gut to be the utmost

but, when you bake a dozen cookies
squinch one or two up a bit
take a tiny chance, add a dash of color,
a nick against redundancy

from your heart
you can feel the way,
we don't have to be
so tight in a line

Noah built a whole damn ark
you can do a little something
everyday,
it's for the world

Running Dog

my dog that ran away knew what he was doing
that’s why i didn’t go after him.
the cats that stay know where the handouts are
and the birds sing, and the postman comes around.
Neighbor kids cross the front lawn to and
from school. small airplanes make noise
when they pass over. my yard is dry, needs rain
the house is quiet, and neat, with little in it
i have a plant room for quiet meditation
and a typewriter for verbal contemplation
the piano awaits my next touch.
no tv, and the radio isn’t used much.
the shelves are not stocked, i have running water,
a washer and dryer that work once a week,
and my garden that reluctantly surrenders vegetables.
some outdoor flowers, strawberries and a small lemon tree
wind chimes on the patio, empty chairs, space to be
and i’ll moan into yesterdays or tomorrow
i’ll tip wine sublime, and smoke in sorrow
my heart will leap, my head will spin
the phone will ring, again and again
i’ll read some of the letters but won’t write back
perhaps tomorrow, for now, let them stack
three shirts, three pants, some boots and shoes
the rest are rags, no good to use
i go out for work, and the money comes in
i’ve lost some weight, but still not thin

and the laughing brown dog knew what he was doing
he set out to be the best dog around
he left to clean the clock of every cat in town
he could jump the fence, bark the bird and lick the dish
four legs to run, ears to flap, eyes to see, tail to wag
and he chased his tail
right out the front door
right up the street
running for all he can get
running for his life

and i may type by an open window
but i never looked up for him again
not once did i wait
before he left he let me know what was up for him
and i let him know he could run
and i’ll wait inside typing, outside working
back and forth with cups of unsweetened tea
another shower, a song from the piano
something to hum and a searching, walking mantra
about “let’s see, let’s see” and i look for it
while this goes on, i hang out with it
i drink what’s going on, eating today, singing now
pulling it up, and laying it out there
putting it down into words, cleaning it up
tightening it up, cutting it short and letting it run
working it over, taking it in, seeing what goes on
then playing the rinky-tink roll on the pi-ano
hit it. let it flow and go and blow

and the faster i go, the slower it is
and the slower i am the more that gets here
and it keeps on coming out
more from the mailman, more on the phone
more at work and with friends
it keeps on and on a coming in the window
rising with the sun
setting on the end of my bed
playing with my head
and i stand up to fight with it
and we roll on the floor
i grab my chest and gasp last breath
then rise to heaven where saint peter
takes a swing at me and i knock him on his ass
and he tries to tell me to go to hell
so i push my way in and when god sees me
he isn’t pissed at all
we sit down over pizza and tell dirty jokes
mine are better than his, and he knows it!
he introduces me to his old lady
she’s ten million years old but still foxy
and she wants to ball me, but i’m chicken
god and i shake hands and i split
back to my window to see if he can make it rain

i don’t hold my breath
i make a sandwich and drink some wine

a lifetime forever

to live a lifetime forever
on a mountain under eternal noon sun
with sweet wine touching lips that touch mine

where the omnipresent fragrance of soft flowers
and gentle green
caress thoughts
and cradle in your mind mellow notions

the only sound being
two hearts playing
the softest lullaby in creation

self portraits

As you may know, if you click on my “profile” on this blog it will lead you to my art blog.

The purpose of this note is to clarify why artists do self portraits and so many of them. Artists do self portraits because a model in the mirror has more clarity, depth, and is a more life-like subject than working from a still photo. Photos, digitally, mechanically or chemically reproduced are essentially flat. While live models have true color and subtle light qualities, and even movement that make subtle gradations of shade and hue apparent, and there is the visible space around the model. The space around a subject sends signals to the artist. The background is not black, void of color, but a combination of grays that can be rendered to give depth.

There are great photos of people, and that is a wonderful art in itself, but for an artist who paints or draws, a live model is working from life itself, providing a wider range of opportunity for interpretation. Technically, mirrors have a slight cast of green or bluish-green color from the reflection in glass, but it is close enough for the artist to practice. And, a self portrait is, overall, practice.

The mirror is the quickest way for an artist to find a model when he’s ready to work, any hour, any time.

frogs got the change

a mild weather variance
on drifting wafts of breeze
stirring heavy warm air
like a long wooden paddle
in a cauldron of soup
enough so you notice

our frogs got the change
felt it before i did and took action
altered their habits
maybe one is gone
i'm still figuring it out
it could be the result of
the beginning of August

not sitting out like before
no croak when we come by
they're lying low,
we know,
but not why

Alexander Solzhenitsyn, the Nobel Prize-winning writer
has died at age 89. I enjoyed his book about life in a lousy, cold Soviet gulag - One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. Friends had asked how I could possibly enjoy that story of misery and harsh deprivation. I replied that when I felt down I could always reread this book and remember how really sweet my life is.

A Change

don't know when
can't say how soon
signs are in the clouds
the cards, my dreams,
the wind

there's a taste
in the toast, the soup, the tea
it's coming
tell me, don't you feel it?
can you see?

prepare however you can
straighten the shelves
wash and iron your clothes
tidy up
secure your things

hug those you love
keep your head down
be aware, behave
for good or bad, for sure
a change is on the way

Pavarotti

It is a pleasure when life has its nearly magical moments, like a record setting sports event. I want to share this video with you. Luciano Pavarotti in New York, 1980. He's young, in form and everyone knows that this time he nails it.

Click on his name and watch the video.

the hundred facets

the hundred facets of us each
some we take and some we teach

all the talents, all the joys
all the girls and all the boys

are represented by just one
the hundred facets are the sum

and every jewel in every place
is seen in only partial face

and so we have our multi selves
changing always where one dwells

forming different combination
never reaching destination

and many of the gems we see
are, a little bit, like you and me

ike and amy

ike and amy
lived in the white house
next door

ike was a fair golfer
and amy kept her hair in curlers
until saturday night

when they played cards
at our house, then they
both would get inaugurated

the conductor

opening the door at the end of the car
the conductor who came in
wore a partially buttoned, baggy blue coat
with pocket flaps, a badge, official looking cap
that had air vents and a sticker on it,
he had a white beard,
his hands full, fiddling with things
stuffing bits of paper in his pouch

coming my way slowly, talking to passengers
as we thundered by snow capped shiny peaks, lakes and forests
he leaned over trying to adjust a window shade for some folks,
it looked like he broke it,
smiled at a full-breasted pretty girl in a
tight fitting t-shirt with a sports team's logo on it
chatted with her a while
maybe he knew her

finally got to me,
asked to see my ticket,
i got up to get my bag
as a happy man pushing a metal cart
clattered through singing,
selling coffee and sandwiches
with a metal change dispenser on his waist

we went around a corner and
everyone swayed left and hung on tighter,
a guy came down the isle talking kind of loudly
to someone six rows away,
a couple of large foreign looking people carrying
several worn cardboard boxes tied with string
were squeezing down the isle

i heard a guy ask what time we get to the next stop
and before i realized i turned to see the blue jacket
slip out the back door without ever checking my ticket,
this elderly, portly, wrinkled conductor on
my private train of thought

terminal velocity

scientifically speaking,
the slowest cycle
of the entire planet earth’s water movement
is called plate tectonics
unless you count grandpa taking a piss

but then, all the water of this planet
is already made
and then recycled
so tell grandpa to quit wasting his time
he’s not helping anybody

instead, this is about the nothing particle stuff
that gets sucked and sucked
up, up, upworthy into the sky
where it gets formed together and then
voila’!
is water again

okay, so,
then it comes down as rain
now do you know how far it falls?
a long, long, long, half a mile?
more?
it falls falling, falling
at terminal velocity when
the downward force of gravity
equals the upward force of drag

one drop rocketing directly into your eyeball
as you happen to look up,
well then, no wonder it makes you blink and sputter.
think about it!
and carry a damn umbrella, you knucklehead

Ron Paul

Ron Paul
just hearing his name
gets me thinking
and that's bad
these are not thinking times
just go along

boy, i say something
that doesn't conform
with the flow
and waves
hit the fan
don't you know?

B-Plus Morning

this fine summer morn
we stood by the pond
frog was there
waiting patiently and calm

we made his noise
i did and she did
we did it together
then frog turned toward us

he watched and puffed a bit
then began his song
we repeated when he stopped
back and forth we talked

after five minutes all had enough
and stopped at the same time,
we wondered what the neighbors thought
if they had heard us

i rated this morning B plus
it would have been an A
if at the end of the concert
we all shook hands

gradually

gradually i have seen
in my lifetime everything, including
our environment, has changed
as the great wheel turns

is it more pollution
or my time on the planet
that makes it evident?
for i am aware it is not the same

of course there is evolution,
coal and diamonds weren't created in the beginning
a half billion years and the world keeps changing
animal, mineral, vegetable
some come, some go, yet we're still here

shoving to get ahead of you
what the hell is going on?
you exhale when you push
and inhale to smell the flowers

the ultimate dilemma

the decisions of man are many
work to be done is plenty
we set off firm
and never yield
standing tall
for every cause
nothing, nothing
can give us pause

through every challenge
we'll bear the test
always upward
giving all our best

just one small thing
we'll never know
should we cut our hair
or let it grow?

template fix

hey, tom
and i know i'm talking to you
cause everyone else is on
computer unavailability

i did a devastating attack on my blog template
customized it to Lourdes and back
now the only blog hits i record are those
arriving by stagecoach or Harley

the rest refuse to take
their shoes off to gallop through
the metal detector, good thing
you still ride au natural

Bad Name

with a name repulsive enough
to cause grown men
to moan and turn away
poetry harbors grace and beauty

sometimes like tennis
there is a head nodding
back and forth
rhythmic iambic pentameter

unlike professional football or soccer
you generally won’t risk getting bruises
or breaking bones playing
poetry without a helmet

perhaps it would become more
appealing to the base masses
if only we called it
word slugging

Clean Water

dear people of the future
how are you, how’s it going?
look, i want to say
when i brush my teeth i think about
the people of the earth that live in areas
with a shortage of clean water to drink,

i worry about the clean water availability
not overly, but i am aware
of a potential problem of supply
so i turn the tap water volume down in the sink
when i don’t immediately need it

conservation has to matter,
look what happened to the buffalo
that once were bumper to bumper on the plains
and were shot for sport from passing trains

will water shortage be a problem for everyone
in a hundred years or twenty?
and while i am brushing i wonder who else
is thinking about water

water rights are being purchased
is that a “so what?” or not?
you could tell me
slip a note into my dream or something
can you do that?

loving a woman

loving a woman
for a man of errors
not big ones
not all of them
okay, some of them
yeah, a few

as a matter of fact
she divorced me
but we got married again
now our anniversary
is the 28th and 29th of July
now, that's a love story

Hollywood Times

large and colorful enough for a million poems
Vine down the street, the world of cinema on every corner
a palm treed cake walk everyday
nice cars, crazy people - dressed to prove it
the Labrea Tar Pits, museums, the beach
the Hollywood sign above on the hill
warm, dry wind and smog

everyone has star stories
they live and shop all around
walk the streets, some to be seen
those hills hide mansions
stand up comics pump gas
studios, writers, actors, technicians
and a whole lot of fans

locals remember earlier times
my friend played where they
later built the Hollywood Freeway
from the window where i worked on Sunset
i often saw Groucho taking is 9a.m. walk

an animal trainer friend used to stop at jimmy stewart's
house on Saturday for a chat as Jimmy washed his car

an impersonator i worked with did Peter Falk as Columbo
at the Hollywood Bowl, the audience thought
it was Peter Falk, there was a slip up and
the guy's name was never mentioned

and this nothing story is a drop in that Pacific Ocean

lights, cameras and
if that's not enough
they even put them in the sidewalk
more stars than the night

In the woods

All that time in the woods and not much was put to words. Not then. Not while we were repairing, building, creating, learning. Being survivors. We were an hour from the nearest store, isolated on a far off dirt road above the Mojave desert, beyond Jawbone Canyon, left where the Platts lived and thirty bumpy minutes up the winding dirt road to our ten acres in the woods, high on the mountain.

It took two years searching the Sunday L.A. Times classifieds until I found it, and knew that if this wasn’t it, then the guy who placed the ad knew what I wanted and where to find it. It sounded like a dream, and it was. Lonesome Al sold it to me and became our good friend.

So I sold my L. A. home and bought gold when it was less than two hundred dollars an ounce, rode it up, and then sold at nearly at eight hundred an ounce to support our new lifestyle.

We carried our water from the ranger station, used coal oil lamps and used wood to cook and heat. It makes me smile thinking about our old miner’s log and plank cabins, our creek where she bathed for our wedding, the graveyard, two fallen gold mines, the spot where the post office used to be. It was our ghost town. Maybe not the whole thing, but enough, ten pine and oak covered acres of it.

There were only four other people who lived on the mountain, so we thought of it as ours. We did have fun. Lived by the sun up and down. The moon marked time for us. One battery powered radio was our touch with the world.

All that time, two years in the woods, and the words became quiet, because above the trees the open sky was bigger than our thoughts. The stars demanded attention without words. We could keep a fire going with just the right wood at the right time. She learned to cook on a wood stove and I learned how to cut wood, as the trees talked together. In great rushes the wind stirred over there then would grow and come around and come by together in a rush. There are no words in that sound. The prevalent sound being the hum of the earth.

Perhaps if I were a better investor, and the silver market hadn’t crashed, we’d be there still. Now, she just slowly shook her head and said to me, “It was a good thing to do while we were young.” And that's how I know, life is but a dream.

faces

we knew these faces well
Carol, Toby, Phillip and others
classmates we grew up with
some lie face up
in the faraway fields under stone

while a few remain connected
others run apart, neglected
gone astray, to other places
what can you say?

we've had fine times and new friends
danced to the music
moved to the drum
loved in the sun
that's what we've done

through all it's seasons
we've seen what has become
laughed and we've cried
oh, so hard we tried

while wandering, wondering and discovering
we're watching the time
what work need we do
before we're through

here's a salute to everyone, that's for sure
the old friends, the new, the soon to be,
now, the rest of you, come along,
just keep moving along

train sounds

run to the stairs and hear the train
only softly it comes
a gentler horn sounds
softer than i have ever heard

it's like the Morse Code,
from the tapping of the horn
you can tell the nature
of the engineer