Information

i phone information to get information
lousy nondescript music crackles
then, without pause or warning
a rapid, highly distorted recorded voice
speaks quickly and ends with press one,
followed by another quick garbled sentence,
then press two, etc. three and four

I called again
the second time through I still understand nothing
but took a guess and pressed four
twice a live guy hangs up on me
the third time through a woman was helpful
see, it works, if you are willing
to struggle and persist

car

we bought a car
maybe blue, maybe green
we’re not sure,
in the photos it's shiny metallic
looks like new
it's nine years old

got title and insurance and then
on the second try, a parking permit
because the first time i went to get a parking
permit for my car i didn’t bring
a registered copy of my apartment contract
registration tax having been paid
how silly of me
or how silly of the bureaucrats of Italy
who have difficulty collecting tax,
but that's another poem

we’ll take possession today
drive it and get the feel
yes, bought it without driving it

see how it goes, learn new things
then park it on the street
until we figure something better

meanwhile, it will change our life
we’ll see what that means
we have no idea what that means

Obama

when our leader steps forward
all aboard will rise to his intelligence,
drawing us forward
in power to sweep the decks,
turn the ship around,
guide us right again

into the wind and against perils
to earn respect
find cause and direction,
renew belief in goodness,
and as it comes down from the top
so we will rise for the occasion

pause

I could use a pause
so this doesn’t become a diary
today I was going to say I forgot
the type of acid we use in engraving

then woke knowing it’s muratic acid
in either six to one
or twelve to one solutions diluted with water,
but didn’t know whythis could be poetry

unless it made me sad
and I cried about it
then would it be poetry? another thing,
does poetry end with question marks?

new word day

longren is out to be a word
i put it there, pushed it into the cold
or is it longeren, or longern?

here under a tree
with a dish for food
another with water

long low lengthy days of winter
when sun sleeps longern i do
i know it does

it happens in Roma

it happens in Roma, chance encounters with people we know
far from their usual place in the city
today it was our neighbor on his bicycle who stopped and chatted,
near the old book market by Piazza del Popolo

a few minutes before
we had taken the little electric bus to the Villa Borghese Park
so my lovely could do seven laps on the walking track
days before she was walking, looking at the
wild parrots in he tree when she fell,
folded up like a ham sandwich
and skidded in the gravel

today i lumbered one lap then stood
near the road noticing the older couple
slowly passing a few feet away, with unobtrusive security men,
one off on each side, two more farther behind,
it was Giorgio Napolitano the President of the Republic of Italy
of the few people in that part of the park
maybe half knew who he was
that’s how it goes in Roma
we use a little space and share it with others

our time

taking our time, soaking up what we have
see how it goes,
start something new
shake off the woes

don’t have to make plans
do the best we can, cause it keeps flying at you
all new and moving
can you feel it? hopping, spinning, grooving

while morning rain falls, or it’s cold and snowy where you are
winter here, summer there when you flip around the globe
riding the Internet, the information highway
getting bigger, exponentially

when i was a kid we never even dreamed it would be like this
and going faster wider, deeper, non-stop
makes my heart seem small to me
when I read a book I get off the roll for a while

then come back to get food and pay bills
keeping up day to day
a shower and clean clothes
more and the less, that’s how it goes

a note like this will tell you
that through it all I am still thinking of you
and hoping you keep doing your best
cause it’s changing and there are few choices

except to keep running like my wind up clocks that tick again
the same song, one note after another
tick, tick, tick, tick
crack out some sunshine and smile, keep loving

roma winter

bleak cold rainy days this winter
we have had our portion dished
lined back to back two months now
the river has flooded once already

slippery streets remain awash
umbrellas tattered from overuse
talk is quick to friends you meet
bring home pants cuffs soaked

poor time to ride a bicycle
more grey time spent lights on indoors,
looking out to watch clean drops splash
good period as flowers prepare for spring

Nico in the Piazza

throwing crumbled bits of bread into a
cloud of pigeons that form from nowhere
seemingly magically on the cobblestones at his feet
here in the piazza where the action of others
swirls around us

to whom i am a large blurriness
Nico, stands erect on his five foot two frame,
scant inches from my face he speaks
bouncing a bit, ready to burst with energy
his longish wiry white beard jiggles

i notice the bulging layers of sweaters,
his dark ancient sporty coat,
while topping his head is a
wintery wool sea farer’s cap

at a point i interrupt his dissertation on nature
to ask what he is doing in these days with his time,
his life work, he reiterates, had been varied
acrobat, artist, dancer, always within the arts

now he is thinking about the mysteries on the globe
that's how he put it, forming one with his hands as he spoke
with a smile on his face he says nature,
he thinks about nature and the mysteries,
using nods of his head to show how much he means exactly that

last year i wrote about Nico
click here to read that piece

609

609 and I always think of the current one
the one I’m looking at
like it’s the only one,
no time to think about it,
yet every number flashes, 611, 614,
so many mornings I have seen those numbers

oh, they’re there, all right,
whether I see them or not,
wake up times
get ready for work,
going to catch a plane time

not only another morning,
my morning yesterday,
last week
a series of mornings
every morning
that led last week to last month,
back to last year, five years,
ten,
to my youth, then my father’s youth and his father’s,
his father’s father’s, and beyond,

instead of seeing a new one each time
it’s the same one over
609, look, there it is again,
the same repeating
on this long line I’m on,
we’re on,
with grandpa there, and his grandpa,
me on the other, not the end,
somewhere in the middle,
cause it’s a very long line,
out on the line
that goes back and back ,
all the way back to dinosaurs and the first sun of dawn
609

think it

if we think it,
it can be so
there’s much to do though,
a long way to go

when you have the idea,
with merely that nugget
you begin putting it together
float that dream until it’s light as a feather

let it soar, twist then meld
into a solid, cooled and jelled,
roll on away, butter babies,
roll on away home, roll all the way home

up and down

got up at four
as i’ve done before
had to squeeze myself twice
to believe it

raring to go
but wouldn’t you know
ran out of gas
no fire below

back in bed at five
felt barely alive
fell fast asleep
to relieve it

in a pile
ants look the same,
soulless are they?
tell me about it

cause they don’t bow their heads to pray?
until you study them under a church pew
with a microscope
you don’t know for sure what they do

well, I suppose some enterprising lad or lass
would have squealed the news by now
so we can probably bet on the fact
that ants apparently don’t appear to pray

plans

we make our plans
and choose our actions
sometimes based on reality
often times on dreams

the attractions to our suit
can be distractions to the root
not tailored to patterns
that follow the seams

a portion of careless thought
plus a dash of hurry
often results in more
than a full day's worth of worry

Salute to Diddley

want to try me shopping?
I’ll keep you hopping
come along, tap into my head
easily said,
I’m looking now
while I push the cart
with all my heart
cause my wife says
when I walk along
what I see is Diddley
it must be a natural ability

she’s sure of it
no messing around
her reasoning’s right
her judgment sound
so quietly now
I am seeking bound
did you like that, seeking bound?
wait a minute, I have to finish,

cheese? of course I can find some
and pick one out? are you ready for that?
did Yeats really start this way?
run forward, troops, with the big guns and
fire when you are ready, Gridley
have no doubt, I’ll point it out,
for i see Diddley

reflection

I glanced into the mirror
as I turned out the light
to quite a surprise before my eyes
the face that I saw was my father
why I saw you was a mystery
how’d you come back out of history
where other generations never known
and hardly shown, are hidden in reflection

you’re looking good as you should
and younger than I recall
here’s looking at you old man
thanks to you i do what I can
and remembering, Father, how long you worked for us all
we didn’t vacation and I never knew the difference
you had work to do and I grew up just the same
and maybe better for it

well, good to see you again
to be reminded of your existence
and how it was, when it was
under your persistence
and occasional insistence
here’s to you again, old man, my dad
and I’ll keep my chin up

dream rider mine

how can you be so near,
yet so far away from me,
my petition to the heavens
calls for the full measure of you
to pass by slowly in my dreams
where clouds lift as it seems
pleasure lives anew
within sight of you

the sound of your voice
the light in your eyes awakening
to your smile,
makes all time worth while

how very sweet you are
my shining star
a gleaming heavenly light,
calming attraction for my heart,
my only treasure
would be the pleasure
of your smile
when your eyes meet mine

baby snug

baby snug and packed in
wadded and stuffed
to keep warm in the cold
sights are seeds in their heads
glazed over without deep thought

this is the time
to be totted in
mom and dad comfort
before the struggle begins
no wonder kids are cute
wrapped in a blanket
they ought to be

time's driftin'

times drifting by the river
running dirty in the winter
hiding out from a January rain
backed up to the window again

two drifters by the water
lonely son and no one’s daughter
a couple of days to set them at ease
a couple of friends who just do as they please

could have worn the whole redwood deck out
waiting there for the time to checkout
two drifters by the water
lonely son and no one’s daughter
time’s driftin', driftin'

coronation

queen gets crowned
sounds like a comedy thing,
it was a moment i saw on TV
2 June, l953 I was eight,
and even to a kid like me
she looked like a girl

that was our first TV,
small, fuzzy black and white,
with a round screen
like a heavy vase for a carnival goldfish
it was extraordinary for us to
watch an event in England
from our living room in Ohio

now look at technology growing exponentially,
even that word didn't mean anything to us,
while a google was a hypothetical number one with
a million zeros behind it,
watch your back,
what's coming
is going to amaze you

New Year's Daze

i am running out of material
down to tables and chairs and little used appliances
threw it all out the fourth floor window at
midnight the way peasants
threw slop never mind, are you with me?
like brail on a dark hall to guide the way,
keep one hand on the wall and “stay close to
the candles the stairway can be treacherous”
(Mel Brooks - Young Frankenstein 1974)

so we slept long this morn, definitely not
as a result of partying too much,
hell we ran out of psilocybin before supper and the explosions,
but from silence that begun this day,
due to a lack of services running on city streets,
no cars or buses nor people walking, or children calling
because sleeping was long and hearty like
a great bear in a winter cave
following a night of total cheer and merrymaking

but from – I liked that
but from, butt from
but from, butt from, fight, fight, win

so allow me to go through this four hundred yards
of wadded multicolored ribbon I just tripped upon
in the middle of the room that could have been an illusion
resulting in inclusion
for the final solution
of my repertoire
propping up material
that’s around
and dripping in the hard rain
the only sound on this day
that’s left around
not run aground
still dripping down
pounding hard, ricocheting,
climbing over each other and flowing
to be first to enter
the bottomless drain

pure air

pure air today, aria pura oggi
depth of perception from a bus window
possible on a clean air day,
after long rains, winds off the Med,
no car traffic for several days of holiday
is atmosphere sharpened that turns back time
to an earlier era, creating a 3-D world again

at Piazza della Repubblica I looked to the roof of the
church built over the ancient baths of Diocletian
the form atop resembled a giant cartoon white duck
what the hell is going on? modern art?
as the bus turned again near the train terminal
i looked back, facing directly the front of the church,
at the pinnacle i could see the duck was now a large white cross,

the bus was clean rolling, smooth stopping
with no hitch, other than the under one skin head,
aka a child under one, who bellowed resistance,
also aboard, a plethora of raggazzi, many youth,
one sat next to M. and chewed his nails non-stop, as if famished,

now i thought of a cute young blonde girl who used to walk her
pet duck around the block every day,
why she thought the duck needed good legs, i never asked
having no interest in her duck,
maybe it was good for the ducks mind,
it certainly was good for mine

hey, let’s pack up ’08 like fish in a newspaper
take on 09, already lined up and waiting

addendum:

In Italian scarpe means shoe. The day after the guy threw the shoes I saw a newspaper headline that read “scarpe diem.” Hey, I’m done and I probably won’t write again, until tomorrow.

prehensile union

now forming , and you can be a member
of the greatest union on earth
to coalesce all of mankind for the first time,
completely without prejudice
men , women and children, any race, creed and bank account
are welcome to the prehensile union,

come on, take a breather
sorry: no dogs or cats and no monkeys either

and if everyone on earth will send me a penny i’ll serve
as Honorary Fabricator and token Rich Human
that means i won’t have to take my shoes off
or spread my toes to board an airplane.
and if i see you somewhere i’ll buy you an ice cream

. . . addendum:
i like monkeys myself,
at least i think i do, although
i’ve never met one
except that one who lives on the top floor
and he’s more of an ass than a monkey

keeps going

she would throw her stuff in the car and go to her sister’s
how much abuse did he think she’d take
driving a damn bus this size in city traffic wasn’t easy
didn’t the bitch ever think about that

did she think i was having fun all day?
with difficulty the old woman boarded
and a young woman offered her a seat
of course she still was of sound mind,

would pay more attention this time and not miss her stop
it’s so inconvenient, not to mention how
difficult to find her way back
the kid was examining three dress shirts he had grabbed

hopefully no one saw him get on this bus
they’re not his size, so his might just
dump them on the floor and split
the guy in the back wouldn’t have been so drunk

if he had money to eat
finding a start isn’t easy when you don’t know where to go
at least he can sleep and ride where it’s warm
until they throw him off

when i got on the bus i was immediately uncomfortable
had to move forward to get away from the stench of that bum
does he deliberately run over pot holes and
slam the brakes so hard

bouncing around,
a scraping sound, we just side swiped a double-parked car
i’m sure of it, i heard it and he didn’t stop,
still going, everything keeps going

options

often i’ll take the option
to recall some of the days
and i’ll imagine how your doing
so far away

maybe there is no answer
there’s so little to say
there’s just a feeling that we live with
even that is going to go someday

going through the paces
very empty spaces with new people around me
we’ll both pick up, find new luck
it’s all meant to be

maybe there is no answer
but i’ll recall your words of fire,
i’ll imagine the nights I held you
and played in strong desire

how easy it would be to pick up the phone
when i have you on mind
we’d just remember then, and say the same old things again
so, babe, maybe some other time

later there will be another,
i‘ll ask her to stay
but I’ll imagine how you’re doing,
oh, so far away, so very far away

the 116

took the 116 electric,
the little bus,
didn’t really take it,
just rode on it actually,
it already had a driver

went to the bank,
not the river this time,
the one with the money,
had dealings to do
alas, not high finance
just paying the rent

Antonio at his desk
in striped open collar shirt and stylish wide
tie with a dash of color, two phones going
tiny beads of sweat on his forehead,
kept answering calls, wanted a smoke
secretaries dashed in and out
saying words, passing papers
as he assisted me, now pointing where to sign,
and as we talked I had the feeling
he’d rather be off somewhere on vacation
perhaps fishing, but even the thought was out of the question
where I sat opposite him, watching him perspire lightly
the women coming in and out speaking rapid abbreviated Italian
It flashes to me that I was long ago Ohio born,
grew up with trees near the wandering river
and bushes and dusty paths through light woods that skirted town
a milk man that delivered to our porch and TV in it’s black
and white small round screen infancy
he pointed, I signed again, we shook hands when I left

later, while looking for poems
I saw a few on the bus,
poets themselves,
walking upright, for the most part
leaning, some of them
just hanging on,
searching for words,
storybook creatures,
ready for animation,
they need only the words,
and probably deserve a few

passed by San Silvestro,
where we took Tom and Jul in the Spring
to see John the Baptist’s head,
and other things including graffiti
from two thousand years ago,
preserved by the church
because it was carved in stone,
so remember that,
if you want your graffiti to last

from our window

let me put you in our window
in the old center of Roma, not on display,
just looking out where there’s action by day,
revelers by night, absolute quiet near dawn

under that arch and through the alley,
stands the Cancelleria, built upon fourth century ruins,
a grand church office, the first to be built in the new renaissance style,
fifteen years in the building, finished in 1495

when they were assembling that ivory travertine edifice,
the workers lived here, on this street,
an historical architect explained to me
they didn’t plan all of these old buildings

in the beginning these buildings where we live now.
were shacks, hastily built and covered with a tarp
then a roof was added later, and when they needed more,
they build a second floor, then a third, and yet it stands

look there, that guy with red pants passing now,
unkempt shoulder length and matted, thinning hair,
a beige sports coat over a tattered blue plaid sweater,
faded jeans, in unlashed dirty, scuffed work boots,

with a heavy gate he swaggers down our street,
oh my, oh my, a bohemian lifestyle prerequisite
to being someone, who wants to be
an important artist, or look like one

the guy is no Giancarlino
now he’s our local nutball artist,
come back in a hundred years and
you can read about him

sleigh dumped

I woke up with toys all over
knee deep in toys, Santa’s sled turned over
and dumped a mess of them all over
toys, toys all over

those lazy reindeer just stood around
didn’t pick up anything, no thumbs. ah, come on,
I’ve heard that one before, so I had to help pick up toys
so Santa could get on his way and fly all over of the world

I was going to ask him if he goes
to China and communist countries
but forgot and he was gone already
by the time I woke up

happy holidays

the world is kinder
people are happier
holidays have begun
welcome to ‘em, Kimosabe

now follow that star
stay light in the wind
and the loved ones you rode in with
happy holidays

Holiday Meal

the extended family around a grand table
awaited the feast to begin
in joy, much drinking and laughter

a chorus of oohs and aahhs while grandma
placed the golden plattered turkey
in the center of our festive throng

fine spirit abounded, then all lights went out
there was a scrambling, some shouts,
until a cry of pain did command

when the lights came on,
grandpa had tears in his eyes, a turkey leg
and seven forks in his hand



(This poem appeared on Twelve Days of Poetry
on the site Poets Who Blog.)

dream ride

the image of the name
flashed like a flame
now it’s a shame
not to recall

where, how, who it is,
what was happening and why,
I should have awakened and made a note
and written it upon the sky

debris on Wild Sleep River moved on,
floated tumbling, passed while I dreamed,
whatever so concerned me then
is not so important now, as it had seemed

festive weekend

in an old stone church one street over
an eighteen voice choir sang
hymns for the Holiday Season
from various countries, languages and centuries,
singers trained and well led

then to our local restaurant to get well fed,
pasta and wine amid crowded tables,
a final stop for a glass of wine at Juliano’s
the homey bar on our street
this was Saturday's evening treat

Sunday we went to Rome’s music auditorium
to hear the youth orchestra, near one hundred fifty in their unity
that played like the young masters they will be,
we applauded encouragement, they bowed joyful acceptance
an afternoon well spent for all

coffee to go

Juliano, I’ll have another Coffee Wombley, please
yeah, I don’t know either, just made it up
sounds Presidential, doesn’t it?
oh, and here's today's poem


after a night of solid slumber
roaming velvet treasure swirls
it’s a pleasure to emerge to exchange my
fogged over dream form
for this dogged down worn wrapping that I use everyday,
with substance enough to function,
to get another calendar page torn,
as back to the strife of life in this world I’m reborn


What’s that Juliano? Oh, thanks, you really think so?
but I didn’t spend hours on my hair,
it does it by itself,
I sleep spinning on my head

turn down the music
both hands on the wheel
take your time, remember to smile
you know that I know how you feel

if you want to know more
then buy the book
if you have to ask where
it's not worth the price,
one may question your judgment
and throw away twice
the dream cocoon you crawled out of
soggy, yet still crispy on the edges
have a nice day, Earthling
you too, Juliano

old

now I know why
old guys wear suspenders

cause there comes a time in life
when a man has no ass,

and that’s about the time
you finally realize
that you see more old drunks
than you do
old doctors

time to be wasting

awakened by the thunder boom
to start to another brutal rainy day,
below now, from the window i see
squatty dogs in sporty plaid slickers
out for a float and a crap
then home for a nap
while hard strung owners, with plastic bags,
chase down the street
before it gets away, faraway
before crap gets away,
a somber melody
in the key of life
for the eternal city

PWB Poetry for the Holidays

Happy I am to participate in Poets Who Blog Twelve Days of Poetry. Check them out, please. Say hello for me.

Happy Holidays,
Jack

the poor crazy lady

for her,
wherever she may be,
not like Heidi the locally known,
quite often drunken
homeless woman of Borgo Pio
who every week fell off the wagon
drank too much and then according to the news
finally died of complications relating to exposure
one extremely cold winter's night
in the doorway of Vatican Radio

this is another thing, something else
although she too was homeless
the poor crazy lady at Campo Dei Fiori,
gone now just a few months
I forget her name already,
stayed around the piazza for years,
maybe five, maybe six years,
moved from outside coffee bar table
to table to doorstep, with pen and paper
writing long notes, sewing, repairing her clothes
crocheted once in a while, or just sitting,
looking off, through and beyond

dressed inconspicuously, well enough,
sometimes had a crazy hat
didn’t drink to excess, an occasional beer

only once in a while she flipped out,
just a yell to hear herself,
for all to hear
a long wailing call, nothing more,
some said she yelled when she ran out of medicine
I don’t know if this is true, I think sometimes she yelled
because she felt like it

most always she was fine,
stayed around, a stray from another world,
observed others sometimes, but generally
didn’t see us, minded her own business
tourists didn’t notice her,
didn’t make a mess, kept to herself

when I inquired I heard they took her to hospital
I tried to find out more
no more of her story is known or spoken about
did she suddenly get worse in her behavior,
or did a chic store owner tire of her hanging around,
think it was bad for business?

they do come and they go
on the ever slow tide,
one day they appear,
stiff wooden ghost ships out of the mist,
greyed sails torn, half raised flag
from no discernable country
even in this aged piazza
of calls, vegetable stands, residents, and churches,
of restaurants, stores, shutters, cobblestone and old lamps
heat and damp, cold winds and early morning stillness
once in a while even fixtures are changed

a tear for what’s her name

like flying

they’re still talking about it and well we should
i didn’t vote for a prisoner of war
who doesn’t know he owns seven houses,
a hero is something else,

and i didn’t vote for cute skirt, dim light,
i’m an independent, always have been
and voted for youth and intelligence
we could use some of each

by the way,
now at presidential news conferences
reporters will be required to remove their shoes
and leave them at the door
think of it like flying,
it’s like flying

how to do economy

economy is like break fast cereal
you need about a hundred of them
lined up in big boxes, the bigger the better
wild animated characters, some animals
in bright primary colors, drawn with thick, sloppy lines,
large eyes, big teeth and grins
out of control, fearless, taking a chance
if they dance and play an instrument - that’s good

then a dull leader you can make fun of
funny looking, one who tries to be serious
names like healthy, lean and natural are good
as a rule - bears are better than elephants
add money and stir
if speech is necessary “create terms”
now you’re doing economy,
then get out before you’re caught

the old days

in the old days, say 1850,
when the barber shaved someone
did the local blacksmith make the razor
from the steel of wagon wheels?

Sheffield, England produced
straight steel razors, popular then,
they were often honed and stropped
you’ve seen it in the movies

here’s why it’s called the old days,
in 1850 the population of the
Unites States was 23 million
today urban Tokyo has 28 million

indians

indians lived where i lived
many years before
they taught their kids to hunt and fish
and painting passed their lore

when roads were only twigs bent
in winters severe
and fathers left for day, with sons,
to follow the wounded deer

indians lived where i lived
only many years before
when morning sun was sacred,
according to their lore

fires burned by the river in
cold nights, long and clear
strong in nature and in will
they stalked for food, the deer

i'd like to sleep under a tree
you and me
i'd like to sleep under a tree
just you and me

(yes my daughter, Catherine, when you were very young I wrote this song for your entertainment.)

so many, so much

many web sites
much information
to read and digest,
i keep it quick so
you can look and nod
then get on
with life

go read a book
write a book
eat a cookie,
this time of year
a four syllable word i like is
hibernation - something constructive:
eat a lot then sleep all winter

Renee Fleming

click on this to hear Renee Flemming sing O Mio Babbino Caro

The RiverTevere

through many days of rain,
thousands watched from bridges,
disaster flooded many
along the long river Tevere

now, at last, blue sky,
cold waters will recede,
for those unscathed
normality returns

At the Corner of 63rd and Life

what i am doing
with this blog of poetry
is the best i can

at the corner of 63rd and life,
my objectives are too easily clouded by
hyperbole and dense intense delusion,
my favorite being that i need one
hundred thousand blog hits a week,

why? so I can go on Oprah? when?
will they pick me up? do I have to wear makeup?
the next day will Oprah invite me to lunch?
will she still know me? can she cook?
will she send me a holiday card via email?
tell her i don’t open any attachments

this afternoon i got a cell phone text message saying
for only 1.2 euro (that’s how they wrote it) i could get
a chance to win a new Fiat,
what kind of chance they didn’t say,
but if i don’t spend 1.2 euro
it implies my slim chance bypasses all at high speed
and zips directly to Hell’s Inferno

great. if you want to give a new Fiat away
do it, park it outside and leave the keys in the mailbox
i’d ask for a driver, but M. can do that, she likes to drive,
that’s settled then, i’ll wait to hear the keys drop in the box

until then i have stuff to read and things to write,
i’ll walk to the store when i have to,
to help M. carry the groceries,
and continue to do the best i can,

i know we won’t be going in a new Fiat

Giacomo picked me up

coming out of Standa grocery store
walking in the sun toward the Tram Otto
I see a smiling face looking at me
It’s Mirella

there, at an outside coffee bar amid traffic on Vialle Trastevere,
we sat at a table and reunited with Mirella and Aldo
now four years retired from the outdoor market,
she’s had each leg operated on and is walking again,
I had painted her many times when they worked
in the Piazza Campo Dei Fiori

later Giacomo picked me up near the bar of the witch
at the corner of Lungo Tevere and Vittorio Emanualle
we went to Donetella’ restaurant for lunch,
she was in Copenhagen, but the staff was there
the lad from Romania called me by name,
the parmigiana di melanzane that looked like taquitos
and tasted like heaven
lucca looked older, walked with a crutch,
he had an accident on his motorino,
Sunday he goes to his sailboat in Barbados
to take tourists around for a month

heavy rain again this afternoon in Roma
after lunch Giacomo dropped me off
in front of Santo Spirito Hospital, one of the
oldest continuous running hospitals in the world,
I’ve spent some nights there before the renuvation,
when the church part was a large open ward for the men,
this afternoon I caught a bus from there

on the way home I stopped to inquire
about an old friend, a gentle man,
we used to see quite often dining at the Oassi,
he taught at catholic college, used to play piano duets
with Pope Ratzinger in private rooms at the Vatican,
last year he was doing better, his voice returned,
the lady at the coffee bar said
he became weak again this summer,
after forty years in Roma
Father Lawrence went home to London to die

the sky has darkened,
it’s only four p.m.,
the street lights are on already,
it's colder now,
how quickly days tumble by
as we reach December

laid felt ye same sanome

“laid felt ye same sanome”
i wrote these words,
for years they were on a piece of paper
on the side of my refrigerator
i don’t know what it means
the words sound like something to me
the sounds are the poetry
it’s a chant, a mantra

more words are for my hurt
when i put it out there where it won’t go
i gave to someone who couldn’t give back
saw it coming
knew it all along
fell again
hurt again
should have ducked

that’s enough, for now, for then
in a while i may do it again
that’s what we do
always the ones we can’t have that we go for
the ones that want us, we don’t want

it’s in the past now
yet I recall
this foolish way of youth
felt ye same?

the masterpiece of kin

the masterpiece of kin is cunning
in similarities quick to begin
at times they think the same
grip the same,
gripe the same
walk and talk, dress
and look the same

i remember a family of five brothers
all looked like their father
half again like their mother
a year parted each birth
a revolution of the sun
between each of their worth
enough to get another
one practically
same as the other

not in the name
but in the soul
lies cold truth told
deep somewhere in the whole
where a lonely star hovers
the person slips through
to be their own self
apart from the others

not in the name
but in the soul
lies the whole
deep somewhere

Arrotino

arro rhymes with borrow
arro teen, oh
arro tin o

call it out, sing it out
let it wail in the air
and hang there for all
so they can hear you coming

sing it everyday for thirty years and more
like your father and his,
while pushing your bicycle
with a grinding wheel mounted on top
up and down cobblestone streets of old Roma
then you’ll have the voice of the caller
the sharpener, the arrotino

let them bring their knives down to you
to sharpen on your wheel
call them
the call will richocet off stone walls
echo and carry the cry
into every doorway, every window
they will come
as they have for centuries
arrotino

our times

after food and shelter are satisfied
seek beauty in your life
keep order in your space
everything in it’s place

appreciate the out of doors
complete your chores,
stay within the lines
do your best, enjoy the times

after coffee sunday

after coffee at Isa’s in Trastevere we
had lunch at Giacomo’s and Virginia’s
wonderful mezzo rigatoni pasta in tomato sauce,
I cleaned up her pc while they all cooked

last night Virginia's brother won best
cinematographer at the European film awards,
his son won best Director for the same movie,
the film swept the top five awards

two months ago they won at Cannes
we saw this latest award on the TV news today,
that’s why when we went to Donatella’s Friday
she and Marco and Mateo were in Copenhagan

Every Viewer

sitting in front
of a plastic box
smiling, usefully as a carrot
God bless us Every Viewer

oh, humanity you sure as Hester
got suck-ed-up in a good one this time,
careful now, don’t use up your brain,
you may need it for something later

nxt!

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

bags

nineteen years of collecting, saving,
stashing, borrowing and not returning,
quite a load hidden in a field
plastic bags enough to build
a small water proof home with
attached two car garage

eight thousand year shelf life
stores well without refrigeration
completely inflatable home, need only
figure how to keep it from blowing around
and getting stuck on trees and fences
or perhaps melting in the sun

notes on heaven

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

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

i can hold you

down by the river
little children
see us walking
holding hands now
like we’re lovers
we’re just friends though
there’s another,
i’m just hoping
when you’re older
you’ll discover
i can hold you
i won’t let you go
i will love you so.

time is passing
hear us laughing
all together
we’ll deliver,
love and kindness
will remind us
like the river
we keep rolling
i can hold you
i won’t let you go
i will love you so

and we won’t stop loving

Buttons Up and Dancing

walking around
i found myself
looking for buttons on the ground
that’s her thing
she’ll be here soon

on the bus, next to me stood three,
a guy in the middle of two women,
head back, pontificated endlessly
they should’ve left him on the bus
and followed me

walking to the corner, a rash of vivid electric
green grew between the cobblestones
made it harder to see the buttons
she’ll be here tomorrow, and find them
just wait, you’ll see

M and i

M and i get much done,
she does much, i do some
much some, some much
i think i’ll make a sandwich

Din River

he was walking, selling
mediocre prints of nature
we had stopped face to face
near the fountain

he, with the solid cheerful
light of a star about him,
though you wouldn’t suspect from his manner
surely his road had not been easy

when i asked where he was from, he replied Africa
i added “Senegal” as he said it in the same instant,
he put in my hand a porcelain thumb size
elephant, trunk up for luck, a gift, he said

recognizing my nature, he didn’t try to sell me anything
i put some change in his hand for the gift,
because I knew it would help reciprocate
for his time away from his labors

we each parted content, and perhaps in some way
changed for the better, a result of
our brief connection that took us farther along
the din river of humanity

thunder

I woke to thunder,
one powerful, ominous, natural disruption
produced by this planet
and I love it

even when it scares me
makes me shake,
or nearly brings me to tears,
giant bears are wary and they ought to be

no one’s going to blame them
not for fear of thunder
of course, distant fuzzy rumbles are best
and the farther away the better

druthers

reaching for it
not following a prescribed order.
that’s how I like my things,
usually

in Thomas Kincade paintings
little storybook candles glow fuzzy inside,
while in the rest of the picture
it’s the middle of the afternoon.

some love it and some hate it,
that’s why we all have our druthers,
i’d druther do it,
i’d druther not.

like mixed vegetables,
a little of everything,
You takes your picks,
and you takes your chances.

points of order

my winter pockets laden
in good order, or nearly so
to be able to find things
when i want them, in a hurry

learned a new word, wrote it
on a note for my pocket
a shoulder pouch is beyond the pale
for i have tried, but will have nothing more to carry, please

i want it all strapped tightly to my body
hidden behind zippers
never in the back pockets
don’t want to sit on it
must be free as leaping deer through the brush

i make notes as dad did
while he used cigar box lids, among other things,
i stick with folded scraps of paper
yet, do retain some of his old cigar boxes
with scribbled notes as indecipherable as mine
or visa versa, because his were first
i made note of this and put it in my pocket
to extricate later and put to use

wild geese and eagles envy me
for they have no pockets

life's song

what am I doing with life?
there is so much going on,
I know this morning I enjoyed
frying a little breakfast

and hummed a little song
just like I wasn’t on fire inside missing you,
in my life everything was worth it,
it just didn’t last, or take that darn long

hoese warming poem

someone found my blog by misspelling house
which reminded me, my wife was putting
the garden hose away for the winter
and put it into the shower first to . . .

well, I don’t know why she had to do it
but if you knew her you’d know
there’s a reasonable explanation,
it must be a gardener thing

moonlight

moonlight on my hand
woke me up,
this is good
if you must be woken in the night

better moonlight through the window
than waking from
the distant squeaking of
truck brakes

though being near the lake
i could always pretend
the squeaks
are the calls of mating seagulls

change

as it took a while for nature,
changing morning, noon and night,
mistakes while growing happen
before one can get it right

ahead in the distance

thanks Tom
hey, i needed some input, that's why i asked
i'm not making ten cents a word here,
just cranking it out

last night when i wrote to you
it was about ten p.m. i was going to bed
got up now for a second
and right away got on line,
it's four a.m. here in Italy

i think it's seven at night,
last night where you are.
well, it's still Sunday for you in California,
that's last night for me

say, i'll tell you if anything interesting
happens as long as i'm
living in the future anyway
you tell me if you see any
former distant cousins riding wild horses

mousetrap

when the perfect mouse catcher
is complete, here's what i think,
they’ll find another lecher
and all mice declared extinct

when chips are down

on a whim i brought you home,
laughed, devoured you and made a mess,
how silly of me
today, on impulse i retuned to find a new one,
that old bag tickled my fancy,
but clearly is empty

sitting quietly, I see you there looking good
in your eye-catching luminous wrapper,
although, desire now has left me, i realize
i was searching for the old zing, like the first time,
I’m sorry it turned out that way, don’t think bad of me,
let potato chips fall where they may

the key to bored

went to buy a keyboard, maybe,
so far so good, i had a plan,
got lost three times on the metro
right way, wrong way, back again

when i rose up from out of the dark i was lost,
no problem, stay on target, nearly there, found it
nice store, looked around, must be fifty keyboards,
priced about the same, now what?

they all function you would think,
i walked around them, until i got tired,
keyboards all look a like, i’ll think about it,
so why does my wife think shopping’s fun?

Cancelleria in Roma

near the center of old Roma is the
Cancelleria, a tall three story building
owned by the Catholic Church, that
still owns much property in Roma

through most of history they
controlled most all of Rome, the large
building is ivory colored travertine
scavenged from nearby Theater of Pompey

seemingly erected recently, it is the
first building in Renaissance style,
completed three years after Columbus
sailed to the new world, 1495

my friend Cesare used to do furniture
restoration for the building, and got me
in for a peek in the basement, on one
side is a field of scattered human bones

on the far right corner is a large pond,
about modern swimming pool size, a worker
told me they are now have begun restoring
a pre-Christian church found down there

roma metro

like Paris morning rush
didn’t have to hold on
couldn’t move my arms
all could breathe, just not at the same time

canned fish tipped on the side,
stood well, our feet were down and touching
saw Bruce Willis wearing a baseball cap
not tall, but does a good subtle self-satisfied smirk

filing up the stairs with every step in unison
a retreating Sci Fi army,
was lost, and stayed that way
until the crowd and i popped out of the metro

Roma Comathon

twenty-five hundred years
of gladiators, spectators, venders, pilgrims, rovers, jugglers,
flounders, gypsies, immigrants, conquerors, thieves, winos,
the knowing learned, the curious, proper citizens,

the head count
parts of them are all on this bus
plus that imbecile about four rows ahead of me,
traffic jam, don’t worry

Giganticus plows through all
make a hole, I stamped my ticket,
so put the pedal down, i will hang on
can't take it? want to bail out, that's okay

streets under construction,
we detour, but we’ll get to the spot
where the driver takes his break
come hell or high water

new poets

i read the new poets to see what they say 

mine is like ancient but, i wrote it today 

don’t follow new patterns don’t always use rhymes

 I’ve got this thing going of doing four lines 

don’t run with a group It’s all give and take 

i patch and recoup so give me a break

To Stand In The Way

at the grocery store one clerk and two women
stand around a cart, talking in the doorway,
either Dylan’s The Times They Are A-Changing
was not translated into Italian, or they didn’t care

“don’t stand in the doorway, don’t block up the hall” - they do,
they make a habit of it, when tired, they look for doorways.
there is a busy street, heavy traffic, buses, a church
steps in front leading to a two foot wide sidewalk, then traffic.

there, directly in front of the church,
in the center of the tiny walkway
a mature woman stops to dig, dig and dig for
something deep, deep in the bottom of her purse

if i said anything she’d be surprised she blocked the way.
so either i wait and prey in front of the house of God
that she finishes and moves on,
or i can just go to hell and wait there

Spanish Steps Out of Time

Bob is four years older , he had a little jump in time
i bought a fourteen dollar Stella guitar
what’s left is in the trash somewhere, don’t know what kind
of guitar he had, it’s probably in a museum

i listened to classical, Bob listened to Woody Guthrie
a vacationing professor from the Oberlin Conservator of Music
gave me weekly summer voice lessons
Bob may have developed his voice cursing at winos

while i was still singing in the echo of my bathroom
bob was auditioning clubs and walking the streets of new York
my first time on TV was at six a.m., broadcast locally,
Bob’s was prime time nationally on Ed Sullivan

years later in a hot tub in Malibu, our host pointed
out the house below, closer to the ocean - Bob’s house
again later i sold one of my first paintings called Spanish Steps,
the guy said he bought it because Bob wrote a song about them

i sang one of my new songs in a club,
a guy came up and said it was very good but
leave off the long explanation that it was about the Civil War
so you win some, lose some, that’s how life goes, no regrets

now Bob and i are equally on short time,
my songs made some cents, and while i changed my socks,
Bob changed his name, made millions of dollars,
touched billions of people and changed history

i'm happy to salute him. hats off to Bob, Bob Dylan

gondola of dream

a light golden raft
my gondola of dream
lapping on calm ripples
beneath clouded silver moon
where muted colors scream delight
in soundless melody
i sleep at peace most every night
as floating along
i hold you tight

demonstration

students from around Italy came to Roma to demonstrate
i had slept poorly but had to go to the bank anyway
before i left i lost my bank card, frantically i
searched every where, three times, for an hour

then lost another card, another Italian one
difficult to replace, but i saw one card this morning
kept searching, sweating, worrying, then found
both of them, in my jacket pocket during the third search

bused to the bank and did business with Antonio
i asked to see Antonino, but he left
and was replaced by Antonio
Antonino mean little Antonio

they aren't related, but look the same
then caught a cab to the other side of Roma
realized i left an important receipt at the bank
did business and talk in Parioli

had to call the bank anyway
Antonio said Monday I’d get the receipt
traffic would be bad today
the demonstration will be immense

left at noon and the mess began
buses were doing improvisational routes
my bus had young Paul McCartney on it
same mouth, hair and eyes

he got off into the crowd at the next stop
i looked out to see a young woman driver in
a small car, she had an earphone in each ear
was talking forcefully as she smoked

Paul was mysteriously back on our bus
i got off when the bus quit my direction
walked in confused crowds,came to Pasquali’s
how fortunate, it was lunch time

had spicy pasta maccinata and it was good
when i left i wondered if i had called him Luigi?
two streets later a police barricade blocked my way
a police commander sent me down another street

the crowd marched toward me
i wasn’t carrying a banner and
was headed into the throng
helicopters overhead nearly made as much noise

as music blared from speakers on the back of a truck
nothing changes, Italians like demonstrations
i made the long walk home, where
the hall light was still out, doing the key was difficult

additive walk

on narrow cobblestone ways
a November dark day
under my feeble umbrella
held against strong gusts

bought sugar, salt and virgin oil
they gave me change and a plastic bag
forgot to bring my own, and was lucky,
some stores charge for plastic bags

then homeward, i glanced into well lit shop interiors
where waiting well dressed workers looked out,
chaos seemed subdued
by wet afternoon darkness

a drenched shrieking girl passed on a bicycle
moving too fast in heavy rain
though she tried she didn’t fall, i didn’t look,
i was busy taking a step at a time, she shrieked again

do you get less wet moving quickly
or by going slowly in a downpour?
this I considered while avoiding puddles
and the missing cobblestones on my way home

i didn’t forget my keys, so I got in easily
but the light was out in the hall,
made it to the store and back,
overall, i must have had a ball.

forgot butter

in the realm

often reflections are from light in the rain,
developing traits are reactions
some things are to be worked on
others, left alone, unfold in time

worry is for amateurs who make messes
while concern is kin to concentration
read, talk and listen, calmly evaluate
tend your affairs like a garden, as best you can

the media provides answers always later, not sooner
they report the news, not make it
life has ebb and flow
like water, finds the way in time

wheels turning

take off your shoes and belt,
walk through the big magnet thing,
can’t bring my own water, buy theirs?
wheels turning, spinning, line up again?
like a mill, an engine
it’s me thinking, or feeling like
I’m flying
could be doing nothing
eat and sleep, wait and see
change planes, what happens,
read and sleep,
I should get there,
tomorrow

chronicle of the leaves

wear a cap as they come,
bud, shoot out, green,
unfold, form, stretch, flex,
hang tight in rain’s glory

limber, develop, mature, flutter,
toss your cap high as they change,
turn, yellow, expire, dry, orange, surrender,
spill. tumble, repel, watch them go,

bow you head, as they depart,
cascade, drop, coast, float, descend
say a word for all as they lie there,
wither, roll around, crumble and rot

Paradox - some places have poetry on or coming out of them

some places have poetry on or coming out of them
i’ve found them by carefully examining small beach stones,
under trees and near water, on forgotten notes in the pockets
of jackets i haven’t worn for a while,

on city streets, especially at corners,
in crowded stores when the music’s not too loud
or on buses, on hot days or in rain or snow.
when gears shift and someone is directing traffic,

i feel it when i’m there, later, or passing by
no telling why it is so, a fireplace helps,
the coffee shop when the dream starts, or birds fly
a cloud tilts a certain way, how the waitress
places the menu down and walks
already a block away in her mind,

the touch of polished old hand rail
while taking a soft carpeted stair
and the colors like a painting,
a landscape i once saw in a book,
that reminds me of
some place i want to be

hello bob

hello old bob evans without music
we’re back in style
did you miss us? we just put in our order
how much oatmeal can i eat
before i turn into one myself?

i’m a day behind on louis l’amour
no, i finished him, i forgot
i’m in china now, literally, that’s right
living with a mother and daughter in a detention camp
and enjoying the cultural revolution
well, i am enjoying the story that is.
breakfast i’ll enjoy when it gets here

tuesday i fly to Roma
it’s than time again, so soon
later that usual, how quickly it arrives
the faster it goes, the slower we get
Roma is old, and I’m getting there myself
well, I’m not flying, the plane is

dead fish

a fish died in our pond today
the first to go in eight years or so
not a floater, lying on the bottom
on his side, all alone

i scooped him out
laid him in the garden
and said words of goodbye,
he was white, formerly orange

i call it him
instead of it or she
don’t know why
surely doesn’t matter

the next day he was gone
don’t think he resurrected
something recycled him for dinner
so some good came out of it

last night

last night i slept floating
in a powdered soup mixture
of dream and train whistles
stirred once or twice
by wind in the trees
a creaking somewhere in the house
and a neighbor's running-barking dog

as last all became quiet
and very, very still
until grey cracked open by dawn
panned out as morning

leaves end

the fall colored foliage
fluttered then fell today
in a breeze
and all together
a veritable blizzard of gold

leaves that swirled around
blowing with a crinkling sound
fell in as thieves thick on the ground
now to rake the gold, clean the eaves,
but this gets old, by then it’s cold, geeze

brushing teeth

I am surprised how many times someone discovers this site by searching the Internet to find a poem about brushing teeth. This is a link to one of mine. One of mine? Who am I kidding? It's not as if I have six more stuffed under the mattress. It's one poem. A little one and it just happens to be about brushing teeth.

i'd love

i’d love to love you
a few weeks would do
to give my heart
but hold some back

could upset you, i suppose
can make you laugh, fix things
and will eat anything
we’d be happy, have fun

of course nothing would get done
soft touches, cold lunches
and warm smiles,
time simply divine

although, instead, if you’ll be my friend
no hearts will be broken
no wrongs need we mend
i’ll dream of the ocean

you go read a book
do your own thing
we’ll talk like sister and brother
although if you have time

call when you feel like
and i’ll come do you
up one side the block
and down the other

soft night train

no screeching last night in quiet light wind
the train was someone in grandma’s slippers
sliding along the linoleum kitchen floor
hardly going anywhere 

and the whistle was not a blaster
instead it gave soft puffs
like puh, with a long breath between the next muh,
mah, ma, as if needed to be picked up and cuddled

barack

a world class, educated man with loving family,
a cultural reflection of the JFKennedy era
Barack for all the people,
calling in truth and reason

he is spark to ignite hope
lain dormant long years,
to turn us away from hate and fear,
toward renewal of the glory days of America

American Dollar Pie

gas over four, now nearing two
I mean say wait - until election day
they’re not through, it’s gu gu candy, sudden death,
how fast can you chew? rots your teeth, hold your breath
dollar pie, can you sling it, do you have the move?
they’ll tap your phone, wait for what’s next,
can you say charge it? you’re the wrong sex, fair enough?

friends line up
get a little spillover of 700 bill
new car, new house up, up on the hill,
or a simple five star month hanging out
on rich man’s island in the tropics,
unlimited mai tais, hula girls included,
plus other unnamed topics
disclosure deluded
member f.d.i.c.

big three bailout

older, thinner and wiser now?
my new jeans have an ass but I don’t
and i can't get my belt tight enough
our thirteen year old Geo squeaked
until we tightened the belt and still
get forty-five miles to the gallon-city,
more than belts, sometime
tightening hurts, leaves welts
there are 50,000 automotive jobs
in the state of Alabama alone,
the Southern belt is squeaking
how many times did America indicate
it wanted more economical vehicles?
we didn’t buy in North or South Korea
I guess Ford had a better idea

in the end

writer Studs Turkel , age 96
champion of the little guy
worked in Chicago where over forty rounds
from an assault rifle went off in an apartment
a boy aged two was shot in the head
both are dead

learning curves

in schools they teach more, earlier
today's kids take after their mothers
and is it from drinking too much milk
that makes some dumber than udders?

lost time

we drove through the city
on a long, slow straight line
where traffic lights were timed
so we had to stop every block

testing brakes, trying raggedy nerves
I cruised on cigarette time, an estimate
of the number I could have smoked,
enough lost time it may have been a ufo abduction

phone book racket

do they think we wait for the new ones to arrive?
is a forest a year cut for paper?
hey, buddy, need a phonebook?
i have twelve already, thanks

most people use phone books once
to see if their name is in there
the bored or forgetful may check often
you know someone is making money on this.

major web site

at major company web sites
often a pop-up ad fills the screen
there is always an option to skip the ad
how many people watch the ad?

who pays for the pop-up ad?
and how stupid do we really think they are?
even if researchers say one of every seven watches the ad
that one who watches - they don’t want

fix it

fix the house
look around
there’s more to do
when you have it tight
you’re thinking what’s next

buy another house
you’ll fix that too
they fix everything but the great pyramid
probably fix that too, She said,
they just don’t tell anybody