i depend

i depend
on the people around me
even ones i know only by sight
to be there, familiar

every now and then to pass by
so i remember that
we are all different parts
of this same soup

ideas

walking down the grey street
i think about when i was
lying in bed and remember
waking at four with ideas
hitting me in the head
like dropping golf balls
in a porcelain bathtub
blam, blam, blam

and i duck to no avail
deal with them later
and wonder how, holy cow
would an open umbrella help
Plink, plink what do you think
What do you say, but the golf balls
dropping bam, blam, bam, ping, ping, ideas
hitting me and I write ‘em down as they fall
work them over, rush them out,
i’m in clover,
then fall back asleep

until morning comes, when all is quiet
dawn as it ought to be
so was i walking
down the street
i think
was i

technical question

do colors
keep changing
or do i have to take my
web browser back
for a refill?

longer light

look about here
the longer hours of light
bring bounty
as toppled in plenty
the already green spring sprouts
flag farmed fields in rows
and wave where wind blown
fragrant scents of new flowers
dash with insects and birds
bolting over this earth proving ground,
all hearts wish good weather
for crops, for running children
and beckon impending summer
to slip in
quiet as the moon

Vegan

she’s a vegan
a vegetarian
i’m happy
she’s not saying
she's a person
from the
star Vega

movies for the mind

novels are movies for the mind, any time
will take you away in notion, emotion or adventure
mark the page when you set the book down
when you return lights go down
curtain goes up
and theater will begin anew
where you left it

i tested
When i left he was on his sorrel by the creek
at nearly sundown
they sky was azure blue
with no wind and nary a cloud

When i came back hours later
he was still atop his horse by the creek
at nearly sundown
the sky was azure blue
with no wind and nary a cloud

meshes

the white shirts
some with ties
and the sweats
some with hats backwards

clash to the eye
dash by on their way
without seeing
much of each other

pocket order

just when i've mastered
the perfect winter pocket order
keys zipped in the left front
phone zipped in the right front
identification zipped in the left inside upper
money right inside upper, zipped

all of a sudden, spring is here
my jacket stays at home
and i do too
cause there’s nowhere to put my stuff

curiosity

curiosity startled the cat
and made it look silly,
it didn’t really kill anything

i remember her tattoo

the sparkling young woman with
the Carl’s Jr. happy star tattoo on her ankle
i haven’t seen again
or if i have i didn’t know
because it’s still cool and most likely
she’s still wearing socks

zip zip

zip zip i was seven
zip zip i was twelve
zip zip i was twenty seven
zip zip i was sixty four
zip zip i was

dear Captain

dear Captain, take me along with you and Rafal,
let me board and sail on to foreign ports
let the compass spin as the great prop churns
mark it all on the cart as we make way

i’ll tow the line, skipper
eat well and hold tight on deck
sleep like a baby as the ship bounces around
though heavy storms will wind up, you won’t let us down

by whales, seagulls, and flying fish
until entry to the bay and the flat channel narrows
finally to port, at a long pier for tie up
there all will wave goodbye

rain in heaven

in heaven it will rain
from two until four
on alternate days
warm water only, and refreshing

you'll have an instant umbrella,
splatter won't matter
cause the socks you wear
will dry immediately

The New Week

It is the Twenty First Century and we need to make some positive changes. There haven’t been any since October 4, 1582 when Pope Gregory XIII made the following day October 15, 1582. Maybe his rent was due, or it was his wife’s birthday and he didn’t have a present or she wanted to skip another birthday anyway.

Regardless, an international consortium of specialists has devised the following submission to pick the world up off it’s butt and set it on it’s ear. Those aren’t the technical terms they used, but it was the best I could remember; anyway, you get the idea.

the new week

Monday is a bit jarring
to start the week
let’s begin with Wednesday
when we’re already up to speed
then bring on Friday,
a feel good day

Tuesday and Thursdays
we can jam one after the other
and coast over them
then let Monday come last
if we can’t do away with it altogether
and put in a free day

so let it be written, so let it be done

must be facing north

coffee at a table in the shade just steps off the tourists path
opposite the long tall blinding stone bone-sunny travertine
of the Cancelleria, with oh-hum traffic on the corner
i scratch out this crude note, having left
tender words of the novels home like lovers
tucked in together, sleeping on the shelf

i sip pondering my next goodbye to Rome
as already summer looms nigh,
with sycamore trees along the Tevere green full
the shadow over me shortens, afternoon sun moves west
this 25 April, Liberation Day, of little clamour
even thieves and beggars are on holiday

stirring my coffee i recall
time on the road with Italian actors
where at bars up and down all of Italy
most stirred their coffee for thirty seconds
so I learned to do as they
and now can smile remembering them

market review

Call this - I told you so. Here's something posted on this site February 7, 2008, a few months before the dive.

market analysis
holy catfish the markets diving
and won’t come up for air
all your trouble is like a bubble
when it pops sit back and stare

no need to hurry if you want to worry
you’ve got the time to spare
but hold that frown, cause it’s going down
every stinking where

a man desires

all a young man desires in a woman
is a good figure, some brains
an eager willingness to do all the washing,
shopping, cleaning and cooking
while being a total sex maniac on overdrive
oh, and did i say rich?

but now that i am older
it doesn’t matter anymore
just so we’re nice to each other
well, rich still would be good

Rome Welcome II.

My friend Rocco, who works two days a week in the administrative offices of the police department, told me that over the Easter holidays six hundred thefts were reported at the crowded Rome train station.



our friend’s vacation was scheduled
to last three weeks,
while crossing the ocean he
spent six days aboard ship in bed
not a world class lover,
wasn’t sea sick,
he had suffered a stroke

five minutes after arriving in Rome
he reached into his pocket where
four credit cards, a drivers license, reminders,
several permits, papers and
cards too important to carry
that should have been left at home
plus five hundred or more, in cash,
were all packed and gone
in his stolen wallet.
his passport remained safe in another pocket
even thieves only have two hands

we walked him around a few times
though nearly in a daze,
i think he enjoyed himself

three days later i helped him buy a ticket
then put him on a train
for the remainder of his scheduled vacation
to see his family in Switzerland
where his cousin had just died
two days before

two for the street

They started there about the time I first came to Rome.

Thirteen months ago I wrote about the two old ladies living on the corner in front of Rome’s train station. This winter one was gone. A weeks or so later, the other disappeared.

No doubt one had died and the survivor was taken weeping to an undisclosed location for the aged, derelict, and possibly mentally challenged, yet feisty.

Had twenty years on the street had done them in?


I.

winter was long and wet
the rainiest in two hundred years
so they said,
if you can believe their record keeping,
no one can contradict
for sure, everyone talked about the weather

II.

first came spring,
then the two old ladies were back again
with bags and market shopping cart
taking turns sleeping
on one of the busiest, noisiest, wind blown corners
in all of Rome

the very corner where 20 or thirty buses routes
and any of the cities six thousand taxis
turn to enter the train station to pick up passenger
thus providing
twenty-four hour traffic, stench and noise

and there, an arm’s length from the curb,
in blankets and rags do they camp,
together again on their home turf
using a bucket or the restrooms at the station,
one at a time, as needed,
the two bundled octogenarians
enduring, perhaps enjoying
the great out of doors

III.

sure they could have more
a better corner
by the sea,
an open field
or in the woods
but they took what was available
i think i should be happy for them

on the bus

a kid had the double front seat
he was ten, skinny and healthy
I asked for the seat and he sprung up

it’s good for him to learn now
the way of the world, how old people
impose their will on the young

anyway, he didn’t need that big seat
I’ve seen larger wrapped sandwiches,
fold the kid up and he could ride in a lunchbox

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

began studying early in life
carved the pieta age at 23,
the David at age 26

five hundred years later,
still marveling, fascinated,
we wait in line to see his work

occasionally deeds
done in the fire of youth
are honored for a long, long time

rome welcome

I’d like to tell you this is a love story, something fuzzy, warm and cuddly. Instead I’m kicking myself for his misfortune. It wasn't my fault. I tried to help. I'm just asking why don’t they understand that 20 years in the city has taught me things an outsider doesn’t know?.

For sure I told him to be careful. I know I did. It’s a given. After all, he was a new guy to the city, coming in to the train station for the first time. But what good was my telling him? How can someone digest the importance of everything heard in a transatlantic phone conversation, when there is the excitement of the trip to think about.

When I gave him my phone number he wrote that down. But who is going to write down the warning “watch out for thieves”?


rome welcome

a friend arrived in Italy by boat
on a luxurious sixteen day cruise
with six ports of call
to the final port an hour away

wanted to help every way i could
hell, everyone likes special treatment
offered to meet at the train
to kind of ease him into the city

this experienced world traveler
said he could easily get one block to the hotel
he was going to handle it,
would call when he got in

about the time I expected
the phone rang, he called to
tell me yes, he was in Rome and
his wallet was stolen at the train station

credit cards and about five hundred dollars
gone with the quick hands,
this is not the end of the short story,
he still has three weeks to go

mediterranean see me

I may change this a bit, but here it is for now. I can critique my poem and say I should stay on target. See the objective, figure out what it is I want to say, and which way the words have to go to get me there. Today I prefer to do as the crew of explorers and let myself hop on board and ride willing to participate. Letting the caravan take me wherever.


mediterranean see me

free this morning
we could get in the car
and drive five hours to a corner of heaven
for sure we’d love it
we’ve been there

with the long blue of the med,
hearing it from our bed
and the morning fishermen
in little boats
sun hats and coats
so near on dawn
so clear over calm

in a sleepy town
with Filippo’s Pizza
the best dough out of Napoli
they say, I’d say
anyway

how far do we have to go
so I can hear the shore’s chill water?

rolling stones like breathing in and out
making them rounder

smaller in long eons
until they are tiny white grains
lesser than sand
blown away like dust
off the back of my hand

thrown up by the wind
lifted straight to the sky
soaring above birds
blown riding the blue

far off out to sea
over storms
circling the globe
above the Captain’s stout grey ship on the Atlantic
twisting back into time and Grandmother’s wagon
crossing dry Arizona in the late eighteen hundreds
over arrows and Indians

then sucked tumbling down
deep in the California desert
none too soon
by dull light of moon

it's stuck deep
where it will keep
in the bark of a Joshua tree
that lives a thousand years

jungle fish

you and i
haven’t seen it all
don’t say you have
don’t think about it
no need to

not all the world caresses
some hurts
and dumps upon us
in papers and magazines
the news of course, they call it that
the video, the Internet that brings pieces
bam banging slapping sounds
pumping games flashing colors into children's heads
Marshall McLuhan was right the medium is the message
now i add, TV did more to destroy the world than educate
I have seen Guatemalan jungle natives in see-through straw huts
watching far away New York soap operas
on TV powered by a noisy gas generator
the soap opera had NYC folk
in nice clothes and makeup
drinks in hand and the natives,
ready to throw a spear through a monkey,
were sitting women breast naked in
a rag covering their crotches
and I’m walking by their hut and
can look right through it
and see them sitting glazed over stuck to the screen.
maybe they flashed me the peace sign
and maybe I gave them the finger
cause they were screwed

media chunks show how people dress and hold their heads
how they clothe their pet animals
while city buses so full
those at the door exit to let others on
dead fish are laid to rest in tins and wait consumption this way

passing by are the rich and famous in their rings and finery
with guards tagging alongside
lest reality get too close
best they remain cushioned
aloof from commoners and dirt poor

on the street notices are
handed by strangers to strangers
pasted across shop windows
stuffed in trash cans or
dropped they litter the streets
are stepped upon, pushed along
where the head count clashes with
the clean, pressed white shirts and latest ties
and we, hats on backwards
in over sized sacky things to cover how fat we are
that resemble sports team garments,
wrinkled sweat stained bags with a bright bold number on it
the number of a hero on the squad
named for a predatory animal
as a sweaty tourist screams at the counter waitress
give me a coke before I die

and I see them sun glassed now
all the while quick stepping alone
bumping into each other
unaware, as if stoned
talking on cell phones
while the senseless talk to themselves
and need no phone
who is changing the world?

for all the while
the sun goes up
the sun goes down

reflections

remember someone holding
a dandelion under your chin
seeing the reflection of yellow
to determine if you like butter?
kid stuff

be good though
the day on your face
is a reflection of what you carry
in your heart

how you slept
how you’re eating
who you love
which dog you’re beating

how well you are doing
how life’s going
you may forget, but all
is written on your face

hope

On Pasquetta, Little Easter, the day after Easter, also a holiday because Italians have to have a holiday after a holiday that falls on Sunday so they can have a day to recover. That is how it is every time.



the large crowd in the piazza
generated a buzz like
flies on week old fish

they were tourists, few Italians
it was Little Easter, Pasquetta
Italians go out of Rome
on the little holiday after the holiday

Franco who has no means
to get out for the day
and no family to visit if he did
was in the store next to me
getting two more
scratch-off-to-see-if-you-win gambling cards
what winners get most of the time
more cards
more opportunity to hope

we stood shoulder to shoulder
he didn’t see me,
i noticed that what i thought
was a plug in his ear lobe
injured the last time he fell
was only a scab

from the way he was weaving
I knew not to speak to him
he was holiday drunk enough
to still walk
and scratch cards

while i’ve learned
there is no hope
here it was
standing next to me

linked

we are linked to life
whether cabled-in or wireless
red lining in the fast lane
all comes naturally
as weather is to nature
dressed in style we are
in cars shinier and larger

while lousy poor people
obviously don’t care as much
they never go to club dinners
to hear the speakers drone on
or eat cake at the benefits
they don’t know the meaning of
acid indigestion

all turn to see
as she
walks proudly by
nearly prances

an angel
on heavenly loan
empty headed
with a mind of her own

round perhaps

when she was young
she saw
the sun and moon
as circles
then she saw the ocean

walked in up to her neck
and figured
because there is depth
to consider
perhaps the ocean was round


.

bed of nails

It is estimated there are thirty thousand suddenly homeless, clustered in many small villages near the epicenter that were destroyed by the recent powerful earthquake and aftershocks.
40 are dead of the 350 residents of Onna, Italy, one of a dozen villages completely destroyed.



another small family
a few more people
among many who feel fortunate
now living in their car that escaped disaster

near their fallen home, half collapsed,
the remainder in flames as they fled
near their neighbor’s blank faces
amid devastation and debris like bombs went off

dad does his best to cover the pain and terror
mother bursts into tears often, covers her face
wishes for her simple worn sweater left behind
she didn’t even have her favorite old sweater

close to what is left
of what they owned but can’t get to
protecting it, protecting themselves
with not much to go on

charity lines for food and water
the unknown is growing
encompassing
hugs and tears and hope

six point three

at 3:32 a.m. my dreams included
the bed moving
then noise
from above and the floor below

i opened my eyes to see
the hanging lamp swinging
and swinging

epicenter was
fifty miles away
having lived in California
we were experienced to know
a strong earthquake

follow up report, 9pm

30,000 are homeless.
light rain tonight.
150 dead. 250 missing.
1,500 injured.
all counts will rise.
water supplies have been cut.

by train to the sea

before leaving Monterosso Al Mare
i am already aching for the beauty
paining for what
i can not take with me
the voice of the sea
the breath of humidity
it is my life
my heart of hearts

II.

an hour later on the train
with five hours to go until Rome
i was beyond my longing
lost like yesterday
those far away days

over the water
over the Med
my sweet

resolved to get over
and get on with life
i let love slide

it was not coming back to me

III.

we clack the track
we’re in the first car
behind the great engine
powermeister of the rails

she asks if it is smoother in the last car
the one way behind
or do they get whip lash?
i don’t know
i think the ride is all in the
suspension of the car we’re in
something hanging over the steel wheels
kept us floating above sparks

IV.

some time later we stopped
still not there
i did nothing
for many minutes
then it occurred to me we weren’t moving
i thought to go out
for a smoke

i made it as far as outside our compartment
a know–it-all looking guy with dark darting eyes
who obviously thought well of himself
looked as if he worked there
was standing in the isle
he had the time
he had the exact time
said we had five minutes before the train started again
five minutes
he spoke with authority
i asked if he worked for the train

i went out, down three steps,
and began to lite a cig
the doors closed before i puffed
the train was moving
i barely got back on the train
my shirt caught in the closing doors
good thing it had a rubber seal
or i would have lost a piece of it
i put the cig out on the step
saved it for later
the know-it-all guy
was nowhere to be seen


.

a pause

My wife’s sister is here in Rome for a visit. I will pause in this daily writing as we journey north to spend a few days near the sea.


.

wind chime

varied length tubes
left over plumbing copper
thumb flop strung in the wind
rolling drum bongs
ding songs bling

or mum sometime
that’s fine, until the line
they are hung on zings tight
bouncing in the wind
the string goes ting

unfolding hollow tones
chime resounding clings
so light clinging rings
follow plings and gongs
the song sung sounds long



.

wood chimes

above walkway bricks
wooden chime sticks
bound with cord
dangle and click
as they nick
neatly tick
or tock when blunt ends
meet slick wind flicks
trick track nicks
crick sticks in the wind



.

perspective

if you gave someone
one dollar every second
in twelve days you can give
a million bills

at the rate of placing a dollar
in someone's hand every second
to give a billion dollars
would take you thirty years




.............................

here's to all

here is to all
the uncles and aunts
cousins, sisters and brothers
fathers and mothers
men and women of strength
and pride and layers of familial love
never worn tired of happiness
who burst into the day
dressed so well
all in their Sunday best
scarves, bright colors, hats and ties
with a handshake, warm embrace
old jokes and nicknames
to stand side by side, so tall
smiling proud laughing

we gathered together
seeing which children were taller
which old folks were slower
gave gifts for the occasion
and undying love
as dogs barked skipped in circles, nipping
while the children chased each other
all played coats off games outside until it rained
or became too dark to see
so we kept losing the ball

then inside to sit at a well set table with candles
share a fragrant delicious meal
the mothers had prepared in love
grandma made her special desert
then all partied and drank with my folks
the old friends who stopped by
and laughed together
my God how they laughed
there’d be music
dad played his violin
and they sang a well known favorite song of old times
in harmonies, how they tried
always some little cousin kid ran through,
tripped, fell, again and again until he cried

then at the end
when day was complete
in cool dark as
outside lights were turned on
and tiredness moaned
everyone frantic to gather their things
went outside for hugs and kisses again
to warm up the cars
already in anticipation of the next holiday
already longing for the next time
when we would do it all over again
and to wave goodbye

a bank worth a lot of jingo poem

the 1893 Villa Banca Italia on Via Nationale opened its doors to the public for the first time, one day only, today must have been a thousand in line not lira just patient people maybe nuthouse patient candidates way too quiet and orderly didn’t throw a fit after an hour and a half in line before we took a step ninety-eight point six per cent Italians unreasonably orderly and quiet if you ask me especially because one at a time, two line jumpers got in by us both short guys over sixty one started with the ploy of talking to M., saying he had to use the bathroom, remember and use that as an icebreaker at your next social gathering of course i chimed in and had to tell him where he could go to find one after five minutes i realized he had established to those behind us that he was talking with us, must be with us the second line jumper, another pro with a ploy slipped in and began peering ahead intently, like he'd been doing it for a week, and stayed that way, not looking around, hardy breathing, an infractor actor playing statue, after ten minutes he was in we strategically stayed ahead of both of them and let the people behind deal with them those people acted like they didn’t notice Italians being polite? no way! they were being non confrontational okay, okay, so we went into the villa walked around a while and saw where the rich people had a fine bank palace, a lot of marble, big stairs and held meetings over a table maybe fifteen steps long the longest table i have ever seen in my life what did i do on the second floor? i had to peek through some front window curtains and look down on the street we came from then we left, end of poem

spring to chaos

spring to chaos
stuffed with energy
here to the brim, back again
carried by people
in sighing light wind
laughing bright colors
leaping over piazzas
honking from buses
blue shadow and makeup
wine served with pizza
the short-skirted on mini-stilts
tap-tap clicking down old alleys in heels
checkered cloth and waiters
bells chime the hour
to the cobblestone sun
coffee at outside tables
amid smiling faces
talk a lot

off line

off line and fried
am always tied
to the black machine
packed with electrodes
that touch me together
with the world, it’s my life
like a fish on a string
i feel the sting
of that flash‘n’glow stop and go
bring me to life, Herr Frankenstein

been down maybe an hour
no way to tell
didn’t lose power
it’s a looking glass black hole
with road signs to hell
i really can’t wait
for now i am toast

Aces Wild

Okay, Annie, Julie, Tom, Sweet Talking Guy, you’re all in the game, aces wild. Now before we look at our cards I want to tell you thanks for the comments. You have all been helpful and I’ll try to mend my ways.

This is a highly personalized note to each and every one of you. Let’s do dinner! That’s a private joke I’ll let you in on.

One time M. and I had to vacate an apartment after only a few months tenancy because I got fired for the first and only time in my life from the last regular job I ever had. The owners of our apartment were being gracious and had us over for a glass of wine. As we were leaving they said that they’d invite us over for dinner sometime and asked if we liked fish. That was the capper, asking if we liked fish.

Of course that was the last time we ever saw or heard from them. To this day, every now and then, after someone makes a promise or invitation they are not likely to keep, M. privately says to me, “You like fish, don’t you?”

Okay, you can look at your cards now, and I’ll try to do better in my responding to your comments, but don’t bet on it. Now, one question, who dealt this mess?

sweeper

a street sweeper with a long wood handled straw broom
the kind witches flew on, no kidding
was down below cleaning last night’s reverie
doing half a job she was,
all the way up the alley

i did better sweeping my dad’s bar when i was eleven
without city wages or a hat and badge
and a uniform with a wide iridescent orange stripe
up the middle and over the back
so no one runs her over

sweeping cobblestones isn't easy
i'll say that for her,
a lot of cracks, you know
yet it is something to do

so she’ll go through the motions,
put in her time
make her wages
knowing her father won’t come by
to check how well she did the job

Weather Everywhere You Look, Up and Down

everyone is talking
about rainy days these days everyday
it is raining all over the world this year
or so it seems, so they say, my uncle said

because i heard neither the planet nor God
is making any new water
maybe a dash of global warming
is increasing the humidity

so it appears there is more wet about
at the same time, don’t you know?
didn’t mean to get ultra scientific
hope i didn’t like lose you

what i am saying is: maybe the amount of water
is the same, but because there is more rain
it’s not drying up as quickly and it looks like more
i'm not selling umbrellas or anything

keep moving

moving slowly, making plans
the slate is clean
haven’t had a slate for years
that’s how to keep one clean
easier than the car with city parking
scratches, road dust
kids doing whatever they do
running in like dog packs in the night
slate is the flat rock that breaks off
and falls in the river we used to swim
strewn with plastic bag pieces now

working out details when we get to 'em
for what comes next
be prepared like the boy scouts used to
don’t know what they do now
maybe they lost money to operate too
we never had money and we did okay
volunteers and mom and dad helping
and I roll tumbled ahead into whatever
not knowing and nothing to compare it to
just going ahead, sometimes with the crowd
sometimes with my own stupid ideas
at least working came easy
even getting up early in the morning
cause it seemed the right thing to do
and I had learned how to do that
my family taught me well
it was work and sleep and eat
and right straight ahead
and still is
time's no limit
it’s all we have
best use it well

Marathon Sunday

woke early in silence
slept deep all night
jeeze it’s quiet when the neighbors
two floors up don’t party 'til dawn
a regular Sunday start, eyes open
shower, coffee, getting ready

a morning walk and heard helicopters
checked our car in a legal parking place
no one damaged it, the side mirror still taped on
two streets over by the river we saw them
something i read in the paper two weeks ago
then of course forgot to remember

over all, how quickly a year passes
here it is again, Rome marathon
with fifteen thousand running
legions more on the side cheering encouragement
convincing spring to open up for real
while morning was cool, no one seemed to mind

certainly not those running, throwing their shirts on the street
she rejected a few than picked up a good one
from the Dunlin Marathon 2006
five minutes at home for the finish by the Coliseum on TV
then off for Chinese food, spring rolls and shrimp
saw Alex and his band jamming for coins in the piazza
still a regular Sunday in Roma

so the fish

so the fish takes a summer job at the plant
the foreman asks who could drive a fork lift
the fish says he could because the foreman
didn’t ask who can, but who could

the fish thinks he could
so he steps forward, gets in the fork lift
and uses his mouth to turn the key
he has no feet to reach the pedals

drives out and away, jumps into the nearby river
swims down stream and never looks back
because he has no neck and can’t turn his head
to look behind even if he wanted to

he told this story to his children
and eons later ancestors evolved
grew fingers and hands and feet
and wrote this story down

bookmarks

don’t have to remember anything
can bookmark by the number
i have a few new bookmarks
and plenty already there

to organize alphabetically
sort them out, files, folders, labels
many i have never seen before
don’t know how they got there

seemed a good idea when i clicked them
then never went back except now
to clean up my bookmarks
by eliminating at least a hundred never used

if i miss them when they’re gone
can always add more
i’ll make a note to do it
if i don’t get to it today

birds

birds on a wire
won’t fly higher
because they start from a better position

like people, it’s how well they can do
not what advantage they have
that determines how high they go

march bites

march bites the unwary
mouth open snapping
on low turning, moving sky cotton wisps
where winging fast birds
rise from napping
appear shot from a sling
dip low then soar far

keep jacket on, cap in hand
ready to zip up and button down
for after an hour’s pleasant sun
darker grey colors of change hover
ready to toss the covers from secret hiding
and leap, riding gusts on quick padded feet
so the next patter you hear
may be cold, hard rain drops splatter near

rushing waters

from a hotel room by the quick river
we see and hear white ripples
rush dancing over smalls falls
in non-stop fluid symphony
all day, all the night it goes on, and on
like eternal traffic sound
without pause or change
the same liquid white noise
over and over and over
packed splashing full in moving file
never with thought or pause,
while traffic ebbs and flows
and people are behind it
rushing fast mountain river water,
is a senseless spiral bound book
with no words on the pages
it keeps turning, turning
flipping ever forward
with no beginning or end
for ages, liquid ages

born a fish

it’s new and i like it
born a fish
not so bad, i don’t care
food floats by all the time
don’t have to wash or decide what to wear

home life is odd
never sleep in the same bed
and today i got rushed over a falls
i know why they call ‘em that
but i didn’t get hurt

keep swimming
they say i have to watch out for fishermen
whatever that means and such
we swim in schools
but i haven’t learned much

scarpe diem

the Iranian shoe throwing Journalist
was sentenced to three years in prison,
give him, me, and the world a break
within reasonable perspective
it was an insult
not a weapon of mass destruction

had he hit Bush in the face
prosecutors would have had something to talk about
as it was, only insult was done
and that won’t be retracted by prison time
harsh injustice would be promoted
in what we envision as the civilized world

pigeon feeding

we stopped at the small corner park
never got comfortable
a woman had a twenty pound bag of feed
throwing it out
a hand full at a time
to more pigeons
than I have seen
gathered anywhere at one time
in my life

all grass was destroyed in that half of the park
when we tired and left
the woman showed no sign of slowing
although her intentions were well based
this feeding is not good
for people
or for pigeons,
look it up

two or three pigeons
are something to see
two or three hundred
is something to avoid




Please don't feed the pigeons!

* It affects their health
* It attracts vermin and is a risk to human health
* It damages buildings
* It makes pigeons dependent on people
* It deprives other birds of food

Calcata

this cool march morning
mid week on a stone mountain top
high up and off the beaten route to anywhere
with one way in, and one way out

pass under the arch
to enter the town
then on three sides
it’s a straight drop down

pretty as it could be and so very old
we drove there for another look
at the bohemian artsy haven of Calcata

prices there are high to live and buy
and there are few stores,
what you find for sale are
hand-made craft items for tourists,
locals seeking necessities must drive a ways

the village we saw was the real one,
out of season, worn grey, cold stone dead,
lonely, cool and needing

then this and every weekend
the curious will come

some other day, another season
even we may return
with the reason of showing friends
what ancient, remote, quaint
and wonderful can look like

for the children

teachers are good people
to put up with groups of children
who are aptly regarded as a handful

we mustn’t whip education at a fever pace
until it’s homogenized, generalized,
historically meaningless to them

we can help at home by passing along
lessons learned from our past, personal stories,
events from our family elder’s lives

so what lesson do i give?,
my grandchildren are spinning so fast
they couldn’t hear me if i knew what to say

perhaps i’ve written something here for them,
or perhaps their children will read it, some other year,
they’ll figure out life's mysteries when they’re ready

when they wonder and amaze
about who they are
and what we went through to get here

before TV and computers took all of our time
when sunset and a rainbow
and music played at home was family entertainment

when the evening sky filled with brilliant stars
horsepower was hitched to a wagon
and every barn had hand tools and a saddle

when we made promises
and did our best to keep them,
while looking forward to the challenges of tomorrow

weather broke

winter snapped
like an old branch
a bird tried to sit on
maybe wind kicked it
a cat licked it
or a dog dragged it
cause the stick made it’s way
down the bank
got into the river
and floated away

part of me
must have gone along
for the ride
cause I feel the change
right here
deep inside

do you want toast

do you want toast?
this is morning, the weekend
and we always have toast
both of us, and two coffees
always - as in everyday,
not only weekends

yet she asks as if it’s a new idea that
just crawled over the top rim
and dropped into the cookie jar of her mind
metaphysically speaking, no disrespect intended

of course, she wants toast,
always does,
she thinks of toast first,
every time

says she wants toast then
asks me if i want toast
and then i say yes, i'll have toast
that’s how it goes

and then i rose up and made...wait!
i didn’t rise like an ascension of angels
although i understand why you might think it
i plain got up, as from sitting is to standing

and then made a second coffee
for each of us
cause it just hit me in a flash to do that
it seemed a fine idea
albeit within the scripted and rehearsed
tangled woven bounds of the ordinary




x

city life

city life has so many faces
walking, standing, waiting,
on and off the buses
in and out of stores
you won’t see them all

when i was just about home
heading down a narrow way
a face in the crowd startled me
it was the recognition of a friend
that had caught me off guard
a friend now deceased
uncanny the resemblance
at first glance

stopping just ahead of me,
this man had his keys out for a door
same graying hair, same smooth movements,
equally well-dressed,

and as his head turned
he first casually looked my way,
then when his glance caught me
he peered directly into my eyes

i slowed my steps
and he smiled, first in apparent recognition
then his look changed to something else
that i couldn’t read,

we exchanged nods then greetings
i thought you were someone i knew, i explained
so did i, he said, you remind me a lot of a dear friend
we used to meet for a drink at that bar near the corner
he live in this neighborhood for quite a while,
then passed away a few years ago

how it began, went looking

checked for used cars on line
then went to a showroom,
two buses and a tram later
we were there

walked around ten minutes
looked at stickers on car windows
then went to our favorite
Indian fast food restaurant

to celebrate, hurray,
we went looking!
many long journeys begin before
you get in your car, or have one

D.S. Al Fine

large and growing
the net brings change,
knowledge disseminates
for the world that will be




it is not important
flowers know
it is the sun
they wait for

fiction is stranger than truth

the one who said truth
is stranger than fiction
brought cookies, apples or flowers
to the teacher everyday

wagged his hand so much
trying to answer all the questions
that he lost blood circulation in his arm
they nearly had to amputate

always had hair evenly parted on the same side
wore a cute little red sport coat
kept it neatly buttoned
even on the playground

never believed in
monsters from space
tried to be the peacemaker when
we played cowboys and Indians

in short, was a dullard
possessed absolutely
not so much as a speck
of imagination whatsoever

ran under a tree in a thunderstorm
was struck by lightening
six times and was toast
I do so verify

the best

the wellness of being,
goodness in all respects
remains a narrow line
to travel upon

to shift slightly
adjusting temperament
in kindness
and giving

in full field
out in the open, on my honor,
although it's a mess
we're all doing the best we can



I'm still working on the above. I read it again this morning and it didn't read well. It changed, or I changed. It didn't work. I changed the title and a few words and then I pushed it out the door anyway. I guess that's the best I can do today.

four a.m.

i wake to put on neat earphones
with fresh batteries
and hear four a.m. radio
news from the BBC
fighting in the Congo, a report live from Deli
China in the headlines, corrupt leaders everywhere
staggering economies, some with more than they can use
and taking more, cities overflowing,
the world in disarray

TV pictures run in my mind
of a tired young woman with a bucket
getting water from a hole dug in the ground
somewhere on the plains in Africa

she is too thin and wears rags
a poor child stands nearby watching
all is dusty
there are no pets
there is nothing extra for them
this is their water
this is their life

while i sleep in a clean warm bed
with a comforting blanket
a refrigerator in the next room
a shower in the morning
i’ll make coffee and toast
play a digital keyboard
plugged into my computer
and know that even twisting, darting, colorful birds
under white clouds and radiant blue skies
will not turn a head
will pass unnoticed
by so many struggling each day to survive

i cannot help them directly
but i can notice
and compassion is a first step
toward resolution

admit they exist

Franco

Franco is of indeterminate age
past mid everything, some wrinkles and thin,
of the seedy man who looks dangerous it’s difficult to say more
dull winter layers of tired clothing deceive

he fell into a coma some years ago
friend Alberto visited him in hospital
a watchful grave nurse shook her head
there was little hope afforded him

Alberto approached where the patient appeared clean and comfortable
as the nurse stepped out to leave mournful respect
the dormant Franco lifted an eye and whispered
“I’’m not gong to die, Alberto.”

and so Franco lumbers on, helping the piazza flower venders
moving things, making deliveries on stiffening legs
eyes that give him problems,
drinks too much when inclined, when he has money enough

his mumbled Roman dialect across
lips holding a burning cigarette,
looking up in apparent sneering smile over broken teeth
“sun is warm, the day is good”

pond in the woodlands

carefully I trod
amid bent blue grass and weeds
on low rolling bubbles of hills
around a dark pond

peppered with wild life
rippled in fishes
who keep eyes to the surface
watching bugs circle

when touching down,
with no warning become
a snack in a snap,
a quick fish’s morsel

in this natural chalice
harvesting life
teaming with chance,
is nature’s balance

In The News Reflecting Our Ways in These Days

Swedish princess to marry fitness trainer

with man

times are most difficult
going through a lot
she’s working way too much these days
and always with undue stress
it takes all she’s got

so very hard her life
handling however she can
she is not with child, you see,
much worse, she married him,
she’s with man

nightime thought

resembling a wad of socks
little mental rockets explode,
shoot off then drop like rocks
into the back side pockets
of my mind

many engraved with happy faces
others wrapped, still sleeping
patiently wait to be taken out
each a little frosted cake
with a prize
in the middle

overnight

overnight
when sleek kitties creep under fences
lone dogs will bay
at a sound or a scent

moonless, under cover of darkness
stars are blocked by thick waving arms of trees
and flying vaporous clouds
a witches eve for brews and fires

on shallow brown river water’s edge
a large white bird is napping
as some do, standing on one foot
with head tucked under wing

above, the back road traffic has ended
and directly below the bridge
silvery stream water gurgles
then overhead a streak, the long white,
a lone gull shooting swift as an arrow on the wind

while some animals prowl night away
others sleep, practically smiling
dreaming of their friends and family
waiting for the morrow, sun again

i have no need to worry

i have no need to worry
my fortune's not 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 my means i remain this person
and you are able to run the way you do

if i write stories

if i write stories
they won’t be scary
only fuzzy animals in mine
all of them will wink and smile

my happy birds will fly and sing,
joy they’ll carry near and far,
my creatures won’t eat people.
Steven King, wait in the car

way inner

can’t feel my face
by the grace that is saving us
in this place
where high above
stars ought to be over my head
on a night like this
I’ve got a ceiling instead
finding space
for glimmer
isn't easy

Roma Old and New

twenty-five hundred years
of lost objects, spit and trash
split and bashed,
devils and angels
corners and angles
ground under the firmament
by carts, tramping feet and chariots,
covered by layers of stone and tears
worn smooth, remodeled, invaded,
sweat upon, bloodied on,
beaten down, burned,
demolished, polished and paraded over,
made new again

into the boring years and motorcars
when time passes evenly, eventually
like watching a candle burn,
artisans , widows, beggars and whores
Publicans, demogogues, farmers and stores
teachers, dentists and shopkeepers daughters
make bread, make wine
tend the animals
keep them fed and in line

crushed stone rolls well and blows like dust
in the wind on the sweeping wings of time
theirs, yours and now mine,
clamor carries on forever
in the magnificence of proper order
the significance of restructure,
honorable poets, let us drink to life
sing songs with laughter,
chatter long and loud and stall the vandals

dreams of flying

M. dreams of flying
soaring, looping in joy
picking lovely bright blue leaves
from the tops of the trees

I dream of flying
and I’m packed up to my eyes
with no leg room, jammed between
two sweating, farting, bad breath fat guys

letter to you

like a letter to you
it’s practically personal when I say
how’s it going? You doing okay?
take car of yourself, someone has to

we’re doing fine, the best we can
I said to take car but I meant take care, cause i was thinking
to mention we bought a car
did I tell you before?

we know our way around the city well because
we know the bus lines from years of practice riding
we just don’t drive where the tram goes
they go on tracks, and so far we don’t

I’d write a poem with birds and flowers
but we live our hours in the city
so this is filled with double parking and pedestrians
still, it’s so very stone old that it’s kind of pretty

hey, I’ve got to go now
time to turn down the lamps
I know this is a strange way to write you
but I’ve saved on the stamps

certainly

do your daily deeds
take care of the needs
of those that depend on you
to do the best you can

if all begins to unravel
or gets rough around the edges
no matter, you continue,
turn uncertainty into certainly

it’s the only way, everyday,
you know it‘s true
that’s how life goes, so keep it up,
allow someone to count on you

in motion

in motion, a million wiggling amoebae
in the overflowing Petri dish
of cell phone talkers, rushing shoppers,
urgent motorcycles,
scooters, bicycles,
cars, trucks breathing fire,
varied species of shiny multicolored metal rhinos in commotion

once jaywalking in front of a giant i fell
broke my arm in three places
got up quickly
the bus elected to brake
and not hit me

most dogs on leashes pull owners,
while sensible cats choose not to run
remain near home
lick themselves senseless asleep in Rome warm sun
and rarely break anything

weather map

oh, it could be many reasons,
but i choose the official Italian
Government issued weather maps
to drive me up the wall, daily

a typical day is coming our way
the latest weather map shows
forty-six suns over Italy,
4 suns over Sardegna, seven over Sicily

Dress properly and have a nice day.

not by the clock

not by the clock
nor sun’s final ray
the arch of the moon,
or shadows of what others say

will i change pace
for what I write
tumbling, veering, loose in space
off to places beyond sight

freely setting it’s own course
running when and where it might,
a sleek dark horse takes me where i go
with no remorse, I sleep well at night

dreamed i was

i dreamed i was someone else, you see
i said my name
and it wasn’t the same
when i looked she was where she ought to be

it never before happened to me
cause i was in the right place
it must have been a case
of mistaken identity

intention

friend Tom called to mention
i didn’t post a poem that day
well, he’d missed mine, i’d say
and every day was my intention

it had been a year then i forgot,
simply, other things were going on
i wasn’t playing the sleeping pawn
a prognosticator i am not

i missed a day without remorse
now i’ll hop back on track
and write a stack
of poems, you see, i will, of course

Walker - one wholey knight

Walker Texas ranger in Italian
with the volume down
no messing around
the man’s a stallion

the show starts with a mess of guys
getting beat up by the ranger
and other helpers, no stranger
than the fact that no one dies

the old man sneezes
they take him to hospital
where he wears his hat, sitting tall
in bed, i mean, Jesus,

he stays there until he mends
walker beats up more of the bad
fellows, and i’m glad
i don’t watch until the program ends

i know the final score
Walker beats up everyone bad
and of this i’m glad
i’ve seen the show before

how can i best explain

how can i best explain
the trees and trails
the woods with clean water hills
that i knew in my youth

oh, somewhere there is a partial picture
that shows a wooded area
but it doesn’t taste of seasons
it doesn’t show the turtles in fall
the thin ice of winter
pollywogs in spring
or sasafrass roots in summer

when we were ten we listened to the frogs
in the forgotten pond
we dug forts and swung on vines
walked over the creek on the trunk of fallen giants

our highway was an overgrown remnant of
the old street-car bed
we knew it well, we read its signs
a garter snake, a portion of broken tie
the occasional bend

i may never mention it again
but hope some day to take you there

teach the children

if my kid’s kids lived next door door
instead of next moon moon
i’d stop in and say hi or they would
i’d teach them to do and quietly enjoy

to notice birds watching them
even the cat who sometimes isn’t really sleeping
keeps an eye on them
i’d try, i would, but example is the only way

for kids do as their parents
mine are destined
to continue the line
of doing lucky well

they have grown middle aged now
with families of their own
and live far away
my teaching is over

click, click

i'll put it here for you
once in a while we’ll click
you and i click. . . click,
click, rolling the same track

there is no order
no turning back on the blog
keep sifting drifting through
find something in the fog written for you

too bad it’s not leather bound
so you could hear the click of turning pages
and feel the weight of thick
paper on your fingers as you leaf

until then, brief poems will continue
to fall like drips from a faucet
into a pan – dap – dip –dap
scroll on down the hall amici, you can

all roads lead to Rome, more or less

a partial sun sparkle through bright clouds
is fine for a drive out of the city
until time to return becomes a curious
many hilled meander, for all roads
lead to Rome, or so it appears
according to all road signs

believing the signs can get you lost,
run you in circles, nick your patience,
rob you of hope, reroute you once
or twice through the nearby states of
confusion and despair before you
finally bumble-roam home into Rome

got gas, the cook-with kind

went to the bombola man
he sells gas, the cook-with kind
from his store on the corner,
an old, old man and his wife
that’s their life, serving this community

how much do I need?
I begin to put my hand to indicate the level of the tank
he says thirty euro and I tell him yes
does the doorbell work? cause the guys rings it
then I’ll run down to let him in
no problem, i know I’ll hear the motorino
and be at the door before he is,

gas me up baby, we want it now
got to make coffee,
need some hot chow
gas me up baby, do it now, do it now

1502 and now

the document for this building where we live
shows that in 1502 the first two floors were erected,
three floors above were added later


early morning can be silent
here in the center of Rome
whose blocks and alleyways have known the ages

robust characters that laughed and cried,
lived and died here are forgotten,
covered in the dust to which they have returned

of them i feel not a trace
though i stand in their stead,
walk in their space,
have taken as mine their place
of joys and sorrows,
yesterday's tomorrows

there are no echoes of lingering bygone voices
in these halls of musty deeds, worn life pages
that have long passed along these walls
rubbed thoroughly into the mists of gone ages,

into that silence of the night
I will follow

good blue

absoblulutely skyness
all over the place
depths in waves
on my arms, my face,
blue and beyond I’d say

that sort of day we had
not so cold, not so bad
you’d like it, I know you’d do
and I mean it, really,
very blue

Daws Butler

Daws was a friend of mine
one fun, wacky, hard working, intelligent guy
loving creativity and exuding it
in every way, at all times, for everyone
truly one of the best

recently i was lacking in something,
feeling cast distant from my desire to play music,
write poetry, write other things, do art,
unable to burst forth with things
then i thought of Daws, my mentor, my friend
That’s what it is, i miss the guy

the good spark, absolutely, one of the best,
talented and giving, loving life,
never one to criticize, always quick to encourage,
he issued all the license to have fun,

he was an inspiration for creativity and humor,
humor, go ahead, say it again, be redundant,
Daws would, then make a face or do a funny voice

it was wonderful having spent time with him,
Daws knew what side his toast was buttered on
and if he’d put an elbow in it, he’d look sad
say, “oh, yuck!” in such an exaggerated way
just to get you to laugh

sorted photos

been a while since I’ve seen the
old times, the different places,
if everyone has taken a thousand pix,
let’s call them that, pix,

and we are going on seven billion people,
that comes to . . . uh, let me see, let me see
exactly more images than we have to save
rev ‘em up

open the flood gates of our drawers
and cardboard boxes on closet floors and free them,
let that stack of birthday faces and holiday places tumble
build houses out of them

course now they’re on digital files, a load of
air ball pie, pre-evaporated and doesn’t exist anyway,
so why did I spend Saturday night sorting
when i could have been cavorting?

drove out

drove out of the center of Roma,
a big deal to vacate our precious street parking spot,
then arrived in a stone city with kitties,
topped with a castle on a hill,
Palombara Sabina,
it only took an hour
to drive six hundred years into the past

following an hour walk around
we stopped at a restaurant on the way home
with two dozen hunters inside in camouflage suits
we wondered if it was safe to go in

as we got out of the car in the parking lot
three more hunters were getting out of their tank,
i mean “car”, they also wore head to toe camouflage
and didn’t smile

we asked them if the restaurant was open,
maybe they were having a secret meeting,
they said sure, and to go right in,
i said “we don’t have any costumes.”
they laughed instead of shooting us

yes we ate well,
the best lasagna of the ages
drove safely back to Rome
and found a parking space
a minute walk from home

tonight we sipped amaro
and talked about tomorrow

in line

two of my friends lost their moms this month
one, and then the other,
mine went a few years ago,
all the dads have been gone a while

my wife called the parents a buffer,
without them
we’ve all stepped up,
and we’re at the head of the line

on the phone Les mentioned school
how our town was, who we were
we knew it all so well,
and how way back then
is only a mind’s blink away
in first grade I was sent to stand in the hall
for pulling her pigtails in class

way, way back then, in that other time
we weren’t aware how young we were
during the summers of fun, the apples of fall,
crisp winters, happy buoyant beginnings of spring
the teachers, classmates, dances
the whole thing whizzing by
in the tempo of a Souza march
every bit of life rang rain water sparkling clear
with ups and downs, and most often, fine times

as pages turn somehow
and here we stand
look at us, we are
those same kids we remember,
older now,
next in line

time for

reading and writing
all I have time for
what am I slighting?
where is the fun?

still I can’t get it all done
it seems either, or
one after the other
from sun to sun

beauty

beauty without
something behind it
is a thoroughbred
never trained

roll on until you coast

I have to think about this. What I am doing here? Wait, It’s not what you think. I know I’m writing brief things each day. I am talking about the how as much as the what.

A different site is one option, because it’s hard to think of longer poems on more than one page of the computer. Then you have to scroll down. No one in their right mind wants to get into a lot of scrolling. Based on the unpublished comments to this blog however, i have a few readers ripe for an all night scrollathon.

So, I need pieces of paper with poems printed on – what normal people call a book. On the blog you have to read the two or three parts of a story backwards. That is a problem that needs resolution from the techies of this cyberworld.

Or I could use a guy standing on a hill reciting my poems - some other guy, not me. How about Peter O’toole in his youth? He can do it cause a blog is like a dream, isn’t it? I just dream it up and it comes about? Or what?



sailing to the coast
on a silver ghost
buckle up in motion
they pour that magic potion
movies on a jet plane
the hero’s
singing in the rain

now, it’s a primo flight
gonna fly all night
when she brought my tray
i heard her walk away and say
life is but a dream
a matter of time
now you've made the scene
so you may as well unwind
go ahead and dine
on crackers, avocados, cheese and California wine

for the better

Obama is changing the world for the better
it is inevitable, for as you know,
in all organizations
things trickle down from the top

Obama is atop a worldly big one
good for him and good
for the rest of us
the good will trickle down

dark eight

dark, eight in the rain
on a goodies run in the glare
Saturday night, doin’ it right
lamp light here and there

carefully of course, not to fall again
yesterday, a stairs slip may have broken my hand
saved the pizzas though
i’ll have an x-ray if the hand stays swollen

oh, yes, the rain run tonight,
saw a hunched dripping guy
walking by, said hi, Giancarlo
the optometrist round the corner

been to him over the years,
makes me feel the local I am
wandering Roma alleys in the dark
out on a lark cause we gave in,

she had a sore throat,
so i put on my coat and did the need
with good thought and speed
brought home the chocolate

thick and the lean

the thick and the lean times
turn over like phases of the moon
riding sure and steady,
change be along soon,
go ahead look round,
stay at the ready
for the next roll of the lots
is coming down
be sure with the toll,
put coins in the slot,
cause you’re on a roll
pay up, pay out,
like it or not
it’s what you’ve got

do not open any attachments

when writing emails is launching
rockets to the wind onto far mountain
old pictures in a drawer, stacked in a file
someday to be sorted,

the unidentified guy in the photo, throw him away
looks like uncle whatshisname
clean it up, game starts in half an hour
a lot of billion people, some dressed in rags,
some searching for the next meal
and we shoot emails into the wind onto far mountain
wondering which sweater goes
best with the rest

of your costume, hit reply and pass it on, into the nether
suddenly she really needs that picture of Uncle Bart
i thought his name was Mark, I threw it away
squirrel looking with a mustache? right?
pack it up, stack ‘em up, start over