in the beginning

how frogs got to our pond in the first place
is an imponderable
the fenced in backyard pond is remote for a frog
a block from the river
a large cove is a block to the north
another cove is a few blocks west
they aren’t taking taxis to get here
no blinking signs written in Frog advertise room and board

a year ago four came late one eve
Herb, our second season frog, called them, I know,
on rainy nights they move,
sought his alluring voice
it was the season of hot frog love

their voices are all alike to me
but it was three girl frogs that showed up, triplets no doubt,
maybe girl frogs croak also, sing that is. or whatever,
that male frog noise to them must sound like a siren to Ulysses,
or Sinatra at the Copacabana, cause they came

now they’re all gone
we’re starting from scratch
so when it rains
who is going to call them?
do they just stumble around the neighborhood,
after a rowdy night on the prowl
until they find the place?
heaven only knows

already mid june

a last look from the porch before bed
a robin, born a few weeks ago, loudly chirps
alone, perhaps unsure of his new life
has returned to spend the night
in his now abandoned home nest

a harmless insect, junebugs, from the lake
Canadians call them Yankee soldiers
on this side Ohioans call them Canadian solders
swarm in from for two weeks each June,
food for the birds, annoying everyone else, they come to die
their corpses make a mess, litter everywhere

today’s the day, the very day the last of them,
they are through living
as I close the screen door to enter the house
a flash of yellow light catches my eye,
it is first firefly,
now it is their time,
my California wife thought they were a Walt Disney invention
never saw a real one until we moved to Ohio
the arrival of lightening bugs is a changing of the guard,
a turning of the key,
like a winding of the clock
summer moves in

south africa

one point four kilometers down
61 dead in an abandoned gold mine
illegal workers
in a part of the mine that was closed
because it was too dangerous

children have been orphaned
and women have been widowed
they weren’t looking to get wealthy
but to eat, care for their families
and perhaps get away
to where they could live

Frog One-One - Reprise

Now in these hollow frogless times, indulge me as I turn back to a year ago for this forgotten frog favorite.



Frog One-One

i got in the car
and drove to the shopping plaza
it was about empty and i was going slowly
driving in circles
in the parking lot
my brain was on overdrive

my turn signal on
it blinked, but i didn't
until i nearly ran out of gas
and then about cried when i realized it was true
cause i triple checked, twice
there was no store called
Frog Aid

i want to explain, dear reader
we saw them, well she pointed them out to me
now there are four
like a Sergio Leone movie
four, tall in the saddle
well, . . . in the pond

and she says they're the same four
"Which same?" i yelled

"Say that three times fast," she said
as she did it, "Which same, which same, which same."

i tried and couldn't do it
once i had to read a commercial for Misses Pauls Fish Sticks in L.A. at KBIG
and i finally turned it over to Dave the Slave in the midnight cave,
another announcer, cause i couldn't say fish sticks smoothly

"which same" gave me the same trouble
as fish sticks

but my gut feeling told me
these are all new guys
four hiding, sneaking frogs
lurking out there
waiting for sundown

i drove home, cause i knew what i had to do

"Frog One-One, may I help you," the voice said with authority

"That's what I want to know. There's four in the pond."

i heard him drop the phone

then, "Is anyone at home?" he asked.

"I'm calling from home."

"Get out of town!" he said.

"I'm on my way."

"No, I mean are you kidding?" he asked.

"Uh, . . . what part?"

dial tone

that was two hours ago
i've been back at the shopping plaza parking lot
driving in more circles
determined to find a
Frogs Are Us
. . . i need to make a donation

four a.m. again

open my eyes to red glowing lights that read four a.m. i’m thinking poetry in absolute silence where words float in then sitting I’ve got jazz passages in my head for Some Enchanted Evening hearing Enzio Pinza sing a few lines i didn’t play anything didn’t hear anything just started thinking about, it’s nearly dawn, street lamps just turned off the coffee i’m putting on good morning world life’s a song isn’t it? how are you doing anyway? waking easy i hope thinking too much is a hell of a way to wake up

oiling

was putting linseed oil on the plank floors of my lab,
it used to be the cookhouse
back when it was constructed in 1838,
as i do, the old place needs tender maintenance

my knees ache from today’s labor
but i cleaned up, and one more section’s finished
M. went out to town for food shopping,
she’ll put a fine meal together by sundown

now sitting here typing, working these words out
i see she just drove in the drive, and it’s a good thing,
though life together isn't always a bowl of cherries
i’d sure miss her if she wasn’t around

too bad we couldn’t just oil up each other,
rub it in slowly with a nice soft cloth
in easy circular motions
until we both looked and felt like new

stronger than steel

after several days parked under a tree
our car developed a spider web on the rear bumper
a massive heavy weave laden with the insects
that swarm a few days every June
when north winds carry them in a cloud
across Lake Erie from Canada

I tore off three corners of the web
and left a major strand holding the load
of snagged Canadian soldiers
and thought of it dangling as I drove
to a nearby store, then home again

as I passed one car I wondered
did he see my web flapping like a pennant
I wasn’t ashamed, oh contraire, i was nearly proud
it was an experiment
what man made thing
could hang tight in a torrent of wind like that?
certainly not me by my shirt
or maybe not me from my belt
strand for strand it is said spider webs
have an incredible tensile strength stronger then steel,

so after a few wind blown minutes to the store and back
I pulled the car into our drive, parked,
then immediately checked the web
it was gone

hyphenation

why do only women do it?
I’ll hyphenate my name
to honor my mother’s family
give me a bigger name
to confuse and aggravate people

wait, instead I’ll do it right
and use a commercial product
and perhaps the company will
send money for the endorsement
call me Jack Sender-Campbell Soup



(cash or money order only)

four thirty-seven a.m.

when I looked at the clock
it was wholly night - totally

big still and darkness
hung air

no wind blew
nothing could be heard

no trains, no traffic
no light
no frog, birds asleep, insects quiet
it had become the meaning
silent night

garage sale

an alert notice bannered the local paper
attention – don’t miss it
the once-a- year whole town garage sale is a happening
and god almighty good glory the sun is shining today

folks in colorful, rumpled, weekend-casual
doin' a bit o'work leisure wear
have unloaded all manner of goods
that pack, end to end, the parking lot
where make-do tables and stacked boxes are set
row upon row
displaying once cherished items
now calling for your money, money, money
just a little of your money
cause these would-be venders don’t
want to store it any longer

more or less recently fresh coffee
and bakery goods are available at a trailer
all moderately priced for the good spirited group
now streaming like buffalo
amid sale items that are overall:
fifty per cent plastic, twenty percent broken,
the rest miscellaneous or generally non classifiable,
including the chipped and rusted
all discounted to rock bottom prices

no music blares, only excited hometown chatter is heard
in the flood of curious meanderers
in sun hats, suspenders, comfy shoes and canes,
elbow to elbow walking proud

including children on bicycles, in strollers, some towed
all in a great moving wave
along the sea of heads down, eyes alert,
hard core bargain hunters,
seeking and assessing under priced treasures,
most destined for little use
or to be packed away
until recycled again
some other day
at a future, as yet to be announced,
be ready when it comes, garage sale

if women

if women are so damn gentle
why does she get upset more than me?
I mean, i swept the porch,
she didn’t see,
only the lousy pile of debris
I left on the other side,
from sweeping the drive
sakes alive and Wah!
so it wasn’t put in a trash can, thirty lashes
we have four days before the trash guys arrive

she works hard and right
I commend her, she keeps all neat
runs her half of the ship tight
my list of good I do includes mud
not tracked in on my feet – how ‘bout that!
am I sweet, or what?

have to remind myself
she sees things her way, not mine,
cause astrologically speaking – we were born in
different places at different times,
must allow for different hearts,
different stops, different starts, different graces
we get things done at a different paces
boys versus girls in the human races
and so it goes

now, if I’m not hard enough
maybe it’s because I wake up early each day,
my skin gets too soft
from gentle morning sunshine
baby kissing my eyes,
she’d probably say the sun light in my eyes
goes in deep alright,
and has dried out my brain

reflection

as i reflect it seems
there are two extremes
beginning and end
with which to contend

my report begins in motion
a start somewhere in the middle
for the real beginning was so long ago
that i don’t hope to know

and beyond my lines
the end will come in view
but more will notice
when the end is past
certainly not me
and i doubt if you

the wall

the wall between us
is nearly transparent
as i can see
we can live within, i have found

and walk around half off the ground
through misty vapors
crowned with windows
to gothic cathedral height

invisible as sweet music
unfolding with the stars at night
treading softly on the grass
all seems so profound

as easily we pass
turning to the sound
with outstretched arms
we circle, around, around and around

enough of this that both
gladdens and saddens me
it is for you too
look around, go and see
i am yours, you are mine
we share the way
it’s ours this day
if we’re so close
why are you always
on the other side?

mourning doves

more than any other bird not on disassembly lines
an estimated 70 million are shot by hunters annually,
while other birds make happy songs
mourning doves emit a plaintive lament - coo coo coo
a favorite sound since mornings of my youth

look for them not in deep woods, but in open fields
and sitting on telephone wires
doves fly a swift 55 miles an hour in straight lines
eat only seeds
their poorly constructed nest tends to fall apart

unlike other birds, doves blink
sad like circus clown Emmet Kelly
who swept the spotlight with a broom,
they are cute,
yet, pitiful

Clockster Doctorettes

it’s three o’clock
my god – stop the clocks
you know which ones
take the weights off and the pendulums
load them in the car, gently
don’t forget the wind up keys
we’re on our way to the Clockster Docterettes
who claim knowledge to repair antique clocks
good luck to us – we’re on the way

speeding through tiny towns with hills wavy pretty
looking like that’s what snow is made for
send me a picture
then grant, sycamore, and state streets
where we dropped off the clocks for an estimate
oh, my – an estimate
hey , they run fine
give them a squirt of clock oil
not a frontal lobotomy


on the way back we passed camp Quilter –
she thought it said Quitter
at the local small town roadside drive though feed house
she got a large soft drink
the size of an Opel Cadet,
any larger it would need turn signals

i popped my ears trying to suck a small shake
the consistency of a goodyear tire
i sucked and sucked and then popped up a freezing slug
that hit the roof of my mouth and landed on my teeth
like two hundred pounds
of frozen dancing reindeer in tap shoes
i saw stars, screamed in pain
nearly passed out from the shock
but kept the car on the road
and sped us home

no call yet from the Clockster Doctorettes

beyond the pale

the one left in tall grass
behind the building out back
there is no hope
there just plain is

screw loose and fancy free
I have the time
and the inclination
don’t forget loveable

too bad I’m not magnetic
with an important message
like one you love and stuck on the refrigerator
but know so well by heart you ignore it

major antique barn

motor down the lonesome highway
to the major antique barn
that says it all
has it all
got to be haunted

pristine condition
repairable for the most part
hardly used or damn near worn smooth
from the ten thousand times junior
threw it down the stairs
dragged it down the street
and left it in the rain
before he buried it in the backyard

keepsakes once stuck in dusty corners
hidden by crazy aunt Beulah under the floor,
uncle Ned found it behind the attic
from the back of drawers
the bottoms of closets
taped behind a false wall in the bathroom
pulled out and sold off by the children
or left behind in the garage after a move

come look and wander by
wonder at thousands of memories

treasures from some once upon a long time ago
been in the family for ages
made there and carted here
old when grandma had it
original paint
each item a loving story now forgotten
there may be all for some
and could be some for all
break it - you buy it

robins eyes

It is said when a pickpocket walks down the street and all he sees are pockets.


you know robins see the worms
when they’re hopping around out there,
that’s how they find them
one after the other
from looking

they see the movement,
sharp eyes
too bad i couldn’t train one
to take the eye test for my driver’s license
if their legs were long enough to hit the brake
i’d let one drive me around
i feel lucky
and i’ve got insurance

all depends

no mowing today
straight rain for a second day
good for the earth
good for the crops
thank God
or the weatherman
depends what channel you’re tuned to

running wild

look out now
take heed
you’ll need
to hide the feed
cause in the lead
at great speed
here comes greed
the mighty steed
leaping hard
running wild

where's the old town?

where’s the old town?
gone with the old timers
who used to always be hanging around,
in an out of the stores and the bars
and the pool hall, Red and Woody, Danny and Duck Eggs
and all the ladies jolly and fair
can’t name ‘em all

driving, some’d stop right in the
middle of Main Street and just talk,
others drove around them
well i seen ‘em all, seems just a while ago,
now they’ve vanished like arrowheads in the fields
and the clear water creeks
or cut down with the woods i guess

just in the door of the old diner
i waved off a menu and ordered coffee
“alls i’m sayin’ is”
concentration please, eyes on the ball
tongue half hanging out mouth
i watched a guy stacking peas on his knife
with his fingers
you got to be kidding me

the clang, clang, clang, clang at the railroad crossing
a hundred yards away now a metallic
tap, tap, tap, tap buried under traffic hum
talking how Old Mrs. Batt swings right in order to turn left
“ warms up to a turn” he said and laughed
dipping toast into gravy

bits of chatter and the clack of cups and forks on plates
bounced the walls and ricocheted my way
thank god they never have a radio blarin’
my hand over my cup so
the waitress wouldn’t top off my coffee,
had it just right where I wanted it
talk jumped to school band practice,
I heard, “damn drum thunder”
they callin’ the tribe in, are they?

i sipped dark java and then turned my head to the window
where afternoon light danced in through the old maple tree
making patterns across the checkered table cloth
“pea brain ass wipes”
light rain pattered on the roof
a second later the door opened and
sally came in with her new bouffant-and-a- half, she checked it with a touch
and did a wiggle strut, as she moved to sit down
on that overgrown empty lot, over on the corner, there used to be a house
an abandoned wreck half fallen, they tore the rest down
it wasn’t that bad a place, as i recall
“hot damn, ‘s nearly summer”
pick ups trucks parked outside, this old joint was hopping
still has antlers on the wall i observed
and it made me smile

still churning and a kicking,
the old town’s a sleeping babe
that rolled over, curled a leg
and tucked the covers under her chin
taking up a new position

nearly june

nearly June and our swinging sun
has worked it’s way around the side of the house.
a good odd thing the settlers did
laid the streets at a thirty degree angle
north by north east to south by south west
credit also to god, and the way the river runs

by June, at our 41 degree northen latitude
the morning sun leaps into the windows
on what we call the north side of the house
how about that,
what a sparkle

what a pleasant change for the summer
sun coming in from the north, sorta
that first golden hour of dawn,
a delight to wake up to
or, at least, have coffee with.

frog 09 - the season opener

after the usual cold Ohio winter
dryness came - no rain for a while
cool air has packed her bags and left
now finally spring is leaning on summer


we cleaned up the results of long winter neglect
got everything ready for the new season
things look changed, charged and reset, even the frog,
looking as if he recently crawled from his winter mud bed


Herb took nearly a week to get reacquainted
with us and the new frog year
now he’s talking to us again, like old times
today it rained, all day, on and off


this warm and sticky evening, in drizzle at dusk he hopped
out to the side and up to the heavy plank
that spans the pond
a few more hops to the middle, to reconnoiter


tonight he’ll use darkness and the rain to roam for a while
or call other roamers in, it’s what home frogs do
we’ll wait and see how it develops,
it's what frog watchers do

miracle heavenly father

Author Henry Miller said if one believes, then miracles happen. I don’t think you have to believe; I think it is up to us to pay attention to recognize when they occur.

today as i drove from a side road
a mile down a major heavy traffic area
at forty-five miles and hour
things went my way

through a dozen green traffic lights without pause
then onto the freeway when
it occurred to me
there is a divine something

the lights changing for me
didn’t happen by chance
luck is not in my repertoire
don’t believe in accidents

it had nothing to do with diligence or hard work
i was aware it was divine intervention,
no idea why the sudden miracle, i must have been due
haven’t changed my life style for doodley

robin's

robins and robin’s sons
from sun to sun, year to year
and the little bird girls too
have known our ways for generations

they fear us less
cause we live here too
we’re practically furniture
to fly around

and they keep returning
the same extended family
pecking around as we pass by
they don’t startle now and fly away

worms they want
and worms they’ll find
insects too, for the little ones

breed ‘em
feed, em
keep out of the way

teach them to find their own food
it’s robin’s work
in a robin’s day
it's a robin's world

best of both worlds

best of both worlds
it could be that way
as some perceive
as some friends say

for we spend time there
and some time here,
whether far or near
rapidly goes another year

as Romans have
a summer country home
so we do we, only ours
is in another country

quiet of the weekend

quiet of the weekend
final page of another week
turn out in comfortable clothes
stay at home chores present themselves

a pause from our regular endeavors
regroup to do it again
be thankful for what we have
mark it all down in the good

eyes down

five minutes to home
she found an odd button
that we put in the jar
for such things

her eyes to the ground
everywhere we go
oh, what she’s found
the jars are filling

she’s found money, buttons, badges,
chain, earrings, hair clips,
combs, pendants, knobs, hats, balls, t-shirts
and kittens in a tree

flying back this time
she stood up in the isle
bent down, picked up a quarter
others didn’t see

no matter where we are
don’t have to ask or remind her
whatever i need, i wait a bit,
she’ll find it

pond again

late May turns warmer
on the verge of mosquitoes
June bugs, and dragon flies,
fat dove on the roof of my lab
observes a moment, then is gone,
very small bunny running,
eating, playing, sitting, testing his speed
then a long day working robin,
always first one up, last one down,
swoops in,
scares the bunny up to speed again
Herb the frog stays center pond
makes his noise
we repeat it,
taking in nature
from lawn chairs
on the side line

steve

Steve works on our car
has a garage down the street
always busy when i slip in there

yet calm, relaxed and competent
wiping his hands on a rag as
we chat a bit

his manner lends ease to his customers
as does his assuredness that
problems will be rectified

it is a pleasure to do business with
the man who’s smile is genuine
and his comfort contagious

i don’t mind paying
for good service

your life

how you live your life
what you do with your time
is your business to work on, kid
all yours, i’ve got mine

i try to be a good example
it’s what i mean to do
show you what’s right, and hold you tight
i know you’ll make it through

i wish and hope the very best
you know, honey, i do
but it’s not me that’s living your life
it’s all yours, babe, and your life’s up to you

cheese in china

last week M said
she wanted to go to china alone
a couple of months in the outback
or whatever it’s called
away from the cities

without a tour
to see the village folk
what they do
how they dress, what they’re eating
so many of them in so much country

and when M’s sister calls to speak with her
i’ll say she’s in China
and her sister will ask,
“...What about cheese
in China?”

this train

nights are colder
now i’m older
it doesn’t surprise me
not a little bit

my ticket’s stamped
years ago in blue frosty snow
on a long forgotten train
when it was i can’t recall

no memories remain
i bet the wind knows
every haunting refrain
the old metal whistle blows

how much longer i ride
before my fare expires on this line
sure could use a sleeper and a diner car
the engineer’s a friend of mine

the robinses

their new nest where last year's was
on the top of the trellis by a corner of our house
three eggs, one already hatched
if we walk near it disturbs the elders

mother leaves and father warms and watches
or mother waits and father picks up food for all
the hardest working birds are robins
and it’s just begun

another month and the
youngsters will be hoping in the yard
parents will instruct how to find food
kids start slowly, but they learn

our way

Though at times it appears that way, this is not a diary, it’s a simple poetry blog (I like simple). Here’s one from Roma.

First, a writers comment: You know, when I read my stuff, I want it to run right along. If it meanders a bit for a reason, that's okay too.



our way

down our street
not even a street
a cobblestone alley
way – call it a way
down our way thirty seconds
we’re into the nearly on the corner bar Juliano’s

jeeze he has a happy face when we come in
thirty-something, thin and fit, always in a t-shirt
he and his charming wife run the place

we took position
on the tall wooden backless bar stools
not cozy, but we weren’t moving in
we came for a couple of quick glasses of wine
well, not quick
glasses of wine in Roma aren’t quick
not now, nor have they ever been

Juliano always recommends an
Italian red something we never heard of
and we partook
under soft amber light, sipped in slow time
mulling the day, how it played
no crowd as yet, nearly dinner hour
hardly a sound
we looked around, noted every thing
including paintings on the wall
oh boy, not much there
and no rush for us

we ordered a second glass
would you like to try something different?
no, grazie, the same

and thusly an hour slid along the bar
dropped on the floor
skid out the door, it did

thusly time went by the wayside
and we followed it home
I do tell, it was swell

gate 20

on our way to gate 20 in terminal A
we kept walking up and down
couldn’t find it

street numbers in Italy you expect to be hard to find
in some areas households choose their own number
any number they want
I’m going to call mine 007

in more orderly areas numbers run consecutively
with one side of the street independent of the other
so the 300 block could be across from the 700 block
odds on one side, even on the other, sometimes

finding a gate in the air terminal should be easy
after much looking
determining gate 20 wasn’t there,
we asked
a worker said it was not in terminal A
it was downstairs in the new terminal AA

A..A ?
in twenty years i’ve never heard an Italian stutter
there must be another malady to compensate for this lack
I’m sure it has something to do with numbering

will the next new terminal be AAA?
I’ll drink to that
or drive to it

second glance

Thanks to each of you for your participation in the comments section of this blog. Your words are encouragement.

The well hasn't run dry, there's more to do and say - poems, like the next hitters in the line up, are waiting on deck for a chance at the plate, but appease me a bit, today i wish to return to the core

goodbye roma

goodbye roma
i’ve had it with you
and might miss you
maybe after a while
cause you bother me
abuse and take me for granted
crowd me on your buses
push in front of me every time
i get in line
treat me with no regard
and when i’ve reached my limit
then you make fresh pasta
and tasty pizza
your wine’s good too
did i say i like your cheese?

one size fits all

to the airport
saw a crowd of dignitaries
military and police flood a special gate
Prince Charles came and left earlier this week
wasn’t him
tom hanks and ron howard were in town the other day

in the lounge it was me
and an old fart man
wearing a dorkhead teal mesh golf cap
as he stared into space
coughed
no, he didn’t cover his mouth

then saw me looking at him
as he sat there
with his drooling mouth hung open
I looked at him, he looked at me
just like prince Charles, we were waiting
for a plane

welcome to america

I.
“good evening
welcome to our flight
all passengers must be seated”
that seemed reasonable to me
then she said, “here’s how
to buckle your seat belt”
II.
i saw a guy who looked like Jonathan, my son
i told my wife, who saw
only a slight resemblance, and shrugged
i told her not to worry
it’s not like robins
i can tell one from the other
III.
i was in the supermarket thirty seconds
when a lady came within three feet of my shopping cart
with her shopping cart
and apologized
by the time i looked her way she was gone,
did she think i was packing heat?

pitiful degree

I met a man down in Hollywood
I ain't naming names
he really worked me over good
just like Jesse James

(from Poor, Poor Pitiful Me as sung by Linda Ronstadt
written by Warren Zevon)

pitiful degree

my blood is from Poland and the north since forever
normally my body is a degree or two cooler than hers
she is a touch of the Cherokee
I’ll drive the car this morning

she said it is good she’s not
riding a horse to the dentist
it would smell fear
and buck her off

ohio morning

Ohio morning rose
by it self today
i didn’t have to help
it was dark when i got up

and forgot the impending first crack of light
as slippered i listened from the porch
doves the only sound,
whatever they say, i’m sure they repeat themselves
i don’t count the way off highway hum

or the leaves rubbing together in a breath of breeze
or were they unfolding to make that noise?
i mean, trees are made compatible
yet may have to stretch and scratch when they wake

so then it was morning,
had coffee and tried in vain to consider
what the heck i’d been dreaming
that had seemed so darn important all night long

i heard Herb the frog say something
and wondered how he slept tucked in cold mud last winter
Ohio is like living in a primitive forest
without the monkeys, giant leaves and tumbling waterfalls

plus, we have a postman
i meant to say practically like living
and if you had to skip back to see what i am talking about
you’re not concentrating hard enough

wake up
and smell the frog

four-thirty a.m.

got up to think
about whatever I was dreaming
such a good thought
but couldn’t remember
so I changed my mind
like changing socks, changing a tire
a suit of clothes, walking a wire
clothes on the line
a suit of cards
sew my clothes, trim my nails
bust my balls, change my mind
back to sleep,
suits me fine
need to think
drift the brink
let’s go , Dream Maker
deal me in

dark flight

the first hours of a nine hour flight this day
were shaded from the light
It worked out that way
lamps down, shades drawn

made the flight a transition
like diving
beginning with trepidation, anticipation
then splash enter
another world

hold your breath, swim a few strokes
more than familiar,
it became comfortable

m. is in the row ahead of me
center section of the plane
the middle of three seats
a good speed for the engines
flight very smooth

for the first time I use her earplugs
that deaden the sound
put on my slippers
and turn on an overhead lamp
the entire experience in the half empty
smooth riding jet became

like reading comfortably in my living room
only I’m speeding ahead seven hundred mph
and not watching where we're going

rings

I.
in an old bog,
still and hidden in the woods
a twig falls into the waters
concentric circles that no one sees
run away

II.
by the sea or from a hill
follow the west bound
yellow sun go orange, to red,
to purple, going down

we spin
it rings
and comes up again
thank god it remains

III.
I stumbled on it
twice today
just walking
she saw it roll
and picked it up
a ring

time to return

Birds do it, bees do it. It must be good for you or at least a lot of fun. Yes it is fun. This isn’t about knock your socks off sex. This is migration.

First there were signs of a change in the weather when I quit wearing my heavy coat. Then my jacket was put aside. Yesterday I wore just a t-shirt. Tomorrow we fly from our winter Rome to summer Ohio.


nearly summer
time to return
this morning as i prepared hard
to get my things in order,
well, thinking about it,
she said to me,
i know how you’ll pack
a bunch balled up in a suitcase
with wires sticking out

okay,
so,
i wasn’t angry with her
in fact i laughed inside, hah, like that
because of my ability to recognize love
in it’s many forms
and know i have warm feelings for
wires and stuff like that
and then made a sandwich

a Rome tourist

for a few hours
walked around and questioned
a new tourist friend
capable and active

did you see . . . . . . . . .
yes, yes, and more yes
more than many, enough in a week
to digest a long while

every one soaks it up at their own pace
some leave and run
for new grounds
i came back for more

twenty years later
here i am still sorting it out,
soaking it in, and
not quite sure what to make of it

blog nature

the second nature of the blog
is like that of a marsh mellow
sugar frosted, and plump
lance it on a stick, over an open fire
it’s exciting, it’s fun, it shines,
flashes into flame
burns, sags, dips and crashes
what a finish, what a shame

did laundry

did laundry at nine
at Luciano’s across the wild busy street
found a hole, didn’t get hit
always meet Luigi the chef there
had coffee and talked
to pass our weekly wash hour
he does embassy parties
today another recap

an embassy place wealthy over the top tacky
impossibly thick marble table
gaudy claw handle chairs
a cardinal and three others
had four bottles of wine with dinner
two bottles of white and two of brunello di Montalcino
at fifty euros a pop
it’s good to be the king

it was my last Monday until the fall
i’ll miss the stories and the chaos of Roma
we walked back talking across the busy Corso
between speeding buses, taxis, autos and motorcycles
to the other side without pause in our steps
it was easy cause we’re well practiced
and didn’t get hit

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