Paul Simon

Paul Simon you wrote the
words and melodies for so many;
and today I woke with one your songs
dancing in my head, smiling inside me

The Cleveland Orchestra

The New York Times declared
"America's most brilliant orchestra"
in Oberlin's Finney Memorial Chapel
the most extraordinary
Cleveland Orchestra

filled us with music;
sweet, clear and precise.
we gave them attention,
they gave to our hearts.

code red

how many passwords
are in my head?
keep scrambling
code master

uncertain

here is april in ohio
when alternate days of snow and rain do bring
weather still uncertain
if it's winter or it's spring

sometime skys are like that

look at them, rolling rain-heavy dark clouds,
a giant, scattered stripe in the east
across a blue sky background.

she wanted to take a picture
was driving, so she pointed instead.
i looked and remembered.

low sun, long fields
a wow to see
this good Ohio morning.

coffee and i see

coffee and i see
the day before yesterday's snow out the window.
silent as all get out;
a nothing special morning...
that's what makes it special.

winter lake walk

beige lake, movement in gray
sparkling streaks on surface,
few white gulls, under wing makings dark blue ,
held on the wind, banking, dipping like kites.

winds hum...a hollow sound
over golden fields, under azure sky
tops of passing cars are seen beyond fields
low clouds trimmed in gray, follow in a line like a train

small voice of child passing, marching behind dad
infrequent words spoken - sunny, cool
few blowing leaves, short cropped fields
thin woods, brown trees, little shade

still, cold

still, cold,
third day in ohio
january ending
expecting weather like winter

three minutes in the store
in shiloh, m shops
i'm waiting in the car, making notes
shopped a swiss mocha to drink

cool out, do doubt
morning on a bright sun saturday
what a day - so clear
between snows

birds

among my favorite life forms
are birds - in an out, on their way;
no time for exchange with me.

they have agendas that can be
loosely categorized as seasonal behaviors:
young meet, maybe dance a bit,
never socialize with in-laws, mate, build nests
keep the eggs warm, bring food for the kids
instruct them on living; to hunt and peck,
gather food and head south for the winter.

when I'm around they land on the fence
check me out, then go,
not a deep relationship to build on.

to their credit: you know, they
never, ever, have a worried expression on their face;
no lips could be the reason.

eyes are open (have three eye lids)
blink fast and do their things.
their big plus is: wings -
they sure can fly.

a northern hemisphere poet

A Northern hemisphere poet i am
in winter cold, summer heat,
  technology has taken my words around the world
i'll remain where i was born.

in january snow, frozen water
april showers, colorful flowers;
spring off to summer heat
fall leaves golden, falling, crackling,

thanksgiving then christmas
'til the end of the year
when begins another.
short days to long ones.

good sun, wobbling earth
summer for baseball
winter for snow balls and ice skating -
cycle long and short days.

when hundreds of years asleep at near light speed
to another planet, new ways to learn;
leave me the old fashion ways
in days i know...where i'm from.

through the silent halls of time
i'll take mine as i know them;
now before you go off in a flash,
one thing, please, take out the trash.

Norwhere where

the lake is a pond, half-mile long,
sans clouds,wind, birds or fish jumping.
mid-afternoon reflects trees on the opposite side
a slight blur of red and blue in light haze sky.
still the water, absolutely
this beautiful prewinter day
quiet, lovely as can be, i say.

sunshine is
relatively quiet

so is moonlight

come on, dogs

come on, dogs, get up
you are needed to work today
to fill the spaces on the line
assemble good order

no surprises
be kind to all around you
and slave, dog, slave
like every day

you are wanted to glue everything together
keep it running.
run dogs, run.
lick your ears on your own time

organize

i told m. i was organizing my poems, notes and writings;
she pointed to the kitchen and said
she was going to turn old coffee grounds
into gold coins.

what it ought to be

In the shade of the sun
on the porch today

after a back and forth summer for decent weather;
now it is here – warm and pleasant.

Sitting, comfortable, enjoying
what summer ought to be.
dance with the sun

11 June, 2015

Outside the country store
not many sounds
a car, a shopper
distant birds, chickens.
not much going on this Thursday morning;
good June sun, still air.
smells of summer, over all.



re. the above
We drove the quiet road straight south twenty minutes to get there, where we call - in the country. The Amish area.
Quiet and peaceful, a warm summer day. There were bird sounds I didn't recognize. I was standing in the sun by the car waiting for M to pick up a few things when this scene appeared before me, for me. Then and there I was in the middle of it, just looking around, happily for a few minutes when I realized, then and there, this was the good stuff of life. I wrote it down then to preserve it.

spring collection

for the season here's a collection of words for Spring.


spring off

as Ohioans we are accustomed to temperature extremes
i remember my mom telling me that in 1937 it snowed on
the fourth of july
weather change is the wild goat that lurks before it charges
now this year spring is May
we can go ahead and pencil it in

after winter's farewell snow
on gusty winds entered the warmer air with a
deep blue sky as backdrop for mammoth clouds tumbling fair
unleashing lawns, trees, bushes and flowers, nesting birds and buds
fresh and underway
nature reborn
this new season has begun

you can water golf courses and keep them pristine
but it's nothing, nothing like the clean
gleam of full young spring

spring arrived
wore my big coat the other day
spring arrived just yesterday
it blew in on silent wings
and hovered above the neighborhood
before wrappinig down around us

now it's hot, in a t-shirt today
i heard the boys call outside playing
there are green buds
and singing birds nest building

it's sometimes still winter
after the snows melt
but i'm sure
it's steady spring at last
when i leave a window open

the shallow cove

the shallow cove narrows
by brushes and thickets
our old row boat sparkles
under sunned running waters

when spring floods the low lands
all return and rebuild
for memories run deeper
than fat fish go up stream


spring to chaos

spring to chaos
stuffed with energy
here to the brim, back again
carried by people
in sighing light wind
laughing brght 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


folly of spring

here i am, there are no geese.
must i go looking
in the usual places
where they congregate,

i don’t think so;
they can wait
and better they do,
a lesson for them all.

they know only their own reflection in the lake.
if they can recall other than their own image,
let them vent their wings and
see if they can find me.

a walk on the pier will show me many fish,
occasional mouth open bobbers and long swelling floaters,
but i don’t want to encounter any geese;
not that way, not today, not yet anyway.


root spring

from roots deep we spring
as child with family and pets,
friends, cousins, uncles and aunts.
in school and holidays, we grow

a spinning maze
overlapped and interlaced
in motion. when in a flash
we're old and recall gone days

then in a breath
we are back
to where are
our roots





after winter's farewell snow
on gusty winds entered the warmer air with a
deep blue sky as backdrop for mammoth clouds tumbling fair
unleashing lawns, trees, bushes and flowers, nesting birds and buds
fresh and underway
nature reborn
this new season has begun

chill dawn

chill dawn
on the road to shiloh.
a violet, rose haze,
with blue on edges of far fields.

1844 written on the house on a rise,
other old homes 
blanketed in vinyl.
all barns red, newly covered in tin.

there's no balloon on earth
like the fiery red sun
rising in all her glory,
beginning the new day.

on cool morning

opened my eyes at five,
thinking as if awake
listening to light wind stirrings,
while drops tap the window
evenly marking time

then seven-thirty in red clock numbers
may have been creating during the interval,
dream-thinking, planning, being practical,
but not overly confident of value gain,

took no notes while considering,listening to rain.
thoughts may have been of value;
with nothing written
there's no way to say.

how comfortable to awaken early, thinking softly,
from under a soft comforter,
hearing drops and splatters beyond the glass
all that matters...on cool morning

gee and i

in rome it is easy to see the permanence
or lack there of
as time inches on.

at juliano's, on our street,
street of the hatmakers, of which
there are no more, not now, they have gone
to wherever old hat makers go when they are
too old or tired to make hats or dead.
some think you are never
too old to make a hat.
but it wasn't a hat maker who said it.

gee and i had lunch today
was Giano, now gee, what friends call him.
he's my friend, though
i don't understand him, or who he is
but we're friends and had lunch.
tonarelli and tuna, juliano made it
it was very good
gee called juliano a sommelier
i didn't know he knew that word
a lot of surprises

other times gee and i have stood around
caught a little sun, leaned against the
old stone wall being quiet, mostly...
he speaks the roman street dialect
as do all his friends, except me.
i learn a little, he gives me some,
because i have asked for it. i live here too.

today when i was leaving
he said go easy,i said i alway do
out of the blue he said,
"chi va piano e sano va lontano"
he who goes slowly and sane goes far.
this is gee the street tough, my friend