began my day

began my day

knee deep in Facebook,

to see who is doing what hey?

what do you say, go out to eat?

she give the nod.

then off to our favorite haunt.

roads away.

we glide into place.

full of quiet talk.

it's humming,

plates, forks and coffee pouring.

steaming hungry, you'd think so

by the way i order breakfast;

double fisted all is resolved.

pancakes in syrup and butter.

to home going when passing

a field of yellow flowers,

pointing says she to look.

a blur we go by.

feeling fresh morning it's the coffee i remember.

I have done to satisfaction when taken to a point near confusion. Did you manage?

until then

in a while i'll close my eyes,
until then
tell me again...
so in my room late at night

with the window open...
trains passing in the distance,

i hear the music from nearby homes
alive on summer nights,

voices of people and their melodies
come to me over fields,
i'll think of nights that could be magic;
and with music playing fall asleep.

Annie said...

In the quiet of the night, every sound is memorable, and something about the cadence and imagery of your poem is both melancholy and peaceful at the same time. Wishing you magic.
from Monday, July 09, 2012

chase gave

we rolled out yesterday

to see our young friend;

Chase Castle, with a recent bachelor degree

in keyboard performance from Baldwin Wallace,

soon to work on a doctor of philosophy,

has given concerts in eleven states.

last night played organ concert at

St. Peter Lutheran Church, Norwalk, Ohio.

76 people were in audience.

didn't punch tickets, the number in the crowd

is my guess; one young couple among elders.

chase played the keyboard in the balcony.

all watched on jumbotron.

as he reeled off an hour of solemn songs.

one sing along had the crowd metaphorically

eating out of his hands.

at the finale all applauded heartily. i never heard cheering

in a church before, but all in attendance were ready.

eyebrows are

eyebrows are so
you can look startled
curious, interested,
or angry.

eyelids are for winking
and closing out light
the part of the night
when you're sleeping.

crying is for babies
and feeling better, after.




From July 2016. 

donny boy

have a goat, his name is don.

doesn't mind if i get on

and ride like the wind.

he plays horse, of course.

and i'm cowboy.

jumping fences. in the wind.

jumping fences in the wind.

any old morning.

or middle of the night,

running full in starlight.

jumping fences in the wind,

jumping fences in the wind.

explosion

this morning 9:15 an explosion.

the house shook with the boom.

that's the essence of this poem.

noteworthy: power's gone.

a puff of smoke cleared half a block away.

all is silent, also worth note.

city workers walking by out front

said a transformer blew, they pointed.

here no need to heat or cool.

as weather's in the middle,

neither hot nor cold.

patience is required and all will be fine.

city workers are on the job.

meanwhile our coffee is made and cooling.

we'll soon be up and running.

i made this note.

while keeping an eye out.

you never can tell.

sun angle in may

the angle of the morning sun

perfect and bright

like the moon last night,

just right.

onward

to cleveland, wasn't my plan.

have to follow the program,

actually don't have to,

but pieces fall together smother

excuse me, smoother,

together smoother when

my part of the program

is handled as written,

as set out, as expected by others

who depend on me.

besides, my insurance covers me.

so there it is.

now you want roses added

and make this a love poem?

darling, here they are, metaphorically.
program complete.

sky moans

not a patch of blue

only a slowly rotating blanket of darkness

whispering wet morn.

day after day storms hang close.

the last bumped north, growling.

now in line to catch more

it drips the roof hello.

rainy days, we know you.

no need to go out to feel water.

won't plant vegetables today,

better inside, dry

seeing through foggy windows.

look at the puddles, 

hear tapping on the roof.

directionally clear

got out my ship compass 

to check.

with paper, pen, tape.

i labeled from the center.

north is the refrigerator,

that way, south is the rocking chair.

so we can head around knowing

where we are and how to get there.

totally directionally clear.

ode for deer

near the quiet town, New Haven,

three deer, to one side,

off the road

in tall grass, pause.

calmly look our way.

preeminent creatures.

standing without movement,
their beauty

took my breath away.

helpers

the birds help with a poem

they are the live souls.

sure plants are living,

but don't hop on my fence,

can't practically dance.

then let me give a salute to plants

that can be seen growing

day by day

and become flowers

bursting into joyful color

or produce fruits or vegetables

that need only salt or oil

to sure taste good,

provide nutrition;

their down side is

they never tweet.

This is my lost poem of 8 May. Diane, thank you. You copied this and sent a compliment. I lost it and thus you brought it back to live again. I am most grateful.

short line

had a poem lined up,
one, yesterday's.
short line.
where did it go?

i know i had one.
for may 8,
no idea where it went.
so, i say good day

to that what i wrote.
where? can't tell.
no idea what happened.
evidently it didn't float.

lost, though i searched around;
carefully, took my time.
seems i trashed a good one
into the sea of delightful rhyme.

warm again

you know, one day it will be warm again.

another thing,  i'll get my stuff in order.

wait, i'd like more coffee...

please.

// you want a refill?//

did i say that? i meant that.

//here comes//

thanks...and there she goes.

so i said, a lot is out of place.

i have to put stuff away,

things should be where they belong.

they don't go automatically...

too bad.

one day cars will drive themselves,

they say. automatically.

can they build me a garage?

the cars, i mean. i wonder.

//... //

she glared at me.

i'm serious.

//drink your coffee...sip it.

oh, by the way, the good news is

one day it will be warm again.//

onions

carefully eyeing  the circumference of the garden.
having given thought to where summer sun
will best caress the lovelies.

kicked ideas in my head, lost track, came back.
decided exactly where they would thrive.
imagined skin reds and purples of the honey's to be
while patiently waiting
this developing warm spring day.
now: when under arrival the beacon of noon sun 

small bulbs, called sets,

are lovingly pushed one at a time

into invitingly soft, fertilized, prepared soil;

to be watered and sunned,

day after warm day,

growing continuously,

sweet, large, savory and wonderful.
yes,of course there is waiting involved,
but time steps forward.
summer will take a hold.
in a hurrah velvety onions will be.

Race for the Roses

The race was this weekend.

Today we drove in the country

to the Mennonite store.

Wanted to ask if Chuck was here

Meri reminded me, "There is no Saint Chuck,

Mark is his name." I didn't see him,

so I asked the girl in the bonnet

working the counter

who she bet on

in the Kentucky Derby.

come on

i don't remember other years with rain so much.

or all this gray instead of blue.

waiting change again; warm up some.

clear skies, come on home.

what i

what i dreamed i remember.

can't put into words.

it's on the tip of my head, tongue.

ready to make me smile.

the change

here is

the change i've been waiting.

warm today they say,

oh, we're ready.

then on the menu for this afternoon,

a shake 'em up thunderstorm.
we'll work through it,

bear with it.

take what we get.

stopped in Milan, she got coffee,

i had a cheese filled donut,

hey, i chewed it slowly.

she shared her coffee.

still waiting for rain,

and it's warm out, nearly hot.

dogs walking, geese honking,

the park at the reservoir.

breeze blowing; call it wind kicking up.

making circles of last fall's leaves.

man it stirs the trees,

runs ripples on the water.

i hear a train away.

going to rain at three, they say...

a big one, already half past the hour.

checked the radar, storm's running west.

maybe later we'll catch it.

now we're out of it. warm, that's it.

even steven

can you call it,

the game, the card, the number, the winner:

heads or tails?

are you guessing or do you know?

want to tell me how?

can i do it?

predicting with an edge

does you every well?

what can be the difficulty?

is the answer floating in space somewhere?

do you recommend it for under eighteen?

is it better i forget about it?