Wednesday, September 18, 2019

drag on


ok, so, for all who support me,
can you make toast, eh?

falling leaves in colors orange to red.
is that the order? does it matter?
this morning the sun is sparkling in my eye,
feeling good, warming. festive, practically.

and sipping coffee, thinking toast...
how about you...how you doing?
good morning...always a good start on the day.
what do you say, going my way?

i read some poems and was fascinated
by the thinking, or the ways i'm led
by what is said by word thinkers - writers.

some putting poems in their heads,
reciting to others...crash poems.
a bag full. i can only imagine, or listen
or read them.  a speed zone full.

hey, with sun in my eye i prefer
a slow hill climb, to the top,
taking it easy, geting my fill that a way.
taking time to think about it.

Monday, September 16, 2019

mr. safety town



mr. safety town i am.
but, let her drive anyway;
put my arm out for extra signal.
it 's fun riding with bare feet on the dash.

noise void


nothing hardly,
windows open,
no sounds in utter quiet.
old house to us blank empty,
barely anything,
sleep on mats,
clean echoes, zero to hear.
two street lamps across the street
shine all night on us
in our cottage in the woods.
why the lights?

Tuesday, September 10, 2019

Thursday, September 03, 2009

apple cake

from a peg on the wall she took up
her worn canvas bag by the shoulder strap
said come on, we’re going to pick apples
near the corner across the street in the empty lot

there’s a neglected, half dragging to the ground,
poorly shaped, unremarkable old tree
not worth a glance,
and loaded with apples

we ate one to sample
half red, half yellow, a little strange to look at
but fresh off the tree
it was some old variety

forgotten, unattended and delicious apples
she filled the sack with a dozen or so
when she said she had enough,
we walked home

late that afternoon, after other tasks
by September sun streaming into the kitchen
she made an apple upside down cake
augmenting a vintage recipe found on the Internet

an hour after dinner
we each had a piece
of the best apple cake
i ever had tasted in my life




It would be too easy for M. and I to eat the whole thing, so I took the rest to my brother’s family. For us, there is always tomorrow.

the heights

Monday, September 21, 2009

to the heights

to the Heights, a country small town
nearby, yet aloof from modern ways
where farmers and country survive
and some of their kids go away to school in the cities
take jobs, live afar and return now and then
for holidays, alternate years

their folks stay on
in touch with the soil
clean, neat and country casual for a Sunday
standing tall as they can
walking leaning, a bit slower

these remaining have been small town friendly for years
know the families, names from long ago
and can recall some of the faces
now under the headstones
on the treed lofty knoll

there is a chicken barbeque today
at this conservation club
no telling what they are conserving
kindness and good will for sure

the building is set back on a large area in an otherwise field
the road in waggers as if the guys who dragged it out
changed their minds two or three times before
they settled on how to get from here to there

and the twenty or thirty cars already there
were parked in the field over a few acres
like dominoes thrown out of a box
and where they landed is where they sat
independent parkers they are

this yearly event we’ve been waiting for
three hundred tickets were sold they say
the money raised will keep the group going
about thirty folks there at the start when we were
maybe fifty
half again that number just neighborly helping out
i didn't try to count, they were spread out nicely

rear double doors were open to the beginning
of the green and rust colored stick crackling woods
in mild temperatures and near idle breeze
on the cusp of another change
summer to fall

had covered long tables, sturdy folding chairs
set with plenty space between to walk
and clean silverware, no plastic for
these folk of dirt, cast iron, seed and steel

the building’s maintained in good repair
someday they’ll pave straighten that winding road in
or sell the whole damn chuck to a developer, if and when

barbequed chicken was the draw today
and these hens were as large as small dogs
and twicet as tasty as you could ever imagine

spoke with old Reece, one of the volunteers
heard he deeded his downtown brick building
the decorative grey century one on Main
resplendent with curiosities and used books
to the local historical society

our common friend dick, who visited us in Rome
will be coming soon, here’s where he was raised
with a smile on his face and mud in his toes

today's group was quiet well mannered
stayed on the business of eating
and getting to the desert table
in no rush orderly fashion

i had a slice of crispy near warm apple pie
made from experience by Aldean
as she stood alone by her kitchen window
taking care and good intentions
thinking of her family while using well hewn skill
that would’a made her mother proud

after we did the deed on the chicken
during which time we made new acquaintances
and refreshed old ones
we waved goodbyes and moved on
out the door and beyond
into our own tomorrow

Thursday, September 24, 2009

i am Wicks, i'll be your server tonight

well, Wicks, hi, i’d shake hands but
obviously, you’re moving too fast
i’m jack, but i’d prefer you call me grandpa
no one else does

well they do once in a while
but they live a half a planet away
grandpa jack is what they say, but
plain grandpa is more enduring don’t you think

my grandparents lived thirty minutes away
but people didn’t drive as much back then
a half century ago, one i’d see one once a year
the other i’d see Christmas and Easter

anyway, doesn’t matter to anyone now does it.
say, my sister Nita taught me to drive
when i was eleven in her old Oldsmobile on Rye Beach Road
i’ll have to ask her if she was married then

parts of the story are unraveling
and half the cast have gone away
i’ll look into that, gone away stuff,
someday, won’t we all

listen, Wax, you don’t mind if
i keep talking to you, do you?
not out loud, in my head, think talk like
blink if you can hear me

Monday, September 09, 2019

all to say


mom, your baby boy is old and crippled.
sitting on the porch when the mailman came,
heard the lid on the box close;
said hi but no reply,

talk too softly usually.

i told m, she got the mail from the box on the gate.
that's my poem for today,
full up, emptied out, all i had to say.

Friday, September 06, 2019

fred's in sausalito

how many do you want?
we knew the system.
the waitress drew on the order pad.
one circle for each pancake ordered.

weekends they came a long way
to order circles.
we walked a short distance
to order our circles.

Thursday, September 05, 2019

sun over all

average starting day.
a nothing special time of the week.
a period of hours from
sun to sun, of this i speak.
pressure added, atypical.
look. there is sun.
warming. totally wonderful.
sun full of wonder.
oh, yes.
all you do is look around.

Tuesday, September 03, 2019

a trip

so soon it seems
to be back again,
it is called a trip
to the dentist.
hear me now: the guy is smooth.

Sunday, September 01, 2019

August 1

First day thinking cold.
The season has rolled over.

Saturday, August 31, 2019

calm

turning to fall, calm and grey.
a quiet day.

Wednesday, August 28, 2019

raining


it's raining drops heavy as rocks,
solid drum beats on the roof,
haven't heard tapping like that for a while;
rain enough to slow traffic.
the bubbling puddles come alive.

Tuesday, August 27, 2019

new post

don't know what day it is,
not the date or day of the week.
i can guess, and miss by a mile.
it's not important to me.
this is all good news.
now i can get paint out
and capture what i see in color.
sounds good, but won't happen.
here is where i will note the day,
in thought and words...okay.
they say it may thunder,
i hope it does; that's the kind of scary interruption i like.

Monday, August 26, 2019

song writer


seeing a song written out, music and words, is like seeing handwriting:
no matter how you feel about the song, when written down
you can gather a feeling for the writer.


paul mcartney, ned washington, paul simon, you and me.


Thursday, August 22, 2019

water be

you know there's
waterbe fallin', wet all over.
greets me first thing in the morning
when looking out the window.

wet all over.
so that's the kind of day it is,
i'll get used to it.

Wednesday, August 21, 2019

mmmmn sweet corn

corn is golden
though color is secondary
when cob roasted...then
served with butter on,
and salt.


Tuesday, August 20, 2019

poems on the run/roast


at times i write them
want to hold them tight
not turn grey mice poems loose
out of the sock drawer

snap go now puppies on the run
out on their own
beyond my control
out of reach, out of sight

crossing the street
against the light
a lone drifter may find them
some blue dark still night

perhaps, and take comfort
then i guess it’s alright
the preceding has been noble, thus,
considering the source, largely untrue

so there goes nobility shit out the window
chasing my poems
what is left pass around
to you and you and you

it’s okay, Descartes wrote:
i think therefore i am
okay, i think i can
go along with that.



an some sonofapup drifter is liable
to catch my poems
cook them, debone 'em
or eat 'em alive

steps



needed front steps, not wood,
in our town it’s normal to call a cement contractor
that’s a guy who has a truck and pours cement
no problem, i’d call a guy, then another and another
the job to pour three steps was too small to be bothered with
they had big jobs, long driveways and whatever
that kept them from my three tiny steps

so i thought and thought - and thought of stone
okay, they wouldn’t come to pour cement,
our house was built in 1838, i’d get vintage stone steps

at the quarry the nice folks said they could do it,
cut Indiana Blue Sandstone that i selected, and deliver it,
set the stone down one , two, three, all i had to do
was provide the dimensions for three blocks i wanted, that was it

i had to prepare the ground, no one else would do it,
so i raked, then measured the first block,
the second had to fit back under the wood of the door,
the third had to be even with the inside floor.
one, two, three

for three weeks i planned. the first time I measured I thought I had it
a few days later i checked my figures and they were wrong, so i did it again
how simple, three blocks, one, two, three on top of each other, that’s it
it was many days to get it right.

on and on i figured stone dimensions, and finally i had it right.
the bottom block was largest,
the second and third were equally smaller.
it all would fit, everything was right.
the day they delivered the stone in a large truck with a crane,
they had one block cut wrong by two inches on one side.

i recalculated and told them how to put them down. one, two, three
in a half hour there were down and perfect,
you can’t see a cutting error.
now we have our three stone steps
the bottom, the second recessed under the Georgian doorway
the third level with the inside wood floor

come back in two hundred years
the house may be gone,
but the steps will be there

Sunday, August 18, 2019

jet lag

rushed out of the airport
jumped in a cab
went seventy-five feet
the guy slammed on the brakes

wasn’t a taxi, picked up his mother
made me get out
i know mama liked me
as he squealed off, she waved goodbye