our times

after food and shelter are satisfied
seek beauty in your life
keep order in your space
everything in its place

appreciate the out of doors
complete your chores,
stay within the lines
do your best, enjoy the times 

 

 

at Tuesday, December 09, 2008

anon

Anonymous said ...

Superb blog! Do you have any recommendations for aspiring writers?
I'm planning to start my own website soon but I'm a little lost on everything.

Would you suggest starting with a free platform like Wordpress or go for a paid option? There are so many choices out there that I'm completely overwhelmed ..
Any suggestions? Thanks a lot!

anon? aspiring?

begin writing each day,

or so often you're confused

and it seems you are.

i use Blogger, it is free or

they haven't sent me a bill yet.

about twelve years, so they are tardy.

i write because i do, not for money.

that's fun to say. i suppose if i blogged

for cash i'd have quarters all over the table by now.

MandyTwo, could i have more coffee

and a bill, please.

say, anon, you have offered a good comment;

my suggestion to you is; read and write. enjoy yourself.

thank you, anonymous.

make a name for yourself.

Sound of day and nite

at last the quiet
sound of afternoon
is holding low, i feel so near.

so soon the evening
running through the grass
in small steps touches my heart.

soft night train

no screeching last night.

in breaths of quiet, light wind
the train pattered in grandma’s slippers
sliding along the linoleum kitchen floor,
hardly going anywhere 

and the whistle was not a blaster,
instead it gave soft puffs
like puh, with a long breath between the next muh.
muh, ma, as if needed to be picked up and cuddled

at Wednesday, November 05, 2008 1 comments

memory drawn - bused up

 

Monday, December 28, 2009

bused up

bused up
on the little bus
to the hill over Rome, Gianicolo,
where the noon cannon is fired

ever since the pope back in 1847
wanted his churches to
all know what time it was,
at least once a day

a crowd gathered to hear it
the cannon is loud
wasn’t precisely noon
should have covered my ears

then walked warm weather down
to old Trastevere
where our new favorite restaurant
was tried and confirmed

while walking back traffic was stopped
a helicopter hovered overhead
we waited to watch
something was about to happen

one cop called it a VIP cortege coming by
his word not mine
some Italian cops are literate
glad to hear it, anytime

fifteen cars and as many motorcycle police
and more police afoot every corner
all the way home they go to the Vatican
because the pope king went out for lunch

event over, we walked home
didn’t stop traffic
and didn’t cause any trouble either
as we shuffled along, all the way home

my cell phone has a clock on it
i could have told anyone the time
but no one asked
they must have heard the cannon

target

i wrote to my classmates,

this gave me a place to shoot my arrow.

with a target in mind i felt better.

the package contained reason.

years ago i knew i needed a target.

i let the idea escape me,

now i feel the tank again is filled.

put me on the road again..

also, thinking of poetry i've read

and parts i didn't like,

makes me feel better when my own weakness

i discover lying there in the street.

work in sandstone

watching young men
work with sandstone;
chip it out, lay it in place.

designing a walk in pieces.
to last if not forever
at least for a very long time.

Paradox - some places have poetry on or coming out of them

some places have poetry on or coming out of them
i’ve found them by carefully examining small beach stones,
under trees and near water, on forgotten notes in the pockets
of jackets i haven’t worn for a while,

i found poetry on city streets, especially at corners,
in crowded stores when the music’s not too loud
or on buses, on hot days or in rain or snow.
when vehicle gears shift and someone is directing traffic,

i feel poetry when i’m there, later, or passing by
no telling why it is so, a fireplace helps,
the coffee shop when the dream starts, or birds fly
a cloud tilts a certain way, how the waitress
places the menu down and walks
already a block away in her mind,

i feel poetry in the touch of polished old hand rail,
while taking a soft carpeted stair
and in the colors in a painting,
a landscape i once saw in a museum
that reminds me of poetry
in some place i want to be

and, about you,

do you feel poetry today?

alarm some

much alarm about the harm

dividing a nation can do

i'll be quick, makes me sick

wacka do, wacka do, wacka do

***

no candidate wants to surrender.

not hillary when

people wanted bernie.

not bernie with a heart attack,

not trump when people

aren't aware how government...

fumigate it all, please.

politics is clean when i run it

in my dream.

you can understand the lure...

wave money and power at a politician,

make them damn near royal;

yet we don't know it all,

what are we missing?

thanks for

thanks for stopping.

oh, the world is wide.

so much to see. rising,

falling, great is the tide.

my drop is company.

for both of us.

hold to the path.

we all lose our way.

clean water, clothes,

warm supper

made with love

and good intention.

crumbs a lot...for pleasure

i like two pieces

of toast in the afternoon.

at 18:07 i ate a sandwich m made.

will keep me looking out the window,

working or reading, wondering why
i can't put together another 

best poem. ingredients must be

here. rye toast. now, that got me

thinking. butter on top,

what it is, soulful surrender.

i misread seafood sensation.

thought before i read.

empty all pockets before

throwing pants in the wash.

man, i miss those maple trees.

grow overly large; however, do make a mess.

ok, i'm thinking about the above. it takes time to gel.

Sure red

there is color around,
fall sound cracking,
Practically out of dream,
all you wish to hear.

yeah to the cities
to the mountain streams west,

while here in the midwest
we take our fall dry
and consider it best.

may as well because
color is the coat we're wearing.

early evening

reading the news, occasionally 

glancing through the widow

to see the sun progress down,

thinking it comfortable,

convenient not having

to go out in public for work.

a renown sitar player performed

at a concert hall nearby,
i chose not to go.

supper was a tortillia with

chicken and cheese. quick and easy.

thanks, Meri.

i had a glass of red wine,

the first in a month,

now i am sitting quietly.

sometimes poems contain
no explosions.

bali

island jungle music
the islanders in waves of exploitation.
rapid rhythm gongs,
never heard music like it before
Oberlin college opens another gate
this is the strangest concert i've ever attended,
and i enjoyed it. i'mglad it ended when it did,
i can only take so much strange and bell sounds.
---
An 18-member ensemble weaves layers of intricate sound: the punctuation of deep great bronze gongs; charismatic leadership from the drums; stunning interlocking percussion from the bronze gangsa; and finely elaborated delicacy of voice and flute.
---
we go in the auditorium,
she wants to sit farther back this time.
i pick seats in the seccond half, middle.
the musician people come in and play.
it happens that fast.
strange music.  little gongs mostly.
some slapping and knuckle knocking on wooden drums.
indescrible. it goes on.

---

Internationally hailed as one of Bali’s most forward thinking music and dance ensembles, Çudamani is known for their exceptional creativity and superb artistry and also their unflagging love for the classical treasures of Balinese tradition. Nurtured and trained in the village of Pengosekan, the group is among Bali’s most respected and accomplished.

One of their many singular features is that many of their artists are multidisciplinary, mastering gamelan, dance, voice, and visual art resulting in artistically unified presentations.


The ensemble touches the soul with a program that spans the spectrum of human emotion, from sublime to fearless, from reverent to unapologetically playful. Çudamani intrigues the mind and heart and a radiant flash of their eyes invites you into the transcendent experience of Balinese gamelan and dance.

Gamelan Çudamani

rain september

fall rain is the best;
or i'm just saying
because it's so firm now,
happening, tapping
itself out like a song.
you're smiling.
  

thorn

returning from the mailbox didn't linger,

walking up the back steps...

i slipped...crabbed for the hand rail.

caught a large rose thorn with my finger.

told meri when she got back from the store,

she said to ask the troll people for help,

it's four o'clock and she has a game to watch.

my finger is blood smeared, i didn't yelp.

plain day

cherry pie and vanilla ice cream,
what's what i remember of lunch.
coffee too, that's it. that additional thing;
black coffee, no cream no sugar.

dry september

half-hour drive into the sun rise,

light traffic on the road.

found our slot in the lot behind the restaurant.

a breath of wind, calm autumn.

took a table along the back side.

place full up, yet easy going.

course we started with coffee.

slid into wednesday morning.

pancakes and eggs over,

rye toast and butter.

she did the driving,

picked up eggs at Planktown.

the way of rain

we're in a gap, a dry spell.
comes as a surprise, not thinking about it,
it's pouring or not.
then we simply forget and it dries up, hot.

i'd rather walk or drive in the country.
i know it'll be wet again soon.
that was yesterday, this morning i woke to wet all over,
light, clean, cool, it's raining.

make a line

if you have a parking lot
park all the yellow cars together,
see who notices and asks you why.
if we worked hard we could put together a load of ideas.

stack cars on top of others.
based on heaven knows what,
meaning: i can't figure how to do it.
one hand can hold your hair back.

start there, think what you like.
get a menu, you can pick and chose.
i'm looking around to see
what can be found.

there is one thing to say,
shake it out, dust it off.
next, we're on the border-line.
don't want to keep you waiting.

someone said  kind words about this writing
i'm grateful. i'll sit a while without a sound
taking time, it appears i'm thinking.
you're looking fine.  is that a distraction?