fall, the season

 fall is beginning.
let go of the heat.
 the weather remains comfortable.
look for apples.
when i think ahead i never want
to shed summertime, but my feeling
changes when the season begins.
also, i'm wearing a heavy shirt today
and am ready to wear socks.

our pal Blackie

 

beloved Blackie returned every summer for five years
we liked him, i think the feeling was mutual
his wings are flapping fast
not because he was crazy - he was a wild bird
and soon as he got his peanut he was leaving
 my October 29, 2007 post has his story

january emptied

making notes I am
sorting words, stacking cards
one dog barking

I look up at the dark blurs
some birds boring blindly
into running low grey clouds

above on the hill, the Gianicolo,
a cannon fires a puff of smoke into the chill
below, the city hears the signal, it Is noon

we board a bus of content silence
off for a bite of lunch, our own words blend,
weave and overlap with the others

then a little walking
through the crowds
a lot of talking

don’t hear what they’re saying
making plans I suppose,
some are gesturing, pointing,

laughing young women
heads together
recount social victories

no small children pulling against their mothers
today many little wrapped ones in blankets
lulled to silence on four-wheeled strollers

temperature is dropping
who is content?
there is some calm poised beyond complacency

after evening buses slow, then cease
overnight it is soundless
when imagination is the only border

deerful

 gathered close, light woods around

deerskin tan and markings white abound 

in quiet movement, together, shuffling

without sound. only the ambience of evening.

moonless sky. strong bodies, family,

in silence, light breathes, watching amid darkness.

numbers, they speak of time, we know hours

as they pass in dampness. they call numbers in hours.

we see paths, streams, short rivers we know.

living dreams. our numbers live with us.

wood sticks lightly kicked against leaves.

our group of deer move in near silence.

breathe in light puffs. aware around us.

poets 1

 

a crowd of poets is a sad thing

sure they're always holding hands

but they're crying.

working the best we can

every day we find chores
that need completing.
 you know how that goes.
not overly fatiguing.
we do the jobs we want to do first.
fortunately, we can secure trained agents to handle
the worst. if you pay they'll show up.

two school-age boys came by

to clean our already clean rain gutters.
we sent them away.
last winter we over-paid the same lads to shovel snow,
they did a lousy job and kept returning at every dusting of a few snowflakes.

here at our new home we're caught with the unfamiliar;
going to stores to buy the food 

people we've never seen put cans on shelves.
 

our new garden turned out unremarkable.

unannounced, another completion:  a baby rabbit was born,
hopped around our yard as a clumsy complete newcomer would.
 then it stormed heavy rain 24 hours.
 the baby washed well.

the newly born came out after the rain.
i saw three other rabbits as well.

today our  bunny came out,
ate grass and kept to itself
as rabbits tend to do.
we watched from inside.
don't know if it's a him or her
it's just our bunny.

we  know little.

booming

last night's forecast called for thunder,
they hit it on the bean,
 right on time, the crack of dawn . 
the clock said six.

  morning's light trapped in thunder clouds.
a strong boom shook the house .
pouring rain alternated with cold stillness.

i woke clearly and thought to write
good words, altogether so they blend.
a theme dedicated to this morning.

 found nowhere to scratch it.
forgot to sleep with a pen and paper.

had an idea, couldn't write it down.
 so i slipped into sleep again,
forgot my thoughts,
lost them in the rain.
a pleasant way to go.

trash

Wednesday is trash day.
not make it, pick it up.
put it out and a city truck comes by.
the cans are so big i can't handle them.
refuse is one, recycle the other
two to go automatically.
giant robot arms pick them up
and turn the cans over above the truck.
i can watch and write about them,
that's it.

Elec

workers again
come aboard  ...

i remove myself.
take a lunch break.


eLectricity, i had to say it.
two guys playing with wires
for hours ...

good for them i leak money.

so

so if so
then you see.
near to you,
near to me.
the big tree, some rocks, flowers and weeds.
play outa while
look around some
watch for seeds
take it easy on your walk
it's pretty out there
enjoy the time out of doors

waiting days

then rain and off, 
blowing heavy drops.
call it stormy with thunder;
including one exceptional strike,
you must have heard it, felt it;
from the inside. the strike occurred here.
only one other time in my life did i
happen to be where lightning exploded.
oh, yeah, too close; made me jump.

ring on will ya

my goodness,

just when all's trashed

seems some work

to dump big-time

our sweet land of liberty.

where're you headed?

of thee i sing.

let us be proud again,

something to cheer about

from every mountainside, streetside

parkingplace,

get going now

let freedom ring.

two leaves fell

 i saw two leaves
fall from a tree, one of our
trees, way early; this is august,
too soon, still summer.
not time for falling leaves
2020 continues to be
a year of strange.
it does seem that way.

a change

summer heat slipped away.
so quickly.
were you expecting cooler weather?
i hadn't thought of a change.

then a week went by
other events distracted me;
i turned my head
 and now fall approaches.

blue jay

that blue jay is tough as an eagle

well, not quite, but thinks he is.

no matter who's on our bird feeder

blue jay will fly in when he wants to.

i'll smile again

never get closer than thirty feet
to that rabbit, we call ours,
we must be a blur
of large people
that live nearby
and are never focused on;
while in our hearts we're
kind and gentle although
the only thing we do is provide
undisturbed tall grasses and plants
for the rabbit to live in and chew on
and we keep out of the way.
sounds like bunny love, doesn't it.

workmen

two workmen have been here
 a week.  they are finishing
today putting in windows
and insulation.  i imagine
the job will be done well.

 what we've seen is good work.

when they're gone we'll have a
closer look and wonder why
we didn't notice a particular

while they were here. i think what we'll notice

for sure is that we prefer to have our space 

to ourselves without them in it.

opening round

on the grey start of this summer day,
when i got my coffee, took it easy ...
to the table. looked away
she was already sitting there, hair brushed. Looking

proper. i got our toast and butter. She asked for jelly.
then the house shook ... and a second time.
quickly. nothing to see.
why so booming?

thunder rocked us ... unaccountably.
no explanation
seems clouds had been building
then we got the boom

the buffalo

some rainy, foggy, chilly midweek

when secretaries call in sick
and postmen wear goulashes
go to the zoo and take in what’s left

splash along the water-covered concrete
past occasional trees bent, looking away
from the wind’s lick

see the muddy, mucky, peanut-shelled patch
where there stands the buffalo
knee-deep, with dirty, unkempt, matted hair
his eyelids closing out the drizzle
shoulders that held up america

clothed the indians in a montana mountain snow
fed starving wagoneers not quite to the promised land
mark of the plains
symbol of an era

it is fitting that he be visited
for his eyelids are closing now, america

ringing

my ears ring in the quiet.
i have to think to notice.
you'd say it is not possible
to hear what isn't.

i must occur to me
before i notice the space;
the lack of audio.
that's ear ringing.

now, where are the tapping woodpeckers.
there is wood enough.
perhaps it is a season when they tap more.
this is worth a lifetime of study.