patience sits me quiet, calm again.
waiting to see how the day feels ... begins.
how calm are you this morning?
you won't leave me in the dark forever.
a pie is sweet and so is cake
when you bake just right
overnight you warm with low heat
you know what a treat it will be
to have a slice with coffee.
warms my heart to think of it.
when we'll sit, have a slice,
that sound nice?
let's put it together so it happens.
there's room on the log
stuck in the bog
where there's a frog
or two, singing.
Interesting voices they have,
in harmony soothing as salve
they croak in tones
pure and ringing.
another season is set to open
as we prepare the region and the garden
we drove us to Shelby ... wasn't easy
not when you stack the day together.
first we had to go a half hour
Kind of on the way to Norwhere
to see the beautiful new steps
Dan and his Mr. father, Ed Barman made;
steps of cement to look like the 1860 sandstone original.
don't know how they did it.
then on to Shelby for the first time in a year
for a breakfast not memorable ... or for sure we
will remember it as the day that rang no bells.
the old crew were gone, the new are not the same.
the woman with me had a Spanish something egg with toast,
it looked like catsup.
mine was a pancake, two eggs, shredded potatoes they say.
each of the customers, that's us, had many coffees.
we left a bit saddened. this is April, 2021 ,
the race is long over and we saw many Trump signs.
on fifteen minutes to Shilo, at Blu-ray: flowers, trees, bushes
and plants ... Saturday, 17 April his opening day.
moving quickly, "hi" to Mark, with nearly a smile
embedded in his recognition of me.
air is still, pleasant, quiet, Mark never slowed down
workers out with packs of flowers,
she shopped what she could.
then to Planktown, no masks on workers,.
10:43 AM, 46 degrees, pleasant,
many customers wore masks.
we rode back to Oberlin.
names have always been important;
you'd think so anyway.
it appears that to begin writing
without a known subject
is a vague initiation ...
ghost writing in the dark.
on a paper bench in the park ... without a pencil.
she said she saw a rabbit again - oh, happiness.
i see workers in our yard.
all are moving beyond my involvement.
desired conclusions unknown.
she called workers to action.
my concern is for a satisfactory finale.
so shall we all some to eventually.
so shall it be.
Water has to drain from our yard.
Rabbits are fun to have around if they don't
eat away the garden and flowers.
i make note and count the hours.
"to the color we'll add some beige ...
to give a hint of age," said the man Ed
who has been working with cement
fifty years.
i met him, saw his initial procedure.
he can handle the job.
i'm happy He's doing the work For me.
It will rain some.
i'm not worried about it.
what a pleasure.
the season has developed in full at last.
we think so, and it appears that way.
now two rabbits show up in our yard.
frolicking. the two rabbits jumped straight off the ground.
five feet in the air. i didn't know they could do that.
frolicking is the word for how they acted.
one large like our last year bunny. one small.
there are many bunnies and these didn't have tags; you see a few
And realize they look the same.
we were hoping these are returnees.
but you know ... that's a good starting phrase,
but you know new rabbits could be friendlier
than the two last year who always
kept a hunddred feet away.
these are the opening minutes ... we'll see.
at last a warm evening ...
the first of hopefully many.
old downtown behind Main.
Meri, Catherine and i take a table.
birds overhead call each other.
making a point. put on a show.
i know they do. it's how they go.
as water lightly rolls down the river.
the birds crowd each other.
that's a seagull's life.
boats are coming in;
the afternoon's over.
Ride on to ohio. take the highway.
Hello daughter. been two years.
so talk-fill the gaps. Meri can handle her end.
you're speedy, i'm slack; loving every day.
done a winter's worth of waiting for you.
it's swell. we know each other well.Looking ahead, We'll be warm
tomorrow ... like toast, they say.
if we didn't have this pandemic
we could hug. but i'm an old man
afraid of catching the bug.
so we do what we can.
pasqua is easter ...
weightlessness in long term
space. you hit the ball, round first
base. good thing we're here on planet
blue, running, hitting like we
do. yes, the season has just
begun. so far few players have hit a home
run. wait until Monday, see how they've
done.
strike, ball, double, take off, watch the ump.
mark down Easter, figure if we will spend summer
watching baseball .. or have we had enough.
watching guys who make 200 million a year
and we have to pay a hundred a season
just to see them on TV.
They should pay fans a hundred a month
to watch them on TV.
i can smell the ocean from my chair.
looking up it isn't there.
a peach ripens on the window sill
the clocks approaching quarter 'til
and as i pull the bag from my cup of tea
my mind takes me places i'd like to be.
here, magazines picture my vacation
while outside, birds make their migration.
the mast will creak as my chair rocks.
i stir my tea as my ship docks,
with quill in hand and love sublime
i'll send this message from out of time
corked and floating on ocean's crest
the letter drifts to islands west
at night, moonlight flashes the bottle glass,
by day, the jumping, curious dolphin pass
by sooner or later and seagulls,
by lesser and greater in wind lulls,
by storms and seasons
beyond all reasons
i put my feet up and think of beach,
sip my tea, and eat my peach
don't open your eyes, you won't believe this ... sleep more before you go ahead.
Wake to snow Covering all ... won't last, melting fast. Winter's gone but yeah bah. What an April morning to take in.
want some eggs an bacon?
you're dreaming.
Meanwhile there is poetry, back in fashion ... scattered around pick that one off the ground, clown. It's yours.
claim it. sticks a medal on you for showing up today ... hold still, Willy. Will yah.
okay eight-thirty now and the street looks slushy.
nothing new falling. it's on the way to total meltdown.
Sharon Stone doing a cowboy film.
she certainly did 26 years ago.
am i poeming yet
this middle of the week?
trash goes out every Wednesday.
stack up those weekly obligations.
while Catherine flies in
Califonia to Detroit.
she'll see her friend then drive here
where robins are out hoping, pecking
as today the year's third month ends.
worn out. mark it down.
a quarter of the year has burned.
not only quickly it went quietly.
entirely wrapped up.
as you, i'm happy to have seen it.
Flying today is my daughter
from California. where it's hotter
well, it's not the season for heat
yet it's warm enough.
neat she's coming here
wing in dear.
And good for us. Joy. Joy again.
This doesn't happen everyday.
we'll all enjoy the visit.
like sprinkling seeds of happiness.
well i guess i'll miss her toby and daughter.
so i guess we'll fly hr way next.
here and also another ... there.
morning cold spring rain.
enough so neighbor runners
packed in suits head to toe
jackets with the hoods-up go,
decked in outfits like firefighters
on the back of a bells-clanging
fire truck running with siren blaring
down city streets. out of the way,
tearing quick, make way.
on this cold rainy day.
very brisk starting.
out of the way.
the ceilings are high.
Floors are natural, wood boards.
no cars passing this morning
all creatures doing as best they can
no rabbits, deer, birds nor wind;
and it's warm enough, you know for sure
after a long winter cold, spring finally began.
daylight savings time
forgotten the day after
until six months later.
why do we reset clocks.
don't tell me.
why not forget the change
we need the sun in the morning
and the moon at night.
coffee and oatmeal are sufficient
cancel inconvience
when i heard he was a Beatle
i had no idea Paul McCartney
would write Live and Let Die,
a Jame Bond movie theme;
or that fifty years later i'd write these words,
think this thought, and not be particularly surprised.
my, my, how the world goes 'round.
although, i had not the foggiest idea.
the lake waves roared and gulls flew swiftly
as lives tumbled forward
Into new times and new friends;
always unexpected adventures.
years later i came back and walked on the pier
only slower and not so far out this time.
now i can satisfy myself by looking at old photographs
and pictures i'd painted years ago.
there are memories. sweet memories we share
of times back then. you know when.
summer was ours. yes it was.
we'd hear the coal dumper and the morning trains.
remember?
we saw familiar people walking on main street.
you see one, recognize, and forgot his or her name;
almost recall, but not quite. you never thought some year you'd try to remember.
and there were people then i could recognize but never knew their names.
their cars or trucks went by and a while past they would be familiar too,
and we never gave it a second thought.
i know driving by you couldn't help but look to see what was playing at the Ritz.
you'd smile. some time you'd have seen the movie
and now you'd drive to the next town to a decent theater.
or it was league night at the bowling alley.
maybe friends would come over for cards tonight or a beer.
no matter ... evenings went well.
these endless summers were ours.
