pals

 Being nice to my friends, thinking of them. how i enjoy seeing them even though i don't have a load of new happenings to report.

seeing you and saying hello means you elevate my happiness by being here.             so hello means you make me happy.

The color of summer

 It will be warm today, one of the warmest and looking out this morning i see the sweetness of summer the way it should be, warm in the heavy shade of green you want to see.                                                              birds and rabits all on board; beige and white, blending in. there are trees and bushes thick with life. now a heavy sprinkle of rain.                    what a day.                                                            a good morning for you

Little birds

  see the short birds

 running in the Wallmart parking lot.  

little ones.       Plump but look how fast they go.                                      

do they immigrate south when there's snow?    i haven't the foggiest idea.                           

seems would be hard for them to run like that on ice. 

they have a lot of tricks though.

 birds have developed good abilities 

for many things they can do.

in wood times - reprise

 t Tuesday, September 28, 2010 8 comments

in wood times - reprise

in wood times i've spent walking
gathering colors, tasting sounds
by ferns, tall grass, and animals
under the forest canopy, making rounds

flushing pheasants as i go
they streak off in a line
then to stop, a place i know
amid green berries on the vine

wild white rolling clouds above
reflect the light, contrast the blue
in nature's time i touch the love
and symmetry by which things grew

the wind plays light and sweet
with mint and closer scents
honeysuckle and wildflower complete
the multicolored firmament

at a small creek bank i pause to drink
and there, witness life within
a small plant reaches water's brink
the shoots are young and thin

where hours pass i cannot say
the sun marks shadows on the land
little voices beg me to stay
i promise trees, i'll come again

Slip by

 All has changed for the better.  Am I kidding myself. We saw the play. We're halfway gone at the intermission. Don't know why we came back. We did. The show did have some actors playing a dog and a chicken. They were the best parts of the show. 

  I'll.remember them when I think of the performance. Good blocking. Of course the dog and thr chicken talked - it was a play.

In my mind

 today we'll see a play.

 new ideas will fill our minds.  

thoughts will rise. 

i'll have to write things down. 

inspiration will clamor. 

this is an afternoon show. 

we'll come home in sunshine. 

that says a lot of goodness for us.  

we're not evening people.

Clocks are wound

 can't learn much but it's a start.                 Tim winds his 17 clocks every Sunday         now we follow his example starting today. the sun i see ricochet                                        off the house being built across the street. Rod complained about it.                        this morning i see it bright. he's right.                           he hopes it will not be another sided white.            i hope the clocks run smoothly.                    and stand with rod.                            learning about clocks takes time.

the last day we saw rain

 

the last  day we saw rain                                                                                                            then 2022 dried a while,                                                                                                                 a surprise we needed,                                                                                                               the land did too, while                                                                                                                 for this afternoon is                                                                                                                         projected two inches of rain.                                                                                                    that is a monsterful.                                                                                                                 how can i mark this                                                                                                                future projection down?

the day before the rain quit

 

the last  day we saw rain                                                                                                            then 2022 dried a while,                                                                                                                 a surprise we needed,                                                                                                               the land did too, while                                                                                                                 for this afternoon is                                                                                                                         projected two inches of rain.                                                                                                    that is a&  monsterful.                                                                                                                 how can i mark this                                                                                                                future projection down?

soft night train

 

no screeching last night.

in breaths of quiet, light wind
the train pattered like 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

loud noise

27 august 1883
the loudest noise our
planet has ever heard.
circled the earth four times.
if you were nearer than
ten miles from Krakatoa exploding
you'd be deaf.
floating pumice fields 10 feet deep
clogged ports,
there was so much ash thrown in the sky that in Nicaragua, on the other side of the Pacific, the sun was blue. 

poem for us

what poetry means
are soft words
how we feel
blanket warm
in light of dawn

with a pleasant look on our face.

and music with delicious melodies. 

rest calmly night

 

no wind, yet the sea moves 

on slow long breathes in and out;

respiring a sweeping rush of shore pebbles.

folding waters cause an occasional boom on the shore.

the near full moon reflecting

white sparkles in the sea

throws scattered far reaching points of light,

in the nearly-still envelope of evening.

 

how you do it swell.

evening, you're a sweet song

i know you mean well,

i can tell by how you've done.

a small boat in light ripples

 my Monterey, Snort,

built in 1930s when the name 

meant a shot of whiskey.

how sweet our time together.

how i patched you

and worked to make you right.

thank you,  Morgan for selling her to me.

 i ordered a two cylinder, 900 pound  diesel engine 

from China.  it came to the boat yard in Sausalito.

i put it in.  a pal set it straight in the boat.

and i hooked the mechanical and electrical.

 

i can taste the salt water breeze of the Pacific

when i think of it.

oh, we had our tine running in the bay

and on the ocean.

 

 ***

 

hurray.

for the fiftieth anniversary of the Oakland bay bridge

i took my 28 foot old wooden sloop Navigator,

my nautical wood working friend Mike and Meri 

and along with over a thousand other boats

on a black windless night

 

 packed close like sardines a tin i heard them hitting  each other.

managing in the thick of music, lights and celebration

we  had a fine rime and got home without a nick.

all part of life on San Francisco Bay

sloop

a lengthy swift sloop at sail at sea
with half a breeze and half a sun as you man her
nowhere to go and no call to go
just time to set far back
look up to the tall sturdy mast
as nylon sails snap
to the occasional wind's lick

the ocean spits bits of spray
back and forth over the bow
with a gentle lift the shore is visible
then a recline and shore is gone
another lift and the long, low line of land is there again

no need for a shirt with warm air rushing over you
and your hair is twisted and thrown and dampened by spray
a red neck feels good and a tan face
makes it better to have lived this way
strong hands hold the ship to a meandering course
from nowhere
in particular
and back a gain

scattered over

 can't get away today,                                    going to cover us well                                         is the prediction,                                                      stay in to keep dry.                                      plus there is  more on the way                              with thunder they say                                  and we haven't even begun.                         now is quiet as France.  let's                    someday waltz across the bridge.                          with umbrellas

with the volume of a bright candle glow

  red clock lights

blinked away this morning.

hello okay.

blinking  meant the current was interrupted.

good morning anyway.

don't blow a gasket.

i'm surprised the flashing didn't wake me.

how are you with blinking?

good thing coffee settles everything, that's      my thinking

glow on.

 

light stepping

 
good shoes, the right jacket.
open land to the end of the field.
cross the piece of woods beyond.
dry weeds snap and crackle as i walk

through the short stretch of brush
to the pond. it's morning
and already a pleasant day
can be seen ahead. 

the good sun, light breeze. sit and listen for a while to the soundsof the day. a bird or two and large clouds. enough to make a full world. 

make a note: a very good time of morning for an easy hike

War is hell

 such torture the world suffers.

unnecessary to endure.

not stars nor flowers or love.

come out of that; turn a light on above.

it's coming from the sun

it’s fitting that I start from here 

the tale that I can’t tell 

just meditate and don’t relate 

you know the story well

 

 i’ll tell you what the prophet sees 

the things I can’t relate the thoughts you’ll twist into your toys the things you won’t debate

 it’s not what you expect you see that’s how we play the game we hesitate instead of flow as the world remains in change

 the greatest words I’ve written the wildest things I’ve said were sung by children half-asleep and wetting in their bed

 there is secret news I’m going to say it’s sleeping in your heart but take your time, it’s here with mine don’t leave before you start 

 it’s coming from the sun there’s nothing more than that the fire burns, heats the earth and here the poet sat while knock, knock, knocking the postman at the door brings coupons free, some for me and still I look for more 

 but there’s something that I’ve written the wildest thing I’ve read when world began in secret news the words some others said it’s not as you expect, you see that’s how the world does go we go about trying to learn instead of forgetting what we know

 while knock, knock, knocking the old man at the gate chases his hat, loves his cat and that’s more than he can take

 beyond the last tomorrow when the old man loses sight thoughts will rush like choir boys passing each by candle light 

 it’s coming from the sun 

  i can see it coming down 

what it is our words won’t say but there’s sure enough around

 it’s fitting that I say no more of the tale that I can’t tell 

after all, I’m only you, a poet too, as well