to creeks jumped
and those fallen into.
to bridges crossed,
those ducked under.

to all frogs and fish,
birds and the clouds,
rain in the forest,
over brambles, through fields,

and down long highways.
in sun, snow and quiet nights,
flowers, weeds and vegetables included;
a salute to the finish and new beginning.






.

waiting for james.
he stopped by a month ago,
oregon to ohio,
to Boston, to Rome.
back with his brother
52 and 50,
the drummer and the unpredictable,
nicest guys i could know.
known 'em grow.
said he'd be here last week
that was the plan
now short hours away,
ahead of the snow.
he and Alex heading to Portland
and adventure.
while i read...check out the window,
waiting for james



.

had coffee...
tapped my spoon on the table,
no sugar for me,
ate enough cookies this week.
gazed out the window
saw more parking spaces than usual,
and fewer birds; seems they all
flew home for the holidays..
gazed more... thought
of warm water swimming,
took just one last cookie
for dipping.


.

the olives can go in the refrigerator
is what she said to me
can they now? that got my attention,
i squinted at her

didn’t believe her, not then.
that was absolutely not true.
those olives can’t go anywhere,
watch them; even if they tried.

i know for a fact, no doubt about it.
take a load off, olives,
you can put the load right on me.
your going days are over.



.

such a beautiful Christmas tree
nearly twenty feet tall
in the neighbors front yard,
been watching it for years;
he's not using it anyway.
our ceiling at home reaches seven,
i only need some off the top.
i'll buy neighbor kids beer
have them cut the top at night
and deny involvement

forget the above. I remembered Gregory
Corso's beat generation poem about
learning to drive and
mowing friends down:
humor from another generation.
unkind doesn't work now
when we need to go easy,
we surly do.
we need kindness, even in humor.



.

practically Christmas
a few days to go
they say it will rain
how can they know?
staying home i'll sing in my head
White Christmas...
"may your days be merry and bright"
at night go to bed



.

shortest day of the year
can you feel it?



.

five days before christmas
a mexican food lunch
loosen up




.

i awaken and look at the news
then i'm sorry i did, for what i read;
for what is said saddens me.
where is the love and the dreams?

softness, it seems, is waylaid by power
and grandeur of prominence.
shall we avoid the sweet scent of flowers?
give mankind gentle notions again.



.

America has computers.
Pick an issue and a day;
in 24 hours know exactly
what the people say.



.

a lazy gray day watching droplets;
well, first sensing them until
i looked beyond thin curtains
to see silver sprinkles puddle up.

visible from my easy chair,
pearls splatter and shatter softly.
will pour later is the consensus
of weather forecast providers.

i sip coffee to heed what is
given by professionals or,
as in days of old, will dauntlessly
draw my own conclusions.



.

2016 super moon, bright white
and larger; nearest until 2034.
got up at 2:00 and saw it a minute;
went back to bed. slept through most of it.





.

you can yell at the dog
he'll feel bad
and not remember
why you're yelling at him.



.

two horses
in the small corral
stand in extreme opposite corners,
though horses like company.

these two must have been
together long enough;
each knows
what the other has to say.



.

waiting in rome

the function of bureaucracy
is to make you wait
to show who is boss
to keep you little people down,
in place, engaged

there is a seat, take it
it will be a while
take a number
grasp the ticket
no one will look at it
but it gives you
something to hold on to



.

nothing doing

from fifty yards away, black and white,
serene on the banks of a placid pond.
i watched for fifteen minutes
fifteen geese taking life easy

they sat or stood in the sun,
a few briefly walked a tight circle,
then sat again. content with time off
from what they do when they're busy


.

october wind and warm/
still, pancakes for breakfast were just right/
u sure?/
wait...there aren't two voices in a poem./
tell Shakespeare/
his were different/
and yours is the same?/
well, not the same...You know i made your part up, don't you?

by request -
hey, tomc
okay, hey
it's national poetry day

i'll wait for intergalactic poetry day
and the new planet they found,
where life has just begun
a mega-gazillion miles away/

so after a giga-zillion years
it's not spinning on it's axis/
there it's still ten in the morning - day one/
what fun. spinning takes practice.

went to Oregon
bought marijuana in a store.
smoked a joint. it took three days.
didn't finish it all.
best i felt in years.
$9, it was fine.
couldn't bring any back to Ohio.
come on, America.
the young can bang heads playing football;
we old want to sit in a chair, relax
and feel good.


.

fog in the morning,
we used to say thick as pea soup.
now, perhaps it's broccoli du jour
jesus crimney - i mean it



.

rain louder than the train

harvest moon so soon it seems,
though it's been a year;
this night i stayed in bed, didn't open the curtain to look.

Then a brilliant flash at three
and i counted the seconds eight, nine, ten, eleven...rumble.
again a flash - i counted to nine that time.
nine miles away.

i imagine the storm diminished
as i slept gain
until rolling thunder when i woke at six.
left to right, across the sky.
and the rain was louder than the train...two trains around seven.
pouring hard on and off this morning.

This night i slept well,
wrapped in good thoughts and dream.
how about you...how'd it seem?



.

that place without time

where i go in dreams
is all...it seems/

boundless, sweet love



.

went to the grocery store
bought a ham sandwich they make there.
carried it home where she she cut it in two.
i asked which half was mine.

while cleaning up the last of the mustard
that she blew all over the floor
she zeroed in when she said,
"take the half that doesn't have a bite out of it."

there wasn't any mustard on it either.


.

old friends are special;
if you can deal with old coots.







.

i hear the softest melody
when i think of you.






.

my, it's hot. even
inside where it is air conditioned;
dampness creeps the walls
and clings to you.

not a day to stroll shady woods.
skip that. they say it'll be cooler tomorrow.
why not sit down, relax;
sip green tea.



.

when it's warm out
and work is done
i'll sit quietly
and wonder.


.

The whistle seemed a good idea
lets people know a train is coming.
first a guy invented the whistle,
another said, "I can make it louder."

we live a half mile away from the tracks,
over the hill and down a bit.
every morning after the train runs through town
i have to straighten the pictures on the wall.

addendum

Someday they'll find
those early morning,
ultra blasting train whistles
blew America's mind.

already summer is moving on.
don't have a final tally
the garden's given many veggies.
now, it's yours to rally.

took the wire from the garden.
come on, boy, don't chu dally,
we win, we do; and you do too -
we'll call it bunny valley












.

geeze cake

seek and enjoy.

when you find, and we found
a breakfast spot, another
not a big corporate job...
a little ma an' pa,
and this one had cheesecake.

ok, not your usual breakfast fare but, how about it...
four different kinds, brought from Cleveland.
cherries, blue berries, straw berry and another..
call it a wonder berry...I can't remember.
oh, yes, to look at them is fattening. What a way to go.
I tried a piece...no, not tried, I ate a piece.
As good as I imagined...as good as you can imagine.
hmmmmmm...cheesecake.

spinning

two eggs, two pancakes, i ordered.
the chubby waitress, embarrassed
about her glasses; still cute and kind.
and the world goes on spinning;

sipped coffee by the window.
i see giant nimbus clouds roll by.
geeze, big as old sailing ships.
thought of mocking-birds, used to hear them.
Uncle Clifford's hand pump well,
and fresh, clean, country water splashing.

then outside, a drunk on a bicycle stops traffic.
he's old enough to know better.
and the world goes on spinning.
i'm glad there is nothing for me to hang on to
or i'd write the same poem every day.

nowsville

Oh, welcome thee of the illerati
now chillax.
click-bait and pocket monsters
sort them out; it will be.
i went dark yesterday, no one noticed
OMG, your guyliner is smudged

early morning train

slid the window open after three
dreamed clouds again until five-thirty
when, from long beyond
i heard the name say - i am train

calling low in light rain,
sweet voice, milk and thunder
clawing on wings of steel,
lonely is the night, strong, sure

swinging through, blasting,
rolling heavy on quick-wheel feet
powering around, long through, then out of town,
murmur lonely; cutting night stillness, like a blade on ice

iron maiden go, into first morning light
familiar friend, shaking windows with your power,
i smiled, low in bed, covered my head
slept another hour.



redone 7 17

wen fer

wen fer lunch,
place 20, count 'em 20
miles, long down on the straightaway.

going and coming back, also,
cause they more to dis story..
musta ha'seen over four...call 'em
five, cars on the road.

I'm tellin' ya...somethin' goin' on
right hereabouts in Ohio.
i'm happy as darn about it.
Eat chur corn, Roy.

eyebrows are

eyebrows are so
you can look startled
curious, interested,
or angry

eyelids are for winking
and closing out light
the part of the night
when you're sleeping

crying is for babies
and feeling better, after

the antique clocks run a week;
how often i must wind them.

booming

95 and humid a third day.
clouds belly down and booming
at noon, drop a fortune of water;
gardens are not opposed.

heat

the extreme heat of this afternoon
creeps inside where it's cooler
and gets me sleepy
at least for a nap's worth

cell phone dilemma

major red alert,
cell phone is missing -
the pulse of my life line.
gone but not forgotten.

went back where i had coffee.
questioned everyone repeatedly.
most seemed honest in their replies.
evidently i didn’t leave my phone there.

staggered home dejected.
instead of crying right away,
dumped big trash can in the drive.
two cops driving by stopped to watch.

i put it all back,
took a half hour,
searching the sticky mess
a piece at a time.

then brilliant idea
struck like lightening. wow.
i asked the cops to call my cell number
and put it on speakers in their car.

if the rat face sleaze at the coffee place answers
i’ll recognize his wheezy, whiny voice.
from the squad car they let me dial,
misdialed my cell number several times.

chatted with interesting people,
talked longer with the nice ones
a few wrong numbers were angry,
cops were growing impatient.

i suggested, “Lend me a dollar, i’ll call
for a medium pizza, split it three ways,
if you drive us to pick it up.”
cops were unhappy.

head down, i kept dialing.
finally got the right number.
two seconds later
my pocket rang.

a.

tumble and never fall
clouds do

b.

i hate cloud poems
with the word fluffy in



.

wellington

Wellington, a forgotten town
a line drive 22 miles east of Norwhere
where 18 crosses 58...
the heart of nothing special but goodness.
an old, tin-pressed ceiling cafe is large, welcoming.
no music, no TV, the hum is locals talking quietly.
cheery Karen from the other day seats us.
glassed in, on the corner over coffee we view
big-rig, cross-town traffic,
the action at the center of the berg.
sipping, we decide how to take two eggs
with two pancakes...too early
for too many decisions; no rush,
all is well...in Wellington

every 17 years

near Shiloh
The other day we heard them...
like crickets, over the hill somewhere.
I pointed so she would know
what hill they were over.

M said,"Those are locusts. They live in the
ground and come out every seventeen years."

I really glared at her. "I know that...
do you think I'm stupid?"

She paused, looked toward the hill,
then said, "That's a dumb question."

open window

slept by an open window,
dreamed poetry
until sunshine ran over it
and left me plowed.

good day, some say, sometime;
sunshine, here's to you
from the bottom
of my heart.

dream from where

often i have dreamed poetry,
a few words, an idea.
when writing poetry every day
my dreams were poetry ideas,

then in the morning
i'd write from those ideas.
last night i dreamed mdf: 236748,
mdf: 566924, mfg: 73479

there was a paragraph space
then another series of letters and numbers.
i had a page of these letters and numbers
all single spaced and

still sleeping i noticed what i was reading.
it was a print out i had been reading;
after a bit of time i was still sleeping when
i noticed what i was reading/dreaming

don't know what it was
but when i woke i remembered
this strange dream
and wrote it down.

the cart

Walking into Walmart
I put my cane aside when
a mysterious voice said,
"Use the cart, Luke...use the cart."