side note

did you plan well?
i know there's more than you expected
did life fall into place for you?

how it goes today,
what you are doing
is how you are spending your life
get used to it

i hope you're loving it

a small hometown parade

we had our hometown parade
this rolling cloudy, mostly sunny, humid, hot day
and, in no time, it has us
cheering them marching

there was a car blaring music for
miniature brightly costumed baton spinners
smiling snappy-proud as could be,
people from decorated flatbeds threw handfuls of candy,
big guys in customized '52 Chevy pickups waved,
our fire truck waltzed by and gave a siren blast,
candidates ran from their cars handing out campaign brochures,
the high school band played the spirited school song

my friend ran behind his house to roll up his car windows
the forecast said it would rain later
and then, as bagpipers strode by just starting Anchors Away
the sky opened with an instant deluge
pounding cannons of heavy downpour flooded the street,
candy washed down the drains

everyone ran laughing for shelter under trees and front porches
then two minutes later
the soaked ones continued happily on their warm sloppy trek
parades can't just stop,
and their rides home were a long drizzling walk away

what joy
God love 'em
for showing the best of what little towns are made of,
here's a day i'd gladly live again

psycho mom and me

figuring something out
is not easy
that's why it takes time
and why everyone hasn't done it at least once already
maybe no on has figured out anything yet
i suppose some are working on it

the tough thing is the question
what exactly are we supposed to be figuring out?
now i am speaking in vagaries here, not specifics
people do resolve minor problems
like how to fix something broken
or how to make a better toaster or hamburger cooker

but lets stay vague
vague is where we are, remember that
it's where we live when you take away
everything scheduled and programmed for us

now, life? course of action?
these sound like possibilities for specifics
that need resolution

years ago i wrote a few pages description of some answer
to resolve the question of
being in the present moment.
i typed it up and gave it to my mother
that was a hell of a stupid thing to do, i know,
but i had figured out life
and thought it'd be great to share it with my mom
so she'd have the answer and feel good too

i remember she just looked at what i gave her,
didn't care about or understand my explanation of what i
had written, and after she tried to read it
she had a questioning look on her face
i think she might have asked me if i was all right,
meaning, was i crazy

it is one thing to have a momentous transcendental thought
complete in your mind
and quite another to try to put it quickly into words on
paper for your mother, a woman who essentially didn't give
a shit
mom was not a thinker of what anyone would call heavy thoughts
she thought about what she was going to make Chester for dinner

at the time i was inspired by Ram Dass - aka Richard Alpert
and the stuff i gave her was about living in the present.
Be Here Now was his book and i had a recording of a lecture he gave
it was deep, he taught at Harvard and dropped a lot of acid
and smoked a lot of dope with Timothy Leary
my mom was a Canadian Club and water woman
and i know she had some fear of water, as in the lake
it all somehow relates to the way she thought,
how her mind processed material
"mow the yard"
that's how she thought
and that was a bit of a digression to this discussion
but, as mom would have done
i think i'll leave it at that

a penny from everyone

so what do you do with sixty million
do you go to the disco with paris hilton
wear your nice shoes and cool clothes
i mean, go where she goes
or, okay, maybe with her
yeah, then what do you do for an encore?

do you have eight wide, large-screen TVs all in a circle
and sit in the middle
spinning on a revolving chair
and eat popcorn
pulling it out'a your hair
and drink wine
watching all the time
with volumes all up to the max
until your ears ring?
hey, i'll drink to that, to all that stuff
until my ears ring too

i'm which chew, i am
chew, achew, ahchew
my God, i got the plague
how could that be
when i worked so hard for my money?
i'm dead

excuse me

excuse me, is this seat taken?
no, i mean this seat right here, is it taken?
wait are you joking or what?
well, why can't i see anyone sitting there?

to the restroom? how long ago?
what does she look like
i just wondered
say, did you report her missing?

well, maybe she's not coming back
did you think about that?
i am serious
the movie started and everyone's seated

did she drive, or does she have a friend?
now where are you going?
good luck . . . oh, since you;re leaving
can i have the rest of that popcorn?

in God's eye

in God's eye
in the universe
is the naked oneness of us each
me reflecting you
you reflecting me
playing life
from the center
up for love
down for fear
if you're alone
am i here?

what do you say

with all the pollen
and the breezes
what do you say
when somebody sneezes?

700 years ago
they said God bless you
to pray that person
didn't have the plague

if you move fast
you can keep out of the way
no one wants a blast
of that lousy spray

so when someone sneezes
why not just shout
hey, you
cut that shit out!

Okay, okay I made
a small error,
only one letter off
in the blog below,
but I'll leave it that way
ass a lesson to myself,
so let that be a lesson to you.

(i did that error for old time's sake)

hello Santiago

you did well to check her for galluses.
winter time - suspenders and i
go everywhere together

in warm weather i can do without
i can do without a lot of things in warm weather

this may be one of the top sites on the globe
in support of suspenders, braces or galluses
maybe
maybe not

a Captain

that man is a sailor
a Captain
there are very few like him, you know
he sits there now in his chair by the window
overlooking the sea, smoking his pipe
thinking about his days at sea
when waves tossed his ship about
and thrashed his crew against the rails
as rain and hurricane winds
fought to see who would be first
to dismember his ship

his eyes now smile in faint recollection
of Pacific ports
where natives gathered to look upon the face
that dared stand against the sea
and where young girls across a table listened
as he told tales of great adventures in unchartered waters
as together they sipped rough wines while slender
native fingers stroked his steal-gray beard

there were ports and storms
and brave men waiting his word
to set course for open waters
and other adventures

his face is firm as leather, yet kind
his hands, strong
her eyes, though old, yet speak with authority
and command the attention he has earned

he went to sea in his youth
and now, in old age, is satisfied to know
his dreams were fulfilled

that man is a sailor
a Captain
there are very few like him, you know

george wilson, artist

camel hair flowed under
wilson the captain
who, drinking contour
touched us all

a silver-tongued, lion hearted
could recall a mess of fish and clowns
whatever he painted
bare chested and sweating
lean, yet strong as a bronze whale
shared his good spirit
he did not know age was meant for man



for a fine artist and a friend from years ago

fourth of july

fourth of july i sat impatiently
on an eight foot skyrocket
while smoking a cigar
that i used to light my vehicle

i aimed for the moon and missed
just circled it twice
then bounced quickly in seattle
and landed under my couch

poetry blog

telling someone
i have a blog with poetry
is like saying i just bought a used
hearse from the funeral home
and i got it cheap cause it was in a wreck.

"oh, how nice. How many miles on it?
and are the seats always folded down?"

it's a conversation stopper
right to the bone
wanna go for a spin?

work

who can see work as beautiful?
those who have warmed to it
and love their profession

work well done is attached
to pride, satisfaction,
accomplishment and approval

it's doing what you do well
with comrades and acceptance
that is a pleasure life offers

how poets do

like accountants
poets work alone
grinding out word minutia
and are essentially worthless
except for what comfort they bring

they read a lot, enjoy the out of doors
often from a window
drink, smoke and unless someone cooks for them
eat lousy

are unaware of the time
yet, come early for appointments
choose to wear the same dull clothes and
sleep easily each night with untroubled minds

when at night i close my light
tuck myself in, covers to my chin
vivid dreams leap on me
and if the window is open
the wind will carry slow motion
under water blurry pictures directly into my head
that come alive in swirly drama

entertaining dream-rooted inventions of what could be
flash on an off as humming trucks roll on
through the night on distant blue highways
as heavy metal trains sound a mournful melting Doppler effected melody
calling hello to you, hello from me

awakened in the night
to listen for what is there
and what isn't
often getting up to write a line,
an idea to pursue before it evaporates,
then fall immediately back to deep sleep
like babies do, until morning

i admire other poets i have read
how they hop-thoughts on the pages
i know they do as i
for that is how it is done
alone in thought
one by one by one
for ages upon ages

let me slip-roll into sleep
for another jumbled, bumbled,
senseless journey
until i wake
but, not too early

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

The Invisible Man

Does it happen to you or am I the only Invisible Man? Usually when it occurs I am next in line in a store and two or three other shoppers come in and the next thing I know they're in front of me getting waited on ahead of me. I must be invisible.

We went to Drug Mart and while she shopped I picked up an old car magazine, the big summer edition. On the way home I noticed the 5.98 price on the cover. Oh my, it wasn't a freebie!

I didn't really care about the magazine. I sat at home and looked at it, about fifty cents worth, and we went back to that mall for take-out Chinese food, so I took the magazine back to the store, put it on the shelf where I found it and left.

There were four employees nearby, not busy, not doing anything but talking, very close to that rack, but no one saw me either time. I have known it for many years but, still it is a strange feeling, for I am often invisible.

i can smell the ocean

i can smell the ocean from my chair
looking up, it isn't there
a peach ripens on the window sill
the clock's approaching quarter 'til

and as i pull the bag from my cup of tea
my mind takes me to 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 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 dolphin pass

by sooner or later and seagulls
by lesses 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

the finger is the point

we zipped into the parking lot
she shut off the engine
cause she was doing the zipping

"did you see the cut on my finger?"

she extended her arm putting her
hand right in front of my face,
pointing at the large signs
out front of Meijer's Superstore
there were two of them
one read Why Pay More
and the other Photo Lab . . .

"look," she pointed harder
i was looking but i didn't know which one i should . . .

"the cut on my finger"

i looked where she was pointing but couldn't figure what
she was trying to tell me about her finger.
i glanced to see her finger had a little red mark like an
indentation but nothing that . . .

then she began talking about a new housing development
called The Preserve and she said if it was hers she'd call
it The Marmalade
that's when i got out of the car
still looking at the two signs and wondering

as she entered the store
i looked at my own finger
and held it up for her to see
if she'd only looked back

how can i best explain

how can i best explain
the trees and trails
the woods with clean water hills
that i knew in my youth

oh, somewhere there is a partial picture
that shows a wooded area
but it doesn't taste of seasons
it doesn't show the turtles in fall
the thin ice of winter
pollywogs in spring
or sassafras roots in summer

when we were ten we listened to the frogs
in the forgotten pond
we dug forts and swung on vines
walked over the creek on the trunk of fallen giants
our highway was an overgrown remnant of
the old street-car bed
we knew it well, re read it's signs
a garter snake, a portion of broken tie
the occasional bend

i may never mention it again
but hope some day to take you there