frog 09 - the season opener

after the usual cold Ohio winter
dryness came - no rain for a while
cool air has packed her bags and left
now finally spring is leaning on summer


we cleaned up the results of long winter neglect
got everything ready for the new season
things look changed, charged and reset, even the frog,
looking as if he recently crawled from his winter mud bed


Herb took nearly a week to get reacquainted
with us and the new frog year
now he’s talking to us again, like old times
today it rained, all day, on and off


this warm and sticky evening, in drizzle at dusk he hopped
out to the side and up to the heavy plank
that spans the pond
a few more hops to the middle, to reconnoiter


tonight he’ll use darkness and the rain to roam for a while
or call other roamers in, it’s what home frogs do
we’ll wait and see how it develops,
it's what frog watchers do

miracle heavenly father

Author Henry Miller said if one believes, then miracles happen. I don’t think you have to believe; I think it is up to us to pay attention to recognize when they occur.

today as i drove from a side road
a mile down a major heavy traffic area
at forty-five miles and hour
things went my way

through a dozen green traffic lights without pause
then onto the freeway when
it occurred to me
there is a divine something

the lights changing for me
didn’t happen by chance
luck is not in my repertoire
don’t believe in accidents

it had nothing to do with diligence or hard work
i was aware it was divine intervention,
no idea why the sudden miracle, i must have been due
haven’t changed my life style for doodley

robin's

robins and robin’s sons
from sun to sun, year to year
and the little bird girls too
have known our ways for generations

they fear us less
cause we live here too
we’re practically furniture
to fly around

and they keep returning
the same extended family
pecking around as we pass by
they don’t startle now and fly away

worms they want
and worms they’ll find
insects too, for the little ones

breed ‘em
feed, em
keep out of the way

teach them to find their own food
it’s robin’s work
in a robin’s day
it's a robin's world

best of both worlds

best of both worlds
it could be that way
as some perceive
as some friends say

for we spend time there
and some time here,
whether far or near
rapidly goes another year

as Romans have
a summer country home
so we do we, only ours
is in another country

quiet of the weekend

quiet of the weekend
final page of another week
turn out in comfortable clothes
stay at home chores present themselves

a pause from our regular endeavors
regroup to do it again
be thankful for what we have
mark it all down in the good

eyes down

five minutes to home
she found an odd button
that we put in the jar
for such things

her eyes to the ground
everywhere we go
oh, what she’s found
the jars are filling

she’s found money, buttons, badges,
chain, earrings, hair clips,
combs, pendants, knobs, hats, balls, t-shirts
and kittens in a tree

flying back this time
she stood up in the isle
bent down, picked up a quarter
others didn’t see

no matter where we are
don’t have to ask or remind her
whatever i need, i wait a bit,
she’ll find it

pond again

late May turns warmer
on the verge of mosquitoes
June bugs, and dragon flies,
fat dove on the roof of my lab
observes a moment, then is gone,
very small bunny running,
eating, playing, sitting, testing his speed
then a long day working robin,
always first one up, last one down,
swoops in,
scares the bunny up to speed again
Herb the frog stays center pond
makes his noise
we repeat it,
taking in nature
from lawn chairs
on the side line

steve

Steve works on our car
has a garage down the street
always busy when i slip in there

yet calm, relaxed and competent
wiping his hands on a rag as
we chat a bit

his manner lends ease to his customers
as does his assuredness that
problems will be rectified

it is a pleasure to do business with
the man who’s smile is genuine
and his comfort contagious

i don’t mind paying
for good service

your life

how you live your life
what you do with your time
is your business to work on, kid
all yours, i’ve got mine

i try to be a good example
it’s what i mean to do
show you what’s right, and hold you tight
i know you’ll make it through

i wish and hope the very best
you know, honey, i do
but it’s not me that’s living your life
it’s all yours, babe, and your life’s up to you

cheese in china

last week M said
she wanted to go to china alone
a couple of months in the outback
or whatever it’s called
away from the cities

without a tour
to see the village folk
what they do
how they dress, what they’re eating
so many of them in so much country

and when M’s sister calls to speak with her
i’ll say she’s in China
and her sister will ask,
“...What about cheese
in China?”

this train

nights are colder
now i’m older
it doesn’t surprise me
not a little bit

my ticket’s stamped
years ago in blue frosty snow
on a long forgotten train
when it was i can’t recall

no memories remain
i bet the wind knows
every haunting refrain
the old metal whistle blows

how much longer i ride
before my fare expires on this line
sure could use a sleeper and a diner car
the engineer’s a friend of mine

the robinses

their new nest where last year's was
on the top of the trellis by a corner of our house
three eggs, one already hatched
if we walk near it disturbs the elders

mother leaves and father warms and watches
or mother waits and father picks up food for all
the hardest working birds are robins
and it’s just begun

another month and the
youngsters will be hoping in the yard
parents will instruct how to find food
kids start slowly, but they learn

our way

Though at times it appears that way, this is not a diary, it’s a simple poetry blog (I like simple). Here’s one from Roma.

First, a writers comment: You know, when I read my stuff, I want it to run right along. If it meanders a bit for a reason, that's okay too.



our way

down our street
not even a street
a cobblestone alley
way – call it a way
down our way thirty seconds
we’re into the nearly on the corner bar Juliano’s

jeeze he has a happy face when we come in
thirty-something, thin and fit, always in a t-shirt
he and his charming wife run the place

we took position
on the tall wooden backless bar stools
not cozy, but we weren’t moving in
we came for a couple of quick glasses of wine
well, not quick
glasses of wine in Roma aren’t quick
not now, nor have they ever been

Juliano always recommends an
Italian red something we never heard of
and we partook
under soft amber light, sipped in slow time
mulling the day, how it played
no crowd as yet, nearly dinner hour
hardly a sound
we looked around, noted every thing
including paintings on the wall
oh boy, not much there
and no rush for us

we ordered a second glass
would you like to try something different?
no, grazie, the same

and thusly an hour slid along the bar
dropped on the floor
skid out the door, it did

thusly time went by the wayside
and we followed it home
I do tell, it was swell

gate 20

on our way to gate 20 in terminal A
we kept walking up and down
couldn’t find it

street numbers in Italy you expect to be hard to find
in some areas households choose their own number
any number they want
I’m going to call mine 007

in more orderly areas numbers run consecutively
with one side of the street independent of the other
so the 300 block could be across from the 700 block
odds on one side, even on the other, sometimes

finding a gate in the air terminal should be easy
after much looking
determining gate 20 wasn’t there,
we asked
a worker said it was not in terminal A
it was downstairs in the new terminal AA

A..A ?
in twenty years i’ve never heard an Italian stutter
there must be another malady to compensate for this lack
I’m sure it has something to do with numbering

will the next new terminal be AAA?
I’ll drink to that
or drive to it

second glance

Thanks to each of you for your participation in the comments section of this blog. Your words are encouragement.

The well hasn't run dry, there's more to do and say - poems, like the next hitters in the line up, are waiting on deck for a chance at the plate, but appease me a bit, today i wish to return to the core

goodbye roma

goodbye roma
i’ve had it with you
and might miss you
maybe after a while
cause you bother me
abuse and take me for granted
crowd me on your buses
push in front of me every time
i get in line
treat me with no regard
and when i’ve reached my limit
then you make fresh pasta
and tasty pizza
your wine’s good too
did i say i like your cheese?

one size fits all

to the airport
saw a crowd of dignitaries
military and police flood a special gate
Prince Charles came and left earlier this week
wasn’t him
tom hanks and ron howard were in town the other day

in the lounge it was me
and an old fart man
wearing a dorkhead teal mesh golf cap
as he stared into space
coughed
no, he didn’t cover his mouth

then saw me looking at him
as he sat there
with his drooling mouth hung open
I looked at him, he looked at me
just like prince Charles, we were waiting
for a plane

welcome to america

I.
“good evening
welcome to our flight
all passengers must be seated”
that seemed reasonable to me
then she said, “here’s how
to buckle your seat belt”
II.
i saw a guy who looked like Jonathan, my son
i told my wife, who saw
only a slight resemblance, and shrugged
i told her not to worry
it’s not like robins
i can tell one from the other
III.
i was in the supermarket thirty seconds
when a lady came within three feet of my shopping cart
with her shopping cart
and apologized
by the time i looked her way she was gone,
did she think i was packing heat?

pitiful degree

I met a man down in Hollywood
I ain't naming names
he really worked me over good
just like Jesse James

(from Poor, Poor Pitiful Me as sung by Linda Ronstadt
written by Warren Zevon)

pitiful degree

my blood is from Poland and the north since forever
normally my body is a degree or two cooler than hers
she is a touch of the Cherokee
I’ll drive the car this morning

she said it is good she’s not
riding a horse to the dentist
it would smell fear
and buck her off

ohio morning

Ohio morning rose
by it self today
i didn’t have to help
it was dark when i got up

and forgot the impending first crack of light
as slippered i listened from the porch
doves the only sound,
whatever they say, i’m sure they repeat themselves
i don’t count the way off highway hum

or the leaves rubbing together in a breath of breeze
or were they unfolding to make that noise?
i mean, trees are made compatible
yet may have to stretch and scratch when they wake

so then it was morning,
had coffee and tried in vain to consider
what the heck i’d been dreaming
that had seemed so darn important all night long

i heard Herb the frog say something
and wondered how he slept tucked in cold mud last winter
Ohio is like living in a primitive forest
without the monkeys, giant leaves and tumbling waterfalls

plus, we have a postman
i meant to say practically like living
and if you had to skip back to see what i am talking about
you’re not concentrating hard enough

wake up
and smell the frog