all decisions you make today will be fortunate
my fortune cookie said that to me
that’s good, I’m up to here with gloomy
right now
this cookie’s a clear sign for me to put on my shoes
I’m leaving to buy my ticket for the lottery
pitching hard luck like old cracked pottery
right now
so, you been reading my poems, you see my style
then go ahead, write stanza four
there’s my other shoe, I’m out the door
right now
Monday, November 02, 2009
Sunday, November 01, 2009
the horseback preacher
now and then in the backyard
i’ve found some things
worked up out of the soil
remnants, rusted tools,
fragments of bones, tarnished spoons
rubbing a piece of an old porcelain cup
i wonder was it Sam’s?
did they drink from this?
was it on their table?
a keepsake, a wedding gift?
to Sam and Emiline
our house was home
more than a century ago
to that horseback preacher
who lived into his eighties
when upon a time he rode
to country towns around
in all seasons
including beautiful falls like this one
sometimes in a buggy she went with
to see her family at the next town
making visits, they had little money
but, oh, friends were plenty, all knew him
he’d chat with them, stop at farms
inquire of families new animals
offer what consolation a preacher can
making the rounds
on the way in fall he and Em
would share a special apple, talk together
about the passing years, what they’d seen
their joys, heartaches, their fears
the great events, old times
and mention how seasons so quickly pass
he'd rein up, look off, then turn to her to say
my dear, it seems like only yesterday
until one day he closed his eyes the final time
and they came from miles around
to tuck him under
what is now the tallest monument in the old cemetery
next to his friends, town founders
just across the train tracks
into the shadows of the great trees
at the north border of our town
above the river
by the edge of the woods
and the end of the Indians
for his remains to spend new seasons
at his quiet spot
marking another bygone era
though even now, somewhere out there
with sweet fragrant light wind at his back
and golden sun on his smiling face
rides the spirit of the horseback preacher
i’ve found some things
worked up out of the soil
remnants, rusted tools,
fragments of bones, tarnished spoons
rubbing a piece of an old porcelain cup
i wonder was it Sam’s?
did they drink from this?
was it on their table?
a keepsake, a wedding gift?
to Sam and Emiline
our house was home
more than a century ago
to that horseback preacher
who lived into his eighties
when upon a time he rode
to country towns around
in all seasons
including beautiful falls like this one
sometimes in a buggy she went with
to see her family at the next town
making visits, they had little money
but, oh, friends were plenty, all knew him
he’d chat with them, stop at farms
inquire of families new animals
offer what consolation a preacher can
making the rounds
on the way in fall he and Em
would share a special apple, talk together
about the passing years, what they’d seen
their joys, heartaches, their fears
the great events, old times
and mention how seasons so quickly pass
he'd rein up, look off, then turn to her to say
my dear, it seems like only yesterday
until one day he closed his eyes the final time
and they came from miles around
to tuck him under
what is now the tallest monument in the old cemetery
next to his friends, town founders
just across the train tracks
into the shadows of the great trees
at the north border of our town
above the river
by the edge of the woods
and the end of the Indians
for his remains to spend new seasons
at his quiet spot
marking another bygone era
though even now, somewhere out there
with sweet fragrant light wind at his back
and golden sun on his smiling face
rides the spirit of the horseback preacher
Saturday, October 31, 2009
some cloudy black moonless
some cloudy black moonless,
don’t be walking bumping
into trees or buildings,
wait, cities have streetlights
the electric companies
lay the wires, put up the poles, put in the bulbs
not 70 watts for illumination
1,000 watts every 200 feet, you pay for it
hey, they have a board of directors
and CEO’s and fine houses and servants and staff
and obligations and golden parachutes and
country clubs aren’t cheap, you know
even freeways toll booths are lit like a circus
forget that cars have headlights to find the way
there could be a crook walking around
hit one, go to jail and then get sued
someday they may light up the remaining forests
so bears don’t bump into trees
don’t worry, the complacent public will pay
anyway, more light gives confidence to drive faster
don’t be walking bumping
into trees or buildings,
wait, cities have streetlights
the electric companies
lay the wires, put up the poles, put in the bulbs
not 70 watts for illumination
1,000 watts every 200 feet, you pay for it
hey, they have a board of directors
and CEO’s and fine houses and servants and staff
and obligations and golden parachutes and
country clubs aren’t cheap, you know
even freeways toll booths are lit like a circus
forget that cars have headlights to find the way
there could be a crook walking around
hit one, go to jail and then get sued
someday they may light up the remaining forests
so bears don’t bump into trees
don’t worry, the complacent public will pay
anyway, more light gives confidence to drive faster
Friday, October 30, 2009
an explosion of color
an explosion of color
leaves to the ground
woke up this morning
that’s what I found
wet or dry red, yellow and orange
have your pick
this month only
take it quick
in farm Ohio
seasons explode
flowers, fruit and vegetables
patches loved, cared and hoed
and the sun goes round
makes light to dark
hear it, see it, taste it in nature’s park
so I’ve found
and I can read a book
eat a peaceful meal
sit back and praise existence
love is what I feel
leaves to the ground
woke up this morning
that’s what I found
wet or dry red, yellow and orange
have your pick
this month only
take it quick
in farm Ohio
seasons explode
flowers, fruit and vegetables
patches loved, cared and hoed
and the sun goes round
makes light to dark
hear it, see it, taste it in nature’s park
so I’ve found
and I can read a book
eat a peaceful meal
sit back and praise existence
love is what I feel
Thursday, October 29, 2009
zipping
like a dog in a car
riding face first
hanging halfway out the window
what a highway we’re zipping
on a ball sailing through space
throttle to the floor
don’t need a pedigree
any mutt can do it
this is big fun
i wanna do it often
my cheeks are flapping
hey, is anybody steering?
riding face first
hanging halfway out the window
what a highway we’re zipping
on a ball sailing through space
throttle to the floor
don’t need a pedigree
any mutt can do it
this is big fun
i wanna do it often
my cheeks are flapping
hey, is anybody steering?
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
the beginning
In response to a comment to my post/poem from a few days ago called “began writing poetry” I thought - and thought is always such a good beginning - I thought to say more. The aforementioned little poem alluded to my start of writing poetry. Contrary to what was said in the blogged poem, I was not taking notes while watching a movie. It sounds good, and that's what poetry is about.
I began writing poetry exactly fifty years ago. Incredible.
Boom, boom, time passes.
A half century ago at this time of year I wrote a little booklet of 33 poems that I scribbled into a one edition volume and folded and stapled together. It seems a grandiose delusion to name that bit of hard paper cover and folded typing paper a volume. My friend Roy saw it and liked it, probably encouraged me. I had better quit my reminiscence before I bind the volume in my head in deer hide and put a brand on it with an iron I forged myself in shop class.
The sole surviving poem in my volume is the opening verse that served as explanation and introduction.
words with rhyme
that go
sometime
or not
which is to be
of course
the other way
That piece in the renown beat poetry style was the beginning from which I have not drifted too far, more or less.
I began writing poetry exactly fifty years ago. Incredible.
Boom, boom, time passes.
A half century ago at this time of year I wrote a little booklet of 33 poems that I scribbled into a one edition volume and folded and stapled together. It seems a grandiose delusion to name that bit of hard paper cover and folded typing paper a volume. My friend Roy saw it and liked it, probably encouraged me. I had better quit my reminiscence before I bind the volume in my head in deer hide and put a brand on it with an iron I forged myself in shop class.
The sole surviving poem in my volume is the opening verse that served as explanation and introduction.
words with rhyme
that go
sometime
or not
which is to be
of course
the other way
That piece in the renown beat poetry style was the beginning from which I have not drifted too far, more or less.
worked in cleveland
two and a half years
worked in Cleveland on the lake
rode a gray commuter train
with season bundled sneezing strangers
looking out windows saw steeples
houses, factories or reading mostly
no one usually saw each other
or an overload of graffiti, i made notes
until train stopped under Macy’s
everyone crush-rushed bulb lit darkness
hung on, up the bouncing escalator
clamored into shopping central
passed the popcorn wagon, could smell it
waited a minute or two, snatches of conversation
caught a bus, the rapid, from the corner
got off on 30th, every day
big city
for this former small town guy
stone, steel, crowds and pretty
oh my
worked in Cleveland on the lake
rode a gray commuter train
with season bundled sneezing strangers
looking out windows saw steeples
houses, factories or reading mostly
no one usually saw each other
or an overload of graffiti, i made notes
until train stopped under Macy’s
everyone crush-rushed bulb lit darkness
hung on, up the bouncing escalator
clamored into shopping central
passed the popcorn wagon, could smell it
waited a minute or two, snatches of conversation
caught a bus, the rapid, from the corner
got off on 30th, every day
big city
for this former small town guy
stone, steel, crowds and pretty
oh my
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
ufo
a researcher/author
approached an x- military man
who reportedly helped pick up ufo wreckage
at Roswell, New Mexico in 1947
the former officer wouldn’t talk
gave a tight-lipped grin
and shook his head
kept his mouth shut
he had taken an oath of secrecy
fifteen years later
when the former military man
was near death
he talked to the researcher
what he said
if taken to be true
exhibits how far ahead
the future may be
the man said find out how it flew
the crashed ufo
that they examined
had no moving parts
approached an x- military man
who reportedly helped pick up ufo wreckage
at Roswell, New Mexico in 1947
the former officer wouldn’t talk
gave a tight-lipped grin
and shook his head
kept his mouth shut
he had taken an oath of secrecy
fifteen years later
when the former military man
was near death
he talked to the researcher
what he said
if taken to be true
exhibits how far ahead
the future may be
the man said find out how it flew
the crashed ufo
that they examined
had no moving parts
Monday, October 26, 2009
drive around
driving around late in the night
with nothing inside me
alone on the highway
headlights blind me
planning all the things i can do
with no one beside me
alone on the highway
the radio finds me
late at night i'm looking into space
with nothing inside
i still see your face
i cannot hide
as i ride around
in my worn out
beaten down
late model van
it was green and tan
i painted it blue
to match the sky
i don't know why
it reminds me of you
with nothing inside me
alone on the highway
headlights blind me
planning all the things i can do
with no one beside me
alone on the highway
the radio finds me
late at night i'm looking into space
with nothing inside
i still see your face
i cannot hide
as i ride around
in my worn out
beaten down
late model van
it was green and tan
i painted it blue
to match the sky
i don't know why
it reminds me of you
began writing poetry
at the local theater
when i was a kid
saw an old nineteen thirties movie
black and white, not great quality,
who knows where it was stored
an epic production, all so new then
filmed at dusk
the golden hour
with hundred of extras
and catering trucks
as the villagers, the Vandals
and an invading army
fought inside, over and along ancient castle walls
of course there were towers
no animals were hurt during the making of this
memory of when i began writing poetry
popcorn on the floor, i had fourteen years
before that i wasn’t at all serious
when i was a kid
saw an old nineteen thirties movie
black and white, not great quality,
who knows where it was stored
an epic production, all so new then
filmed at dusk
the golden hour
with hundred of extras
and catering trucks
as the villagers, the Vandals
and an invading army
fought inside, over and along ancient castle walls
of course there were towers
no animals were hurt during the making of this
memory of when i began writing poetry
popcorn on the floor, i had fourteen years
before that i wasn’t at all serious
Sunday, October 25, 2009
googlebot me
the googlebot has my number
i can practically look out through the blinds and see ‘em
flashing lights, sirens, scweaching tires
that’s the worst kind of tires, incidentally
but they can mail order a fix for
your home computer, only twenty-nine
ninety-five, this week only
cod, member f.d.i.c., r.s.v.p.
but they’re too sophisticated for that . . .
blam, blam
scuse me, someone is beating down my front door
with what sounds like a telephone poll
“come out with your hands bup.” it roboticized
oh, pshaw, do get your google butt out’a here, i screamed,
learn to depend on your Spell Check,
was that me or the robot talking?
i can practically look out through the blinds and see ‘em
flashing lights, sirens, scweaching tires
that’s the worst kind of tires, incidentally
but they can mail order a fix for
your home computer, only twenty-nine
ninety-five, this week only
cod, member f.d.i.c., r.s.v.p.
but they’re too sophisticated for that . . .
blam, blam
scuse me, someone is beating down my front door
with what sounds like a telephone poll
“come out with your hands bup.” it roboticized
oh, pshaw, do get your google butt out’a here, i screamed,
learn to depend on your Spell Check,
was that me or the robot talking?
Bad Poetry
Writing bad poetry is good conditioning.
You wonder if I feel bad when my poetry is lousy, no way.
If Tiger Woods put the ball in the hole every time he took a shot
they wouldn’t let him play any more.
You wonder if I feel bad when my poetry is lousy, no way.
If Tiger Woods put the ball in the hole every time he took a shot
they wouldn’t let him play any more.
Labels:
poems on poetry
Saturday, October 24, 2009
leaves
a favorite page on the calendar is open
snaps, skips
clink trinkling down the street
see them skidding,
lifting, twisting, flying
hear changed colors run in ripples
an invisible toreador's cape brushes
bursting particles,
sound rushes golden on yellow
and reds,
green subdued or gone already
blue sky sunning, melting over
bursting particles
sticking in fences
sailors swept from the deck
rushing brushes like tossing seas
old tree witch silhouettes clawing to the clouds
shiver on winter’s cusp
cold cries warning
as October scatters on the wind
snaps, skips
clink trinkling down the street
see them skidding,
lifting, twisting, flying
hear changed colors run in ripples
an invisible toreador's cape brushes
bursting particles,
sound rushes golden on yellow
and reds,
green subdued or gone already
blue sky sunning, melting over
bursting particles
sticking in fences
sailors swept from the deck
rushing brushes like tossing seas
old tree witch silhouettes clawing to the clouds
shiver on winter’s cusp
cold cries warning
as October scatters on the wind
Friday, October 23, 2009
raking early
each year i plan the good plan
to wait until they all fall
let ‘em bleed red and orange,
rolling yellow and gold on the wind
it has only begun, any fool knows
there's more to come but i start early
clean every crackling thing
stay ahead of the game
until worn finished, sweating
then look back to see
every thing is a total mess
i scratch my chin
it’s a test, can’t let it be
the rake’s in my hand
the joke’s on me
i'll start again
to wait until they all fall
let ‘em bleed red and orange,
rolling yellow and gold on the wind
it has only begun, any fool knows
there's more to come but i start early
clean every crackling thing
stay ahead of the game
until worn finished, sweating
then look back to see
every thing is a total mess
i scratch my chin
it’s a test, can’t let it be
the rake’s in my hand
the joke’s on me
i'll start again
Thursday, October 22, 2009
make you pay
here’s your punishment
for failing to get your car registration renewed
and driving with an expired license.
perhaps you will learn your lesson
we have you now, you’re going to jail
for three months, three meals a day,
we provide a uniform, everything you’ll need,
and there is a store that we run
thank the tax payers, they provide everything
we make them pay, so tell me
who is learning the lesson
and who is making the money?
for failing to get your car registration renewed
and driving with an expired license.
perhaps you will learn your lesson
we have you now, you’re going to jail
for three months, three meals a day,
we provide a uniform, everything you’ll need,
and there is a store that we run
thank the tax payers, they provide everything
we make them pay, so tell me
who is learning the lesson
and who is making the money?
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
modern telephone
at my table in the living room in Ohio
amid marvels of the 21st Century
that are easily digested, taken for granted
when the computer sounded the old fashioned ring
it was Massimo in his car on a back road
calling on the Internet phone Skype
we chatted briefly, just for the lark
he had an appointment with his barber
and was using his cell phone
for a no cost call to Ohio
from his small village under the same shining sun
thirty miles north of Roma, Italy
amid marvels of the 21st Century
that are easily digested, taken for granted
when the computer sounded the old fashioned ring
it was Massimo in his car on a back road
calling on the Internet phone Skype
we chatted briefly, just for the lark
he had an appointment with his barber
and was using his cell phone
for a no cost call to Ohio
from his small village under the same shining sun
thirty miles north of Roma, Italy
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Cole Porter
a fine composer
come and gone
before our time
lasting beyond
if he were a painter
there could be a wall
to pass everyday
with an image
why not display
an audio fragment
of great works
in public places
to hear a phrase
be reminded of the gift
to all of us
everyday
every time we say
goodbye
i cry
a little
showcase
beloved artists
to light the way
for the world ahead
i’d rather my tax dollars
bought art
instead of
arms and prisons
come and gone
before our time
lasting beyond
if he were a painter
there could be a wall
to pass everyday
with an image
why not display
an audio fragment
of great works
in public places
to hear a phrase
be reminded of the gift
to all of us
everyday
every time we say
goodbye
i cry
a little
showcase
beloved artists
to light the way
for the world ahead
i’d rather my tax dollars
bought art
instead of
arms and prisons
Monday, October 19, 2009
Song o' Little Balloon Boy
oh, gather round for the song
o' Little Balloon Boy
that sailed a fantastic flight
in a basket
as the world watched
but he was really hiding at home in the attic
and i must have been
eating dinner at the time
didn’t pay attention
until it made a big fuss
on the Net i read some
course you knew about it
maybe watched
and prayed for him
oh, long live the ploy
o' Little Balloon Boy
o' Little Balloon Boy
that sailed a fantastic flight
in a basket
as the world watched
but he was really hiding at home in the attic
and i must have been
eating dinner at the time
didn’t pay attention
until it made a big fuss
on the Net i read some
course you knew about it
maybe watched
and prayed for him
oh, long live the ploy
o' Little Balloon Boy
neil armstrong
i heard Neil Armstrong
and someone didn’t hear it right
for a quarter century they said it wrong
that july in ’69 i was 23 at 137 D in Coronado,Ca.
on the floor in front of the TV
when the 1.7 seconds delayed broadcast
coming 400,000 km from the moon
resonated around the globe
glowed black and white
the only light in our room
a he wobble hopped a bit down the ladder
and i heard one small step for man
one giant leap for mankind
and they said “for a man”
for years they did
but he said “for man”
a more generous oration
that included everyone
and i wonder, you can too, how accurate
other particulars of our world’s history are reported
and someone didn’t hear it right
for a quarter century they said it wrong
that july in ’69 i was 23 at 137 D in Coronado,Ca.
on the floor in front of the TV
when the 1.7 seconds delayed broadcast
coming 400,000 km from the moon
resonated around the globe
glowed black and white
the only light in our room
a he wobble hopped a bit down the ladder
and i heard one small step for man
one giant leap for mankind
and they said “for a man”
for years they did
but he said “for man”
a more generous oration
that included everyone
and i wonder, you can too, how accurate
other particulars of our world’s history are reported
Sunday, October 18, 2009
monkey cap
my monkey cap
definitely the type
a chimp begging coins
along side an organ grinder
standing on the corner in 1930
or in the circus would wear
if he had a red cap on
and always did
with a string under the chin to hold it on
or if the animal was really clever
he’d pull it off, show his teeth and take a bow
not the sort of gear the stylish fellow’d wear
on a first date, an inauguration
or your wedding day
no one would be impressed
unless you weren’t totally in love and knew
it was heading for disaster anyway
but at home on cold mornings
with no points deducted for lack of charm
when insufficient warming sun rays come in the windows
a silly cap keeps my head warm while writing
and coincidently, i am ashamed to say,
sitting here eating peanuts
definitely the type
a chimp begging coins
along side an organ grinder
standing on the corner in 1930
or in the circus would wear
if he had a red cap on
and always did
with a string under the chin to hold it on
or if the animal was really clever
he’d pull it off, show his teeth and take a bow
not the sort of gear the stylish fellow’d wear
on a first date, an inauguration
or your wedding day
no one would be impressed
unless you weren’t totally in love and knew
it was heading for disaster anyway
but at home on cold mornings
with no points deducted for lack of charm
when insufficient warming sun rays come in the windows
a silly cap keeps my head warm while writing
and coincidently, i am ashamed to say,
sitting here eating peanuts
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