fusion

i missed fusion the first time
like missing an exploding dinosaur
unless you were kin,
in the kitchen with it when it happened,
or it owed you money
it’s nothing to regret

outside the apple of the witch
with castle lights across the river
amid heavy traffic and exhaust
under flying clouds and half moon
running, as from a dog
Giacomo picked me up, took me to the Auditorium,
Rome’s fantastic new home of concerts

to hear his nephew with five others doing fusion
music on speed and steroids
melted glass frozen and shattered
then dark and mysterious
growing into a tyrannosaurus spitting bits of pterodactyl
morphing into a runaway locomotive
a turbulent nightmare
expect a giant Schwarzenegger Terminator to rip
through the walls
have a nice day
oh, and look both ways

armed and to the point

so elderly neighbor lady
sees M. outside
leaves house of disease
and saunters over

fumbling with her hands,
asks sotto voce
after checking both ways
if we’ll be leaving soon for Italy

then nods as if helping
with the anticipated answer.
M. says The Man has left
while she’ll go in another week

neighbor lady sagely nods again,
considers, and says
uh, call if there’s any problem
a long pause

M. leans on the rake,
waiting her out
under long blue November skies

until at last neighbor lady,
fearing for M’s safety
clears her throat ,
quite serious now, glances askance
then looks earthward
to humbly explain

that if M. calls
uh, her husband,
the grumpy mid-octogenarian
will run right over
in the middle of the night (chuckle)
as he’s licensed to carry a loaded weapon. (OMG!)

this is the groundskeeper who mows
three times a day
with various loud riding mowers
because six of our vagrant leaves
have carried deftly his way
on the prevailing
autumn light winds

the field of flowers

Campo dei Fiori means field of flowers
that was yesterdays vision of the area
today in 2009 i had to stop and look both ways
to cross through the center of the field of flowers

i wore my heavy jacket
others had on t-shirts
from our third floor dungeon window
i have to lean far out only to see the sky

the market is jumping in full flavor and scents
traffic, food stalls, fruits and vegetables, pots and pans
musicians, tourists, workers and locals of every venue
and yes, three stands that sell flowers

living nearby i woke out of dream to a persistent car alarm
and thought of the keystone cops in silent movies
running, clamoring, bumping into each other in comic confusion
in silent films the words flash on the screen. this says - alarm

only no one ran today, nothing unusual happened
no one laughed
for an hour the persistent, clear-voiced, changing squeal sang,
echoed along stone buildings and cobblestone streets

i awoke after twelve hours sleep
now a week has passed since i flew here
groggy yet, my body’s clock
is wound but not set

the cannon on the hill fired the noon shot as i left our apartment
to rid myself of the alarm
better to enter the field of flowers
and look both ways

now and tomorrow

met up with an old friend on the street
said he was working with a friend who yesterday
was sitting in a chair calmly talking with his wife
and then died quite unexpectedly

i continued on my way to the Laundromat
the door was wide open when i got there
the fire department chopped it open
to get to the flames the night before

walking back home i stopped to see a friend
of my friend who last year had a stroke
on a cruise ship to Italy
was robbed when he got here

had planned to visit his cousin in Switzerland
she died the day before he boarded the train
not the family visit he expected
he arrived in time for a funeral

but i stopped to see a friend of that friend
i pass that store on my way home
they said she didn’t work there anymore
her last day was yesterday

it’s true for all of us
the last day we had was yesterday
generally we don’t think of it that way
what’s our concern is now and tomorrow

dusk on the way home

dusk on the way home
saw Alberto at Porta Blu
afternoon classes underway
seekers of art ability
drawing circles, mixing color
perusing modern ways

walking back in evening’s cool air
on a narrow way into Piazza Navona
i pass the minister of the interior
a glint of recognition in his eye
in dusk darkness and alley shadow
i see him only when we are face to face
he lives around the corner from me
usually his guards are in formation
and then it is easier to see him coming

leaving the piazza i was distracted
and forgot to look again at the beauty
passing earlier today i paused a while
in the sight and scent of that grand piazza
to admire Bernini’s work again
the two smaller fountains with mythical characters
the larger splashing waters in the center
tribute to four great rivers
topped by an Egyptian obelisk
reaching above all
tomorrow i may look again

now it’s to home
too cool without a jacket anyway
a few paces before Campo dei Fiori
the tune Autumn Leaves from the familiar sax
of a group urging coins from tourists
floats in the air, ricochets off cold stone
where, as years pass changes are small steps taken
seems that autumns are reluctant to come and go

your call

your call
will be answered
in the order
in which it was received

i called once
how much order is one call?
was I out of order before I called
or as soon as?

why can’t it be said in English
like, wait your turn on hold
until a human is available
or, is that like difficult?

the mail man

the mail man is gone
don’t mean he left his truck
hasn’t walked away
tossed his hat in the bushes

but he is gone, way gone
into a thousand points of light
unlike the evaporated pony express rider
this one still has a job, delivering advertisements

now he or she has become
21st Century’s - Postal Worker
look around, who’s next for renaming
Christmas Person?

ho ho ho
wash you mouth

jet laggg

rushed out of the airport
jumped in a cab
went seventy-five feet
the guy slammed on the brakes

wasn’t a taxi, picked up his mother
made me get out
i know mama liked me
as he squealed off, she waved goodbye

at forty thousand feet

at forty thousand feet
the cabin is warm beyond comfort

four people on this flight
are earning negative karma

aggression 2009 is growing
healthier than financial systems

two hours to Roma
i’m lighter than air

the leader

followed by his dad
a kid waddled by,
young enough
that you’d still tell his age in months

ask him anything
but don’t expect an answer
for although he talks incessantly
what he says is indecipherable

if encouraged to develop this skill,
smiles well and stands tall
this child could grow to be
a formidable leader of inestimable value

particles in space

i pay to put you in charge over me

a.

after i got my shoes back on
walked from terminal A
the long way down to C
then checked my ticket

C-5 was my seat,
my terminal is A
C-seat,
A terminal

error made walking
did the same last year

so i had a long trek back
the other way,
from where i came
this journey has begun

b.

Kevin runs the magazine stand
near gate 7 and 8
terminal A
Cleveland Hopkins airport

is fifty, looks thirty
bald, black, comfortable with life
we talked some, he’s been to Africa
says he likes his job

been there a month
mentioned five other careers
next year we’ll see
if he is there

who will remember
that we spoke?
i have my ways
i have my notes

c.

small plane seats are C,A,F &D
part of the new world order?
i notice they took out the rhymers B,C & E
why’d D remain?
please explain

d.

small plane
seems large enough

two guys talking
two rows back

in lieu of listening to loud babbles
i changed my seat during takeoff

e.

so high open flat
hills and clouds and the haze
way out into the curvature of the earth

below
a black meandering
all the way down
must be river

looking down for crop circles and pictographs
wavy planting that follows the hills
the dark creeks look like cracks

a maze of houses
village forever to the horizons
we were following a river

now a highway
over ball fields
now a quarry, more houses and trees

the pilot just said,
“good morning, we’re starting our descent
and it’s a beautiful November day”

corkscrew down
we’re coming to Philadelphia
at the airport could have ridden a train
into the city see Independence Hall

i’ll wait instead
as once a day is enough airport security

f.

from outside i see
a large woman would-be - girl
packed snuggly in pedal pushers,
up to her knees in tattoos,

weaved through the tables at a terminal restaurant
a bull circling for the kill
her hair long blond thin and frizzed
resembles someone jumping out of a plane

who has not opened the parachute
or similar to someone being electrocuted in cartoon animation
she must do that to herself
because she thinks it makes her beautiful

she’s has enough volume
and swagger
friends wouldn’t
contradict her

g.

they call to board
will fly all night
over the cold north Atlantic
on auto pilot
so those called Pilot
can sleep

bid peppers in Belize

in a clearing
on a corner
outside the jungle
in the sunshine
a large local woman
in a blue dress with flower prints
sells donuts and sandwiches
from a tall brightly painted wooden wheeled cart
and a few things to drink
like beer, like coke, like water

i’ll have a taco
bid o’ bidow peppers? she says
are the bidow peppers hot? i ask
she looks at me, shakes her head
does not answer
and repeats, bid o’ bidow peppers?
and i asked f they are hot
or are they sweet
she slowly repeats her question
wan bid or bidow peppers?
the brain wave light turned green and I got on
oh, bid, i’ll have it bid peppers

weather in

weather in Ohio’s
not nigh on to winter
without a jacket
mid November

known winter severe
have seen how it goes
driving with chains
doing battle with snows

changes come slowly
hereabouts, no doubt
take how it happens
great snows or without

play serious

when M. was kids
and the like
her gang of play partners
were blood brothers

cut their fingers to do it
somebody had a knife
is what she said
guess they were believers

hey,we went to movies too
but cowboys and Indians
and blood brother stuff
for us pretending was good enough

when they were cutting fingers
we were making mud pies
and never
tried to eat ‘em

i wonder, when they did
one potato two potato
how deep did they
plant the loser?

i like dogs

i like dogs
well, have liked
there were times
anyway,

i’m sitting with coffee
thinking
how they can stand there
looking around

as if they have something
on their mind,
mind singular
how many dog minds are there?

one for each?
seems insufficient
they need more or bigger
or what they have to be greased

all in all, there are enough dog brains around
i prefer not to see them any smarter
waiting in line at the bank, lifting a leg
then asking to borrow a pen

this is the end
of this dog poem
thank
goodness

call waiting

your call
will be answered
in the order
in which it was received

ok, i called once
so how much order is one call?
was i out of order before i called
or as soon as?

why can’t it be said
in like English
or, is that
like difficult?

like – we’re taking ‘em as we get ‘em
or, you have to wait your turn
or, we’re putting you on hold for a while
until we have a human like free - oh, that works!

gone

gone are dark nights
when thieves
creep sneaky in
to steal the silverware

cause cheap metal,
they practically
give that junk away
at rummage sales

if grandma had
anything decent
she must have
taken it with her

i know before
it got trashed
we should have checked
in her mattress

involuntary aposiopesis

aposiopesis - breaking off in the middle of a sentence (as by writers of realistic conversations)


a poem a day is all it takes
enough to fill my coffers, sakes alive
a drip at a time does accumulate
one a day for three years is one thousand ninety-five

so many thoughts
my how they occur
now take the time to note them
you’ve noticed them, for sure

we each have our own
why would we need more
unless to appropriate new ideas, a broadening
tantamount to an education

and you are certainly right
when you say
a book is more fun to read from
than a computer

besides, I’m afraid
to sit reading holding something plugged in
with 200 feet of extension cord
under a tree by a brook with my feet in the water

lime plant

ten years ago the boss said anytime
i want to white wash come on down,
the new boss wouldn’t face me
sent his gal to say it is too da-da- dangerous

then come scrape the bad dust
off my house, off my car
out of our garden, out of my eyes
and out of my pores while i breath and sleep

don’t forget every neighbor in town
tell Tom Sawyer’s dad
he needs an attorney
or has he and the EPA been paid already?

have a nice day

remembered Kegley

remembered Kegley
the tall happy farmer
as i drove past his farm
out in the country on Mason road

picked peaches and apples for him
in my youth
when an hour was a dollar
in the heat of the sun

he took off that day
for fishing and drinking
had hip boots on
when he backed his pickup

down the boat ramp
right into the river
the truck stalled
rolled back

filled with water
he waited too long
wasn’t thinking to give up
and get out

his best friend my dad was with him
and yelled warning
oh how they both yelled
and screamed and cursed
but Kegley was not a quitter,
never, damn it

tried hard to save the old truck
had it started then
he lost it
there in the brown moving water
along with his life
dad cried when he told me
had to tell his best friend’s wife
tears filled his eyes
only time I’d seen him cry

when a page turns like that
you can hardly look back
close the book on it
going over it
is pointless
as staring at the sun

get out of nature's way

don’t fight
nature
let it
pile on

it just occurred to me after
filling another bag for collection
that maybe God didn’t want
us to rake leaves

let them be
under the trees
on the ground
blow around

make piles and jump on
roll around in them
like kids will do
if we let 'em

away with sterile spots
without an itsy bitsy piece of leaf,
little baby trees are working to grow
you know, let them go

see what nature has in mind
for one thing golf would be another game
with a much larger ball, cabbage size
so you could find it

darkness

darkness is not ugly
evil or unholy
don’t be afraid
when god rested the seventh day
he turned down the light
to bring the respite of night

to the child

life is a sleeping bear
for which you must prepare
asleep on his belly
your head in fur
don’t pull his hair
be ready for when he moves
he may laugh or eat you
don’t push
it’ll get there
just be ready to react
on your toes

poetry identification

a woman i am closely associated with
call her my wife for sake of argument
wanted to know why
what i write is poetry

i responded with the old adage
that by comparison if it looks like a duck,
waddles like a duck, quacks like a duck
then it’s poetry

frog winter

scooping leaves from the pond
where the sugar maple deposits them
there is a plunk in the water
it’s forty degrees this afternoon

who did I disturb but a frog
how can they live like that
sleeping in a plastic flower pot
submerged in the bottom of the pond

making a home for the winter
be solid as the ice through the snow
then come back chirping in the spring
well, rent is free, that I know

keys

Keyman made two keys for me
I looked him in the eye
guaranteed they are, he said
however, they didn’t work

not the guarantee I expected
but it would have been easier
i drove back with my receipt
laid it on the counter

looked him in the eye again
2.53 is what I paid
he also worked the cash register
after checking my receipt very carefully

he gave me back 2.83
i made thirty cents for my efforts
then knew that’s why neither key worked
Keyman needs a glasses tune up

the pool

we found a house to make into our home
near the local swimming pool
a year round facility
so far, so good

at the pool i spoke to the boss
who explained the moderate fees
his open smiling face content
as I gazed at my reflection

in over sized fogged windows
enclosing the grandiose pool
where water temperature is constant
at 88 degrees Fahrenheit

so much for that, i was hoping
to use the pool for swimming
i’ll place a kettle on the stove
if i want to make chicken soup

sweet dreams baby

sweet dreams baby
i’m on your side
hang on tight
for the nighttime ride
close your eyes
and you’re on the way
good night now
tomorrow’s another day

fortune cookie

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

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