few buses were out
walked to forum then up Via Cavour
more or less, had a bus part way
we thought of riding to the end of the line
good thing we didn’t take a long pleasant ride
buses stopped after noon,
we would have been stuck
we’ve done that before
as it was, we went to a fine Indian restaurant
we agreed it was better than our Christmas meal
had curried spinach, chicken and rice
entertainment was a bit overpowering
singing and dancing full volume
on a TV video
near Piazza Vittorio
if you care to find it look for it by name
seek an establishment called Indian Fast Food
M. broke two forks that were quickly replaced
at no extra charge
they don’t make plastic like in the old days
no buses after, not a car
or a truck, a motorbike, bicycle or taxi
we walked the alleys back, way back
down hill, way down
then flat on home
it was very, very far
stopped at Saint Pietro in Chains
to see Michelangelo’s statue Moses
seventy people were patiently waiting to get in
but the church was closed
we saw written in Italian what the tourists didn’t
that the church was on closed on holiday schedule
it is fine to exercise a bit after a meal
weather had turned to cold and rain
no traffic,
only many wandering tourists
all on foot
waiting for non existent transportation
we found it too windy to use our umbrella
Friday, January 01, 2010
Thursday, December 31, 2009
blue moon end of december
out late morning walking
to Trastevere in sleeveless vest, no jacket
warm yellow weather carressing my shoulders
why has winter gone hiding in wait?
light clouds, turning, whirling
in bright sky blue
i squint toward the sun
gull on wing over the river
crossed my favorite old stone bridge
exchanged hi and smiles to the Sunday accordionist
on Ponte Sisto working early this week
in preparation for the holiday
at the corner by the gray church
Giacomo calls down from his balcony
went up to his place for coffee
his son James there but for a minute
always in motion planning
returning toward home
along Lungo Tevere
blurring traffic running in tandem
ten thousand destinations
patiently moving in saunter
no blasting crush today
folks on foot in good number
treading in passing
a hurry about them with no commotion
chatting in flocks
some solo on cell phones
clutching it to their ears
children on holiday drag along, skipping
the cannon at noon
thumps once on windows a mile away
a piece of pizza bread from the forno
to carry home, enjoy slowly
with greens and cheese
where from window open
over slow sipping coffee
church bells call the quarter hour
in the clangs i hear the undertone
telling all it is new years eve tonight
make good plans with friends ,
do it well now
the new year begins,
be ready,
stay alert
to celebrate departure of the old
and to welcome into being
the formidable, erratic circle of the new
to Trastevere in sleeveless vest, no jacket
warm yellow weather carressing my shoulders
why has winter gone hiding in wait?
light clouds, turning, whirling
in bright sky blue
i squint toward the sun
gull on wing over the river
crossed my favorite old stone bridge
exchanged hi and smiles to the Sunday accordionist
on Ponte Sisto working early this week
in preparation for the holiday
at the corner by the gray church
Giacomo calls down from his balcony
went up to his place for coffee
his son James there but for a minute
always in motion planning
returning toward home
along Lungo Tevere
blurring traffic running in tandem
ten thousand destinations
patiently moving in saunter
no blasting crush today
folks on foot in good number
treading in passing
a hurry about them with no commotion
chatting in flocks
some solo on cell phones
clutching it to their ears
children on holiday drag along, skipping
the cannon at noon
thumps once on windows a mile away
a piece of pizza bread from the forno
to carry home, enjoy slowly
with greens and cheese
where from window open
over slow sipping coffee
church bells call the quarter hour
in the clangs i hear the undertone
telling all it is new years eve tonight
make good plans with friends ,
do it well now
the new year begins,
be ready,
stay alert
to celebrate departure of the old
and to welcome into being
the formidable, erratic circle of the new
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
mid week
cloudy dark rainy cool mid week
our lane up and down
more than a hundred yards end to end
and thousands of years back to the beginning
our building rooted five hundred years ago
yet there are far older for sure
nearby is a building from the twelfth century
painted, cracked and redone countless times
the old salt road of pre time is nearby
how far have the old ones gone?
tonight night lights are few along the way
all is still, even breeze so light
buses are resting
cabbies are reading, waiting, near sleeping
no one out this moment,
no one walking
no dog, no cat
through narrow alleys
silent dark walls, cobblestones
still puddles barely reflecting dark gray
can’t begin to imagine a part of
what has taken place
on this brief length of Roma
home to so many over the centuries
in fights, in love,
birth and death
chickens, cows, carts, pigs and horses
dogs and cats birds, bugs, and rats
soldiers, drunks, candles, thieves and beggars
papas, mamas, priests and nuns
singers, poets, police, officials, the dandies
and nobodies
most of all
plenty of no bodies at all
a treasure of life
that endures
our lane up and down
more than a hundred yards end to end
and thousands of years back to the beginning
our building rooted five hundred years ago
yet there are far older for sure
nearby is a building from the twelfth century
painted, cracked and redone countless times
the old salt road of pre time is nearby
how far have the old ones gone?
tonight night lights are few along the way
all is still, even breeze so light
buses are resting
cabbies are reading, waiting, near sleeping
no one out this moment,
no one walking
no dog, no cat
through narrow alleys
silent dark walls, cobblestones
still puddles barely reflecting dark gray
can’t begin to imagine a part of
what has taken place
on this brief length of Roma
home to so many over the centuries
in fights, in love,
birth and death
chickens, cows, carts, pigs and horses
dogs and cats birds, bugs, and rats
soldiers, drunks, candles, thieves and beggars
papas, mamas, priests and nuns
singers, poets, police, officials, the dandies
and nobodies
most of all
plenty of no bodies at all
a treasure of life
that endures
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
enough jack
there was jack london
and jack kennedy
course it started with
jack the baptist
i know they called him that
oh, yeah, i almost forgot where
i was gong with this
i’m changing my name
you can call me nabisco
it was either that or shell oil
i didn’t want to work to make my name famous
thought I’d start known and work down from there
my choice of name was made carefully
more than my parents did when they named me
late comer, number three
they already used their favorite boy name and the girl name
i was nine years later
lucky they didn’t call me the first thing out of their mouth
“You’re What?” or
“Holy Shit”
and jack kennedy
course it started with
jack the baptist
i know they called him that
oh, yeah, i almost forgot where
i was gong with this
i’m changing my name
you can call me nabisco
it was either that or shell oil
i didn’t want to work to make my name famous
thought I’d start known and work down from there
my choice of name was made carefully
more than my parents did when they named me
late comer, number three
they already used their favorite boy name and the girl name
i was nine years later
lucky they didn’t call me the first thing out of their mouth
“You’re What?” or
“Holy Shit”
Monday, December 28, 2009
bused up
bused up
on the little bus
to the hill over Rome
where the noon cannon is fired
ever since the pope back in 1847
wanted his churches to
all know what time it was,
at least once a day
a crowd gathered to hear it
the cannon is loud
wasn’t precisely noon
should have covered my ears
then walked warm weather down
to old Trastevere
where our new favorite restaurant
was tried and confirmed
while walking back traffic was stopped
a helicopter hovered overhead
we waited to watch
something was about to happen
one cop called it a VIP cortege coming by
his word not mine
some Italian cops are literate
glad to hear it, anytime
fifteen cars and as many motorcycle police
and more police afoot every corner
all the way home they go to the Vatican
because the pope king went out for lunch
event over, we walked home
didn’t stop traffic
and didn’t cause any trouble either
as we shuffled along, all the way home
my cell phone has a clock on it
i could have told anyone the time
but no one asked
they must have heard the cannon
on the little bus
to the hill over Rome
where the noon cannon is fired
ever since the pope back in 1847
wanted his churches to
all know what time it was,
at least once a day
a crowd gathered to hear it
the cannon is loud
wasn’t precisely noon
should have covered my ears
then walked warm weather down
to old Trastevere
where our new favorite restaurant
was tried and confirmed
while walking back traffic was stopped
a helicopter hovered overhead
we waited to watch
something was about to happen
one cop called it a VIP cortege coming by
his word not mine
some Italian cops are literate
glad to hear it, anytime
fifteen cars and as many motorcycle police
and more police afoot every corner
all the way home they go to the Vatican
because the pope king went out for lunch
event over, we walked home
didn’t stop traffic
and didn’t cause any trouble either
as we shuffled along, all the way home
my cell phone has a clock on it
i could have told anyone the time
but no one asked
they must have heard the cannon
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Saturday, December 26, 2009
if i could
if i could write each poem
as a precious drop
warm sparkling clear
i surely would
instead, with my back to the rock
surrounded, i reload ready to run
like Butch and Sundance
into freeze frame
as the great theme grows under
the credits roll on the screen
lights come on, people go home
with proud steps and good memories
when you’re in the game
you take the pieces you have
and create with them
the best you can
as a precious drop
warm sparkling clear
i surely would
instead, with my back to the rock
surrounded, i reload ready to run
like Butch and Sundance
into freeze frame
as the great theme grows under
the credits roll on the screen
lights come on, people go home
with proud steps and good memories
when you’re in the game
you take the pieces you have
and create with them
the best you can
Labels:
poems on poetry
Friday, December 25, 2009
vigilia, the night before christmas
rode with Roberto from the center
cross town to Parioli for Vigilia
eight thirty in the evening, no traffic
surreal tranquility in the city
more parking spaces than usual
many Romans are out of town
it seems even birds had flown
home to see the family
we wore light open jackets
on the evening of soft rain
unseasonably warm for Christmas
it was different to drive the city
without stop and go
no pressure from too many out there
a rare lazy meander across town
while at the Vatican the Pope was knocked down
some one was making a fuss
after dinner with Paola and Sandro
it was well after midnight
when outside the Vatican
workers had slipped the infant into the Nativity scene
as we departed our dinner with friends
in the same quiet we returned home
even buses had stopped running at nine p.m.
adding to city silence by the noise they left out
silent night, holy night
no snow, clouds over fields
no blue light from the Christmas star
drunks counting sugar plums asleep in doorways
even gypsies have taken holiday
cross town to Parioli for Vigilia
eight thirty in the evening, no traffic
surreal tranquility in the city
more parking spaces than usual
many Romans are out of town
it seems even birds had flown
home to see the family
we wore light open jackets
on the evening of soft rain
unseasonably warm for Christmas
it was different to drive the city
without stop and go
no pressure from too many out there
a rare lazy meander across town
while at the Vatican the Pope was knocked down
some one was making a fuss
after dinner with Paola and Sandro
it was well after midnight
when outside the Vatican
workers had slipped the infant into the Nativity scene
as we departed our dinner with friends
in the same quiet we returned home
even buses had stopped running at nine p.m.
adding to city silence by the noise they left out
silent night, holy night
no snow, clouds over fields
no blue light from the Christmas star
drunks counting sugar plums asleep in doorways
even gypsies have taken holiday
Thursday, December 24, 2009
electric bus
hopped on a whirring electric bus
that soon turned down an alley
then suddenly stopped stuck there
cause it couldn’t get by
a car was parked in that alley
protruding out into the lane
our way forward was finished
while cars packed us in from behind
a lot of horn honking ensued.
a quarter hour later the guy showed up
that got in that blue car, and then
like taking the lid off a pressure cooker
we sighed off our steam and all drove away
that soon turned down an alley
then suddenly stopped stuck there
cause it couldn’t get by
a car was parked in that alley
protruding out into the lane
our way forward was finished
while cars packed us in from behind
a lot of horn honking ensued.
a quarter hour later the guy showed up
that got in that blue car, and then
like taking the lid off a pressure cooker
we sighed off our steam and all drove away
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Natale is Christmas in Italian
preparations for Natale
now the day before
a good day to begin
bought a desert pie for the night before festa, Vigilia
with a physicist and two professors
who all love pi and pie and their wives
at Feltrinelli’s bought books for gifts
called Giacomo to compare notes
my Roman pal who is quick, alert and ready
his son Alex’s group is leaving now
to play for cash outside the bookstore
in the hum of street activity
said hi to Franco outside the store
his motor bike was stolen last week
didn't ask how he got there
closer to home
sat down for coffee at a table
outside Angelo’s coffee bar
intense people traffic
here they come
there they pass
a pigeon just got by an electric buses wheel
as I sipped coffee to a, look around,
a persistent subtle whining sound
it’s the dog under the next table
saying his piece without
moving his lips
and art show tonight, got ta go
crowds shopping now
all on alert, hurray the day
a woman comes buy
dressed like Pinocchio’s mother
Christmas is on the way
now the day before
a good day to begin
bought a desert pie for the night before festa, Vigilia
with a physicist and two professors
who all love pi and pie and their wives
at Feltrinelli’s bought books for gifts
called Giacomo to compare notes
my Roman pal who is quick, alert and ready
his son Alex’s group is leaving now
to play for cash outside the bookstore
in the hum of street activity
said hi to Franco outside the store
his motor bike was stolen last week
didn't ask how he got there
closer to home
sat down for coffee at a table
outside Angelo’s coffee bar
intense people traffic
here they come
there they pass
a pigeon just got by an electric buses wheel
as I sipped coffee to a, look around,
a persistent subtle whining sound
it’s the dog under the next table
saying his piece without
moving his lips
and art show tonight, got ta go
crowds shopping now
all on alert, hurray the day
a woman comes buy
dressed like Pinocchio’s mother
Christmas is on the way
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Alberto's car
his worn vintage car quit again
on the cold rainy road into Roma
no one in traffic stopped to assist
Alberto pushed it two hundred yards
then opened the hood
tapped the engine with a hammer
tried the motor again
this time it worked
proving that as with some people
now and then it’s a matter
of getting a machine’s
full attention
on the cold rainy road into Roma
no one in traffic stopped to assist
Alberto pushed it two hundred yards
then opened the hood
tapped the engine with a hammer
tried the motor again
this time it worked
proving that as with some people
now and then it’s a matter
of getting a machine’s
full attention
Monday, December 21, 2009
campo dei fiori
i know this campo
of flowers and markets
a circus in progress
many new faces in groups
slow walking and talking
some carrying sandwiches
now tourists Italian
all caps and dark warm jackets
slow passing non stop
through the piazza of Bruno
sun going down, lights coming on
many regulars out for the season
even beggars have rotated
near over the line, yet still in order
with just above freezing
no tickets or towing
cars, motorinos and bicycles
visible police and undercover
overflowing action no on can follow
too cold for mime or musicians
in season’s chill December
four days before Christmas
of flowers and markets
a circus in progress
many new faces in groups
slow walking and talking
some carrying sandwiches
now tourists Italian
all caps and dark warm jackets
slow passing non stop
through the piazza of Bruno
sun going down, lights coming on
many regulars out for the season
even beggars have rotated
near over the line, yet still in order
with just above freezing
no tickets or towing
cars, motorinos and bicycles
visible police and undercover
overflowing action no on can follow
too cold for mime or musicians
in season’s chill December
four days before Christmas
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Leonardo
stepped out this morning
suddenly a guy yelling for help
limping on fire to the knee
flames leaping waist high
i put him on the ground
put out flames with my hands
windows opened above, shouting
soon an ambulance came
i calmed him, said he was Leonardo
a street person with a small fire
keeping warm under the arch
next time he’ll remember me
the ambulance took him
put lotion on my hands
i had stepped out for a smoke
not to burn merry Christmas
I have repeatedly posted this as Leonardo, then changed it to Leonardo Burning, four or five times in the last 24 hours. I like the title Leonardo Burning, but don’t want to offend the worth of this street person Leonardo by seemingly trivializing the event; and the poem ends with a burning reference and I didn’t want to lessen the effectiveness of the poem. To burn merry Christmas is a swirling mystic somewhat ambiguous reference and I wanted it left like that, unrestrained.
Maybe I’ll have to stand back and let time pass before I can make final cuts.
As it is, the energy in there. It happened, I came upstairs and wrote it. At this point the poet is too close to the event to judge what has effectively transpired in the writing.
suddenly a guy yelling for help
limping on fire to the knee
flames leaping waist high
i put him on the ground
put out flames with my hands
windows opened above, shouting
soon an ambulance came
i calmed him, said he was Leonardo
a street person with a small fire
keeping warm under the arch
next time he’ll remember me
the ambulance took him
put lotion on my hands
i had stepped out for a smoke
not to burn merry Christmas
I have repeatedly posted this as Leonardo, then changed it to Leonardo Burning, four or five times in the last 24 hours. I like the title Leonardo Burning, but don’t want to offend the worth of this street person Leonardo by seemingly trivializing the event; and the poem ends with a burning reference and I didn’t want to lessen the effectiveness of the poem. To burn merry Christmas is a swirling mystic somewhat ambiguous reference and I wanted it left like that, unrestrained.
Maybe I’ll have to stand back and let time pass before I can make final cuts.
As it is, the energy in there. It happened, I came upstairs and wrote it. At this point the poet is too close to the event to judge what has effectively transpired in the writing.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
tre marias
late morning coffee
near Santa Maria in Trastevere
mainly Italian tourists about
quietly milling this tranquil day
then beyond the fountain in the Piazza
for Chinese food with our friend Maria,
where yet another Maria
operates that restaurant
though not a true Maria
she was made in China with another name
but found it easier to be a Maria and go along
swiftly as the river flows though Roma
near Santa Maria in Trastevere
mainly Italian tourists about
quietly milling this tranquil day
then beyond the fountain in the Piazza
for Chinese food with our friend Maria,
where yet another Maria
operates that restaurant
though not a true Maria
she was made in China with another name
but found it easier to be a Maria and go along
swiftly as the river flows though Roma
Friday, December 18, 2009
make a list
passed Monica
said high a little
she was gone
see her twenty-three times a year about
talk more or less a minute each time
and of all the people i know
she is a good one
dresses neat, stands up straight, cheery
how are you i am fine that’s it
she gets a gold star in my memory
so if i made a list of everyone i know
she’d make the good list
once, years ago when i was sad
i made a list
why not try it
make a list of everyone you can think of
everyone you know
see who’s there
the list is privileged information
and you have a right to know
said high a little
she was gone
see her twenty-three times a year about
talk more or less a minute each time
and of all the people i know
she is a good one
dresses neat, stands up straight, cheery
how are you i am fine that’s it
she gets a gold star in my memory
so if i made a list of everyone i know
she’d make the good list
once, years ago when i was sad
i made a list
why not try it
make a list of everyone you can think of
everyone you know
see who’s there
the list is privileged information
and you have a right to know
Thursday, December 17, 2009
going about
going about in Roma
we have a car
and use it to get out
traffic clogged and lost
there is a slowing way down down
a large van is holding everyone up,
as we pass we see her reading a book
while texting on a cell phone
in circles by catacombs on Via Appia
old high stone walls so we can’t see
where we wander, which way we're headed
cloudy, so can’t tell north from south
then stopping for coffee, always a good idea
somewhere out of the center
where people get human again
we asked directions
sempre dritto, keep going straight ahead
that’s the best and favorite response
you’ll ever hear, no complications
they must teach it to children
strange, yet it works
for as all roads lead to Rome
inversely, when you are there
all roads will lead out of Rome
so no one is ever
really lost
only slowed
by traffic congestion
we have a car
and use it to get out
traffic clogged and lost
there is a slowing way down down
a large van is holding everyone up,
as we pass we see her reading a book
while texting on a cell phone
in circles by catacombs on Via Appia
old high stone walls so we can’t see
where we wander, which way we're headed
cloudy, so can’t tell north from south
then stopping for coffee, always a good idea
somewhere out of the center
where people get human again
we asked directions
sempre dritto, keep going straight ahead
that’s the best and favorite response
you’ll ever hear, no complications
they must teach it to children
strange, yet it works
for as all roads lead to Rome
inversely, when you are there
all roads will lead out of Rome
so no one is ever
really lost
only slowed
by traffic congestion
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
i've had it with you, Roma
i’ve had it with you, Roma
and refuse to be your fool any longer
two decades of chaos is enough
pushing, shoving, and oblivious pretentious aggravation
i’d rather pull my puppy’s ears
drag him out of the tiny box
from under the leaky sink
where i’d make him sleep if i were you
but to leave you, Roma
would be most difficult
to compensate for the loss
of aggravation
should i run stumbling against bulls in Spain
take lunging rapids in a leaky wooden boat
or walk in traffic blind folded
do please allow me to suffer longer
i know you lie and cheat to get your way
but loaded with art everywhere
you are noble, though distant and aloof
leave me unattended to wander in awe
scorch and boil me in summer’s cauldron
winters cast me out chilled into cold
treat me hard all seasons
if you must
but to turn away and leave you
as if you didn’t know me
would be more than i could bear
your tears would heap more agony on my anguished soul
allow perpetual suffering to continue
perhaps near the end you’ll cradle me
giving peace at last in knowing
that once you cared
for certain,
at the moment of torment’s end
my beloved,
i’d rather die in your arms
and refuse to be your fool any longer
two decades of chaos is enough
pushing, shoving, and oblivious pretentious aggravation
i’d rather pull my puppy’s ears
drag him out of the tiny box
from under the leaky sink
where i’d make him sleep if i were you
but to leave you, Roma
would be most difficult
to compensate for the loss
of aggravation
should i run stumbling against bulls in Spain
take lunging rapids in a leaky wooden boat
or walk in traffic blind folded
do please allow me to suffer longer
i know you lie and cheat to get your way
but loaded with art everywhere
you are noble, though distant and aloof
leave me unattended to wander in awe
scorch and boil me in summer’s cauldron
winters cast me out chilled into cold
treat me hard all seasons
if you must
but to turn away and leave you
as if you didn’t know me
would be more than i could bear
your tears would heap more agony on my anguished soul
allow perpetual suffering to continue
perhaps near the end you’ll cradle me
giving peace at last in knowing
that once you cared
for certain,
at the moment of torment’s end
my beloved,
i’d rather die in your arms
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
stolen horse
in light late afternoon chill rain
M. went to Standa to pick up things for diner
she’ll make pasta carbonara
carried a shoulder bag and an umbrella
bused up a few blocks
temperatures were dropping
she wore a hat pulled low
in gusts i started out to Alberto’s studio
along the way a couple called out
asked directions to Via Corso
i told them, pointed, down that way it begins
by the large monument at Piazza Venezia
then i walked out into heavy traffic
i was waiting for the light to change
must have forgotten, was distracted
from both directions cars were honking
made it calmly without incident,
and some embarrassment i digested
at that time
M. was carrying her loaded shopping bag
walking back across the bridge of angels
in front of the old castle San Angelo
there was an art show this weekend
Alberto told me his wife couldn’t go
because their five year old son
had homework to do
he said always there is too much homework
on the way home i saw Franco, age 67,
an Italian born in Libya
a persistent worker who lives miles away,
we crossed paths at the same corner in piazza Campo dei Fiori
near where he does inlay and waxing
fine detail in centuries old wood work
bought him coffee at the corner bar
he said a week ago gypsies stole
the cover for his motor bike
the evening before it disappeared
he saw the father and son checking it out
this weekend his motor bike,
his ride to work, was stolen
devastated, though tried not to show it
thievery is an invasion that strikes at the heart
i said it was like someone stealing his horse
he agreed, sadly, he agreed
we parted, i wished him well
by the time M. made it safely home
i did also, under city lights
and yes, her carbonara was outstanding
M. went to Standa to pick up things for diner
she’ll make pasta carbonara
carried a shoulder bag and an umbrella
bused up a few blocks
temperatures were dropping
she wore a hat pulled low
in gusts i started out to Alberto’s studio
along the way a couple called out
asked directions to Via Corso
i told them, pointed, down that way it begins
by the large monument at Piazza Venezia
then i walked out into heavy traffic
i was waiting for the light to change
must have forgotten, was distracted
from both directions cars were honking
made it calmly without incident,
and some embarrassment i digested
at that time
M. was carrying her loaded shopping bag
walking back across the bridge of angels
in front of the old castle San Angelo
there was an art show this weekend
Alberto told me his wife couldn’t go
because their five year old son
had homework to do
he said always there is too much homework
on the way home i saw Franco, age 67,
an Italian born in Libya
a persistent worker who lives miles away,
we crossed paths at the same corner in piazza Campo dei Fiori
near where he does inlay and waxing
fine detail in centuries old wood work
bought him coffee at the corner bar
he said a week ago gypsies stole
the cover for his motor bike
the evening before it disappeared
he saw the father and son checking it out
this weekend his motor bike,
his ride to work, was stolen
devastated, though tried not to show it
thievery is an invasion that strikes at the heart
i said it was like someone stealing his horse
he agreed, sadly, he agreed
we parted, i wished him well
by the time M. made it safely home
i did also, under city lights
and yes, her carbonara was outstanding
Monday, December 14, 2009
just say no to shopping
women don’t really want
hubby along slopping
always in the way
forever incompetent
to say they’ll take him
is only a scare tactic
a threat meant to show man
how brave they are
fighting fatties on electric isle-crowding carts
while finding the real bargains
checking what’s the latest
ahh, my queen of hearts, i know you’re da greatest
hubby along slopping
always in the way
forever incompetent
to say they’ll take him
is only a scare tactic
a threat meant to show man
how brave they are
fighting fatties on electric isle-crowding carts
while finding the real bargains
checking what’s the latest
ahh, my queen of hearts, i know you’re da greatest
Sunday, December 13, 2009
making a list
making a list
or soon will be
nothing serious yet
in my head at first
have to get things in order
i’ll jot notes in a minute
when i get a few ideas going
i’ve just gotten started
right now, i’m looking out the window
and there, she is in the yard
head down, pulling weeds
doesn’t stop, ‘cept to wipe her brow
black birds and robins fight in the bird bath
nothing overly untoward, only showing who’s tougher
and there she keeps going, pulling’ weeds
i wonder what she’s thinking now
she had better wrap it up soon
come in and clean up
you know she ought to be
making a list
or soon will be
nothing serious yet
in my head at first
have to get things in order
i’ll jot notes in a minute
when i get a few ideas going
i’ve just gotten started
right now, i’m looking out the window
and there, she is in the yard
head down, pulling weeds
doesn’t stop, ‘cept to wipe her brow
black birds and robins fight in the bird bath
nothing overly untoward, only showing who’s tougher
and there she keeps going, pulling’ weeds
i wonder what she’s thinking now
she had better wrap it up soon
come in and clean up
you know she ought to be
making a list
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