oil an

oil an onions
and tortillas
and cheese
are good
together fried,
sprinkle salt

the season

cloudy and humid
so what, hey it's august,
i wait all year for this discomfort;
it could be an island with the sea
but i don't have to use bug repellent.
feel it getting better?
watermelon is in season.

august moving

august: the quickest moving month in the northern hemisphere,
now midway
marking summer on the wane.
time to diminish in intensity.
can you believe it?
so soon again.
sweetcorn is the good of it

morning, august

a sunny, warm, still morning
for bees and hummingbirds.
sip your coffee,
take a look.
enjoy the day.
could use a pile of days like this.

.

going to rain

the booms swept north to south
shook the windows,
and the house,
explosions of glorious thunder,
only a pause...before rain pounded.

carefully i planned words to write this,
fell back asleep...
woke remembering little;
sidewalks are damp

Thankyou

Annie and Tom,
Thanks for your support.
I should work harder.
Oh, Annie, I forgot how to publish comments.
i think they are on.

.

waiting weather

attractive cloud formations,
that's it...no rain,
not out there...here.
nothing expected, forget it,

a dull okay, that's good enough.
can't have it all; would like it cooler,
there i go.
what do i want?

i think, first - not to be foolish;
we can't have it all:
there are good starting points...
like nice clouds.

so, heat's here

will be warm today, say hot, they say;
so summer, show me what you've got today.

good new travels

my friend plans
ten days with his son, mountain camping
away from the heat, sounds good;
oh yes, whatever your program: enjoy summer

buggies, sunday

back around New Haven...
we saw eight in a row,
slow trotting, horse drawn, buggies;
all made the turn onto a smaller side road,
on their way to Sunday meeting;

anytime we pass a buggy, the driver,
man or woman, will raise a hand,
catch our eye and smile;
granting us permission to be there...
by saying a friendly hello.

we see faces and hands as
happy children wave out from
the buggy's rear window.

hey, how about it

like a super-size pillow
see it? i like 'em.
dark and white clouds billow...
floating by...see 'em?
look up and wonder; will it rain,
or pass us by? what do you say?
i'd say though it's seems so...
kind of darn dry, you know.
we wait rain, we do.

pour it out, could you?
fill us up, Water Maker.

rain would help

my feet look older
maybe it's the heat.
there are clouds passing by;
dampness would help.

trees and beans

being anxious as you
to see what this contains,
i'll say the title was written,
the following day a poem developed.

bees: make it trees and bees, better eh?
i did, so you have to,
i'd say so, so it is said.
now i'll clear this out,

write it and read it.
july 7, 2018...it'll be 78 degrees in fahrenheit.
no breeze to speak of...
no smoking either...
maybe that's the root of what this is about

when it

don't have my nicotine
mine, all mine. personal.
doing without, am i fooling myself?
folding myself

correcting settings on my machine, began to read these words out loud. became angry, not too much, just enough.

fill me in, what's easier.
the distraction will remove fault,
take the rest away.
who needs auto correct?
yes, it functions well.
am i smoothing out yet?
mentioning is a kin to ...

watermelon filled the space.

mark the date in stone

crawl on by, keep going
you moaning yearning, i feel you
reaching vainly,
deep hunger.

plumber eyes

the guy is plumber,
fixed our drippy faucet.
took a year for him to get here,
because we didn't call him;
for sure that slowed him down.

then amazon did everything,
found a guy who knew what tools
to bring, and how to use them.
good for him and us
but i never got his name.

you see how well the new world works?
i want to believe in efficiency
for us, from him.
yet, we never got his name.
for shame, cold world.
i never heard him say his name.

up in smoke

pipe tobacco/
crushed by hand/
roll it/
light it.../
up in smoke
okay, i know that one
so now i'll try this again,
i'll leave it alone.
good luck, good times.

fiori di zucca

today is the day,
gathered zucchini flowers,
then battered and fried
ah, my favorites.

away some

nine days to see,
saw my daughter and her's;
this poet on vacation
made mental notes,
worked none at all.
all went well that way,
i'd say.

ate, weather hot,
what we got
hit the spot.

then we're out of there
not even wrinkled.

i thought we were pals

the parent robins returned
fed their young worms about noon.
didn't know me or my whistle
from dee man in dah moon