icebergs are melting,
there’s floating trash in the oceans.
the universe is expanding.
scientists have conflicting notions.
is it hotter
or colder,
or the same.
what’s the trend?
i don’t care, it really doesn’t matter to me.
i need to know only two things:
when i go outside do I need a jacket?
and what’s for dinner?
Wednesday, November 28, 2018
Thursday, November 22, 2018
in waves
then closing my eyes
goes like rain
after another, another
not rapid though smooth,
continuous. it's a dream,
on a train. scenes passing.
heads down cows on green far hills.
constant movement in waves
then coffee in an unfamiliar bar
somewhat dim, comfortable, pleasant.
worn, rolling wood, beautifully polished.
sun's warmth on my back, and i remember the train.
calmly i gaze out the window;
so apparent, how pleasant
a nap can be
Saturday, November 10, 2018
sitting in the right seat
i'd sure like to keep it with me all day,
the warm spot,
all over my face.
you make me happy, sun.
Friday, November 09, 2018
cold outside
but don't knock yourself out.
wear a hat when you go out,
and take your time, don't slip;
the rain is turning to snow.
baby, it's cold outside.
Monday, October 29, 2018
quiet ahead
see morning's dull beige, long rolling, calm, open fields.
a creek meanders the lower section.
crops have been harvested.
all is buttoned up. farms are still.
what few birds haven't gone south
are down at this hour; geese and scavengers.
dark gray skies have a glow in the east.
chip monks are in hiding,
resting geese a field away.
a good hour to appreciate the view.
winter's here in a month or two,
freeze everything, turn it white,
settle all down until spring.
these are the farmer's easy, between times.
good for planning, thinking.
quiet abounds.
Sunday, October 28, 2018
autumn joy
of October got to the leaves,
squeezed out the color.
see it now abound;
the booming joy called autumn is here.
wind blows, relax,
it is the season.
Thursday, October 25, 2018
this morning
above far trees and buildings
and taps my eye;
that's the start of the day.
Tuesday, October 23, 2018
changes
the calendar unwinds,
weeks into seasons;
how well do you keep track?
it happens to me when
occasionally i think of it.
as garden vegetables change,
picked ripe, some eaten
some preserved out of sight;
books are read, time moves.
when winter develops
delights she had saved
now ready for eating;
design becomes surprises,
how tasty; thanks, planter and planner.
Friday, October 19, 2018
starting
starting early
before dawn;
creeping right along.
pants on, moving.
found my shoes
hum a song.
hear her making coffee.
i'm ready.
come on day.
Thursday, October 18, 2018
Friday, October 12, 2018
Cool and rain
cool and rain.
a sudden autumn chill
came sooner than expected.
cap and jacket
serve you well,
the season changed,
time to give into it.
find the joy.
Wednesday, October 10, 2018
all share
two hours after dawn,
half hour to home;
deliberately taking small roads;
got behind two women riding
a horse drawn cart.
smiling, talking, just older than girls,
their strong brown horse, beautiful.
they in cart, we in car
All share these country lanes
this partly gold sun morn.
Sunday, September 30, 2018
go ibid
in oberlin. tiny hall.
phrases loud as i've ever heard
also softness in the extreme.
strange selections, locally written.
the french pianist played his entire movement
with his left hand
good job, wild program, not your regular.
now, heard the orchestra again last night
with lang lang on piano.
why is he renown?
folks. he's smooth.
long fast runs...quiet, quick.
clean as i've never heard in any recording.
he's got it.
29 september 2018 was
for the 100th anniversary gala of the Cleveland Orchestra.
Franz Welsor-Most conducted,
Lang Lang played the piano,
M drove.
the audience in formal wear
went for a dinner after the concert
we went home,
it was bedtime.
Wednesday, September 26, 2018
phone proclamation
in that one word i heard
the voice and education of a 1950s show girl.
she continued lightly admonishing,
slightly breathy, "I'm calling from
the U.S. Treasury Department..." that was enough;
i smiled and disconnected. she failed the audition.
i hung up.
Friday, September 14, 2018
day begins
different the way this day begins.
i could be working early;
am thinking of the mystery in the fields,
beautiful out this morning.
first coffee starts me off;
playing it familiar.
i'll think about the fields
then decide which pot to stir.
taking the morning easy.
Monday, September 10, 2018
fall so
out of the thermometer.
it's September, after all.
from shorts to long pants;
the transition to fall.
Sunday, September 09, 2018
aleppo pepper
at the country store,
one other customer at the register;
a Mennonite woman
buying a large assortment of bananas.
m wondered what recipe she had;
waited as bananas were
individually weighed.
m picked up aleppo pepper from Syria,
the fiery taste of the Mediterranean;
we'd sprinkle it on fried eggs;
a brilliant tang for breakfast:
leapers
Friday, September 07, 2018
Thursday, September 06, 2018
everything is temporary
the city guys in hard hats
are tearing out the sidewalk
in front of our house
and all the way down the street,
preparing for a new gas line,
a better line,
fat plastic, so it won't rust
and will last a century
or until there is something better;
they talk among themselves
and explained to us
so we'd know:
everything is temporary.
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