remember again

winter long,

no wonder cowboys shot their guns

in the sky, unnecessarily.

flurries falling slow enough to see between,

how's that for a picture in your head?

that was february,

april is winding up.

i am running out of waiting for

weather i can handle.

how about taking my shoes off outside.

no, that's not a question, it's a suggestion.

a remember summer days:

berry pie, garden time.

it'll happen.

rain day

kept in by a rain day.

the current book i'm reading,

today's words i'm writing,

it's dry glue on stiff, old paper adhering my attention.

yet i'll chance a drift to places i've been,

this swell time for drifting,

words of songs i've written float in and out of focus,

along side dear friends.

now this gives me pause.

how pleasant words can be,

jarring memories that hold sweetness.

the flapping wings of a large goose or pheasant

rising from a field, soaring, thump, thump,thump, close by overhead.

i am startled and pleased by the action.

Veering low and off, i feel the wind.

how quickly gone. 

and a smile remains on my face.

a frozen second of good time.

ready to plant

breakfast light,

cooked oats with raisins in.

outside temperature cool,

not freezing.

at the tree by the window,

the bird on the branch seemed to shiver.

we glanced and nodded.

had the same thought.

surely snow is over,

a new season we've got

while cleaning the dishes it seemed

it is reasonable time to be welcoming spring.

the plants are ready, need temperatures rise.

after all, it's nearly May, we've got spring skies

and flowers and seeds to put in the ground,

a new season we're claiming.

she's ready to plant.

the day it quits raining.
i'll make note.

camp out

scout out the far off, soft rolling hills.

you can see miles of dry range;

try this near lone peak
the farmer says it is a good spot

for a tenacious view of sunset.
you have permission to camp there
this light wind, warm, summer day.
bring the gear you need,
carry everything up the hill.

start a small fire, make coffee
and fry up vegetable pot stickers
add zippy,  sweet sauce.
it tastes just right.
talk and laugh a while, glad to be there.

what a spot you have for a bed roll.
light clouds and a sliver for a moon.
discover a quiet, starry night.

with open ways east there's a splendid shot of the rising sun.

it's quiet, a few birds and warm already.
heat up the coffee.
go ahead and smile.
a good way to start the day.

helpers

the birds help with a poem.
they are the live souls.
sure plants are living,
but don't hop on my fence,
can't practically dance.
then let me give a salute to plants
that can be seen growing
day by day
and become flowers
bursting into joyful color
or produce fruit and vegetables
that need only salt or oil
to sure taste good,
provide nutrition;
their down side is
they never tweet.

workin' devices

have seen them for years now,
lined up anywhere,
heads down.
won't look around,
in a hurry,  no apparent worry.
yet somehow concerns are involved.
seem well fed and dressed.
hair is cut to style.
rapid improvises, 
completely dissolved
into their devices.

spring soon

2019 the news grim.
Notre Dame burned.

we drove for breakfast at our favorite place,
looking around for damage. we knew
a portion of the town Shelby two days before
suffered a hit by a tornado.
the restaurant remains unscathed.
later, on the way to the market in Shilo
sheets of roofing metal were strewn across fields,
we passed near a large crumpled metal piece of roofing,
another lie in a field a quarter mile away.
barns had been torn in half while half remained unharmed.
trees are dropped sporadically in wooded areas,
a root ball lies exposed as if plucked from the ground,
with the large trunk lying on its side.
on the way to the Panktown market
we had to divert several times,
half the roads were closed for repair.
in 6 days Spring begins.
hopefully the storms are over.

Flyin'

sleepin' deep
in a hurry tonight,
time is running
8 something to 5 we've marked off.
mornin' take off,
rollin' before dawn.

this is las vegas.
a blanket of silence
would you think...
streets empty
far as i can see ...

all the way up and all the way down.
at this hour ...
plenty folks.
in line, nodded good morning,
behind her eyes shown an understanding, a warmth.


saw baseball hat
with a large red t.
stood for: The

flew all day,
got home.

trip

the days folded like a nomad's tent,
we pegged off a week

visited donna and gerry, we did.
         
drove the mountain ways
under iron filled red cliffs, with
cars and trucks rolling past, thick as
rabits in the wild.

vacationers, population, what hey.

red striations 1 million years old.

rain struck hard on the windshield.
the sound searching, tapping  lonely.

indians could hide
standing in front of you, on the plains.

driving many miles,
nothing out there
 save brush, sand, thin wire fences and
 the distant line of hills.
crusing along
we have no radio on,
there is the hum of the tires on the highway.

colding.

past week,
hot very to be, said they
predicting weather you know who does.
heat went quickly.
we felt a days worth.

walk out now in chill.

Warmth didn't prevail this time utah,
doesn't matter, we've coolness.

canyons, cliffs  explode in uncontrolable fantasy, colorwise, beyond expectation.

snow canyon

eighty degrees, they said it would be,

sixty felt like,

plus overcast,
foot off the gas
Zion ... weather is cool.
takin' it easy.
good talking  gerry brother in law.
books, no bugs out west,
thick gray day. space out here.
no dogs barking today,
cowboys and indians
long ago roamed snow canyon.

crowd

dreamed a crowd,

a busy day, in the crowd ...

but quiet, didn't hear noise.

packed in, many faces, turning, moving.

looking around, some were vaguely familiar.

i had nothing to say.
where have you been?

remembered songs i had written

and forgotten long ago.

not bad songs, never did anything with them.

they are easy to forget again;

like a poem i find again,

and say, oh, yeah, i remember you, then let go again.

it's more comfortable to take slow speed drives

in the country. passing Mennonite families,

dressed in gray, hats and bonnets,

in their horse drawn buggies.

we wave, they wave, smiles, good day all.

i see the young boys wearing

sturdy, wide brim hats like their fathers,

proud, feeling dressed in style.

girls in solid colors, pastels,

then grays, always solid colors, darker as they are older,

all with aprons.

so there goes dreaming,

this summer have to see the festival fund raiser

they hold for their school.

in the meantime all rolls on.

coments

been reading comments.

they can't be real, not written by people.

without pertinence, how can that be?

pushed in piles,

selected out of a stack.

how disappointing to spend time reading

comments that come to me, seem like nothing.

without purpose. i don't understand. 

this week i'll see a relative who exercises.

he'll be happy, and i for him.

i'll see what comments he has:

on life, on how to proceed.

i imagine his advice will be to:

move ahead as best one can.

keep alert to adapt to changes that occur.

hope for the best. yeah, to be lucky is good.

easy does it

worked through the morning
coffeeed up, ate toast, now thinking.
62 to be the high and dry, i'm conditioned,
thinking we're headed for a beautiful day.

meanwhile we've packed for Utah.
to see family in the desert.
the change of climate is a break.
a reward for lasting another winter.

it's not Rome, but i'll take it.
easy does it sounds
like a resignation on the road of  life;
i'll take that too.




on the road, to the road,
these are my considerations.
i'll live with  that too.
an example why i need several days to resolve all.

changes

school out at 3,

now comes the bus;

3:45, see that? last kid off.

makes to and from in forty five minutes,

an exercise in patience,

in using time to the best of their ability.

i hope so. i never took a bus,

don't know a good example.

oh, the kid got off wearing ear phones, plugs or buds.
something studious or rock music.

and we had tickets for a Brahms concert

couldn't take a thirty minute drive up and back,

not in the mood, not last night;

read instead and went to bed early.

amid thoughts of April showers, flowers,

Easter on the way.

those bunnies, eggs and chocolate

are long gone now for me, thank god.

that's good news.

don't need it. the world changes, thank god, again.

apparent dream

i want

to remember my dream,

not all, a fraction. a minuscule dollop.

last night's i reason.

didn't it just happen?

seems that-away.

i showered, made the bed

am drinking coffee.

hear what i said?

it's simple, dream searching,

the tiniest morsel of recent dream

has hidden.

look at this, i can't recall a fleck.

when i began writing poems,

roughly, more or less, but much

but much (worth repeating) escapes me.

never dreamed

april eve

the month is spring, the calendar says
Easter, flowers, soft wind, warmth.
though many years it's Ohio's
time of one last heavy snow.

not what i wish
when April comes to mind,
but i'm aware.

last year we didn't have an April snow,
nor the year before.
i mention it now because we're due.
today's projected high is a degree over freezing,
and now the sky is full cloudy, heavy, steel grey.

i want warm. today is April eve,
and i'm not looking out at Spring.
we had ground covering snow last night,
will it melt in seasonal warmth,
or pile on more white?
enough...i'll think Spring flowers.

past year's

in half a reflection
i see past years become pastures

because of the long fields
we pass each week,
a variety, changing always.
i nearly mentioned seasons,

in Ohio changing fields are endless.

now in march, looking around it seems forever cold.
this year, last year, the years before that.
now the end of winter we're between seasons,
nothing definite. one not gone,
the new not underway.

in a week or few we'll be in warm,
let that seem forever, always warm.
ah...the satisfaction.
that'll go nicely in the pastures.
with wheat, goats, cows, horses and corn.
all the way.

the village

on the near corner

a street cleaner rolls by loudly humming

no discernible tune.

not a man with a straw broom,

a large, blue truck with spinning brushes

on the bottom,

shaking houses a block away.

this is life in the village.

soon it will be spring

took the winding road, familiar drive

for breakfast at our same spot Shelby,

an easy, country ride all the way.
wound past Plymouth and New Haven,
beyond the falling down, drive-in theater
to our unsung, out of the way village
where same spot parking is a comfort.

again we found the restaurant tranquil,

no music, light chatter, usual crew working.

customers at ease, composed.
seems everyone's half pilgrim.

had eggs again, cooked to satisfaction.

farm fresh, must be chickens nearby.

a degree or so more and we'd have warm spring.

it soon will be.

cooking it

i am looking at a plantain recipe,

stick with me,

it's right here on this paper.

now, i'll set it on the table.
see here,

the recipe says i should cut the plantains

in circles? how in hell do i do that?

it’s a banana not a melon.

well, it looks like a banana.

slices, you could say slices.

they'd be circular, maybe that's it.
another thing, here, this is good,

why is everything fried

until it’s "golden brown".

did you notice?

is that the only attractive cooking color, brown?

isn’t there another shade?

forget i asked, close your eyes,

breath easy...in, out.

now fry the damn plantain.
they're delicious.

robin vision

from the porch
75 yards away i see...
the porch isn't 75 yards away.
75 yards away from the porch
i see a robin on a rooftop.
not a starling, a robin;
pause now to let that sink in.

the figure of an hourglass, swelt.
the younger generationals
may not know an hourglass.
i understand why you not would,
a negative know about.

a fine figured bird as you can imagine.
standing tall, not ball shaped
like those squatty starlings.
the robin, princess of the aviary,
a well-formed chick, not spherical.
tiny eagle-like of your dreams,
though if you seldom dream of robins.
i understand completely, who can blame you.

march, the middle

sitting on the bench

on the porch in the sun,

nothing done, especially,

the day's early, relatively.

all is fine. the time is mine,

it's quiet and a slow start...

they say it will be warmer later,

they is the weather people.

for me to do now? i'm going in.

thinking up new passwords, isn't necessary,

google probably thinks i should.

is this practically a romantic poem yet?

at this moment i'll clear my head.

enough said, except about the weather;

it'll be 45 degrees today, i'm excited.

spring degrees are a reasonable presumption.

that's what winter in ohio does to you.

enough writing in here, it's march,

i'm going back on the porch

while the sun is still up.

have a nice day

ohio weather - 10 day summary

cloudy, wind, morning snow showers,

sunny, cloudy, mostly sunny, sleet,

partly cloudy. have a nice day.

comfort

old classmates getting together,

at noon, a good time for us.

been friends a while,

nine of us together,

a class fraction, maybe a fifth,

i'd have to think to give a number.

exactly nine counting me,

of this i'm sure.

we had a few empty seats.

are we getting tired or just old?

well, we had fun seeing each other;

there is comfort in that,

i'm sure.

the result: looking for the next time.
and this the first day of spring.
a lot to be thankful for,
somewhat.

for comments

anonymous is fine

no tunes

it's warmer.

the birds are back to nest in the eves.

they remember or, one of them does,

where they were born,

where he or she was born.

sparrows on one corner, starlings the other

they're flying around, they are ready.

this year i'm not whistling their song,
not now.

so far they're not nest building.

i won't sound inviting tunes,

maybe they'll build somewhere else.

i'm tempted,  it's easy,  i enjoy talking to them, but

will keep my whistle shut.

wall sun

looking bright,
the sun on the wall
had me thinking of  what i forgot already,
confusing when i put it in words;
playing mental slow ball this morn,
idly putting pieces together,
fascinated by the gold color of the sun reflected on the wall...
sure is a fine time of day.
said that before.
had an orange, made a coffee,
brown sugar today, wasn't going to, did anyway.
keeping a low profile,
nothing getting started.
i'll write this down and see what happens next.
no appointments, that's good.
reading the son by phillip meyer, enjoying
time with the native americans,
a world with nature,
a hundred years before i got here.
would you know, it was not
so long ago.

 

jotting down between storms

the wooden table from the mountain
stands dark against the wall
undisturbed...
by the window in the hall i write;
end the sentence there,
look out at at the no rain, no snow morning...
where's the unpleasant weather?
here's light frost in ohio,
i'm thinking of swinging under the golden gate,
no swinging, just heading, into the bay,
running with the tide in my Monterrey,
coming in under the great bridge,
years ago...a good time then
when running with the tide in light weather.
california, you did me well.
and the swell i rode in on.
and now recall, best of all,
when weather was no problem...
sometime i wonder where the old boat is now.
someone is treating it right, no doubt.
i'm happy to remember.
though ohio is no problem...
here cruising along,
part humming a song
recalling my boat...
working through the days,
while making note.

a break

today we got a break in the weather,
it's about time.
we were getting tired waiting;
seemed winter wouldn't let go.
now we feel the weather could be getting warmer soon,
good news if it happens.
i saw a few birds...
come ahead now,  springtime,
we're ready for you.
it rained hard...
now it's snowing.