summer regular

creep along the road

by the fields of wheat;

rained the other day,

wasn't it neat.

hot, yeah, turn up the heat,

cook your brains a while,

then smile, smile, smile.

we loves ya, doll-baby.

i'll take summer regular

the way i do recall,

a light wind, we had rain.

now...not at all, not at all.

sunday now

sky is mostly blue,

good to see it for a change.

weather is drying, first time in a while.

what i know about farming is nothing.

i can only read reports in the news,

already a day old when i write it.

will some farmers plant today...i can't say.

i read they need, desperately need a few days dry weather.

they'll see what's ready...when it is.

i'm able to read reports and hope the best

for them, for fields, for us.

planting is serious and farming is a gamble.

farmer

long hours 

confronting and enduring

powerful, shifting challenges;

this year persistent and excessive rain

during planting season

in order to produce food for

where and when it is needed.

this is the accepted duty and obligation 

of the farmer. fear not, for he is tough 

and suited for the job.

how about the river

a couple of lines

to do with the river,

right downtown;

flowing in,  moving out to the lake...

standing there looking at it.

warm weather for sure,

the light house in the background,

why not let the fog horn sound.

i know a clear day is better,

the fog horn gets your attention.

how about testing it​?
that happened only once in a while.

it sounded louder without the fog too.

wet air makes the air thicker.

takes an edge off the horn.

when they test it you want to jump

because that fog horn comes blasting.

one shot, it works. go back to peaceful.

a good day for all.

okay, enough for the river and the lake too.

now you can just think about it.

water

one fourth of India residents 

have drinking water at home. 

in some areas a family gets 

eight to ten gallons a day. 

American households use 

three hundred gallons a day. 

India grows more populous, 

hotter and dryer; is running 

out of water.

summer for

wait all winter for warmer weather

to drift the river
find water ways,

taking the turns and straights

going up steam in

light wind, clear sky,
the boat and i,

what summer is for
no need for more

and to dream and splash

amid jumping fish and gulls,
any summer night.

flying

woke out of dream,

peaceful, serene.

the house is calm, so am i.

an award to robins: last to sleep, first to wake.

my pet birds are outside,
their wings shake,

fending for themselves,

free flying...flying

seasons

for native americans

names differentiate each  month.

Algonquin tribes saw the june moon

time to harvest strawberries.

in various parts of Europe it is

the honey, rose and mead moon.

overall, intervals of time tracked

independently of one another.

Zuni Indians of New Mexico named the first six moons,

the remainder are called by colors associated with

the four cardinal directions;

thinkers in tribes, as did white man,

invented systems much complicated,

listened, observed the nighttime sky,

sat quietly by fires, smoked pipes,

fed sticks to the embers...
and seasons passed.

the rose

watch it everyday,
summer on the way.
sweet rose on the vine,
flower so divine.

splash

i remember the dive
we called the canon ball.
off the pier we'd go.
yelling all the way down.
what summers were for.
one of us made the greatest splash.
yeah, we had fun in competition
splashtacular.

water down

got up, made my bed, 

showered soapy, water, rinse.

as i parted my head, my hair in the middle,

over my shoulder the electronic calendar read,

clearly a synthetic voice said: "congratulations,

you've made it to another Saturday;

coincidentally, a free rolling weekend,

absolute-mentally disengaged,

with liberty and justice for many,

and ten straight days of rain forecast." What?

"with no humps or little boats in the stream;

thought it best to get it out of the way and tell you clean,

going to rain, keep raining. rain some more.

which size oars do you wish?

for sure keep going and

float to the right."

creek

flows the creek in constant motion,
smooth ripples ferry to the ocean

seconds before sundown

river gulls soar toward the lake
crossing low overhead as last low rays
flash white bellies and orange beaks
golden in the final light of setting sun.

the picture in these words nab the blink and sheen
of a few seconds gliding, brilliant light,
gleam like polished steel, fencers thrusting
before the background, sorrowful autumn gray sky.

door broke

had breakfast at our usual place out in the country.
sat way up front, few people there.
i went to the restroom, then couldn't get out.
the door knob wouldn't open the door.
after thinking two minutes i
knocked on the door six or eight times,
a waitress heard me knocking and let me out.
she said she just happened by,
i said she should tell someone the door is broken.
i don't think she thought about it again.
back at our table, finished my coffee,
ten minutes passed, i was watching,
no one went to the restroom.
we paid our bill and left.
as we were a few miles down the road i wondered
who's trapped in there now?

intentions

Went to the country, had eggs and toast, then gravy on potatoes..too much and ate most of it. Sometimes...yeah, well sometimes I don't follow my good intentions.

June sun

outside the country store few sounds this morning,  a car, a shopper, distant birds, chickens. the slight metal rattle when a guy goes by on his bicycle, he smiles and waves as he passes. not much else going on; good June sun heating still air, been enough rain lately, fields are green. smells of summer all over.


the above is modern formatting, below my traditional beat poetry method. am i going into a period of change.  i'm not sure if that is a question.

outside the country store

few sounds this morning,

a car, a shopper,

distant birds, chickens.

the slight metal rattle when 

a guy goes by on his bicycle, 

he smiles and waves as he passes.

not much else going on;

good June sun heating still air,

been enough rain lately, fields are green,

smells of summer all over. 

a song of it

ask around a while, you'll see,

not completely, but often;

June slides in as the favorite.

i'm thinking good weather 

after the months waiting to get here.

relax in that chair, the one you know and love.

coffee is ready, or take the tea.

sugar or no, as you prefer.

that's clouds rolling in.

and your father,

talking water here, i like water...

a dip in the pool, some rain or the ocean,

float along. find the melody,

make a song of it.

soft and yeah, a song you feel.

words you need, when you desire.

soft and yeah.

from the heart.

apples near the wall

seven years ago she planted,

had an idea, bought them young 

from Mark the plant seller.

put in two apple trees,

twigs they were.

near the wall.

a good idea. espalier.

beautiful from the beginning.

how time evolves.

seasons roll through.

the one on the left produces apples,

the other does not,

she trims them

attempts to get the other to bloom.

will time change this

blur brings mail

our female mail person is

shorter than yours;

head down walking,

moves along in a flash,

zipping by.

i've yelled hello when she put mail in our box,

she never acknowledges me.

maybe her ears are plugged into something.

an unabridged version of Moby Dick?

or hot music?

i'll never know.

she never sees me when i wave

won't leave her cookies this Christmas

like the old days.

instead i'll tape a note on the mail box:

"the whale kills Ahab."
not true, i wrote something silly,
i think we're on the end of the mail route.
the mail person wants to
finish work, go home,
listen to music, read a book.

graduate

my grandaughter, Kaylan, wraps
high school; cap and gown.
now, to encounter the world.

Dog's a bother

my daughter's dog weighs
as much as i do,
nearly, and has big feet.
he stepped on my arm,
punctured it.
he jumps around and is happy.
i like the dog, but now avoid him.
he stayed home when
i ate pasta in an italian restaurent
last night.
melanzana, ricota salata like, dry cheese
and rigatoni alla norma.
this morning i ate it cold.
a dream like breakfast.
It will be sunny and warm.
this is temecula,
southern california.
many people, i can say that again.
not especially easy going.
i bet even the menonites
walk around
with an edge on.

been water

been sky
water falling regularly,
wet mornings we've seen.
sleep through the most of it.
downpours, shake the roof, that sort.

then pauses we'd have;
some days none.
none pauses. kept raining.

factually speaking,
we haven't seen a regular month,
kind we had and knew before
for a bit, for  a country while.
that's truth of the matter.
don't know if records broke,
but sounds like i got impressed.
did enough...yup.

like a bomb

rapid expansion of the air

surrounding the lightening bolt at

1:43 this morning caused thunder

to echo a full minute as it continued the

sound on to Michigan or Pennsylvania.

i awoke a minute before,

had my senses when the explosion occurred.
vibrated the town,

sounded like a bomb.
an incredible boom.

rifle me up some breakfast

the piano stumbled to a halt like a fallen horse.

the room got quiet.

she walked over, pad and pen ready,

with a lift of her eye

shot me the glance

i didn't pause, i let her have it:

2 up, rye toast;

i sat still, mouth closed after that.

she asked, no potatoes, bacon or pie?

i held the reins tight, my coach on course.

coffee me, please.

"What about fresh, smoking, cherry pie

warm out of the oven?"

she gave me that smile she was known for,

and nodded.

"not today, Mandy. as curly your hair,

as bright is your smile,

i'm holding...i'll play these, thank you."

and the piano started up again,

chatter all over, plates clinked,

chairs squeaked and movement

burst out everywhere.

hospital lobby

in the lobby i met another jack,
a hospital volunteer, he began talking to me;

explained, because he hit his head

and can't remember names, his wife left him.

i told Jack he'd probably remember my name.

(i wanted him to feel better so i didn't tell him

he probably wouldn't remember my face.)

every few minutes he told me about banging his head

while having fun playing the Rascals and the Turtles on his phone.
i wanted to read my book but he
held the music coming out of his phoneclose to my face.
i pulled back to focus my eyes on the phone,

but he said there was nothing to read on the phone.

i had to listen to the music.

he asked if i liked the rascals and the turtles

and i said "i think i did fifty years ago,  i don't remember."

Jack said they are his favorite groups.
they still are.
he saw them in concert.

only three of us were in the lobby.

a thin, slight, 20 year old roofer

moved closer to us to be nearer the festivities.

he wore old, worn, jeans,
no socks or shoes.

i first noticed him because he had, "no shirt?"

said he "got soaked."

a half-hour before it rained a storm's worth in five minutes.
i told him we were both named jack and asked his name,
i don't remember his name,
maybe the other jack does.

i asked why he's in hospital.

said, "a lump on my knee is getting larger...

insurance expires in two days."

seasonal winds

500 reports of tornadoes in the last thirty days in the U.S.

i hope my Kansas family ducked trouble.

yesterday Ohio had 4 tornadoes...

we've 64 to 75 Fahrenheit cool.

another thing: i have to look up

how to spell Fahrenheit every time.

it is the practically silent first h i forget about.

now the more i say it, it louder it gets.

Fah-ren-heit. Fah, Fah, Fahrenheit.

still cool, talking weather,

running out of May.

run, run, running is no problem, uh spelling.

also, summer will get here, just saying.

and, think two h's in Fahrenheit.

tension for the fans

a cold rainy night

went to bed early

heard in the morning

indians squeezed by boston

broken protocol

trains, as i've previously mentioned,

sound off when passing  through our town:
the sequence you hear is a
long, long, short long.

i've heard the train go by all my life,

today six shorts, a pause, 2 shorts

reviving the old time: shave and a haircut, two bits.

someone thought this funny,
a celebration of Memorial Day;

an offense to train protocol.

never heard it before,

hope i never do again.

i'm serious about trains.

a coffee aday

when i today sure searched finding

how coffee from drinking

is positine or negathon.

then reviewed my life and pal coffee,

to sit and have a cup.

to know by remembering seemed better than google,

as amn't in the state of complete burn out

from too much coffee, for sure.

get ready for this.

for can find not finding

no coffee they say,

no sleep, harm, harming

no cream so that's an okay.

no fat here, just a buzz;

knock yourself out.

poeming

I.

oh, coffee, please yes, starting with coffee.

thank you. nice to see you.

is this seat taken? well, heh heh,

yes, i'm sitting here.

   ...

you're my what?

i mean, no kidding...
   ...

sure i do.

that's right. i wouldn't forget.

you've got that look about you.

say, while we're talking,

you know i received emails about new books,

you know how many?
right, nod your head, mega plenty. plentissimo.

titles more than i can handle

coffee i can handle, you were ready weren't you.
thank you.

sure i know you.

II

rhythm and rhyme

poems take time.

no doubt, take them out,

shake 'em like a rug.

until they shine.

going to make it mine,

before i give it away.