hmmm, packed

so much to read.
it is a pleasure
to absorb what others write;
of course, the volume is tremendous
i can't keep up. it's outa sight.

reading is enjoyable.
i'll take a few drops;

although now i'll pause
to think of ice cream, perhaps
take action, a few spoons full.

remember earlier we fought cold,
persistent showers, near freezing, wet;
now the time is baseball and ice cream.
so enjoy yourself.
coming up in a few weeks
will be sweet corn.
ah, the changing seasons.

car over

I have seven empty eyeglass cases on the counter in the other room. The glasses are here and there. One pair I am wearing. A new pair will arrive Friday or Saturday. She told me to throw away the old empty cases. I'm thinking about it, not overly or seriously.

Let me correct that: six cases...I counted.

This paragraph is a chapter in

Taking Care of Counting.

However, nothing was thrown away or accomplished.

everyday i sing a song for you, meri sweetheart.
now you see i'm being tested for my head workings;

wow, they can do a new reworking.

a shortcut to happiness, soon as i get plugged in.
they can, but they won't;
probably it's too dangerous.

i fabricated that anyway, they can't make me better
by plugging me into their wall socket.

ok, now; going to see the Cleveland Indians.

then, doctor/wise, real testing...the type done to old people.

if you have insurance get on board.

i would not pay for it out of my pocket.

ballgame first, then next day doctoring,
so close, driving wise.

wait all winter for warmer days

to drift the river

taking the turns and straights,

going nowhere in particular,

what summer is for.

we can think so,
and remember, love, the Pleiades,

there is nothing brighter.

would like to take the bright stars in from the Pacific.

so where is my boat now?

ohio roading

big sign for a bump in the road...
what they don't tell...on a scale from 1 to ten.
.
a swing left Around a tractor.

then saw a house on a lake on the highway.
.
going easy;
stopped at a hand painted sign
in Sullivan for a chicken dinner.
they said now it's hot dogs and hamburgers...
chicken starts at four o'clock.
got back in the car and started for home.

rain steady on

the weather seems steady.

we have rain again,

it's not the rolly, fat cloud, stormy kind we had for a month.

this is rain regular, thank you.
.

other parts of the country may be filling up soggy.

we're handling it. it's running off, somehow.

our fields aren't puddles

but i wouldn't want to run a tractor in it..

i'm listening to myself

thinking that i'm not talking about
faces i see on the city streets of Rome.

for the lack of those daily familiars  my heart aches.

hot yes

thickated, the time of year.
plants are full, leaves are all out.
carrying wads of green
more than you've seen
for a while,
oh, full summertime.

on an elevator

to the next person on a crowded elevator he says,

“Hey, a couple of lifetimes ago we were

both Indians and we used to hunt together.”

the person he had spoken to glanced over and said,

“Are you talking to me?”

geese around these parts

the large black and white Canadian geese know their own reflection in the lake.

would vent their wings to find me if they knew i had corn...a handful in my pocket.

found stones

nearly time for the show,

things to do...to be a participant.

checked all shelves and drawers,

every pocket. 

then got 'em, to my relief they turned up,

found the tickets. good looking tickets.

made with care.

time was short, had to leave now.

hummed a tune to myself all the way.

when i got to the exhibit

filed in with the rest, in order.

line kept moving.

yes, very crowded.

at the show looked with pleasure.

partly sunny, cool, light wind, and comfortable.

stones on the beach

are well shaped, softly colored,

attractive to spellbinding.

now the tough part:

long ago i heard, though it's wild, you don't take

rocks away from anywhere,

leave them where they are.

doing life

how are we?

working hard, sleeping well,

eating right, exercising?

make a list.

keep in line.

oh...enjoy life.

folded mountain

a beer from Rochester, New York is what i'm talking about here.
first time i heard of it.
the beer. i heard of Rochester.
the beer is called folded mountain.
not surprised. they had to come up with a name for the beer...could have been happy mountain.
5.8 percent alcohol.  got that?
okay, so, it's a hot day.
went to the porch.
sat in the shade.
sipped in the shade. ole'
drank my beer...most of it.
wanted a smoke,
thought of it; it's been a month.
so give me a break.
oh, i'll get over it...again.

space

postal worker
drove by today.
leaving nothing.
thus creating
space.

go warm Sunday
who turned up the heat?

turn to good weather

sunshine roars in,

working on golden sweet corn,

also readying, heavy, juicy water melons.

you know the kind.

 then on a twelve hour from Boston drive,

hug hi niece, hello eat next day go,

she's three more hours to Indiana.

 while here awhile, all kept rolling.

hiya summertime some, been watching for you, and enjoy what a season, thankful for all we are. 

chill dawn

chill dawn
on the road to shiloh.
a violet, rose haze,
with blue on edges of far fields.

1844 carved on the stone house on a rise.
other old homes
blanketed in vinyl.
all barns red, newly covered in looks like tin.

there's no balloon on earth
like the fiery red sun
rising in all her glory,
marking the start of new day


...
This last set of four lines I wrote so long ago.  I can't locate the original text, and I see there is a problem...I want to get it right. now the "marking the start of new day" has the meter.

growing corn

you drive along

then park in the lot by the fence;

so you can get out and walk the field

feel the heat doing a burn

it's how you learn

what a sunny day feels like doing a job

right now on the cob.

waving in the wind, getting tall.

the corn is coming up i see,

now you can bet there'll be an ear for me,

i'm getting ready, going home,

fetch butter and salt...that's all i need.

what summer's all about.

quaking

a 7. quake in California,
50 miles in a line to our mountain land
where we lived when we married.
the shake would have had our attention.
now thinking of Jerry in his grave by our cabin
i'm sure made a joke before he cried.

do not lose your head, yet

Shakespeare today

a three hour play,
measure for measure,

in wilting hot weather

with windows open.

am i thee not kidding,

or am i? or am i?

a whamie...off with his...
at times culture is needed

a shake at wendy's may save me.

ole, ole

chickens and the cows don't mind,
if you're the kind
to have eggnog on the fourth of July

ole. get it going, buttercup,
every time, it'll be fine. ole, ole
hold the line, Zabaione

happy holiday.

i think of eggnog,
for my Italian friends,
call it what it is: Zabaione, oh yeah. ole.

Zabaione: the thought
that will not go away

your dad

got hot here.
ninety-two road melting
degrees...and humid.

indoors is cool air fine

how is your living going?

are you still the head dog? 

Meri told me the term today.  

Alpha Dog. yeah. there you are.

and she has a bunny in her garden now.

it is eating the purple plant, 

larkspur, expendable; but i'm
sure it'll develop new appetites.

thought to write you
something...but i
forgot what

but not you.

we got 68 mpg with our 2017 KIA Nero today. 

wanna spread the word. don't see their advertising.

got 58 mpg on the second half of a thirty mile trip.  

the air conditioner took the mileage down.

you made me smile

and you didn't do anything.
see how easy...

love your dad

the game

game begins, this is major league baseball;

right away it's 2-0, 

then 3-0, made me flinch.

end of first inning, it's 4-0.

the game just started.

end of the second inning,

the pace picked up,

8-0.

went to bed.

woke for a final listen on the radio, 

seventh inning, 9-0

really, really went to bed.

woke game over, heard it ended: 13-0

stains one's impression of the home team, 

the good guys.

is the feeling everlasting?

how could it be...it isn't even July.

fall is the big time,

and always, always there is hope again next season.

cancel, cancel

second game the following day against the same bottom ranked 

Baltimore Oriels and our hometown heroes lose again  

by the identical score 13 - zero. 

but i write more. these are the golden boys of summer who two years ago in 2017 won a record setting 22 games in a row.

now Rocky Colavito is touring with his book. in 1959 when i was 14 and routing for him he was Cleveland's outfielder and hit an amazing four home runs in one game.

gee the seasons change,

yet they do go on.

let us

lettuce tastes good;

can add the high point

one a sunny hot lunch day,

meant on a sunny,

there a difference

is well enough,

when in soaring high temps,

shell we, by the sea say?

yes, lettuce. pretty well.

is swell. swell enough.

day's hot. what we've got.

out of space, outer space.

lettuce taste.

brakes on. brake is on.

bake is on.

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.

if cows could talk to me

if cows could talk to me
that would be interesting;
don't have one,
haven't seen one face to face for a while
just thinking of the eyes,

one large eye on each side
big and brown. looking,
nearly thinking of something, the cow.
calm, for the most part.

depends, mostly.

apparently content.

began my day

began my day

knee deep in Facebook,

to see who is doing what hey?

what do you say, go out to eat?

she give the nod.

then off to our favorite haunt.

roads away.

we glide into place.

full of quiet talk.

it's humming,

plates, forks and coffee pouring.

steaming hungry, you'd think so

by the way i order breakfast;

double fisted all is resolved.

pancakes in syrup and butter.

to home going when passing

a field of yellow flowers,

pointing says she to look.

a blur we go by.

feeling fresh morning it's the coffee i remember.

I have done to satisfaction when taken to a point near confusion. Did you manage?

until then

in a while i'll close my eyes,
until then
tell me again...
so in my room late at night

with the window open...
trains passing in the distance,

i hear the music from nearby homes
alive on summer nights,

voices of people and their melodies
come to me over fields,
i'll think of nights that could be magic;
and with music playing fall asleep.

Annie said...

In the quiet of the night, every sound is memorable, and something about the cadence and imagery of your poem is both melancholy and peaceful at the same time. Wishing you magic.
from Monday, July 09, 2012

chase gave

we rolled out yesterday

to see our young friend;

Chase Castle, with a recent bachelor degree

in keyboard performance from Baldwin Wallace,

soon to work on a doctor of philosophy,

has given concerts in eleven states.

last night played organ concert at

St. Peter Lutheran Church, Norwalk, Ohio.

76 people were in audience.

didn't punch tickets, the number in the crowd

is my guess; one young couple among elders.

chase played the keyboard in the balcony.

all watched on jumbotron.

as he reeled off an hour of solemn songs.

one sing along had the crowd metaphorically

eating out of his hands.

at the finale all applauded heartily. i never heard cheering

in a church before, but all in attendance were ready.

eyebrows are

eyebrows are so
you can look startled
curious, interested,
or angry.

eyelids are for winking
and closing out light
the part of the night
when you're sleeping.

crying is for babies
and feeling better, after.




From July 2016. 

donny boy

have a goat, his name is don.

doesn't mind if i get on

and ride like the wind.

he plays horse, of course.

and i'm cowboy.

jumping fences. in the wind.

jumping fences in the wind.

any old morning.

or middle of the night,

running full in starlight.

jumping fences in the wind,

jumping fences in the wind.

explosion

this morning 9:15 an explosion.

the house shook with the boom.

that's the essence of this poem.

noteworthy: power's gone.

a puff of smoke cleared half a block away.

all is silent, also worth note.

city workers walking by out front

said a transformer blew, they pointed.

here no need to heat or cool.

as weather's in the middle,

neither hot nor cold.

patience is required and all will be fine.

city workers are on the job.

meanwhile our coffee is made and cooling.

we'll soon be up and running.

i made this note.

while keeping an eye out.

you never can tell.

sun angle in may

the angle of the morning sun

perfect and bright

like the moon last night,

just right.

onward

to cleveland, wasn't my plan.

have to follow the program,

actually don't have to,

but pieces fall together smother

excuse me, smoother,

together smoother when

my part of the program

is handled as written,

as set out, as expected by others

who depend on me.

besides, my insurance covers me.

so there it is.

now you want roses added

and make this a love poem?

darling, here they are, metaphorically.
program complete.

sky moans

not a patch of blue

only a slowly rotating blanket of darkness

whispering wet morn.

day after day storms hang close.

the last bumped north, growling.

now in line to catch more

it drips the roof hello.

rainy days, we know you.

no need to go out to feel water.

won't plant vegetables today,

better inside, dry

seeing through foggy windows.

look at the puddles, 

hear tapping on the roof.

directionally clear

got out my ship compass 

to check.

with paper, pen, tape.

i labeled from the center.

north is the refrigerator,

that way, south is the rocking chair.

so we can head around knowing

where we are and how to get there.

totally directionally clear.

ode for deer

near the quiet town, New Haven,

three deer, to one side,

off the road

in tall grass, pause.

calmly look our way.

preeminent creatures.

standing without movement,
their beauty

took my breath away.

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 fruits or vegetables

that need only salt or oil

to sure taste good,

provide nutrition;

their down side is

they never tweet.

This is my lost poem of 8 May. Diane, thank you. You copied this and sent a compliment. I lost it and thus you brought it back to live again. I am most grateful.

short line

had a poem lined up,
one, yesterday's.
short line.
where did it go?

i know i had one.
for may 8,
no idea where it went.
so, i say good day

to that what i wrote.
where? can't tell.
no idea what happened.
evidently it didn't float.

lost, though i searched around;
carefully, took my time.
seems i trashed a good one
into the sea of delightful rhyme.

warm again

you know, one day it will be warm again.

another thing,  i'll get my stuff in order.

wait, i'd like more coffee...

please.

// you want a refill?//

did i say that? i meant that.

//here comes//

thanks...and there she goes.

so i said, a lot is out of place.

i have to put stuff away,

things should be where they belong.

they don't go automatically...

too bad.

one day cars will drive themselves,

they say. automatically.

can they build me a garage?

the cars, i mean. i wonder.

//... //

she glared at me.

i'm serious.

//drink your coffee...sip it.

oh, by the way, the good news is

one day it will be warm again.//

onions

carefully eyeing  the circumference of the garden.
having given thought to where summer sun
will best caress the lovelies.

kicked ideas in my head, lost track, came back.
decided exactly where they would thrive.
imagined skin reds and purples of the honey's to be
while patiently waiting
this developing warm spring day.
now: when under arrival the beacon of noon sun 

small bulbs, called sets,

are lovingly pushed one at a time

into invitingly soft, fertilized, prepared soil;

to be watered and sunned,

day after warm day,

growing continuously,

sweet, large, savory and wonderful.
yes,of course there is waiting involved,
but time steps forward.
summer will take a hold.
in a hurrah velvety onions will be.

Race for the Roses

The race was this weekend.

Today we drove in the country

to the Mennonite store.

Wanted to ask if Chuck was here

Meri reminded me, "There is no Saint Chuck,

Mark is his name." I didn't see him,

so I asked the girl in the bonnet

working the counter

who she bet on

in the Kentucky Derby.

come on

i don't remember other years with rain so much.

or all this gray instead of blue.

waiting change again; warm up some.

clear skies, come on home.

what i

what i dreamed i remember.

can't put into words.

it's on the tip of my head, tongue.

ready to make me smile.

the change

here is

the change i've been waiting.

warm today they say,

oh, we're ready.

then on the menu for this afternoon,

a shake 'em up thunderstorm.
we'll work through it,

bear with it.

take what we get.

stopped in Milan, she got coffee,

i had a cheese filled donut,

hey, i chewed it slowly.

she shared her coffee.

still waiting for rain,

and it's warm out, nearly hot.

dogs walking, geese honking,

the park at the reservoir.

breeze blowing; call it wind kicking up.

making circles of last fall's leaves.

man it stirs the trees,

runs ripples on the water.

i hear a train away.

going to rain at three, they say...

a big one, already half past the hour.

checked the radar, storm's running west.

maybe later we'll catch it.

now we're out of it. warm, that's it.

even steven

can you call it,

the game, the card, the number, the winner:

heads or tails?

are you guessing or do you know?

want to tell me how?

can i do it?

predicting with an edge

does you every well?

what can be the difficulty?

is the answer floating in space somewhere?

do you recommend it for under eighteen?

is it better i forget about it?

due

thick clouds, bright,

light gray morning,

easy we go ahead

winding out of April.

May planting time will be welcome.

there's going to be more flowers this year;

i need the color to remind me of the good times.

seems a fine idea, right?

i'm garden ready.

will be out to catch sun rays first chance i get,

can feel the warmth just thinking about it.

summer ahead is due.

treat me well.

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.