preview

drove for breakfast in the country.
a glaze of snow far off
will be coming in this afternoon,
to winter us a preview
of how it's going to be,

as the best fires, best cookies and best

books keep us company.


.

poem for us

what poetry means
are soft words
how we feel
blanket warm
in light of dawn

morning more still

notice how quiet
now pouring November
pies on the table
holidays you remember

fix it

fix the house
look around
there’s more to do

buy another house
you’ll fix that too

they fix everything but the great pyramid,
probably fix that too,
just don’t tell anybody

no deer

3 starlings and a blue jay.
 seen while we
talk about the deer
we've not yet seen
but know they're near

five robins in the yard
now this 5 november.

sunshine in the fall
on the wall
on the floor, steady.
chipmonks  outside;
running, stopping, looking
in the autumn rush.

loud noise

27 august 1883
the loudest noise our
planet has ever heard.
circled the earth four times.
if you were nearer than
ten miles from Krakatoa exploding
you'd be deaf.
floating pumice fields 10 feet deep
clogged ports,
there was so much ash thrown in the sky that in Nicaragua, on the other side of the Pacific, the sun was blue. 

Janny squeeze

‘bout squeezed all the January
we’re goin’a get out of it;
can’t even cut off some of the rind;
no scent left to save for later.

so tell me, did you use this first
month of our new year as expected
or did you even think ahead at all
‘bout how you wanted it to unfold?

planning seems to go along fine,
right up to a point, and then;
there’s that certain amount of stuff,
call it stuff, that just happens.

that’s when best wishes come in.
so go ahead why don’t cha,
try again. that's where the circular
motion of the planets comes in.

***

so this is from last January
but never left the shoot.
 but nevcr got out the door.
  but was late leaving the gate.

yes, we move

best we can.

birds in the marsh.
perch a long while.
are they thinking
while they're waiting?

meanwhile, what can we do?

we've cooler temperatures,
wouldn't call it cold yet.
'cept bedtime,
or first thing in the morning.

yeah, well, good thing i've a list.
where to go,
what to get.
keeps order, don't you know.

you just get it together.

nearly winter fields

a geese flock 
lifts off at once.
it is time they are on their way,
geese can tell it's coming winter by
the look of the farm fields they fly over

downish

on the porch

in silence,
feeling off mark.
summer heat rising

i look to the sky,

the mighty cumulonimbus clouds.

fat, jolly, slow rolling,
out of control.

my spirit lightens with the sight
in the afternoon light,

i smiled.

what delight.

seeing Tim

at the tree dedication for Chris and Jesse,

Tim, you said hi, and we moved on.

i was surprised. i haven't been home for a while,

people don't often know me.

i can't drive to your years ago place in Rye Beach.

won't find you in the non-existing phone book.

can't go back in time for a Monday to see you in school.

so here we are.

my brother thought your dad the greatest coach.

i had him for one civics class.

he told us we had one thing to learn in that class,

he wrote it on the chalkboard, 

1066, The year of the Battle of Hastings.

no one has ever asked me when it occurred,

he didn't teach us about that turning point in history,

but, because he said to, i'll always remember the year.

your dad was a heck of a fine guy.

nether be

Netherlands has returned;
all 200, well, 197 souls

reading my blog every day.

the new counting system has engulfed me

smoothing these pages of time and mention,

thought i'd say.

in addition, i see you again.

Netherlands i've regained you.

don't know why. a nice place.

all fine i say

see solid blue up there.
not a cloud in the sky
simply quiet without a breeze, 
while we're running through October.

in reds and yellows
pure as gold that gleam
in yards, on streets.
leaves rolling in a stream

counting

what happened Netherlands?

200 souls reading my blog every day are gone.

a new counting system engulfed me

smoothing these pages of mine,

in addition, i saw the subtraction

of the Netherlands from the list.

a nice place. two weeks of

a few museums, Van Gogh,

art and science.

oh, tulips. Springtime.

we came during the right week.

sailed off on the great cargo ship Isadora

for America, with Captain Z,

Ralpho. a crew of twenty,

a good time.

a life-time adventure.

b.

this will put it right

my blogger control is out of hand.

why did i unfasten the gears?

even this is double spaced...why?

rain'll

waiting for the rain
they say is on the way;
dandy, eh?
i like it.

dark grey now.
lights'll be on
soon, baby, soon.
starting to look pretty out there.

our times

after food and shelter are satisfied
seek beauty in your life
keep order in your space
everything in its place

appreciate the out of doors
complete your chores,
stay within the lines
do your best, enjoy the times 

 

 

at Tuesday, December 09, 2008

anon

Anonymous said ...

Superb blog! Do you have any recommendations for aspiring writers?
I'm planning to start my own website soon but I'm a little lost on everything.

Would you suggest starting with a free platform like Wordpress or go for a paid option? There are so many choices out there that I'm completely overwhelmed ..
Any suggestions? Thanks a lot!

anon? aspiring?

begin writing each day,

or so often you're confused

and it seems you are.

i use Blogger, it is free or

they haven't sent me a bill yet.

about twelve years, so they are tardy.

i write because i do, not for money.

that's fun to say. i suppose if i blogged

for cash i'd have quarters all over the table by now.

MandyTwo, could i have more coffee

and a bill, please.

say, anon, you have offered a good comment;

my suggestion to you is; read and write. enjoy yourself.

thank you, anonymous.

make a name for yourself.

Sound of day and nite

at last the quiet
sound of afternoon
is holding low, i feel so near.

so soon the evening
running through the grass
in small steps touches my heart.

soft night train

no screeching last night.

in breaths of quiet, light wind
the train pattered in grandma’s slippers
sliding along the linoleum kitchen floor,
hardly going anywhere 

and the whistle was not a blaster,
instead it gave soft puffs
like puh, with a long breath between the next muh.
muh, ma, as if needed to be picked up and cuddled

at Wednesday, November 05, 2008 1 comments

memory drawn - bused up

 

Monday, December 28, 2009

bused up

bused up
on the little bus
to the hill over Rome, Gianicolo,
where the noon cannon is fired

ever since the pope back in 1847
wanted his churches to
all know what time it was,
at least once a day

a crowd gathered to hear it
the cannon is loud
wasn’t precisely noon
should have covered my ears

then walked warm weather down
to old Trastevere
where our new favorite restaurant
was tried and confirmed

while walking back traffic was stopped
a helicopter hovered overhead
we waited to watch
something was about to happen

one cop called it a VIP cortege coming by
his word not mine
some Italian cops are literate
glad to hear it, anytime

fifteen cars and as many motorcycle police
and more police afoot every corner
all the way home they go to the Vatican
because the pope king went out for lunch

event over, we walked home
didn’t stop traffic
and didn’t cause any trouble either
as we shuffled along, all the way home

my cell phone has a clock on it
i could have told anyone the time
but no one asked
they must have heard the cannon

target

i wrote to my classmates,

this gave me a place to shoot my arrow.

with a target in mind i felt better.

the package contained reason.

years ago i knew i needed a target.

i let the idea escape me,

now i feel the tank again is filled.

put me on the road again..

also, thinking of poetry i've read

and parts i didn't like,

makes me feel better when my own weakness

i discover lying there in the street.

work in sandstone

watching young men
work with sandstone;
chip it out, lay it in place.

designing a walk in pieces.
to last if not forever
at least for a very long time.

Paradox - some places have poetry on or coming out of them

some places have poetry on or coming out of them
i’ve found them by carefully examining small beach stones,
under trees and near water, on forgotten notes in the pockets
of jackets i haven’t worn for a while,

i found poetry on city streets, especially at corners,
in crowded stores when the music’s not too loud
or on buses, on hot days or in rain or snow.
when vehicle gears shift and someone is directing traffic,

i feel poetry when i’m there, later, or passing by
no telling why it is so, a fireplace helps,
the coffee shop when the dream starts, or birds fly
a cloud tilts a certain way, how the waitress
places the menu down and walks
already a block away in her mind,

i feel poetry in the touch of polished old hand rail,
while taking a soft carpeted stair
and in the colors in a painting,
a landscape i once saw in a museum
that reminds me of poetry
in some place i want to be

and, about you,

do you feel poetry today?

alarm some

much alarm about the harm

dividing a nation can do

i'll be quick, makes me sick

wacka do, wacka do, wacka do

***

no candidate wants to surrender.

not hillary when

people wanted bernie.

not bernie with a heart attack,

not trump when people

aren't aware how government...

fumigate it all, please.

politics is clean when i run it

in my dream.

you can understand the lure...

wave money and power at a politician,

make them damn near royal;

yet we don't know it all,

what are we missing?

thanks for

thanks for stopping.

oh, the world is wide.

so much to see. rising,

falling, great is the tide.

my drop is company.

for both of us.

hold to the path.

we all lose our way.

clean water, clothes,

warm supper

made with love

and good intention.

crumbs a lot...for pleasure

i like two pieces

of toast in the afternoon.

at 18:07 i ate a sandwich m made.

will keep me looking out the window,

working or reading, wondering why
i can't put together another 

best poem. ingredients must be

here. rye toast. now, that got me

thinking. butter on top,

what it is, soulful surrender.

i misread seafood sensation.

thought before i read.

empty all pockets before

throwing pants in the wash.

man, i miss those maple trees.

grow overly large; however, do make a mess.

ok, i'm thinking about the above. it takes time to gel.

Sure red

there is color around,
fall sound cracking,
Practically out of dream,
all you wish to hear.

yeah to the cities
to the mountain streams west,

while here in the midwest
we take our fall dry
and consider it best.

may as well because
color is the coat we're wearing.

early evening

reading the news, occasionally 

glancing through the widow

to see the sun progress down,

thinking it comfortable,

convenient not having

to go out in public for work.

a renown sitar player performed

at a concert hall nearby,
i chose not to go.

supper was a tortillia with

chicken and cheese. quick and easy.

thanks, Meri.

i had a glass of red wine,

the first in a month,

now i am sitting quietly.

sometimes poems contain
no explosions.

bali

island jungle music
the islanders in waves of exploitation.
rapid rhythm gongs,
never heard music like it before
Oberlin college opens another gate
this is the strangest concert i've ever attended,
and i enjoyed it. i'mglad it ended when it did,
i can only take so much strange and bell sounds.
---
An 18-member ensemble weaves layers of intricate sound: the punctuation of deep great bronze gongs; charismatic leadership from the drums; stunning interlocking percussion from the bronze gangsa; and finely elaborated delicacy of voice and flute.
---
we go in the auditorium,
she wants to sit farther back this time.
i pick seats in the seccond half, middle.
the musician people come in and play.
it happens that fast.
strange music.  little gongs mostly.
some slapping and knuckle knocking on wooden drums.
indescrible. it goes on.

---

Internationally hailed as one of Bali’s most forward thinking music and dance ensembles, Çudamani is known for their exceptional creativity and superb artistry and also their unflagging love for the classical treasures of Balinese tradition. Nurtured and trained in the village of Pengosekan, the group is among Bali’s most respected and accomplished.

One of their many singular features is that many of their artists are multidisciplinary, mastering gamelan, dance, voice, and visual art resulting in artistically unified presentations.


The ensemble touches the soul with a program that spans the spectrum of human emotion, from sublime to fearless, from reverent to unapologetically playful. Çudamani intrigues the mind and heart and a radiant flash of their eyes invites you into the transcendent experience of Balinese gamelan and dance.

Gamelan Çudamani

rain september

fall rain is the best;
or i'm just saying
because it's so firm now,
happening, tapping
itself out like a song.
you're smiling.