fear a while

looking out all the time
go ahead now
left and right
on guard. not a dog's worth. a little.

keep ahead of developments
  away from dread ..
don't worry, not this hour
sliding okay,  with the power.

not in my head now ...
entirely fine ... just got out of bed.
how about the usual time?

i heard you said, fine.
we're caught in a sticky situation.
loook away, the rain is coming down
Pound ding, one word.

don't breathe on anyone
Or conversely, don't let them on you
until all is settled.

the good time of year is ever green

you know ...
it is difficult to say the words
to warm someone's heart
when attention is on a virus
circling the globe.
how about this ...
 winter has passed so
think spring thoughts
instead of dumping us
and leaving part of our joy
abandoned on the roadside.
bring us into sunshine.
it will occur
sometime later
now we must endure.

young rider

when we were kids i would hear her

she'd ride her horse to town

and once Penny asked if i wanted

to ride double

after a brief walk and a hop, i fell off

that's how my first horseback ride ended

though the library lot now

has large trees around, is paved

and usually half-filled with cars

from miles away i see it as the

grass field where we played baseball

and Penny took me for my

first horseback ride

ghost rider

bent out of shape.
that's what happened.
came out of the dark.
snuck up from behind.

light fog and rain.
good morning, Monday.
cold but looking out the window
you're not bad. we can take you.

home robins

early march
every day on a tree stump,
one fat robin sat alone
 in front of our kitchen window
now a smaller robin is here.
they're friends
and not alone.

will the new little one
take big robin off
to build a nest somewhere we don't know
and won't see?
i hope the family nest
is nearby so we see it all.
i know the robins build
in the same place for years.

cool some

not really cold,
it's nearly wonderful.
in fact yesterday morning
we worked outside;

then in the afternoon,
after a bowl of rice from Kim's,
we did more clean-up work outside.
well, yeah, i played a while on the piano,

made plans and thought some.
i could've worked more i suppose
but i wrote a few lines,
see how that goes, look for an idea,

then get back to reading
 or trying to think;
one good starting point for tomorrow.
it'll be colder then again, they say.

hey, there's a guy
or gal walkingover
in a hazmat suit.
act normal.

saturday afternoon at the mall

drove to the
parking area
in front of the Walmart
in Elyria. watched
twenty, large
black and white geese
walk on the lawn.
while meri looked
for a wheelbarrow
on her phone.

on the same page

hide under a cover
panic buying's around.
can you hover over me?
stores are empty, lover,

or jammed. look beyond the clover.
a virus caused the problem.
and that's not clever.
we're on the same page

again. i didn't turnip.
 got my foot caught in the spokes.
and don't like that same page stuff.
however, on my opening blog page

i did write "all of my life."
to sound like what it is.
then turnip occurred to me.
seemed appropriate at the time.

i should calm down.
scratch it out.
forget i wrote it.
need to return to feeling ... yeah.

count me in

1.97 for a gallon of gas.
sunny Monday.
had a donut.
that's the day.

here it is, going on.
shake the slips of paper
out of my pocket. old notes.
wonder why i carry them.

drove down a slow main street
passed Johnny's.
they're only serving takeout.
you can't sit in there and eat.
maybe tomorrow we'll try,
or in a few days
or in a month,
or in many months when i'm beaten down by this chaos.
what is happening here?
a killer disease is upon us.
where did it come from?
how about a solution.
can't we return to complacency?
give me slow motion.
a smile
a hug
and a coffee.

pandemic

global concern for
whatever we have going.
doctors may define our situation.

while we can do as always,
drive-by country fields,
look out the window and wonder
what everyone else is wondering.

it doesn't get much better than that.
oh, it could be warmer,
and places that sell ice cream cones
could be open, that'd be good.

mulch is

mulch is old dead leaves.
get ready. it's happening.
sure it's cold,
not terrible ... enough.
dry and quiet.

i'm moving slowly
 trying to figure what i'm doing today.
waiting a break toward spring,
make it more comfortable to be out.

see how the birds and squirrels feel
abou having people in their territory,
we're going to share with them;
they don't know it, though they
might have an idea,
 having seen us watching out the windows.

i'll cry for you ...
you won't turn me away.
you won't turn me away.

my cat is on the skids

my cat is on the skids

that's where he lives

lying in the sun's rays

he sleeps his days away

he's easy, won't hurt a fly

doesn't care, really

doesn't have the time

Gandalf must be the oldest cat in the world

but i'm sure he likes it that way

when my car pulls in

he runs home

that's the only time he runs

and when he's sure i'm holding the door for him

he slows down to a walk

i'll look at him

but hardly in the eye.

we know how to get along;

i feed him, and he comes around for it.

grey day

have you noticed the space
between the grey, cloudy,
dark, dismal and
 slowly starting days?
 
think about it while i align poetic words
including frogs, bogs, deer, beer and summertime,
that last a special season. ours, mine.
 making a poem for an empty street.
you can hear heels moving slowly, tapping ... the echo.

now let's play slow music and dance, shall we?
all of us, lining the walls,
shoulder to shoulder.
come on, get up, arm in arm. 
with hardly a sound
let's march.
put aside thoughts of the dread from this virus.

you know it seems like yesterday,
remember,  when we put on records
and played our favorite tunes.
 today we are waiting
for better news.

day's news

first thing i wake for coffee
and the daily news dose.
a gulp of what's crude
to see how's it going ...

quiet all around
cause the news is bad;
got to stay off the street,
hideout from the virus.

meanwhile, i slept well
 dreamt well
didn't hear the squirrels or birds;
they were all sleeping too.

doing what comes naturally.

Kia Edit

sail on.
smooth as a goose landing on calm water,
we glided along.
the voice said:
continue on ohio 511
north for three miles.

 this regular day we're following instructions from the global positioning
system/gps through rain and light mid~day traffic.

how much should we notice?
looking out the window it's
North Olmsted, practically Cleveland.
i lived a few miles from here 45 years ago.
seems i'm going it again.
didn't mean to either time.

how much should we care?
the kia is going in
for an oil change.
not by itself.
It's good, but not beyond reality.
got the con.

meanwhile coronavirus
is running rampant.
it has been talked about ... we'll see what happens.
   

ache

it is the ache inside
i settle with,
 hold on to ...
keeping me company
between stormy nights
and looking over morning coffee.

i can tell you the
plans for my next poem are vague;
 as they should be. i suppose.

when the time comes i will
spell out something,
maybe have a vivid dream when
i don't expect it. or there'll be a big wind
and a change in the weather.
that'd be alright.
now, walking to the corner,
turn right or left?
feels good wondering.
you know. the day is ok.

like rain

wind early.
 snow, coming down like rain.
for a few hours in the afternoon'
falling thick when i'm looking out at it.
i'd like to hear it beating on the roof.
a heavy, foreboding sound.
 while i'm wishing,
how about a bowl of popcorn.

now rain

we had winter snow.
i remember.
last week sometime.
seems longer ago than that.

and i was expecting more.
thinking we'd get a pile up.
we were due ... for sure.
well, forget it.

collision

next month, if the asteroid
smashes into earth
all life, will be wiped
clean, clean, far away.
to smithereens.
other than that, there is
no news from the national
aeronautics and space administration.
keeping my poetry in a light
vein, winter has released
it's grip on Ohio.
no sidewalk shoveling,
couldn't ice skate on the lak
or a small pond this year. a hundred tons
of salt not dumped on streets by the highway department will be saved.
winter gone, asteroid maybe;
what does the weather channel
have to say?

third of march

we drove to see our home in
Norwhere. the one
put together from a commercial
building. erected in 1866.
the home we left
to find better times near new friends.
it's a matter of neighbor-hood,
and the new one is grand.

April snowstorm
on the road to Plankton
came down thick, but too warm to stick.
heavy flurries had our attention.
the store half full.
half-covered their faces
In caution of the virus.
eggs 3.19, 
great start on the day.
getting out,
seeing people again.
we'll take highway 58
North to home, now Oberlin.

another holy mackeral

the lake is quiet, it hums.
that's always a good sign.
we drove by Severance Hall Cleveland, Ohio.
a large sign read 51 Fahrenheit,

spring is bursting awake,
make a note: blue jays, robins,
squirrels ... everyone is out.
in Spanish with English subtitles.

heard those words on the radio.
now, tighten up your belt.
keep smiling. there is more to do.
start a shopping list.

winter pause

 look far across the fields and check out
the afternoon sun, will you?

not the bright yellow ball itself
but the shadows soaking in between ... greys

and browns lighter than usual.

warm and inviting, still air,

 a farmer's buggy sorta day.

with the horse acting snappy

 coming up around by Planktown.

i can take a fist full of days like this, can't you?

going to warm

 a final sign winter's ended,
a snow melting 50 degrees
five days in a row;
starting tomorrow,
so we are depending on the weather forecast.
what do i think?
wait and see, right?

robins in february ohio

six in a bush,
this below-freezing day.
they appear round and ruffled,
seems cold for them to be well fed.
it's very cold and they keep eating
tiny buds on the bush by the window.
a flock on nine flashed in a nearby tree.
five seconds - they were gone ... flashed off.
25 Fahrenheit.
puffs of light snow.
don't know where those birds'll sleep.
must be tougher than they look.

holy moli

looking around,
reading words of others, poets.
that sort ... various.
and i was thinking
what they say.
then i write,

what i say.
say what?
it goes in good tempo,
you got the beat?
my friend, alex, he's a drummer.
all he's ever done.
puts me in a stretch.
makes my heart call out
i'd cry if no one's looking.
wipe my nose,
think home long ago,
and geese flying in a v overhead.
a good thought like that
calms me down.

unlike snowly

now the word
is wait another day.
snow is on the way
again they say.
hard to get excited though
two days in  a row.
don't you know.
even though
it's trickling in
rather thin.

rain mostly

for today the weather is messed up.
forecasters give us a 90 percent chance of rain
outside ... right here, around here.
well, it isn't giving, they offer.

and chance seems the wrong word.
likely hood. two words.
probability, that's it. 
messy, all over the streets.

when rain turns to snow.
i know the large dump trucks parading  around
will dump tons of salt to be smashed all over the streets.
and you can sit at the table and look out the window.

about a winter concert

okay ... that's a breath,
now i'll tell you ... as i recall,
of an afternoon concert in late February.
the Cleveland Orchestra, so it's again
Severance Hall, what a place.
their home zone.
Michael Tilson Thomas, conductor ...
top of the heap, and composer of
Mediations on Rilke. also, we heard
Symphonie Fantastique by Berlioz.
we sat on the aisle, row five and wow.
those musicians worked hard for us
to fill the hall
with solid, good sound ...
they succeeded.
what pleasure

alluring titles

reading the titles of my poems,
expecting to find them interesting.
some are, others not all.
to read in ten seconds with
no twist or depth on all.

give me more than a tantalizer.
dish me out substance.
 how about a topic.
start there. mind if i talk to you?
a campfire by the river.
i wait for you, you wait for me?
get the fire going. we'll be warm.

i'll button my coat to the collar,
see if that helps.
as i notice the ground outside disturbing,
bright light, no snow.
i found i'd written the same thing
several years ago,
this surprise at February no snow.

give me a chill breeze
or i'll wait inside for a weather change.
maybe fill my poem with genuine attraction.
or i need a drive around
to look in the fields.
there always is something going on there.

Dreams I recall

been remembering my dreams,
with a good flash in the morning,
then forget to write them down.