Cold morn, later warm.
heard the news.
poor families of little kids shot in texas.
the things we have to put up with.
poor united states of america.
poetry - jack sender - all of my life
Cold morn, later warm.
heard the news.
poor families of little kids shot in texas.
the things we have to put up with.
poor united states of america.
Being nice to my friends, thinking of them. how i enjoy seeing them even though i don't have a load of new happenings to report.
seeing you and saying hello means you elevate my happiness by being here. so hello means you make me happy.
It will be warm today, one of the warmest and looking out this morning i see the sweetness of summer the way it should be, warm in the heavy shade of green you want to see. birds and rabits all on board; beige and white, blending in. there are trees and bushes thick with life. now a heavy sprinkle of rain. what a day. a good morning for you
see the short birds
running in the Wallmart parking lot.
little ones. Plump but look how fast they go.
do they immigrate south when there's snow? i haven't the foggiest idea.
seems would be hard for them to run like that on ice.
they have a lot of tricks though.
birds have developed good abilities
for many things they can do.
t Tuesday, September 28, 2010 8 comments
All has changed for the better. Am I kidding myself. We saw the play. We're halfway gone at the intermission. Don't know why we came back. We did. The show did have some actors playing a dog and a chicken. They were the best parts of the show.
I'll.remember them when I think of the performance. Good blocking. Of course the dog and thr chicken talked - it was a play.
today we'll see a play.
new ideas will fill our minds.
thoughts will rise.
i'll have to write things down.
inspiration will clamor.
this is an afternoon show.
we'll come home in sunshine.
that says a lot of goodness for us.
we're not evening people.
can't learn much but it's a start. Tim winds his 17 clocks every Sunday now we follow his example starting today. the sun i see ricochet off the house being built across the street. Rod complained about it. this morning i see it bright. he's right. he hopes it will not be another sided white. i hope the clocks run smoothly. and stand with rod. learning about clocks takes time.
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.
my Monterey, Snort,
built in 1930s when the name
meant a shot of whiskey.
how sweet our time together.
how i patched you
and worked to make you right.
thank you, Morgan for selling her to me.
i ordered a two cylinder, 900 pound diesel engine
from China. it came to the boat yard in Sausalito.
i put it in. a pal set it straight in the boat.
and i hooked the mechanical and electrical.
i can taste the salt water breeze of the Pacific
when i think of it.
oh, we had our tine running in the bay
and on the ocean.
***
hurray.
for the fiftieth anniversary of the Oakland bay bridge
i took my 28 foot old wooden sloop Navigator,
my nautical wood working friend Mike and Meri
and along with over a thousand other boats
on a black windless night
packed close like sardines a tin i heard them hitting each other.
managing in the thick of music, lights and celebration
we had a fine rime and got home without a nick.
a lengthy swift sloop at sail at sea
with half a breeze and half a sun as you man her
nowhere to go and no call to go
just time to set far back
look up to the tall sturdy mast
as nylon sails snap
to the occasional wind's lick
the ocean spits bits of spray
back and forth over the bow
with a gentle lift the shore is visible
then a recline and shore is gone
another lift and the long, low line of land is there again
no need for a shirt with warm air rushing over you
and your hair is twisted and thrown and dampened by spray
a red neck feels good and a tan face
makes it better to have lived this way
strong hands hold the ship to a meandering course
from nowhere
in particular
and back a gain
can't get away today, going to cover us well is the prediction, stay in to keep dry. plus there is more on the way with thunder they say and we haven't even begun. now is quiet as France. let's someday waltz across the bridge. with umbrellas
red clock lights
blinked away this morning.
hello okay.
blinking meant the current was interrupted.
good morning anyway.
don't blow a gasket.
i'm surprised the flashing didn't wake me.
how are you with blinking?
good thing coffee settles everything, that's my thinking
glow on.
good shoes, the right jacket.
open land to the end of the field.
cross the piece of woods beyond.
dry weeds snap and crackle as i walk
through the short stretch of brush
to the pond. it's morning
and already a pleasant day
can be seen ahead.
the good sun, light breeze. sit and listen for a while to the soundsof the day. a bird or two and large clouds. enough to make a full world.
make a note: a very good time of morning for an easy hike
such torture the world suffers.
unnecessary to endure.
not stars nor flowers or love.
come out of that; turn a light on above.
the tale that I can’t tell
just meditate and don’t relate
you know the story well
i’ll tell you what the prophet sees
the things I can’t relate the thoughts you’ll twist into your toys the things you won’t debate
it’s not what you expect you see that’s how we play the game we hesitate instead of flow as the world remains in change
the greatest words I’ve written the wildest things I’ve said were sung by children half-asleep and wetting in their bed
there is secret news I’m going to say it’s sleeping in your heart but take your time, it’s here with mine don’t leave before you start
it’s coming from the sun there’s nothing more than that the fire burns, heats the earth and here the poet sat while knock, knock, knocking the postman at the door brings coupons free, some for me and still I look for more
but there’s something that I’ve written the wildest thing I’ve read when world began in secret news the words some others said it’s not as you expect, you see that’s how the world does go we go about trying to learn instead of forgetting what we know
while knock, knock, knocking the old man at the gate chases his hat, loves his cat and that’s more than he can take
beyond the last tomorrow when the old man loses sight thoughts will rush like choir boys passing each by candle light
it’s coming from the sun
i can see it coming down
what it is our words won’t say but there’s sure enough around
it’s fitting that I say no more of the tale that I can’t tell
after all, I’m only you, a poet too, as well
the bay in light winds, always ready
on clear, fine temperature, sunny days.
i love how your waters rolled under me.
Cousin Don. Sharlett. Crab louie.
Mike, dock workers, familiar faces.
at home on the cove.
beyond is my bay.
with the great, steel, red-orange bridge.
call her the Golden Gate.
how did you slip from my grasp?
i know you're waiting for me
as i for you.
i had so much life to live.
time for good weather
here it is now and what do you know?
our deer friends nibbled buds off everything they were able.
little trees, good bushes, that's their table. way to go.
they snip sharp as scissors.
deer do. snipping whatever.
good luck now. today a Pot luck after service.
can't wait to see what everyone brings.
nonsense, of course i can and will...for all sorts of things.
i love good taste like deer do.
warm and I walked our grounds
not muddy but soft.
would be great if it drys.
and jo's lemon pie was a winner;
one of several at our pot luck dinner.
back to dimitri's. the dog opens at eleven.
we found
no parking in front.
the day very cold, wore my heavy coat, walked
to the door. the food didn't
get her vote. a matter of poor grease.
Potatoes and eggs were fine.
i thought ... and thought ... it was okay.
we took Catherine there another
time ago. we're Oberniks now.
seems should be dickens better
thick and fine; keep in line.
it doesn't look like jacket weather.
the calender creates another tale.
on the ground is a surprise sight
the falling snow is sticking white
some cities are better for what they did
they built their baseball stadium with a lid
big, fat, way out of season snow flakes
have been falling since eight this morning.
no pause. four p.m. it's nearly stopped
Six inches of snow is now melting. rapidly.
busy weather day happening.
no deer or chipmunks; no sign of them.
that's why it's so quiet.
cri-min-nently (one word for the occasion.)
Meaning caspita or holysmoke.
looking, perusing quietly.
thought I'd say a day like this
the robin doesn't seem to know
he's a robin.
we're all out'a sorts.
the decorative old grey piano shop on the left bank
has a family business next door which
steamed clean the load of wash i carried there.
in a display of it's charms
summer then will burst forth
to hold us in its arms.
beyond the far horizon
heavy rain clouds pile.
morning when i'm rising
darkness stacks up half a mile.