special love song

let me sing you a song of how it can be
a special love song for you and me
soft lights and flowers
we’ll spend the hours as you’d like them to be
just a little bit for you and me

here comes my tune to fill up your head
the sun and the moon flies over our bed
since time beyond ages the wisest of sages
sees life like you’d like it to be, just a little for you and me

carry on to Eldorado
by pyramids and golden bars
fly the Phoenix from the ashes
beyond the stars,
just a little for you and me

house moving

when i was five i saw my friends house
moved from down the street
to the lot behind our house,
there it sat for a lifetime

then five years ago i happened to be driving by
the day they put that house on wheels again
and moved it miles away to the next town,
saw that house come, go out

my old home was torn down years ago,
house, lawn, garage
garden, trees, bushes, everything is gone
the whole thing is an asphalt drive way

stuff comes and it goes
sun goes up, sun goes down

flew in fast

a bird flew in fast,
landed on a wire
and wiggled to perch there,
as the wire bounced a lot

didn’t look easy, looked dangerous
considering how high up, how far the fall
how embarrassing it would be,
I’d say that bird was skillful

and you’d say,
aw, that’s nothing.
oh, really?
well, you try it


Addendum & Errata -

Why me worry?
So, I spend time worrying if I should use three stanzas in four lines, or three stanzas in three lines. This sort of thing can use two or three hours of my time, maybe several days. Not all at once, of course. I have to worry a while, then walk around and do something else, then come back and nothing has changed so I worry some more. Hey, I do my best, take my time, and worry when it doesn't feel right. For me feeling is what it's all about.

bury me deep

bury me deep in your heart
draw me faintly without a face
make soft lines far apart
keep me hidden without trace

use colors bright as autumn
in lighting right, no doubt
when you near completion smile easy
leave some space to sign me out

have i told you

have i told you
you make me smile
in oh so many ways,
dear silly thing

from morning’s dew,
each long day through
you are the dream
of my heart

i can hold you
let me enfold you,
please, be the one,
dear love of mine

poetry au jus

sample poetry au jus
whipped up fast and free
add a dash of rhyme
simmer all slowly

pitter-pattering like the rain
keep from dribbling down your chin
add a spoonful for your brain
remember, use your napkin

you may have to use a straw
if it starts to run too loose
above all, don’t get any on you, it makes a tasty stain
you silly goose

call to the past

In an out of the way small town restaurant I noticed a fellow at another table having breakfast and when he stood up something about his long face and old jacket reminded me of Kit Carson. I’d recently seen a picture of Carson on the Internet.

Doc Holiday, then Annie Oakley and Buffalo Bill, the Earps, the James, the Clantons, a whole string of names began to run through my head. I sipped coffee and looked through the window toward a field and wooded area beyond as my mind skipped along like a blowing tumbleweed.

listen to the roar of their guns
on the plains
in my head
something i know about
from something i’ve read
of the Sackets, then Gus and Cal

and the real heroes of their time
when cowboys roamed the plains,
trains ran new on the long way west,
Indians had freedom, straight arrows and power,
Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse and Geronimo

slow rolling wagons carried settlers over ruts
as buffalo roamed through clouds of dust,
bound by rawhide, rope and dime novels,
bittersweet on a tough line
camp fires to build, meals to fix
new trails opened, then road upon
to wherever the river or next mountain valley leads

their lonely song - a mournful lullaby
song by cowpokes, scouts and others,
names like Bowie, Boone and Crocket, Williams,
Stevens, Whitman, Tabor, Bonneville,
Sacajawea, Carson, Pike, Fremont,
Smith, Clark, Lewis, Colter, Hickok
Annie Oakley and Calamity Jane

legends
one and all
live on in memory and yarns
thanks to fine story tellers like Louis L’amour
and Larry McMurtry

along with other names on those trails,
carved in trees, scratched on stone,
spinners of the tales,
told over open fires on starry nights
weavers of the dreams
that keep them
rolling on in our minds and along through the old west

Z. and caring

Captain Z. was in town
we left his freighter in Cleveland
and brought the Polish Captain home with us
that night we Skyped Poland,
a visual conference call with his wife and son
as we sat around the table and talked
oh, technology

first thing in the morning
October crisp day began
She’s working in the garden already, Z. said
no, I replied, this is not work for her
though it appears so and She does it everyday
it is caring, She is caring for the plants.
if there is justice in the heavens,
the plants appreciate and are loving her as well

why didn't i notice?

why is major media
biased, controlled, blind and out of mind with us?
they speak so hard,
what happened to education? what happened?

should I get a tattoo, and pierced,
wear hats backwards,
then yell kick butt,
cause we’re number one?

did i grow up around such fear,
violence hatred, stupidity and complacency?
was it because i was young and busy
that i didn’t notice us crumble?

luck runs

luck runs with you or against
it follows in life’s clatter
how you take it or leave it
really doesn’t matter

at times you seem to hear it
or it comes silent on the wind
when good arrives we’re happy
the other we’d rescind

since good and bad both happen
try not to let it matter,
for it often turns to good, you see
or perhaps the latter

diamonds in her hair

one at a time,
each step she takes,
diamonds in her hair
there ought’a be

her gracious swings
for all the would-be kings,
moon light talkers on the sideline
you know there’d be

it’s sweet beings like her
that comfort dreams
for many men like me, every time
or so it seems

delicious lips
unveiled in smiles
somewhere
I want to be

Canadian Geese

black and white on the field of cut corn
amid apparent disorder
they walk in circles, rest and feed a bit
some chatter among them
until well after dawn they at once rise off the ground

swiftly crossing cold morning sky, sailing strong and fine
onward flapping in V-formation,
hear their calls when they pass
overhead as large wings beat
Canadian geese on flight so grand

bailout 3

You can't convince me that Congress really knows what they are voting on.

Individuals are getting a quick explanation from someone they trust and hope it's the right thing to do.

Why can't they take more time to figure this out? Hundreds of billions is a lot of money.

bailout 2nd try

Congressman Ron Paul is against the bailout.
I believe in Congressman Ron Paul.
When has anything been thought out well
in a week? Even my crappy little poetry
usually takes longer than that.

protect and serve

in little towns they hide
and wait to trap
oncoming cars may flash their lights
to alert you

i thought my friend was paranoid
when he told me about it
beads of sweat on his forehead
he seemed nervous

they sit secluded day after day
in different spots
on corners, behind tall bushes
hiding low in their squad cars

you can see the top of their heads
they sit with sun glasses on
watching for you to slip up
so they can nail your ass

and maybe they ought to
you probably deserve it
and, anyway
they need the money

not a dry well

it’s not a dry well.
they gathered around the hole
there was nothing much to see
so they stood around

five or six guys chatting anxiously
the women on the porch talkin’ over tea
what do you mean, not dry?, one asked
we’re only down sixty-five feet, it’s moist

it’s going to take a while
i think eighty at least before we hit water
we have to check the bit and see if it’s okay
that’s some hard rock we’re going through

the rains are gone for now
he turned his collar against the chill wind,
the dog lifted it’s chin a sniffed the air
as the drill started up again

before October

here, two days before October
dark green frog Herb sits
under the board that crosses the pond,
he’s quiet, but okay
collecting thoughts

haven’t seen him for a month
although I’ve looked every day
must be the season to lie low,
has another month before hibernation
so I think, but I don’t know

seconds before sundown

river gulls soared toward the lake,
crossing low overhead as last low rays
flashed white bellies and orange beaks golden
in the final light of setting sun

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

through every season

this morning i went out in a light jacket when M. called to me
she found a dead frog lying outside the pond,
probably an inexperienced cat got it,
tried to eat it, then left it,
though tasty cooked, in the wild they’re notoriously bad cuisine

the victim was either Herb's girl friend, or a light rain traveling stranger,
our frogs have been out of sight for a month.
and so, in sadness, begins the advent of fall in Ohio,
with Roma around the next corner
and spring – a long winter away


(the Lord giveth
and a cat taketh away)

a quick call

just before cell phones i was
by the wharf in san Francisco,
ten in the morning, had to make a quick call to my agent,
as i was getting out of the phone booth
a guy appeared out ‘a nowhere, average looking guy

he wasn’t waiting for the phone
but came right up, crowded by the door so i couldn’t exit,
inches from my face, and said rather hard
“if I had a gun i could ‘a shot you.”
then he walked quickly away

i was stunned by the threat,
yelled, “Hey!” at him, he kept going,
now, years later i remember that
nut and wonder if he
ever got a gun

bailout

Bush tells us in a serious urgent tone he needs
seven hundred billion by this weekend . . . right . . .
let me get my checkbook
how will this help the regular people?

was that war money or loaning money you need this time?
what kind of parachute is that? explain a bit
if i run my business into the ground,
who's going to bail me out?

I know this is beyond my usual lines of poetry but anytime nearly three-quarters of a trillion dollars is on the table, i get a little out of sorts.

modern times

who would have imagined
we'd have to line up and
take off our shoes
before we board an airplane?

it sounds like something
someone's grandmother came up with,
she should have kept to knitting
they don’t frisk our socks, as yet,

we’ll see how it goes,
it may be next, wanna bet?
then you’ll have to spread your toes
and shake out the rug
to get a glass of milk and a cookie,
how's that sound?
or maybe get on a scale naked
and buy your ticket by the pound

speed limit

anachronisms are dialing a phone or rolling up a window
a misnomer is the “speed limit”, not the end at all,
not the fastest you can, only how fast you will go
and not almost, exactly

I propose the term should be simply “speed” so signs read,
for example, “speed 65 mph”. It will bring more opportunity
for the police to bring in revenue. Then they can also arrest you
for going above or below the posted speed. a two-for.

Extra money they make using less paint
and gaining fines they can send to me and
I will put it back into circulation, to the best of my ability,
no questions asked, glad to help.

the seat belt light came on

the seat belt light came on
the Captain came on the speaker
told us to remain seated
and buckle our belts.


it's an hour and a half into the flight
he reminds us it's a no smoking flight
also,  we shouldn’t disable the
smoke detectors in the restrooms,


it's time they write new scripts.
i looked out the window
we were over Casper, Wyoming

why didn’t he mention that?


.

Utah

ideal passengers we
flew west and saw

antelope island at great salt lake
claims two million tons of salt, how’d they figure?
now there are four hundred bison
on this barren, treeless island, more or less

the island named by explorer John Fremont,
Kit Carson and others, who said they shot two antelope for food to eat
and named the island in tribute and thanks to the animals

Sundance in the mountains, as you’d expect,
wonderful, beautiful, tastefully done
excellent brunch
Rob Redford was a no show

a good
time had
by all ,
by-by all

To Read

to read stories in this world
is to travel there, everywhere
mountain, sea, desert, city
trains, planes, on horseback, farms, so pretty

taste the dust, the cold, frost,
rust, ice, craters and gators,
soft waves on warm beaches
it thrills and teaches

set sail alone, all near
all here, all there
as you wander the globe
from your favorite chair

Poetry I Hate

i hate using that word hate
i hate it, haven’t you learned anything?
it’s silly to hate
unless you're talking beheadings
or sitcom reruns

give me a break
i hate that too, break what?
bally wallys?
how about it? i think i could develop
a long term, serious
ballsup and retching
dislike for that too

hey, "ballsup"
that’s mine
i made that up
stick your happy face on it, vandal,
if you’d be ever so kind
soon as you withdraw your head out of your . . .
oh, never mind

sweet dreams, my little ones

hey, be calm, relax
no need to kick and hold on tight
you probably won’t die of fright
tonight

when the time is right
you’ll softly elevate to the light
absolu-way-lutely out of sight
no kidding, now, nightie night

so without another peep
start countin’ sheep
shut your mouth
and go to sleep

Our collective intelligence
can be strengthened by individuality
not conformity.

answer

to resolve the troubles of the world
religion, money, government, greed, fear, hate, all of it
don’t unify against it,
although that seems the way, it isn’t,
act independently
not unified
that is it

start by slowing the programming
turn off the TV, the media
you’ll get plenty of media seeping in, don’t worry,
the internet can spread the ideas, that is good
but not the same thought and ideas
we’ll have 6.7 billion people walking around
thinking for themselves

David Icke has a lot of it right
but the answer is not a unified response against the evil
break the chains
by not thinking the same way
think independently
use your head

a change in the weather

yesterday In the final hour of afternoon
beyond, and just over the long road west
a giant red sun, larger than I’d ever seen her
waiting, hanging like a swollen planet Jupiter
poised for going down

i paused my car in the parking lot to see her
like a girl set for glamour, she wanted to be seen,
and now I know I’ve seen one of the best
a Goliath, placid and serene

then this morning
what surprise do i log
but a blanket, the complete cover
thick and heavy, dawn’s pearly fog

Ohio Sweet Corn

way back
a’ fore's born
Ohioans crowed
‘bout their corn

folk’s different,
albeit dull to bright,
but Ohio sweet corn
they got that right



that damn sweet corn, clap your hands
damn sweet corn, damn sweet corn
sweet corn, sweet corn
oh, man, they got that right
(repeat and fade)

town in my head

the old town’s in my head
or so my wife said
and looking around
i tend to believe her

cause it isn’t all here
like the market that was there
where is it now?
gone, i can’t see it

the pressed tin ceiling, wide wood floors,
tall shelves, the old doors,
a large revolving fan,
the man wiping his hands on his apron?

there locals gathered
to talk while they shopped
amid the chatter
stories were swapped

over the years changes were made,
so where did they go
the kids and the folks
that i can hardly remember?

now, even the lot’s vacant
but that was the corner
that had the store
that is no more, except what’s in my head

generations have said the same

enough, I’ve had enough
generations have said the same
more than likely it is true,
before you slap yourself on the back
look around

greed and war
the world has dummied down
we’re not alone
I know it is so , I remember
so do you

running the hundred faster
doesn’t raise the bar for intelligence
listen to our athletes speak,
watch TV with attention if you have no strength to turn it off,

how long before you are
text messaging before the accident
everybody’s talking
who will listen?

USS PROVIDENCE

In 1969 while serving as a Navy Journalist on the staff of Admiral Bernard F. Roeder Commander First Fleet aboard his Flagship USS PROVIDENCE out of San Diego I wrote a US Navy published book of poetry complete with wonderful photographs taken by Photographer Lt. Marc Schuman. Although I have copies of the poetry, I carelessly lost my only copy of the book. The following is one bit of poetry that brings to mind memories of that time.

rolling
in all
weather

seas
go on
forever

my niece had a baby

my niece had a baby
well she still has it
it was born today
that’s how she got it,
the conventional way

now you know everything,
that’s as much as i know
except that she’s a girl.
now, will she smile
when she says great uncle?

village evening report

checking from our front step I feel a slight breeze out of the South,
in the East an oval, vertical-egg moon hangs, with blurry Mars to the right,
a few houses away at the corner an occasional car passes,
slightly left of the moon, two hundred yards from my door, a barge dredges the river
with constant engine hum and a soft horn blast every few minutes
and that woeful musical note echoes along the river.
sixty-six degrees at nine this Thursday evening
with ten thousand crickets, then a distant passing train horn,
while inside our home the sound of clocks ticking
accompanys the muffled turning of the barge engine,
and we’ll read until bedtime.
that’s this evening’s small village report

piano heartbreak

eighty-eight years
well alert and knowledgeable
she studied in Europe for over twenty with a student
of a student
of Franz Liszt
first a pianist in concert
now in lesson
as i sat
performing a bit of flourish i added
to “constellation” by Mendelssohn
“jack,” she smiled touching my hand
and causing it to pause,
“you cannot improve upon the masters”

and what a heartbreak that must have been
for her to leave the lights and the continent
to end up in our lame little town
instructing second rate kids like me,
young and reaching to change and grow,
leaning forward into the newness of the future

military scientists

to evaluate their possible use in defense applications
military scientists launched a battery of tests on the intelligence
of elephants, because everyone knows they are smart.

a final group of twelve animals selected from around the world
were flown to an undisclosed military base
for complete mental exams.

the elite dozen pachyderms were ushered into a classroom
where it took four days to get them seated at their desks
before testing could begin.

expenditures for the nearly month long project
were in excess of eleven million dollars
and a whole train load of peanuts.

the end result was, yes they were smart,
but could not shoot rifles
as they have no thumbs.

heaven's command

the crunching of empty freight train cars
backing into each other,
with no metal tearing, just boom, boom, ka-boom
was thirty-five liters of leftover August thunder
poised to tumble, then poured out at dawn,
over my head onto the bed,
in gusts of twisting dry wind without rain
drenching with
just noise this time
for all it shouted,
bidding wake up,
get going,
a slap across the cheek
good morning

long ago old faces

old faces in the echo bar
wept and laughed
all worn, wrinkled and tainted
looking into quarter beers on tap
or blended whiskey and water
sons and daughters
making visions for each other
about where they used to be
their living is courageous
their strokes are bold
paint them with thick lines
and somber colors
or what have you
they won’t mind

writers beware, you hear!

no email submissions accepted
don’t even try, Fancy Pants
cause if we get one from you
a guy will drive slowly around and round where you live
sunk way down in the vehicle
only the top of his head visible
wearing dark glasses and a hat pulled low
yeah, kind ‘a like the Blues Brothers
only not funny and extremely ugly,
then we’ll think poorly of you all day and night

so forget about making email submissions
we’d rather chop a tree, use paper, stamps and mail carriers,
we’ll get into the Twenty-First Century
when you can wipe your butt digitally,
when we damn well feel like it
and not a year before

bring back the pony express!
and use glue often!

witnesses

we saw two birds
driving down the road
well, we were driving
they were flying,
I said two crows, she said one
and a spotted red tail hawk,

witnesses
see what they can ,
see what they did
say what they see
but don’t always see as it was

a child of less than two

a child of less than two
and so attentive
that i gave his hand a pencil
to observe how inventive
the golden boy really was

kneeling on the chair
at our table
he pulled the paper under hand
and make it stable

looking me deep
in the eye
i sensed his mind unable
to say the thoughts
i knew he was thinking

then with a swift stroke
he made a mark at random
just a line
not definite or clear

without so much as looking
it seemed to me he knew
that there was no need
to continue the line he drew

and then we both were
somehow together in our way
he knew, and i too, that he
would learn to draw some other day

on the tracks

it’s not easy to tell, but it happened
when I was growing up in our village
there was a most likable kid everyone admired
his dad was a well liked preacher, and passed away,
one night on the kids birthday
the town was shocked to learn
the boy’s mom knelt down on the railroad tracks
before a train, and let it take her life
the tragedy deeply saddened all

now many years later i had returned to the town
never saw him around, but heard he was still was there
leaving in his same family home,
our house now was right around the corner,
he was a well liked kid when i knew him
though i never looked him up, i thought of him
and hoped to see him around

then one day i heard that the night before
the eve of his birthday
fifty years later to the day
when he knelt down
on the same spot on the tracks
where his mother died
and let a train take his life,
we don’t see on the outside
what one bares on the inside

green & alone or hard over stone

of two places I live
both places give
light, and to paint
oh, it is the light

Ohio, place of one home
same latitude north as Rome
so the light is the same
every day, every season

I choose light with green,
secluded and serene
or life crowded and quick
over stone and old brick

poetry al fresco

plant the seed
when weather’s fair
for poetry al fresco
under shade trees in nature,
taking inspiration
with someone dear

on a soft summer blanket
a wine glass to your lip
as sweetly you drank it,
slowly you sip
softly you touch
again, slowly you sip
and share warm embrace,
now, don’t drink too much

the wild scent of an apple
as sweetly you nibble
from the hand of the one who is dear
from the dear one at hand
from the one headed deer
deer?
hey, that’s a deer!
There’s a whole flock of ‘em!
grab the basket, let’s get out of here!

my garden

my garden today was weed crowded,
a task undone far too long
so that work today, was my purpose
the labor in sun was my song

begin where it needs it the most
do all that you possible can
after a rest on completion,
move forward, and do it again

each part of life is in motion
moving ahead in the flow
your thoughts are merely a notion,
love doing, and not what you know

wooden ship sailors

wooden ship sailors
worked with creak and mast
on yawning, stretching hulls
amid thump and mallets

if only these men could spend
but a brief anachronistic moment
with today’s steel fleet
in dry dock

the sanding, poundings
would be cutting agony
leaving men begging to tend
the quiet luff of any canvas

spider

oh my god
i heard her cry
what is it, call i
coming to the screen door

do you want to see
the biggest spider in the world?
i said yes dubiously
and cautiously went near

i looked and nodded it was true
yes, I saw it, large, fat and ugly,
as she used her shoe
to smear it to smithereens

believe me, you didn’t
want to be there,
this poem, like the spider
has a smashing ending