The big telescope
That orbits the earth
Above the smoke and dust
Saw in space
A galaxy cluster
One billion light years across...

Light goes five point eight
Trillion miles in a year;
A billion times more
Adds nine zeros to that--
A really, really long way,
Do the math.  

Its the largest object ever seen, they said,
And it looked about as big
As a bright bobby pin
On a pretty girl's head--
But its a billion light years across...
What does that say about
Little old us?

In the scheme of it all
We're smaller than small,
But our race we've reason to flatter:
We're intelligent life in a universe
Where size just doesn't matter.

Yellow butterfly
There is nothing in your mind
But endless summer

From the topmost twig of the tallest tree
A solitary bird sang his song so sweet:
The meaning (if meanings birds can intend)
Could I , mere human, ever comprehend?
Maybe he sang out the joy of his life,
Or maybe he sang to attract a wife.
His little song drifted out far and wide,
Sweet music of the springtime country side.
It passed by my ears and went far beyond,
Across the meadow and over a pond
In which were reflected clouds from above
That moved through the sky like lovers in love.
Soon, from a thicket, a birdsong came back--
The same kind as his, but a different track.
I heard it on air as it made its way
To the bird in the tree, as if to say:
"I hear your voice calling out to me,
And I'm here with you in the top of my tree,"
The first bird replied in a joyous tone,
Elated (I thought) knowing he was not alone.

My mind is empty
Like an abandoned barn.
I go from room to room
In silence, like a ghost,
Lighter than cobwebs and dust,
Afloat like a small cloud
In the summer sky,
Just drifting, like autumn leaves
On a still pond
Or like a dandelion seed
On almost still air.
My feelings have left me
Like people leaving church,
My memories have faded away,
And no thoughts intrude.
There is nothing but silence.
I am alone with myself,
Like an empty bottle
Or a picture covered with dust.
I am not sure if I heard
That this house was haunted,
I'm not sure if I ever heard that,
But maybe it is.

Orange poppies' faces
Now lie sadly on the ground
Time to deadhead them

The leaves on the trees are all green
Green, green, green, green, green
Calling us to life
Do you know what I mean?

The leaves on the trees are all green
Green, green, green, green, green
Even in darkest  night
Do you know what I mean?

The leaves on the trees are all green
Green, green, green, green, green
They sing in the wind
Do you know what I mean?

The leaves on the trees are all green
Green, green, green, green, green
Seems they'll always be green
Do you know what I mean?

The leaves on the trees are all green
Green, green, green, green, green
Like I've always loved you
Do you know what I mean?

After Halloween
November and December
Go by in a flash

I have to stand somewhere
Until I find
A good place I can stand.
I really don't like shifting sand
Or muck that you sink into.
Isn't it much the same for you,
Looking for firm ground
As you're on the move?

And I have to hang onto something
Until something comes along
That I can really hang onto.
Isn't it similar for you,
Clinging to one thing
(The very best yet)
Until something else comes through?  

And I must find someone I can trust
Until someone comes along
Who I can really trust.
Leaps of faith I've made a few,
Landed hard and changed my view.
Isn't it sort of lie that for you?
Looking for the truth
As you're passing through?

One morning at sunrise,
I walked the beach
Looking for shells.

High on the bank,
Where no wave could reach,
An old man watched intently.

After a while
He gestured with his hand,
Calling me to him.

"You have many lives to live,"
He said (in a strange accent)
As he picked up a handful of sand
And let it run back to the ground
Through his fingers.

"That's a lot of lives", I said,
Watching the last of it fall
And trying not to look afraid.

"Not the sand in my hand," he said,
"The sand on the beach."
He extended his arms,
Raised his eyes,
Then vanished
Before I could speak.

I was picking blueberries
With aunt Pat and Carolyn
We had just come upon the best
Patch of the day
When we heard thunder
And it started to rain
Aunt Pat said we had to go
She hurried us back across the field
And into the house

I've never been back there,
Until today

A dry martini,
Jobim, and you beside me
On the leather couch

On the first day of summer
I am a boy on a bicycle
At the top of a long, gradual hill
Looking down the road into the valley,
At the bridge over the creek
And at the gradual hill
Rising up from there.
I wish that the summer
Would last for ever,
And I think that
Maybe it will.
Then, I push off on my bicycle
And begin coasting down the hill,
As happy as I have ever been.

I'm an old hermit who tends
A small fire
In a shelter that's built
Of hope and desire.
In summer I ate ripe
Berries and fruits,
Now, its just dry, hardened bread
And some roots
That carry me through
The cold, lonely day
Where everything's gone,
But memories stay.

The flies were buzzing
Like they always do
Out at the dump
In the afternoon

The wind was blowing
Like it always does
When the rain
Will be falling soon

People were shopping
All over the mall
Like they do
Every day of the week

And at the debate
Politicians were lying
Like they usually do
When they speak

The wine is deep red
Sensual, smooth, semi dry
We revel in it

Fluffy, white clouds swim overhead,
Dark towards the center, bright at the edge;
Below, a great pine, branches outspread,
Catches the Autumn sun.

"Speak great, billowing pine", I cry,
"And tell us of years gone by!
Standing beside the courthouse,
What have you seen of crime?"

"I've seen the innocent condemned;
I've seen the guilty walking free,
But there's no revelation in that
Why are you questioning me?"

"Wisdom comes with age", I said,
"You've stood in this place so long,
You must know all that we know
And much, much more beyond."

"Law and justice are different species",
The old tree said with a frown,
"But if I tell you how I know that,
Tomorrow they'll cut me down."

Maybe it was big spiders
From underneath the eaves
Or maybe just a little bird
That came down from the trees
Or maybe some fat garter snake
That crept up from the lawn
In any case, the next morning
All those four were gone...

Poor monarch caterpillars
Plump as plump could be
Contented, moving slowly
On their sweet milkweed
All four gone for ever
We'll see them not again.
Pretty butterflies on air
Alas, they would have been...

Spring settled on us
Like a gentle mother hen
On her nest of eggs

Those halcyon days of yore
Lost forever like Lenore
And Leda and her godly swan
Forever come, forever gone.
Rough beasts in their hour slouch
But to flop upon the couch,
While memory mixes with desire
In the soul's broke-down empire.
Behold the smile of Ozymandias
(Do you wonder who he is?)
The preserver and destroyer?
Or maybe an ambitious lawyer?
Or the fearful handful of dust
That we wish we didn't trust?
Meanwhile the ominous moving finger,
Of truths unalterable the bringer,
Writes and then moves on,
Bitter tears to spawn.
Then there was the heel weak
That didn't get dipped in the creek
And anger over loss that prods
Both loving men and watchful gods.
The skull you hold--alas poor who?
Keep it cool, I knew him too,
Him and his considerable jest--
Some among us are so blessed.
Now in his grave he rests indeed
Where all our paths, alas, must lead;
Except, perhaps, for Humbert Humbert
(Remember that salacious old pervert?)
Scheming to get with his nymphette
In ways impossible to forget?
Outside at night J.J. compares streams
One more sibilant, or so it seems
And discusses Plumtree's potted meat
Ending up with "Yes, oh Yes my sweet".
Aroma from the petite madeleine
Reaches to where recollections begin
Of magnificent asparagus spears
And lesser events of long past years.
But for all that, for every bit of that, Stan
A man is still every bit a man
So get it together and get off the can
And make yourself a brand new plan:
The glowing time of midwinter spring
Has always been its own kind of thing
Don't be a gentleman in that good night
Get down with the program and put up a fight.
Come out strong like a red, red rose
And keep on punching until it snows.

I hear the wind rumbling,
Rumbling away
Towards where its going
From where it came
Drives its shoulders
Up under the eaves
Tries to get in
Then eventually leaves
Pounds with its fists
On the roof and siding
But they keep it out
From where I'm abiding
Hums like a bee swarm
Courting the queen
Then changes its tune
In the window screen
A lull, then its back
Renewing its force
Its voices a screeching,
Howling chorus

Crickets that chirp all day and all night
Looking for love in their season
Fields of goldenrod that stretch in all directions
The way they did when we were children
Earlier sunsets we notice at mid-month
That make us wonder where the summer went
Cool mornings with fog that burns off
And still air, infused with familiar scents
Bats that come from behind the shutters
To pursue their flights at dusk
(If only we could fly with them)
Apples falling from trees with soft, little thuds,
Reminding us of summer's end and of gravity
Migrating birds that eat the honeysuckle berries
While a monarch lights and spreads his wings
On the white phlox...

That's August up north

Crickets that chirp all day and all night
Looking for love in their season
Overgrown fields rife with golden rod
The same as they are every year
Earlier sunsets we notice at mid-month
(Wonder where the summer went)
Cool mornings with fog
Still air with familiar scents
Bats from behind shutters
Pursue their flights at dusk
(If only we could fly with them)
Apples fall from trees, soft, little thuds,
Remind us of other late summers, and of gravity
Migrating birds eat honeysuckle berries
While a monarch spreads her wings
On white phlox

Sound of a single,
Falling leaf hitting the ground,
Like life, very brief

Beneath my feet, leaves
Fallen on the woodland path,
Souls of summer past.

"There's always next year"
Doesn't mean what it used to
Now that I am old

Early autumn leaves
They remind me of myself
Oh, those changing leaves!

Outward beauty:
A passing breeze--
Stirs the drapes
And its gone.

Inner beauty:
That shines through
Whatever you have on.

I see their tanned and weathered skin
And wonder where your hands have been.

I see the gray streak in your hair
And know it wasn't always there.

My heart before I met you
Was desolate and cold,
With gusts of howling wind
And shifting drifts of snow.

Now, the wind lives in your hair,
And your eyes my shelter are.

I like to hear Frank
Sing Adestes Fideles
But Cal was better

Bureaucrats bully
Bullies for being bullies
Bully, bully boo!

Don't overweight your inhibitions
Take advantage of
Favorable conditions

Make ice when it's cold
Sell ice when it's hot
That's the best advice I've got

All the passions of my long life
Are dust in the road behind me,
And all of that precious dust
Was nothing more than foolishness.
The trees around me
Have no names,
And the wind I feel
Blows from no direction.
The river I see is just a river
That stirs no memory,
And I know not where it goes
Nor whence it comes,
And I know not that I know not.
The rapids roar,
But they say nothing,
And I hear nothing,
But the sound they make.
I know the ones I love and loved,
And love comes flowing back to me,
And love is all that matters here,
By this river, under this tree.

The trains run all night
Every night, every season
Hauling their freight
Through the city
Sometimes they wake me
I lie there and listen
Not even feeling sleepy

On and on those horses roll
Incessantly on their tracks
Rolling and rolling
And rolling and rolling
They carry my thoughts
On their backs...

Mere abstract thought is
Boring to a centipede--
Timeless light he sees

A very, very long time ago
(But not that long by some lights)
Earth was the center of the universe,
The sky was an inverted bowl
And the stars were little gaps
Where the light from heaven shined through.
If you took the world's strongest bow
And shot an arrow up as high as it would go
You might almost reach the heaven
That started just beyond the bowl.
But things are different today
(So learned scientists say):
The stars are not glimpses of celestial light,
But massive ***** of flaming gas;
And if the universe has a center,
It probably is not our little planet;
Even the fastest rocket we ever launched
Moving through space a billion years after this world ends,
Will be no nearer that heaven of yore
Than it was the day it blasted off.

Chicken Soup

A bowl of chicken soup hot and steamy,
The clear chicken broth, not white and creamy,
With noodles and chunks of chicken afloat
Its good for a cold and for a sore throat.
Companion in age and childhood friend
Its lunch time and we're together again.
Once I had soup with sandwich baloney
Now, its with unsalted crackers only.
Doc tells me I have to watch what I eat,
So from salt and fat I have to retreat.
But let me impart this one, little scoop:
I'll never relinquish my chicken soup.

Soft shapes touch a child's finger,
Memories of their sweetness linger--
Helping grandma roll the dough
In her kitchen long ago.

I like the shape your cookies take
When they spread out as they bake,
Like the changing shapes of crowds,
Melting snow or summer clouds.

Oven-hot and placed on racks,
Lined up , lying on their backs,
Coming from a single batch,
But none of them a perfect match.

Toll house cookies, soft, convex,
Each perfection, like the next:
Chocolate chips their surface grace--
Freckles on a child's face.

Pecan ball aren't perfect spheres,
But they're gentle little dears:
Bottoms flat, sides dented slightly,
With white sugar sprinkled lightly.

Sugar cookies cold days cheer,
Shaped like angles and reindeer
Glazed with frosting sweet and white,
Decked with sprinkles all delight.  

Santa's Whiskers, coconut rolled,
Long fat logs of sugared dough,
Cut in portions smooth and round,
Pecan bits, cherries abound.  

Molasses crinkles' faces lined
Like old men's--the friendly kind--
With lines like back roads on a map,
Dunked in milk before a nap.

Oatmeal cookies, shapes amorphous
Juicy raisins budge enormous,
Semi-blobs, their texture rough,
Sometimes packed with nuts and stuff.

So many cookies through our life,
Since we became husband and wife,
In their sweet aroma and taste
Years rushed by like cars in a race.

Looking at their shapes diverse
Reminds me of our love at first:
We weren't sure just where we'd go
And all we had was cookie dough.

Cool gray days
With cool gray rains
And cool gray trees
Along cool gray lanes
With cool gray puddles
Where gentle rain drops land
In overlapping circles
That gradually expand
L:ike chords in cool gray music
From a really cool gray band

With earthy scents arising
From saturated grounds,
Persistent, cool gray dampness
Body and mind surrounds
Like a cloak upon your shoulders
With satin for a backing
A kind of satisfaction,
A comfort when you're walking

And the dampness softly wraps you
In a cool gray cocoon,
Like a cozy private room
Where you sleep 'til afternoon,
And when you wake anew
The gray cocoon is gone
And you spread your brilliant wings
In a bright, warm, yellow sun.

Just outside her window
Dandelions on spring grass
Scattered like yellow stars
Across a green sky:
Three growing close, curved:
A lover's smile, cruel,
Five together: a friend's hand
Reaching for something
Maybe a wisp of her hair
Because she is crying
Over the ring
He threw in the ocean.

A thick cluster: her new lover,
And a long, twisting line:
The road to his castle.
Beyond that each bloom
A night spent loving each other
Between silky, green sheets
In a room lit by golden candles.
See them?

Then, a small patch with
Flowers arrayed like jewels:
The crown a goddess wears
Who gives eternal youth
And unfading beauty.
My she walk with her forever
On winding, moonlit paths,
May she find love always
In that room of countless candles.

Doctor, Doctor
I've trouble with my eyes

Then take these blue pills,
That's what I advise

Oh Doctor, Doctor
My bones are all sore

White pills I prescribe
They'll hurt you no more

But Doctor, Doctor
My heartbeat is waning

Take red pills for that
You'll soon be regaining

Please Doctor, please
My mind fades away

For that I have gray pills
You'll be sharper today

Its quite shocking Doctor,
My ***** is murky

Take these yellow pills
They'll clear it by Thursday

I mope around Doctor,
My mood's really flat

These rose colored pills
Will take care of that

You must help me Doctor,
In bed I'm a flop

Then try these long capsules
They'll liven things up

Tell me please Doctor,
What's inside these pills?

Why medicine, of course,
To cure all your ills

Down on the green fleece jacket
The one with the piping white
Green like emeralds the jacket
Her hair, coal black like night.

The golden heart suspended
And chain about her neck,
Spend the hours close to her--
In heaven, I expect.

The hair net worn professional
A trend for fashion sets
When all beneath beguiles the eye
A crown on her it rests.

Once, I saw her run the square
A brisk and steady pace
Dressed in black from head to toe
A stern, determined face.  

I'm wishing I could run with her,
But that can never be--
Except maybe from time to time--
In a fantasy...

It was fall when I fell for you,
Gazing at hillsides of varied hue--
Red-headed girls in saffron dresses
Coming to give me hugs and kisses,
Moving in droves from outcrops and ridges
Crossing the valleys and brooks without bridges.

You, of all, were most fair,
Your hair,
Piled like clouds at sunrise,
Passion and excitement fierce
Burning in gray-blue eyes,
Particles of light aglow
Surrounding you in mist
That totally envelops me
Every time we kiss.

Now, you tease me like a breeze
And hear what I don't say--
I throw my troubles in your fire
They're gone,
And joy remains.

It was fall when I fell for you
Gazing at hillsides of varied hue,
Red-headed girls in saffron dresses
Coming to give me hugs and kisses,
Moving in droves from outcrops and ridges
Crossing the valleys and brooks without bridges.

You of all were most fair,
Your hair
Piled like clouds at sunrise,
Passion and excitement fierce
Burnt in your gray-blue eyes,
Particles of light aglow
Surrounded you in a mist
That totally enveloped me
Every time we kissed.

Now, you tease me like a breeze
And hear what I don't say
I throw my troubles in your fire:
They're gone
And joy remains.

Dusk is an old man with a gray cape,
Who walks with a limp and a cane.
Turning on street lights and lights in the windows
Sending the children home from their play.

When they're all safe, he smiles to himself
And hums a soft, little song
That sounds a little like little bugs buzzing
As he hobbles along.

He pauses a while in the trees near the pond,
Waves his cane and stirs up the frogs;
Then he moves on through the outskirts of town,
Along silent gardens and past barking dogs.  

He fixes his gaze upon distant hills,
That fade in a warm, violet mist;
He shakes out his cape--the pine trees turn black,
Dew starts at a flick of his wrist.

He stops by the park to smoke a cigar
That glows as it gets almost dark;
When it goes out, he leaps to the sky
And disappears like a spark.

Steep rusty roofs
On faded red barns
Dry stubble fields
Tall silos forlorn
Abandoned homesteads
Stretch cold empty arms
Silent remains of
What used to be
Farms

Gone from the fields
The crops and their yields
Gone from the homesteads
Families and kin
Old barns stand empty
It seems like a sin
And land that was dust
Is now dust again

Watching trees  dancing
Wrapped in the arms of the wind...
What are they thinking?

She studies her oatmeal with brown eyes
Pokes at it with her spoon
Makes valleys and ridges
Then smooths them
Thinks it must last her 'til noon.
She lifts a small, rounded bite to her lips
That disappears into her mouth
Like a tourist boarding an airplane
Headed for someplace down south.
She moves her jaw slowly,
Stares into space
Finally, she swallows it down.
Then back to her bowl
The spoon returns
And back to her face, a frown.

Butterfly shadows
Nothing more ephemeral
Nothing less either

The leaves had fallen in the grove,
Red, pale yellow, copper and mauve;
I raked them up in a heaping pile,
Then leaned upon the rake a while
To contemplate my work--
Joy and sorrow, pleasure and strife--
A pile of leaves, the days of my life.

I thought I might not last 'til spring:
If only I could sleep the season
Curled up like a leaf;
When the snow had melted down
I'd come back like a flower,
Bright and joyous, ready to live,
Fresh and new again.  

But now was the time to face the months
That buried things under the snow.
In February just a little ****
Was all you'd see on the floor of the grove:
The leaves would be resting there
While I struggled in the biting air
And snowflakes stung the skin left bare.

But the winter I survived
To find the wild flowers that bloom
Under hardwoods not yet green.
I've had  another spring to roam,
Watched the leaves turn green again
And written down this poem.

Some of the leaves have turned
To a perfect, Popsicle orange
While some are drenched in purple
Like a sad cleric that mourns
The hills are dressed in brightest yellow
Like flashbulbs going off
And varied reddish lipstick shades
Some fiery, and some soft
Coppers I see, like an old tea kettle
Or suntans on the beach
And mauve, ah sensuous mauve,
Like the skin of a ripened peach

I'm standing where I admired the leaves
As a child way back when
The colors, I think, must still be the same,
But they look different now than they did then

When we'd figured out
What life here was all about
The asteroid hit