Maybe I'll write a poem
That totally rocks
Like maybe one about
Pick-up trucks
And good-old boys
Who drink and make noise
And ogle the girls that sashay by,
Leering and giving them the eye
For nothing but tosses of their heads,
Snarky sneers and icy "Drop deads".  
Or maybe I'll write of high society,
Given to extravagance more than to piety,
Dressed in their finest, parading the street,
Deferential to all, light on their feet,
Dancing through life toward their urns of ashes.  
Or maybe about old men wearing galoshes,
Smoking cigarettes in the snow,
Maybe there's more future in that:
Some things you never know.
Or maybe I should write about lovers and haters
Or apple pie and mashed potaters.
So many topics out there to choose:
The seasons, bananas, fantasies, the blues...
But maybe its not the subject you select
But how you present it that has the effect?

Imagine yourself
Absent all self-awareness
But fully conscious

Huge, white clouds that drift
Stately, shifting, rounded shapes
Younger days recall

Huge, white clouds that drift,
Stately, shifting, rounded shapes
Recall younger days

Scattered, gray-white clouds
Bygone summer days recall
Drifting north to south

Clouds drifting along
Like they do while I'm living
And will when I'm gone

Is that a dead fly?
No, that isn't what it is--
It's a bit of lint

Early Autumn chill
Feelings of summer passing
Where did they all go?

Brief mountain summers
Come and go like humming birds
That hover and dart

The grass is tall
The grass is small
Back and forth
Back and forth
Back and forth I go

Mow, mow, mow
Mow, mow, mow

I hear the mower's motor
It cuts grass with its rotor

Mow, mow, mow
Mow, mow, mow

I'm trying to thin up a poem
As I'm walking along

I love the smell of fresh cut grass
As I'm mowing the lawn

My hoodie is red
I pull it over my head
When I'm cold in bed

Every bug, fish, cat, elephant, human
And every other living thing that ever
Existed or ever will exist, anytime and anywhere,
Lives in the light that goes on and on
In the endlessness of everything that
Ever was or ever will be, and everything
That any of them ever did or ever will do
Lives in that light and exists in the same moment  
Of what we call time, but nothing that
Lives in the light knows anything of time--
All any of them knows is the light.

All of my stories
Romances of drifting clouds
My reality

Winds rush through the pines
Sun breaks through the clouds and shines
Presents for our minds

All of these trees used to be people,
With people thoughts and
People feelings.  
As I see them today,
They have tree thoughts and
Tree feelings.

At some different time and
In some different place,
They will all be people again,
With people thoughts and
People feelings


'

New love's a smooth and silky cloak,
A light frost cool and sheer,
A gentle, curious garment
I wear when you are near.

Waken first day of summer!
Cast off thy repose,
Come with me in the misty dawn--
Oh, that the sun ne'er rose

To chase the mist from the meadow
And dry the dew from the lawn,
To find us at noon in the garden,
Walking love's path further on....

In this late season
I  cannot embrace the things
I loved in the spring

Truth be told
The old songs sound
Very, very old

Songs in moss
Are what come across
When I hear them play

Distant voices
Might bring to mind
Young love or a rainy day

But they seem covered with dust
Like silent nicknacks
On an old shelf

Or faded like pictures
Forever displayed
In halls inside of myself

Sitting on the porch
Sunlight splashing on the lawn
Summer moving on

we'd float like two clouds
through the sky all day
from the rising sun
'til its setting ray

the hours would pass
like minutes at play
and all things but us
would just fade away

We'd float like two clouds
Through the sky all day
From the rising sun
'Til its setting ray
There would be nothing
That wouldn't be play
And all things but us
Would just fade away

Outside my window
Outside my window
Hear the wind blowing
Hear the wind blowing
Where is it going
Where is it going

I wonder, I wonder, I wonder...

Outside my window
Outside My window
Hear the rain falling
Hear the rain falling
Who is it calling
Who is it calling

I wonder, I wonder, I wonder...

Outside my window
Outside my window
I'm drifting on air
I'm drifting on air
Somewhere on the air
Somewhere on the air

I wonder, I wonder, I wonder...

Just where...

There was an old snapping turtle
That she thought of as a pet;
It might have been older than she was
(That's how old turtles can get.)

One day he crawled out of the pond,
And she fed him fish from a can;
"Isaac" came back on occasion
To eat right out of her hand.

One day, he crawled to the road
And was almost hit by a truck--
The driver, being a kind soul,
Stopped and picked Isaac up.

He carried the turtle to safely,'
Setting him loose on the lawn,
Then drove away in his pick-up
As the old woman looked on.

She hobbled down to her Isaac,
Keeping steady with her cane;
When she finally got there
She pointed at him and exclaimed:

"Isaac, this time you were lucky,
You know I've warned you before:
That road is very dangerous,
You might get his by a car!"

We make up stories
Trying to convince ourselves
Of what we believe

in cool piney shade
on squat bushes spread
wild blueberries grow
on soft, mossy bed

or under the ferns
among meadowsweet
on berms in the sun
but sheltered from heat

or on a bush rising
almost to my waist
so loaded with berries
it bends down and sways

I'm picking them
plump and cool with the dew
in dappled sun under the pines
morning turns into afternoon
I'm losing all sense of time

cicadas' shrillness,
a chorus of crickets,
the red squirrel's noisy chatter,
a crow's voice somehow reminds me of spring,
but time just doesn't matter...

Odds are that compared
To folks on other planets
We are average

I went out early and saw the sunlight
Dive on the breast of a mountain;
Then I watched the firs and spruces
Poking through the fog.

I ground their words into tiny flakes
And smoked them all afternoon;
Then I succumbed and floated up
Way up, like a balloon.

When I woke, the flames of dawn
Were raging in the east;
Nighttime left my roof and lawn
And crept off like a beast.

I was fixing the flowers
When blue-eyed morning
Stopped and came inside:
We visited over coffee
Until the dew had dried.

Her ponytail comes arcing out
Like water spurting from a spout.
When her head turns to the left,
On her shoulder right it rests;
When she turns back to mid-line,
It gently touches on her spine.
She walks away, her footstep fades,
It swishes twixt her shoulder blades.

She comes from the grill
Wearing her blue, happy chef, skull cap
Raising, on palms outstretched,
Two plates stacked with pancakes
Steaming, round and golden,
To set them, dramatically, on "the line"
For one of the wait staff to pick up.
After that, she looks out at the people
And smiles for no obvious reason
With a smile that lights up the whole restaurant.
Then she goes back to the grill, grabs her spatula,
And pushes the home fires around...

Lying motionless
Silent
Softly breathing
Eyes closed
Seeming inert
But willing
Oh so willing
Sun on the wall
Ice melting from the roof
Coat hangers sliding
Along a metal bar
Water splashing
Things coming alive
But barely
Early in the season
Sounds pajamas make
At the calves
When she's walking
Room to room
Motionless me
So very still
Like water in the sink
Not moving a muscle
Lest the mind go elsewhere

In translucent, green, carnival glass with
With curving grooves parallel bottom to top,
Are ***** willows arrayed
On the dining room table.
Angled, in water ensconced, bottoms cut,
Stems press together coming up,
And diverge coming out,
Spreading in all directions, like a spray,
Slanting, tipped towards me and away,
Bead-shaped bumps, furry, gray
On pencil thin branches:
Leafless first life of spring she gathered,
Taking them as a sign
That her father (who had died)
Was looking out for her, and
Setting them upon this table.

And I sit, looking out through them,
Through parted drapes and the frosted window,
Across the porch and over its railings,
Wrought iron, cold, black,
Beyond bare apple trees and bent lilacs,
Over frozen grass, brown and green, leaf-strewn,
Snow-dusted, windswept,
Beyond the split rail fence,
Over rose bushes that look dead
And through stiff maple limbs, crooked, gray,
Dark, desperate arms against a silver sky,
And beyond that, through power lines
And across the road
To the fields and distant hills,
And beyond that, beyond what we know for sure--
Sitting here, wondering what lies beyond that,
Beyond anything we are certain of,
Wondering what the spring and summer will bring:
I wonder, and look to the ***** willows again.

Christmases future:
How will they remember me
When I'm here no more?

i waken vaguely
to hear the raindrops
dripping, dripping, dripping
in my somnolence
i understand
what they are saying
i see everything
in a different light
i do not think
i just know
i cannot say
there are no words
just sounds
dripping, dripping, dripping
I drift back to sleep

You are the spirit that dwells in my life
And fills me with incredible joy
I am the spirit that joins with your life
And takes you to heights unimagined
Our love has no time, no day or no night
Only an ecstasy unending
Nothing exists on the face of this earth
That can bring us in for a landing

I sat on the porch
In front of the house
Watching the flies buzz
Around a dead mouse.
He lay on his side
With tongue sticking out;
They walked on his ribs
And lit on his snout.
His four little legs
Stretched sadly in vain,
Never to run
Through the meadows again.  

How did he feel
When he first met the cat?
I wondered...he lay there,
So stiff on the mat.
Was his reaction a
Squeak of surprise?
Did he see his life flash
In the cat's eyes?
When sharp claws and teeth
Held him like a tomb,
Did he think, maybe somehow,
He'd make it back home?  

Suddenly,
I was approached by a fly
That flew in my face
And lit near my eye.
He seemed self-assured,
Hungry and bold,
Acting like flies have
Since ice has been cold.
I tossed my head back
And shooed him away:
"Little fly", I said,
"Today's not the day.".

The morning is pushing in
Through a spot where the drapes are parted,
And I'm still lying in bed
With no urge at all to get started.

Meanwhile a spider spins her web
Then steals on silent spider feet
Back to her spot under the eaves
Where she waits for something to eat.

A robin finds a juicy worm
Then flies with it back to her nest
She takes a bite or two for herself
And gives her children the rest.  

A bee is buzzing busily
Gathering nectar for the queen
Back at the hive, he does a dance
Telling the drones where he has been.

Each one acts as nature designed
And that is what shall ensue:
I'll lie here until the dew dries
And think up a poem or two.

Every Stan's a "Stan the man",
And every Eddie's a "Steady Eddie",
Every Hanna's a "Hanna banana",
And every Tammy's a "Tammy whammy".

I'm not sure where these names come from
Or why some people make rhymes with them--
It seems to be quite widely done,
Maybe that's because rhyming's fun.

I pass the graveyard,
So many souls resting there,
Death I do not fear.

Jumbo Manhattan
Filling the yellow-bird glass
Friday night, at last

She's pert and a little bit sharp
I'm mellow and just a bit flat
There's a natural note between us,
And I'm totally fine with that.

We resonate best in high keys--
Jack it all up a few notches
Play hot notes in tempo upbeat
We'll dance while everyone watches.

She's a rock star, I'm her groupie
My tattoos are all about her
When she's on stage I'm attending
And high as a kite, that's for sure.

There's more to her than meets the eye
She's a dream of a special kind
I know she won't evaporate
She's there, and not just in my mind.  

She puts on a fantastic show--
Crazy dancing, extremely loud
The mob catches on, going nuts,
But she's there for me, not the crowd.  

Later, I'm back stage to hook up
(ID, special pass--all that stuff)    
Party like there's no tomorrow
Whatever we do's not enough.

Sad, yellow larches
Thought this day would never come  
Late fall upon them

Sanderlings
Don't use their wings
When waves roll in on the strand:
They beat their retreat
On quick, little feet
Back across the
Sand.

Well lock me in a closet and call me "Captain Jack",
I won't be myself until I get my coffee back

They say it riles up the nerves and makes a person tense
Feeling like you're being pressed while balanced on the fence

But without it life seems dull, everything moves slow,
Things I used to strive for, they interest me no more

I'm mired in inertia, lacking impetus,
Reaching out for nothing, I'm settled like the dust

I'd better brew me up a *** and make it nice and strong
I really need a cuppa joe to help me get along

To send those blahs a-packing and get back once again
To that busy, bustling world, where coffee is my friend...

Waves of sea
Crash against rocks
They roar,
A gray, steel roar:
Wild as the waves
Enduing as the cliffs
My passion

Warm sunshine, snow melts,
Brook roars, exceeding its banks
Spring at last--give thanks

A feathery snowflake
Falls in your hair
And quickly disappears

When I die
I'll sleep like a bear
For billions and billions of years

Maybe someday I'll be back this way
(Some say that someday I may)
But maybe that someday is eons away
I'm glad we're together
Today

I feel the cold air on my face
And hear our footsteps in the sand,
We've covered all this ground before--
Things aren't exactly as we planned.

You say you're not sure if you'll stay--
You seem inclined to go;
I say things might work out in time,
But then, its hard to know.

A feathery snowflake falls in your hair
And quickly disappears;
It hasn't happened exactly like that
In billions and billions of years.

Our talk turns to philosophy,
We subtle points expand;
Ideas from the depths emerge,
You gesture with your hand.

We walk on, wrapped in dialogue
Of faith and our uncertainty;
With snowflakes drifting by your face
At this point in eternity.

I like the way the sun feels
When it shines on high,
And I like the way it feels
When you feel it shine.
You and I together
Walking in the sun--
Really not like just we two
More like just us one.

I like to hear a bird song
When the spring is new--
A song that's even sweeter
When you hear it too.
When you're happy, I feel glad,
And when you're sad, I'm sad:
I feel the same things you feel
And think the thoughts you've had.

I like to watch the flowers
Nodding on their stems,
And I like the way they look
When you look at them.
I'm in your mind, and you're in mine
Our thoughts and feelings blend:
Seems like we're all swirled up
Like a warm, south wind.

Warm spring rain on a tin roof
When I'm out after dark alone,

Snow-muffled tires of a car passing by
When I'm little and tucked in at home,

A song sparrow's voice in the morning
From somewhere high in the trees,

A brook's hoarse roar when the snow melts
And wind in the evening leaves,

The crackling coals of a campfire
The smack of a ball on a bat,

A chainsaw deep in the forest
As I drift away on my nap:

Sounds that bring life to life,
From childhood 'til I turn gray:

If I weren't here to hear them
Would they still sound the same way ?

Ghosts of the past summer
Linger into late fall
Then most of them move on
To a timeless sleep that never ends
But there are some really old ghosts
That come back every spring
Just as the snow melts and
Before things get green
To recall the people they once loved
And the places they once knew