The rains begin again and there is no normal

to return to, so those who dare sit & wait

for the floods to subside in hopes that some soil

will remain arable & that insects can be toasted

for proper & sufficient nourishment –

they can do as they wish. What will be will be


In the meantime, free people continue to entice

Stoical Vortexism

On the second day of summer beneath a full blue sky

I lie down on the clover spewed grass and see the sun

Blaring through a tall, many limbed tree. This ground

If not this spot can hold all that I’ll become body-wise

This moment is beautiful and more than enough

For a few minutes then I am, as before, wanting more


Laments and celebrations along with quick twists

Nicely turned phrases, and some fun in between

Bounce a shared time that even the guest guitarist

Nods and smiles in response to…

The shade holds

And breezes off the harbor keep things cool while

The grassy lawn, damp and somewhat cold

Says soon but not yet as I feel the ground inhale

I push myself to sit up and start the stretch home


I send out invites but I hear back from next to no one.

A couple of friends reply – calendar’s full, keep at it!

A few say they might show if nothing else is happening

The rest are either dead or don’t care anymore


The background drone of leaf blowers warns

suburbanites of impending doom – So?


All the lovely young bodies once lusted after

evolve into house parents too busy for fun


Some friends are collectors of knives, hats, and pens

Others save photographs, file memories like faxes


Soon we’ll be down to two seasons: Winter and Fall

Climate Change is man-made, and man’s made

this mistake millennium ago

Over and over – what is and what is not…

the mistakes we humans make

As long as there be eggs and sperm! scientists say


An absolutely rare treat having this time alone,

all by myself – all to myself

The Run Around

It’s in to belittle oneself once again

Take yourself down a peg or two

Everything you do comes to naught


Whatever makes you happy has been sung before

Who cares about your little bitchy aches and pains

just up and left, heading for parts unknown

no forwarding address imaginable


Don’t know what I was thinking when

I smacked the wallboard and busted a few

blood vessels in my finger joints. I’ve got

scars all over my hands but the stories

behind them’ve faded a long time ago


No more mundane justice to worry about once

the fascists and the puritans get to go at it

Easter Sunday on 4/20

Working at not doing any thing today

takes up most of my afternoon

Soon it’s time for my banjo lesson

I’d skip it in the spirit of this day of rest

except I’m behind on learning this song

I’d like to get solid in my budding repertoire

Earlier today I felt like there’s not enough time to get things done in. Lunchtime caught my attention. Then the dishes, and a trip to the compost. Phone rings – lives caught up on…in a flash, plans’re made for the first weekend in May.

I did water the gardens this late morning…a good dose for the striplings! Down to the roots! I saw the scattered grass seed sprouts that green rush over the ground freshly tilled and raked, mounded like a recent grave. Within the garden all week I watched the red stubble of lily of the valley busy spiking itself toward green and fragrant scent. Soon I’ll see the hostas’ slow spiral out of the thawed earth; as slow as all that’s perennial returns for another show, another good run. Any orchestration is unnecessary. Once the pattern’s set, the trigger tests the fuse and the great power unfolds at its own time worn pace.

All I have to do is keep the place clean, the gardens fertile, and myself happy. A good day for all that.

After the Red Moon

Spring falters mid-April with a cold morning

and a sheet of snow turned to ice covers

what was beginning to sprout after the crocus

came and went. The hyacinth wilts, stunted


Yet by noon the sun warms the ground

and no further alarms sound. The cold stays

but it’s above freezing. I’m back to toting the seed

trays back and forth from the sunshine

to night time warmth on the kitchen counters


When things occur in the sky

I look for the effects upon the earth, my own small

plot of land in this place I’ve lived for a long time


Some force tripped up Spring. Now Spring’s a gazelle

leaping long-legged leaps she leaps amazingly well

Write On! Right Arm! Farm Out!


As a character in my life story, I think it’s fair to ask, “What do I want?” What answers is not the must of post-modern revisionists’: “Show the soul-less soul, be textually self-conscious…”


By 1986 I am ex post contemporary, for sure, no adolescent “the brass ring I’ve been chasing…” crap here.  It is not that this is it, but that this is this: each passing hour, day, week – so familiar.


In these parts of five seasons, we’re in winter…at that point where spring sounds mythic – our lives forever cold in these frozen eons of boxes within circles within wheels within…


Sun rise. Sun set. Even in sleep the body aches, the mind breaks…


Sun rise. Sun set.


But I suppose there’s more I want…either to get or to do. I’m getting to do what lets me feel like I’m doing what I want to be doing.


Things change every moment – and just how long is a moment? What gets resolved remains unsolved: “poo tweet!”  (What was Vonnegut’s first name…oh yeah, Kurt! Yes, yes…”Make me young!”)


What is happiness? How do we get it? How do we keep it in a world of constant sorrow? Or have we really forgotten what is happening?


If it is interesting to me, and if I wish to share that beyond myself, then this writing is filled with that desire – one that’ll be long gone by the time you read this [A concept that I’ve mentioned before].


I want song and friends and health too! Hundreds of dollars each and every day, and good food and drink, and always a safe comfortable place to sleep to let the aches restore themselves, the mind to rest and dream without waking me until the sun rises through our hallway window.


Then up and at ‘em! Let’s see how we can do today even better