"Too Early for Lamb Chops?"

up at the crack of dawn
making ten cups of vashon island
ectasy espresso to start the engines
yawning because at 1:30am Gypsy
had me up when she went outside
in the freezing hill country air
and treed the same cat twice
I could find the cat in the trees
from the reflection of the light
in its eyes from my flashlight
if I went out to get Gypsy it scared
the cat who instead of getting out
of Gypsys area just went up a new tree
finally got her back in the cabin
and went back to bed
we had visitors as we ambled about
shining circles of white light
reflecting off the light of my flashlight
from the eyes of the deer
shooting back at us from the feeding area
in the pitch black of night
they do not run off in the dark
as they do during the day
the cabin is cold but we like it that way
the sun is up now and we are
headed for a 70 degree day
but before that at 8:30am
we put six lamb chops on our new
weber gas grill, we like this grill
as we consumed our second espresso of the day
and did some water color painting
trying out ideas for the cover of my poetry book
we waited for the chops to cook
it didn't take long
we tuned in an old Ray Milland movie
on our new flat screen tv
and Gypsy and I ate the chops
as I did up the dishes I watched
one of my five feral cats stalk
the doves, cardinals, finches and blue jays
feeding outside my kitchen window
we heard crows early this morning
when we sat on the porch waiting for the sunrise
but it was pretty quiet when our mind wandered
trying to figure out what our morning would be
the cats found the warmth of the morning sun
the birds as well as they twittered around the feeders
keeping a close watch on the cats
Gypsy has gone down for her morning nap
my thoughts have found my finger tips
enabling me to find this story
such is a cold winter morning here at the cabin
should we have saved the lamb chops for lunch?

"Time Warp"

who captures a phrase
you in your ways
the page is the cage
sometimes a gage
for lost rhetoric
spewed by a heretic
from the crystal cave
and the spinning nave
silently seeping
eternally sleeping
popping the cork
with yorkshire pork
lost in the ages
still turning pages
finding a tunnel
inside the funnel
lost in a reel
under the keel
words from vapor
falling on paper
caught in the flue
with you

" The Arrest of a Writer"

the sheriff came
to get me
the other day
and took me away

I told him
he must be mistaken
he said it's not a whim
that you have been taken

he said it's been reported
you have been negligent
he said it's not distorted
your time is not well spent

you say it's what you do
your lights burn all night
your writing is never through
all you want to do is write

I pleaded innocent you see
and told him of my plight
all I am trying to do
is find time to write

he laughed and said
if that's all it's well
we will put you to bed
alone in a quiet cell

a writer must be free
to write when words call
to roam the fields you see
where words grow tall

it's crime in the word world
to miss a chance to write
even if it means
staying up all night

" Fabulous Fun"

fabulous fun
living to get old
held in time
caught in a fold

nothing is like it
oatmeal and old lace
time to sit
and age with grace

grandchildren to spoil
a dog may be to
life without toil
a gift to a few

laughing is tonic
having such fun
eating at sonic
out in the sun

there is a reason
we all live in the south
no change of season
you hear from our mouth

we are happy as bees
flowers all year
oh say can you see
our lives we cheer

"I Am Not"

I am not my mother. I am not my father. I am both.

"Next"

next in sight
near dear to me
times past
they see

youth lost found
as most
enter inner roads
long gone call

map veins
traveled far
from generations
gone waiting

visions haunt me
not knowing
those who
connected my dots

nest formed from
earth spun threads
surviving in air
what is next

beyond next
to the next
and the next
nine lives

silently
no ripple
past explained
on the choice

still foolish
age gave hope
restless
who are they

thick fog
covers faces
stay near
next

"In Gods Way"

In Gods Way is the title of the book I have been told to write. I did the first part today and after I was finished (5hrs)I hit the wrong botton and deleted it. I can't find it anywhere, I guess God didn't like it. He is my toughest critic.

"Ode to a Mouse"

the cats were celebrating
truely not negating
on their porch at dawn
out near the lawn
thumping and jumping
a knock at the door
what was the matter
what was it for
for them to make
such a patter chatter
when we opened to see
there on the doormat
actually quite flat
as plain as could be
laid a mouse truely dead
dragged from its bed
chewed to oblivion
never to live again
the cats were so proud
purring out loud
for the little mouse
we have sorrow
he has no tomorrow
he gave up his lease
and is now
resting in peace

"A Childhood"

a childhood
so nice to remember
drawing the hopscotch game
on the cement sidewalk
that ran in front of our house
in the small Ohio farm town
a piece of chalk from mother
a stone from the yard
was all we needed
talking on the phone
behind the swinging kitchen door
that caught on something
and stayed open
to an operator making a call
on a phone the size
of a small sports car
walking to school
even on the cold ohio winters
our legs just above our bonnie doone
socks and spaulding saddle shoes
pink from the cold air
polishing those shoes every night
being careful not to get white shoe polish
on the red rubber sole or the brown leather
and shoelaces
that trimmed the middle of each shoe
taking our good clothes off
after sunday school and church
shining our black patent leather
sunday shoes with vasoline
preparing them for the next sunday
going to see roy rodgers movies
on saturday night
at the princess theater
on mainstreet for a dime
hooking metal roller skates
to a leather soled shoe with a metal key
which we hung around our necks with a string
you had to keep tightening the hooks
that held the skates to your shoe
a rubber sole wouldn't hold the weight
of our heavy metal skates
skating the town playing a game
making arrows with white chalk
to show those who follow you where to go
laughing alot, getting your work done
before you could play, crying when you
got spanked for picking the neighbor
ladies flowers for your mother
learning life has limits
and doesn't always seem fair
never forgetting even now
as you sit at your writing window
remembering a childhood

"Keep Touching Now"

somewhere out there
waiting in our future
we will take our last breath
hear our last heartbeat
take our last picture
make our last call
have our last thought
eat our last meal
take our last step
have our last dream
make our last wish
write our last line
in a second of time
somehow we must
keep touching now
our future is heavy
it will hold us well
when we look at our past
we can tell

"Oh Dear"

oh dear
what I fear
it's quite clear
no poem today
no way
but that's ok
there will
be one another day
stopped in my tracts
frozen in time
can't conjure a line
nothing is there
for me to write
this is what makes
a writers fright
fingers can't follow
an empty selection
sometimes we wait
for certain perfection

"To thy own self be true"

One of the secrets of life is to know yourself and then live well and be happy with this knowledge

"Chickens"

chickens need help
it's ok to say
they get mixed up
about the time of day

just because
you didn't know
doesn't mean
it isn't so

early morning
late at night
we hear them from
the left and right

roosters need help
strutting about
hens as well
you can tell

what a chicken needs
as it nibbles its seeds
is the ticktock
of an alarm clock

"Moon"

moon moon moon
your light on all
does shine so fine
you are so kind
you rest the mind
was this not true
when you were new
or just a phase
you were going
through

"Cows Know"

cows know
the only thing
we ever really have
is this moment
we are held in them
all our lives
and miss most
of them
focusing on
something else
planning is useful
dreaming is imperative
searching a must
for the moment
of now
when a cow
is in a field
of green grass
eating
what do you think
it is thinking of

"Just Be"

there is a weed growing
out of a piece of wood
in the cabin woodpile
when a northeaster
blows through
this weed
all alone
in the cold
spends its time bobbing
in the wind
perhaps
its only reason
for being is for me
to see
it reminds me it is
ok
to just be

"Secrets"

Oh, that we might find our way through life
as simply and quietly as the morning sunlight
threads its way making the day.
We must be happy unlike the light
not knowing why we are here,
where we are going
or where we will end up.
Knowing how to live with this
is one of lifes secrets.
We are the ships with no rudders
searching, waiting for chance to find
a place for us in our dreams.
Somewhere over the rainbow
and down the yellow brick road
the darkness is waiting
for the light to find another secret
to help us find our way
to yet another day.

"To Notice"

no one ever told me
there was
no time
to notice
that deer eat red petunias
in January
that the full moon can shine
through a kitchen window
at the same time the sun
is rising
that it will be 81 degrees
at noon and snowing at midnight
that contentment could be had at home
that happiness can come with less
that blessings should be counted often
that living is in the moment
that anger and worry are damaging
that solitude is a good medication
that deer know more than we do
that life would give us a place in time
to notice

"Unexpected Guest"

on the floor
by the cabin door
Gypsy's water dish
fulfilling her wish
a visitor on the edge
for her a high ledge
sat a ladybug beetle
no rhymn nor reason
to be here this season
a guest unexpected
we left neglected
looking like
a chocolate truffle duffle
colored red and black
with a head and four feet
she was very neat
we watched her
as she did shuffle
without a scuffle
in from the cold
she is so bold
getting a drink
do you think

"Hip Hip Hurrah"

6am
darkness
cold morning air
stillness
holding the whispers
from the woods
cats breathing
beetles drinking
sunrise following
a full moon
dusted by yawning clouds
fingers of cold air
touch our cheeks
blood red cardinals
flittering about
delicate harmony
fills our senses
completes our being
hip hip hurrah
another day

"Empty Nest"

Yesterday,
I found
an empty
nest,
in the woods.
It was mine.

"Hello"

i am eating alone
in a small restaurant
in a small texas town
they serve
only organic food

there is a man
at a table
near me
who looks old
for his years
he is reading
his eye glasses
are like coke bottles
how can he see
i wonder

he is drinking
a glass of fresh
vegetable juice
i have one as well

is he here
to try
to eat well
to repair damage
from years of abuse

his thin weathered face
has a story
hiding in
the deep lines
at the edge
of his eyes

but perhaps
his best story
is in the smile lines
at the corner
of his mouth

i wonder if
he would tell
me
his story
if i said hello

"Gott sei dank"

It is dark in the morning hours, the light from the Christmas tree sparkles in the cabin windows and the Christmas music is playing. Gypsy, my 10 year old English Pointer hunting dog has finished her morning biscuit hunt. My espresso is half gone as I sit on the sofa in the cabin in the light of the fireplace and the Christmas tree. Gypsy has gone back to sleep on the highway 281 red leather chair she had to have. The hills around the cabin have just begun to appear in the dim morning light. The sun will be rising soon. The hills remind me of others that liked to sit with their morning coffee and wait for the day.
My ancestors who lived in the hills around Schaffhausen, Switzerland liked to linger over their morning coffee, especially the women. So, as I sit here in the Texas Hill County surrounded by hills and I am reminded of the past. Today is alittle different, because I suddenly am aware of others here in the cabin with me. As I look at them I realize they are my ancestors as they were in Switzerland before they made the exciting and dangerous trip to this country. They are laughing and talking as they surround me here in the cabin. Among them is my mother and the many that made up her family. I am content to watch and listen. Their blood runs in my veins and that of my children and I am grateful for that. From our past comes our future. These were people of integrity and industry that taught by precept and example. Life was not easy for them and yet there was a richness to it that seems to have faded from many families with the passage of time.
These emigrants knew nothing of the of the hardships of pioneering in a new land, although they knew enough of the difficulties of the peasant life in the old. They settled in and around Archbold, Ohio earning their way farming the miles and miles of flat land in Northern , Ohio. Their success was not measured by how much money they earned, but by something much more important. They were successful as human beings making agreements with a handshake. Their honesty reflected in their hard working nature was who they were. We were raised and learned from many of these fine people. I only wish I had know them better and learned more. What we pass on is not what we say but, what we do. We must be true to ourselves. We must take the time to know ourselves aside from what the world has dictated we should be.
We must not get lost in our dangerous crossing. Can you hear the music of the hills?
Do you see the darkness come each night and the light come each morning?
The sun is rising through the trees and over the hills. The light is finding its way through the woods on the hills. It is a beautiful morning.
Ihr Berg lebt wohl (You mountains live well)
Das ist aber herlich. (That is just wonderful)
Gott sei dank (God be thanked)

"Love Mom"

love from mom 1958
your dads my date
a hug a kiss never miss
they make the world go around
aren't we profound
old lavender lace just in case
isn't it the best zest
when flowers bloom
and rain clouds loom
they use to swoon
your words all rhyme
in the nick of time
love takes the cake
found on the lake
love falls in your lap
oh not the lusty crap
the real thing
that makes you sing
and brings the ring
like a croissant sandwich
with cream cheese
watercress and sliced radishes
organic salt and smoked pepper
like the soft summer air
without a care
like a skirt
you can twirl a flirt flair if you dare
life is so good if we could
maybe we should
love from mom august 23rd 1958

"Toenails"

time taps at our toenails
pulling at our pace
why do you want us so badly
showing us how good we are
at that which we dread the most
candle light from the past
holds us in its shadows
one old wooden clothespin
holding us in the breeze
drying the roots
that support us so well
as the sunlight pulls us
towards the treetops
of everyday banal tasks
river baskets full of years