My Favorite Poet

I called my sister yesterday
and told her I thought my poems
were getting stale
I told her I had stalled
and was in a dead mans spin
she said why do you think that is
I said I can't get beyond myself
and my brain thinks I am interesting
and I am sure that I am the
only one who might think that
it is too attached to me
so I write stuff about me
she said move your mind
think outside the box
go outside your brain
or put it in a box
and send it on a trip
around the world
she said write
about your favorite poet
I said I am my favorite poet

Life Changes

life please
wait wait for me
best at first
our wishing well
of hopes and dreams
time in a hurry
days and years
slip and slide away
as wisdom seeps
and creeps like fog
into our days
age gives way to old
can't go back to late
fearing some memories
reminiscing the good ones
leaning pushing on reality
still hoping and dreaming
clinging to attention
not because of them
but because we cannot bear
our own company
fortune loses its power
what was first it gone
we cannot stop fragile days
and the quiet footsteps of death
having lived but half a life
craving the things
my world never possessed
not understanding
the changes
wait please wait

Coolheaded Poet

writing is best when it is cold
and that is not because it is cold
or that some might think I am old
its what I have been told
here at the computer my hands are like ice
writing away with the roll of a dice
there in not much control
over what comes into my mind
I must just be content
to write whatever the find
sometimes like walking the fens
in tall rubber galoshes
suction holding my sloshing
muck caught steps to pace
and yet I can bet
tomorrow I will be ice-skating
sliding with ease into each new word
like when I was a child skating
on the pet milk companies frozen pond
behind the new york central railroad tracks
near the small white house
where I grew up searching
making my place in the fields
like a weed growing on its own
spreading and gathering voices
and choices for my life
where these words come from

Rules

there are many rules
new ones and old
we have to choose
what we are told

you can't do this
you can't do that
you must be thin
you can't be fat

where am I to look
for me myself and I
up in the sky
or in apple-pie

chance filled choices
creating whats new
hearing your voices
what you will do

do not fret get
live life well
the best is yet
time will tell

Chasing a Word

cleverly put
a word or two

will certainly
do

but I prefer
to cause a stir
writing such words
line after line
that are too fine
to be left
without a rhyme
for their lifetime
or mine

Why Hummimbirds Hum

today a miracle occurred
right here at the cabin
in the leaping frog woods
on the cat porch out front
a hummingbird flew into a window
and fell on the sheepskin
covering the bench
where the cats sleep
bobtail the cat who is in charge
of protecting the food out there
had this tiny bird
in her mouth in seconds
no way I could get to it
before she did
Lord knows I tried
but when I opened the door
no dead bird was on the doormat
and there was no bird
in bobtails mouth
miracle bird escaped
this brush with death
we put the petunias out
in the angel flower patch
behind the cabin
an area pretty much cat free
for this hummingbird who
had something to hum about

Today

I am proud to say
I became a better person today
in every imaginable way
I wrote several very good poems
that may or may not
change the world
but they changed me
and that is the whole point
today didn't get in the way
because I didn't listen
to what tv newspapers
and other people
had to say
what a great day

Tinsel Town

tinsel town
going going gone
big movies big screens
moving to little
big screens at home
much cheaper
microwave popcorn
movies filmed
at good deal locations
stars war oscar wins
a new script
who I will be
myself I can't see
tawdry tinsel town
disappearing
just like me

On Line

there are many poems in my head
jumping and dancing around
the last line is near
while the first can't be found
the way is not clear
the destination is uncertain
nothing is for sure
but that words can be
left alone
on line

The Son Had Come

Jesus came for a visit
in the silent peace
of the morning
fog defining the distant
ridges rising above
the surrounding hills
wet rays of the morning sunrise
forming a fan in front
of a cross made by
two trees in the woods
sparkling wet kissed
leaves and branches
as clouds of fog
drifted through the rays
a shadow passed over us
the Son had come
to the peaceful quiet
place we made for Him

Breakfast Ice Cream

at the end of the day
mom put the empty milk bottles on the porch
for the milkman to take when he
made his deliveries first thing in the morning
three little girls were at the front door waiting
they could hear the clip clop of his horses hoofs
as it pulled Pippys wooden wagon down their street
Pippy would always smile and talk to the girls
he would twist his nose put his hand over his mouth
and pull out his false teeth it was like magic
to these little girls who spent the rest of the day
trying to figure out how they could get their teeth
to come out by twisting their noses
the top of the bottle frozen cream was scooped out
put in a small bowl and sprinkled with sugar
breakfast ice cream on a cold Ohio morning

White Headed Cardinal

she comes with many
but she is alone
each taking care
of themselves
no one pays
her any mind
as her white head
bobbs up and down
in and out
of the tall
bright green grass
her white head
that should be red
my beautiful
female white headed
cardinal

Shining Through

pondering on the cabin porch
me and my old hunting dog
are alone watching the sunrise
I keep my arm around her
because the morning is cool
and we are getting old
we are beholding to the nights gentle rain
for kissing the near perfect first light
of the sun shining through
our leaping frog woods
magic of the morning
turning the wet cedar trees lime green
making raindrops clinging to the trees
and to each square of the rabbit fence
flash like colored christmas lights
dropping drops looking like comets
flashing and dashing on their way
making wet moss covered tree bark glow
with an air of mystery in the soft light
we watch as the close-knit gray clouds
at the edge of a storm
move in from the southwest
and quietly swallow up the sun