In summer in the country
the married buzzards wheel and flow
on languid wings,
surveilling every inch of the earth below
for unwary prey.

The sun tracks dawn to night
over heat scorched land,
ripening the grains and drying the hay,
whilst in dense city living,
the park tree-leaves rustle
in summer symphony and
sandlot infants scream and play,
their mothers watching every move,
no suntime siesta now and here.

And in dense packed city blocks
mi casa es non su casa,
open windows leak sound,
and the smell of someone’s mother’s cooking
is treif at another table.
In grander houses the front lawns
now water-lack died-back brown,
evidence of greener days gone past,
wait for the fall's forgiving.

And yet and still
in the mellow evenings
neighbors talk to neighbors
friendly asides,
jokes,
politesses,
the leavenings
that let us live together
till the cool comes
and the windows and the doors shut.
We too hibernate till spring.

the lead couple chime
quivering noses smell musk
the ***** makes for cover

two eyes four paws tail
puppy wiggles end to end
happy to see you

Then,
on waking
out in the early light
running and running
the familiar curves and sweeps of the road
markers for my discipline
the rise and falls of the hills
signals to my heart and lungs
to do what I willed.

Runners know that will,
It says that you are king
it says you will not fail.
I am, I am
A needle needing North
And finding it,
Exulting,
I am, I am.

Now,
on waking
I lie waiting for the ache in my back
To take over
To tell me there is a new day
And like yesterday,
And the day before,
I will hurt.
I am, I am.

On advice from someone
I met clandestinely
I spilled my heart out.
I was surprised at the result
Two pairs of Louboutin shoes, different sizes,
too high for office work.
One gather-me-tightly corset
strings cut in a panic and abandoned,
bras that emphasized parts too boldly
for the emergency ward
where hearts are already under stress
and thongs.
thongs are the cigarette butts of yesteryear
see once, think once, buy once, wear once
and abandon for ever,
the "I was here" icon of today
All magic memories for this heart's man
with one fault.
They are all too big to press in the family bible

one drop of water
an advance warning maybe
look up for rainclouds

Poems are an odd business:
an idea,
a concept,
it slips into your mind
and all of a sudden
there are words
that describe it,
it’s present,
it’s past,
sometimes it’s future.
these words have to have
rhythm and scansion,
the syllables must sound right,
the words must sound right,
the lines must be right,
the silences in between
must sound right,
just using words.

It is more than building with bricks and mortar;
these are fixed known things,
but poems
come into existence
like flashes of lightning
that light the sky,
they are there
and then they are not there,
you have to be quick
to catch them before they fade,
and leave you in the dark
with no words on paper.

my daughter confounds
so much smarter than I was
am I proud or what

Fourth of July
independence from Britain
language ties still

measure your hemlock
write the names in copperplate
then fall on your pens

cuneiform script
marks cut into a stone slab
history today

my options are none
death is the sole arbiter
leave it all to fate

It’s not all hearts and pretty flowers
you know,
sometimes the words won’t ****** well run
the synapses blink and stop
and the lines flow like maple syrup
cold from the fridge

Best then to wait and see
If harmony happens
and words flow again
in the right and only way;
if not stop and abandon
and save your thoughts for tomorrow

I have a house on the hill
with an outside terrace
with two chairs.

There at night
I sit in the left hand chair
my heart beats and the earth listens
so quiet is the night.

The other chair is empty.

I need a heart to beat with mine
but no one comes.

it's just the earth and me.

this is your pilot
forgive me for the delay
we have a flat tire

When parents bicker and fight
the children are left
in a wasteland
of shadowy facts
the rocks of absolute love
move and skitter
and the places where they were safe
no longer have footing
the attendant black crows
peck and harry.
Silence and tears blind the sky
and hush the lives
off the innocent who
die crying.

woke up this morning
feeling excellent
picked up the telephone
dialed the number of
my equal opportunity employer
to inform him I will not
be into work today
“Are you feeling sick?”
the boss asked me
“No Sir” I replied
I am feeling too good
to report to work today,
if I feel sick tomorrow
I will come in early”

Today,
I talked to my daughter on Skype,
She
in Chicago, about to leave for her trip to China
a veteran now of this journey,
but still needing dad
to tell her where the baggage scale was,
and then to tell her what to do
when that scale is with me here in London.
The suitcase to be lightened,
the impossibility of throwing anything out.
Dad. I need all my makeup.
Dad. I need all my cut-offs.
Dad .OK. I will be reasonable.
Gentle logic at a five thousand mile remove.
Memories now of her as a three year old,
She,
many years ago in her bath,
water as cool as she would demand,
and playing submarines and holding her breath,
and of the same three year old,
fascinated with ***** and entering that word
on my keyboard and unleashing
**** by the screenfull.
She,
now, off again, her third trip for full immersion
in a culture in her language of choice
her middle school graduation speech in Chinese.
She,
much much more accomplished than I was,
much much more mature than I was,
knowing what she wants to do with her life,
her school already picked out,
and here I am, her dad,
She,
asks for nothing except my love
which seems enough for now,
and so I will give her all that she asks for,
patrimony at it’s purest.

Today I ate fresh baked bread
crackly crust,smooth dense chewy texture

After one bite I thought.
perhaps some butter, marmalade too

The butter spreads easily
the little holes all fill up nicely

then thickly comes the bitter marmalade
which glues the top slice on

A two handed squish to firm it up..............

a second bite

Good thinking

poets froth up
inedible stone soup feeds
inconsolables

Just look,
my astonished daughter
at this image.
Once I seemed a monstrous being
but look and look again
this is me,
this overgrown hedge
of my beard
and hair
and moustache
the broken nose.
The eyes
peer out and say
this is me.
At that time
you were not even envisioned
and now I am here
in this black and white photo
your father.
Keep me please
I bind you to an unknown past
connected by memory and dna,
this time is yours
if you want.
Just ask

it's the end of a long day
here in Chicago
weather made giddy by spring
with snow blown horizontal  by a west wind
bright sunlight made stop-action by scudding clouds
then more snow
the day then grew older and more responsible
calmed down to quiteness
the sparrows come out to gossip

hitchhiking at night
dressed in white from head to toe
woman driver stops

numerology
eleven followers now
an awkward number

her muzzle shoves snow
sneezing out all the crystals
no snowshoes needed

You should know
that death has
many hats
and no honor
and you,
believing yourself inviolate
are his target.

Death covets you
and shining bright
in your own belief system
envisaging unlimited days
memorable sunsets
and a forever future,
are a prize catch

He will approach
smiling
and tip his hat
and you respond cheerily
and too late know
you are marked
for no tomorrow

He wins again
and you go with him
as you have to.

It is so written

It is nights like this
with the air hot and till
that they come for you.
They cannot be seen
looking directly on,
but with the head canted sideways
you know they are there
in the shadows at the far end of your eyes.
They sit perfectly still,
wings folded at parade rest and ready to work,
veterans of these dark hours,
trained and blooded
and with a desire to have no feelings
about doing the job right.

No animosity, totally professional
quick, competent escort staff
they are, it might be said,
in the boutique-packing-to-go-now
side of the business.
We are all going to the same destination:
plush cushions, snacks on porcelain plates
delicate porcelain cups too.
Here with our name bar codes,
our history in tie-on tags, the reasons why……
Factory Returns, Out of Warranty
Time Expired, Use by, Discounted to Go,
it’s all written and in an account somewhere.

And when we are assembled and ready to leave,
The door at the end of the hall opens and is tested,
It is one way only and shuts with a metallic snicker
and has no inside handle which you might try
if you had second thoughts about this trip.
There are no second thoughts,
no thoughts at all and no regrets
too late for that.
It’s like queuing for Wimbledon, gentility and good will to the last,
the memory of the taste of strawberries and cream in your mouth
as you go on your way out and up for an ever endless lebensraum.

Her morning began well I suppose
She may have been from out of town
Otherwise I would have not lived my day
With her as I did

I was standing on the corner of holy ground
St. Marks and First in the City
I saw her coming towards me.
She was with a friend
She passed me and then with a few steps more
She sat on a stoop.
She’s drunk I thought
She leaned over and fell on her side

We just did some stuff her friend said
Is she OK
I shook her slightly
What is her name I asked her friend
Jennie
Jennie I said loudly
Jennie
I pinched the skin between her thumb and forefinger
Hard hard with my nails
Nothing

People stopped and looked
Call an ambulance
Her breathing was slowing
I pressed my mouth to hers
And blew and blew
Again and again
Nothing
I pressed her chest over her heart
Again and again
She was gone
Her friend was gone
The ambulance arrived
and I went into the bar on the corner

My father never knew a father's love
and was crippled for ever.
I do not remember a hug
I do not remember a nighttime story
where the good guys promised peace till morning
Perhaps he did and was so diffident
that changelings were born
and so different that false memories were created
and no love ever lived

ultra f*cking hot
skin on head all burned off
will I ever learn

d'ja really know
in my home vernacular
that ooonts mek them tumps

on townhouse front lawns
new spring time grass rises green
the weeds are in sync

My brain in a daze
like one thing follow another
I take it all back

haiku fresh and hot
for you and for the lady
vinegar with that?

It comes from the heart, he said,
Really!

Really? she said,
one eyebrow raised in disbelief.

Her mouth seconded this opinion,
a firm, tight  line.

She turned away,
this encounter over.

Game. Set and Match

Happily adrift
at Carnival time
buffeted by babes
and tycoons in wine
I was brought up all standing
by a voice from the blue
that solicited quite rudely

Haiku for you?

Bare feet on the sand in summer
running hard over the hot bits
to get to the water quickly
the freedom from concrete

climb over the fence after dark
stifled laughter private frissons
skinny dipping a rite of passage
the freedom to be naked

laughter and the camaraderie
of long time association
friends and confidantes
the freedom to be happy

divisions fixed by polarities
religious racial ethnic and economic
still absolute rights for all
the freedom of the first amendment

but still
not for a woman’s right  to her body
not for the terminally ill to die
not for political asylum
not for driving while black
not for gay and LBGT
not for equal rights to marry
but yet and still
the freedom to vote for change

My small grass back lawn
flooded out by heavy rain
will plant rice later

Who walks there darkly

Can it be Janus, his clock out of time?

No. Janus never was hooded,
His need to straddle past and soon
Precluded such frippery.

But who is this person and what the tool?
A farmer monk on his way to market?

I bid thee Good Day Sir.
Tell me your news.

Let me see your face.

My God.  It is Death with his scythe
And who is this other, your double in black?

Your  tallyman with his knife and stick.

hitherto a poem
with vision and precise wording
limned all our dreams

poetry - a haiku - a follow up

Now it seems to me
******* and a keyboard
wow! anything goes

We are there
all of us,
poets, wannabe poets, others
in the shade waiting for the light
of the newly known,
to shine on us and give us function

at best
with a name,
or
in the circle of…………
an associate of………
mistress of……………..

this light will fade
and we’re gone
to live with our memories.

We were almost there.

ten minutes ago
the sky let loose heavy rain
now the sun shines bright

it is nice to see
likes arriving in my email
thank you's are a must

on my street at night
sparrows quietly cheep and chuff
time to go to sleep

hitchhiking from Rome
dressed from head to toe in white
woman driver stops

Irony is not believing your mirror
or alternatively
sensibility at its finest
(not my line but I will add it – it fits)
bald head, wrinkles, skeptical eyes
are just the outside.
quietly, privily, absolutely
the inner me still canters along
well, not canter really,
just a steady trot
with frequent pauses for
let’s call it reflection.
trouble is,
as some of us know
and ruefully acknowledge,
time speeds up,
birthdays come so quickly now
last year’s card is still on the shelf
and the envelope too
If someone makes a time machine
I will volunteer
to see if it works

flower in her hair
enigmatic smile for you
forever in your dream

huddles of green spikes
push and elbow to the sun
rush to flowerhood