What're you doing? Nothing.

What're you doing? Nothing.  .
Clearing my brain, looking at rain
What're you seeing? Nothing.  
Hoping to bring some little thing to ackowledge my being, nothing.
Where're you going?  Nowhere.  
Moving my feet along down the street, getting from here to nowhere.
Nowhere to go, moving real slow, going? don't know, just somewhere.

The snow is non-discriminating . . .

The snow is non-discriminating -- that is what I view.
It falls upon the gardens but upon the Common too

Carpeting so beautiful, of the softest quality
Embroidery on the branches of the most ordinary tree

Snow will touch an open hand, no matter poor or rich
And kiss the lakes or puddles, not ever caring which

Upon the rooftops in the slums, the snow falls pure and clean
As it does upon the mansion roofs of men of wealthy mien

Snow rings the bells of churches and, as gently, signs of dives
And hugs the puddle-pusher's cart, like the car the chauffeur drives

The pious and the godless men are equally painted white
And the white and black are equal as if they walked by side at night

Oh snow, you turn to beautiful, the dump, the garbage can
And truly you're magnificent, treating equal every man

When I consider . . .

When I consider how my time is spent, I often pretend I'm blind
And try to remember just what it meant to look for and to find

When I consider the time I use and even stay up late
Making lengthy lists, "To Do"s and deciding what can wait

When I consider how my time is spent, and the hours I stay awake
Something important didn't get sent (time flies, for goodness sake!)

When I consider how my time is fun, remembering this and that
Keeping house when there's noone (oh, sometimes the
neighbor's cat)

When I consider how my time is spent, I cringe and wonder why
I seem to want to circumvent the fact that I must die

That the substance that is "I" gets spent, not knowing itself
just how it went. And sometimes someone now must find
a new world , of a different kind, where we don't spin around,
as in a vent, and wonder how in the world our time
was spent.

new poems

Shades of Green

The pine, an almost intense green,

and almost as dark as night

The appletree blossoms, falling fast

Are as soft as the sky is light.

White blossoms and green leaves

come down with a shower in a gust

of wind that lays on the garden and lawn

a painting in green and rust.

And the sun shines down on the

painting, giving it now a shine

I would like it to have it my signature

But God says, "No way - it's mine."

Oct. 3, '09

Charles Street Is Special

My neighbors, the greatest

Are always there, for me

I think of them always there

Just where I love to be

My house, standing lonely

And the river, running free

The ducks, the geese, the herons

Do they ever think of me?

Little Bird

Little bird, up there in the tree

You'd be singing your head off

if it were not for me

Little bird, with nothing to do

You're looking at me and

I'm looking at you

Sweet little bird, up there in the tree

I can't reach you up there -

Will you come down to me?