Encounters With Spring

How many shades of spring

Can there possibly be

By now it seems

I’ve savored almost all

And drunk fully

From the cup

Of the freshest Chablis

Followed by Vino Verde

Not forgetting Rosé

It’s all there

For the taking

Spread across the Rockies

And the hillsides of Vermont

A palette so complex

And intoxicating

At least for those who 

Come of age fully

Self-permissioned

To see what

I have seen

It’s the chlorophyll

In all of us

Clamoring

For one more chance

To riot in the light

As it grows stronger

Every day

Photo by Susan Saunders

Poetry for Dummies

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Last night

Walking home

From the Hi-Line

I crossed paths

With a father scolding

His two young kids

For using the word dummy

When talking to him

Never again did he want

To hear them speak that way

At the risk of getting

An especially long time out

So it begins

Learning what

We’re not permitted to say

The abridgement of our  

Basic freedoms seems to

Make perfect sense

But takes a lifetime

Of hard work and forgetting

Before finally

It may be overcome

Because

When it comes to poetry

We are all of us dummies

Every single one

Poets and readers alike

Straining to find the words

Which long ago were

Forbidden us

By the accident of

Our membership

In the human race

Why I Prefer Blogging to Writing for Broadway

Striving for success
Can exact a high price
In a very sudden and
Dramatic way

Just ask Jonathan Larson
Who burst a blood vessel
In his heart whether Marfan
Induced or not
In getting ready
For opening  night
Off Broadway

Whereas a poor
Lampoet such as I
Has no such
Need for worry
All a new poem requires
Is two bucks
For a cup of coffee
At Pret and an empty
Page or two in a Staples
Bought notebook
And then soon enough
I'm ready to publish
By clicking save
And pressing send
With adequate permission
Perhaps by email to you

Three Purple Pens

Three purple pens
And three Staples
Bought notebooks
   One pink
       One black
           One brown
A cup of dark roast
Served up by Semoan
To sit in the sun
Once again

29th Street provides
The perfect excuse
On this
The 29th day
Although Rafiqi
Has parked his truck
Elsewhere
On Sunday perhaps
He rests or prays
Still I lack for nothing
To say as the music
Of the Spheres spins
In the background

   More toppings
      More flavors
          Same price
Still applies
Just as on any regular
Weekday afternoon

In Grammar As In Life

Approaching April's end

Spring has begun 

Once again

A perfect time

To settle in Mocha Joe's

Down on Main Street

With a fern drawn

In the foam 

Atop a double

Cappuccino

There must be

A Buddha dog

Come somewhere among us

Because suddenly

All the mutts

In the coffee shop

Have given up barking

Content to sniff 

At the news in silence

Today being the 28th day

I wonder what else

I can write or say

That hasn't already

Been done a million

Times better before

About fern design

Or otherwise

Except to bear witness

And render poems

Out of thin air

Whenever they come
Overcoming the urge

To deny what 

I barely understand

In grammar as in life

On Flat Street and Main

Looking down on the intersection
Of Flat Street and Main
You read aloud an item
From yesterday's paper
About an artist you once knew
Who just lost the battle
With his personal demons
In the worst sort of way

The good and the bad
Each commands our attention
The narcissist not so nicely
The Bodhisattva much more politely
I don't mean this abstractly
But as a truth to be re-encountered
Each and every day

A Fourth Shout Out to Spring

posted in the lobby of the Latchis Motel


This weekend
We're going to Vermont
To visit my younger son
Thus giving us
A fourth shot at spring

Just beyond Holyoke
I noticed the dogwoods
Once more in bloom
And the green continued
To fade the further north
We went

So journeys over distance
May overlap with time
Reversing itself as
The clock rewinds
Literally and
Spring is sprung
Once again

Venus Astride the Crescent Moon

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for Marissa

This month

I’ve learned

To pay better heed

To influences deeply felt

But unseen

Like Venus

Hanging astride the

Luminous crescent moon

That I pointed out last night

As we were driving home

And you

Unable to take your

Eyes from the road

Said that too

Could be part

Of a wonderful poem

And now

Our souls waxing

And gibbous

We must get ready

For a most extraordinary

New moon

Ode to Vision Impaired

Sasha and I
Have come
Into the garden
Together
I sit while she
Sniffs around
And tramps through
The bed of wild ramps

We are both of us
Vision impaired
She with her cataracts
Sees everything cloudy
And me likewise today
Occluded in my inner eye

Wondering now
That I have finally
Found time to plunk
Myself down here
In the tenuous warmth
Of the April sun 
About the scent I sense
That has my mind
Edgy and uncalm

Gan Yu - 24

A perfect antidote
To all this talk
About the Floating World
To spend the afternoon
Here in the garden

As the world turns
So do the worm and I
Working through the soil
From end to end
A journey bracketed
By dirt

Of our best intent
Much work remains
To be done
Leaving food for thought
But for the birds
Barely none

Spring Harvest

On April 23rd
We dined
On spring greens
With crisp asparagus
From the garden
Ramps from the swampy
Part of the back lot and
Broccoli di rape from a bed
That seeded on its own
Without the slightest prompting

I am aghast
At the plenitude
Of the Earth
So early in the year
Only a month or so
Since the last frost
And here we are
Enjoying a first harvest

Why I Write

It must pay to write

For some reason

About which I’m not entirely clear

If not for the income

I ask myself over

And over again

Why keep banging it out

Whether long form or short

These poems that no one

Cares to buy

Much less read

 

And then

As I was thinking this

And waiting

In line for

My chicken sandwich

I noticed this handsome

Couple sitting at a counter

Nearby and the man was

Reading Why I Write

By the late great

George Orwell

And it’s quite

Remarkable

Don’t you think

Or so it seems

To me

The QED of

Synchronicity

We encounter

Every day in

These midtown streets

And the answers

Happenstance

Chooses to provide

And it turns out

The only reason to write

As I learned from Akhil

Who learned it directly

From George himself

Is so that other people

May learn

Which is pure poetry

My friends

The way it comes

At you so unexpectedly

Sitting at Fresh or Pret

With a cup of coffee and

Sandwich in hand

So now I know

Why I write

The dharma of it
Right here and now

And for the next

Nine days at least

An answer 

Has been given

And received

The World's 40 Richest Now Combined

The World’s 40 Richest

Now Combined and Worth

More Than a Trillion

Screams today’s Yahoo! News headline

At least as tabulated by the

Bloomberg Billionaire Index

And believe me

Mike ought to know

He’s very good

At keeping track of

Such things

And I’m further sure

You’ll be happy to hear

That Prince Alwaleed

Has just joined the Index

There’s no secret to success

The Prince is quoted

As saying in an email sent

From his Arabian tent

Or perhaps from his chalet

High atop the Alps

It is based on a sound investment strategy

Commitment and long-term vision

The very principles

I should note

On which

I have based this

Hugely successful

Collection of free verse

* * * * * * * * *

Click here if you care to read the original news story on which this poem is based, written shortly after the story was published by Yahoo! News on April 19th.

Gan Yu - 20

Here in the Floating World

Reality maintains itself

In a highly volatile state

To a Nobel gas

Quite dissimilar

Ever ready to make

A phase change

Of one kind or another

Whether that means

Coming home drunk

Prepared to admit

To many mistakes

Or else quickly

Picking up stakes

And packing the

Calistoga wagon

In every case

To an uncertain future

We in the Floating World

Are forever bound

Come Whatever in May

If long term unemployment

Unfolds in five stages

Just like the Kubler-Ross

Model of dying and death

Then I must still be stuck

In the first stage of denial

Comforting myself with

The happy notion

That I haven’t yet

Started looking for work

So there’s no cause for worry

Not in the least

Call me idle

Or lazy

But to my

Present way of thinking

We humans all need

A moment or two

Of true respite

In the middle

Of life’s passage

Or else by racing through

Too far and fast

Our Infernos may never

Get written for want of

So much else to do

And sure

A sinecure

Sounds sexy

And even a job as

Barista if not barrister

Would help defray

Next month’s rent

But right now

I’m preoccupied

With a much more

Important task at hand

Namely dedicating

The entire month

Of April 2012 to writing

At least thirty poems

In just as many days

Tomorrow be damned and

Come whatever in May

An Aesthetic Experience in Philly

for Marissa


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Yesterday we rode

The bus to Philly

Seven dollars one way

Down the Jersey Turnpike

To see a Van Gogh show

That’s on display

In the Fine Art Museum

Dropped off behind

The 30^th Street Station

We crossed the Schuykill

And walked alongside heavy traffic

Down the broad green expanse

Of the Ben Franklin Expressway

Towards the Museum’s

Massive eastern entrance

An approach

Not quite as grand

As we’d enjoy

In Paris or even DC

But grand enough

To create a sense of scale

And the importance

Of the occasion

And prompting our realization

That long before reaching Rome

All roads lead to Van Gogh

At least for us moderns

* * * * *

We entered and paid

And waited on line

For twenty minutes or so

Before elbow to elbow

With tourists and matrons

We pushed our way into

The main gallery

To re-experience Van Gogh

Hushed and expectant

Upon entering this temple

I lingered before

The first few canvases

A little bit dazed

By a sunflower study

And a muddy

Pair of boots

Wide eyed

In the presence of

These incredible relics

Then in the gallery ahead

I found you my dear wife standing

In front of another painting

Vase with Cornflowers and Poppies

Painted in Paris in 1887

And you turned to me and said

The funniest thing

I guess everyone

Has a bad day

And I looked again

And saw it was perfectly true

For the first time in my life

I was looking at

An ugly Van Gogh

Not an easy thing to do

After the bus ride and the walk

And coming all this way

But there it was

Plain as day

Kitschy as the flower

Prints that used to hang

In my grandmother’s kitchen

Not to denigrate

The roses and irises

And dandelions that

Enlivened the walls just ahead

But we can only do justice

To such great art

By seeing things

Including Van Gogh paintings

As they truly are

And not as we have been told

Or expect them to be

A Second Go At It

I wrote this poem a few days ago and then I wrote it again last night from scratch. Hence the title.

And so
Like many a
Middle-aged man
Before me
I have fallen into
The bad habit
Of comparing
My life to my father's
In various ways

Such as the ratio
Of opportunities lost
To regrets encountered
Along the way

How at the same
Stage in life
He too found himself
Unmoored and unsure
What to do with
Whatever years
Remained

But if the world
Is a sea upon
Which each of us
Journeys
My father relished
The part of Magellan
So many times he circled
The globe but to what end
I wonder other than
To expand his passport
Accordion style

Whereas
I'm much more
At home here
In the garden
Circumscribed
By the lattice fence
And privet hedge

The earth's hold on me
Is undiminished
Grubworms and all
Immersed in the study
Of all these befores
And I can only hope
A few more
Hereafters

Spring Three Times Sprung

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Spring this year

Has come much

Like every other

Except this time

As I’ve newly joined

The ranks of the

Unemployed

Unrushed I’ve been able

To savor its blessings

On three separate

Occasions

First in Denver

With my brother

At the very edge

Of the Great Plains

Where we biked along the Platte

I saw the Aspin bark quiver

A quickening of the spirit

At the mere thought

Of sap beginning to rise

And then walking

With Marissa on Easter Sunday

We beheld the rapture of

The Viburnum wood

Coming again to the Hi-Line

With thick pink clusters that ran

The full length of each tree’s spine

Extending to its outermost limbs

The very living and

Visual proof of the

Virulence of life

And now this evening

On a slow sunset ramble

I’ve traced spring’s lineaments

Along Fourth Neck where

Forsythia and cherry blossoms

Adorn every other front yard

To the early evening bird belongs

This most wonderful of scenes

As the stalks of asparagus

Make their first upthrust and glimmering

And the Star Magnolia blossoms are

Splayed across my neighbor’s front lawn

With Summer may come

Long dry spells and assorted

Other disorders but

So far this is shaping up

To be one hell of a great

Growing season

April has but barely begun

And already this Spring

Three times has sprung

* * * * * * * * *

This is a picture Marissa took with her iPhone while we were walking on the Hi-Line. I think it's a viburnum tree, or so I refer to it in the third stanza.

A Ralph Waldo Moment, Please

And what of my own
Ralph Waldo Emerson
As Jason had advised
Every aspiring Whitman
Should pursue

I'd like to know this
For myself
It being the subject
Of a long-running
Self-discourse
Where and when
May come the moment
Of discovery
Or will it be a moment
Forever adjourned

So today it seems
First by Gene and then Vikram
Once again spurned
Making me zero for how many
Hundreds of times at bat

And now as this game
Heads into the mid-late innings
It's increasingly hard
Not to come off as over-eager
Swinging for the fences
Ever chance I get

And even worse
I'm afraid of
Losing the timing
Of my natural swing

The Producer Credit

Today at lunch

Michel and I debated

Who deserves credit

As producer for

The Life and Times

Of Richard Musto

And I say it’s got to be

Richard himself

Because that’s the very meaning

Of life being fully lived

At the same time

Michel and I

Have drawn the assignment

To tell his life’s story

In pictures and words

But that’s the subject

Of a much more

Elaborate verse

The Rhyme Forsaken

It's all about
The rhyme forsaken
The syncopation
The back beat

If you want
To be a jazz poet
You've got to step lively
Stand high on your heels
And stay loose
In your knees

On Detachment

Sometimes I wonder

If you can get too

Detached like a retina

So it fucks up your vision

Ending in blindness

But usually

And thankfully

It seems to work

The other way around

Detachment leads

To greater clarity

No matter if your vision

Is completely unsound