US Postage
†

---

An eagles head flies
past outstretched wing
giving cover
to Pitney Bowes.

Oh, two
         space
one A
and codes pin
pointing us
somewhere in the US

A bold price
allowing increases
dollars to 99, cents
to be measured
in tenths

We know when 
the eagle flew,
where he zip forth

The eagle flies on
emblem window
stamped, imprinted

still you haven't
written.

†Stare at the stamp a Pitney Bowes Postage Machine makes on an
envelope.  Do this in the light of a big monitor, the only light
being the monitor.

Poetic Workout

---

In tonight's intro to poetry
class we were given an interactive exercise.  After each
instruction, twelve in all, we were to write a line; I'll give the
instructions first, the result afterward.

1. Take the opening line from the Frank O'Harra poem we just read.
2. Take a word from that line and incorporate it into the second line.
3. Use the color orange.
4. Look at what has been written so far and ask a question.
5. Again, take one word from the line above and incorporate it into this line.
6. Stanza break, use an automobile.
7. Take a word from the line above and incorporate it in the line; written as baby-talk.
8. What would you say to a U.S. Senator.
9. Describe a stain on a piece of clothing.
10. Stanza break, ask yourself a question.
11. Repeat one line, any line, from above.
12. Answer the question in line 10.

Here is what came out ... a fun exercise to just get the writing going.

I see the cobwebs collecting already
collecting on the desk lamp and in the corners,
orange sunset mutely glinting on their threads.
When did he leave, why did he leave?
Sent into the hot sands, the white dessert.

The old car waits on soft tires
De owd car waity waity
How much blood did your family give, Senator?
Grief spilled like a nosebleed on my white shirt.

How will we fill the empty drawers?
Sent into the hot sands, the white dessert.
Fill the drawers with sand, drape the desk
in the triangle folded flag.

Does Anybody Remember Laughter?                                                                                                    Photos and words by Rick Fike
The fading wall held the name of old heroes.   Memory played a guitar, with friends we sang, the anthems made of Rock.   I remembered laughter, and pain, remembered eyes grayed, over times, times long gone.
My part in an old photo, friends in a sepia colored print.   We wore bandoleers and mustaches, seriously we stared, the future doesn't need badges.
Back then it meant so much, it seemed the walls would never fade, they promised we would never fade away.

 

Slow March

---

And we make that slow dead March

in broken ranks
laid down

slow painful time
bare ground

cold granite skies
wind blown

dead light casts
gray sound

our hollow voices
bell toll

to waters edge
not felt

we rest on life's
far shore.

Wakefield Cemetary

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Graffiti Tunnel

How do we ever find the way out?

---

The
evening air fresh and blue

lies deeply pooled

in a stairwell, waiting.

Sounds sidle past me,

turning over engines

beckoning, honking horns

play about the walls.  

A fluorescent light

stutters a peace sign

and dies of exposure.

Wet peeling paint

screams loudly in

the last lumens  cast.

My train rumbles darkly

overhead screeching

a good-bye till tomorrow.

I walk with neon bloomed

after images, shifted sight

the nightly tunnel

daily taken home.

---

Personally

---

I sat in the upper grand stand section 7, row 6, seat 16 for today's Red Sox game, straight ahead of us Pesky's pole. 
It was a glorious pale blue spring day, mid seventy, a light breeze
danced a whirlwind down by the home teams batter's circle and
everything was in perfect relief.  That part of the park is under
the overhang and perpetually in the shade.  The bright light of
the day made the game in front of us look like it was taking place big
flat screen wide in saphire clear sky blues, bright spring grass green
and dark green and white of

I was at the game Sunday, April 17th and I experienced something I've
never ever felt at that little old band-box called Fenway Park;
unrepressed joy!  It was as if the 'Sox were passing out happy
pills, the typical undercurrent of angst and dissapointment that hummed
like a high-voltage short just under your seat was gone, in its place
this burbling stream of childlike glee - the crowd continued singing
after the PA was silenced during the seventh inning stretch - there was
more Sox gear in the stands than hanging in the souvenier shop's on
Landsdown St.

Heaven is here, now, experienced one moment at a time.

I. Window

Slanted as handwriting

the rain scribbled on my window

a promise of warmer tomorrows.

 

II. Birds

 

III. Breeze

Gentle wind still smarting

from a cold winter’s slap

eases up next to us,

a comforting arm

an old friend. 
Smiling

fields sprout children

running, chasing balls

and laughter.

 

IV. Haze

Longer into the hazy evening;

we begin

to dream of beaches.

 

The Show

---

The
2005 Flower Show was held and the greenery inside could only make you
laugh at the N'or Easter we were having outside.  Well if the snow
is wet and heavy does that mean spring?

The digital photos I took of the show were, well to put it coyly,
fertilizer.  I took off the automatic flash setting because I felt
it dulled the subjects given the amount of intense incandescent light
blasting on the horticulture.  WRONG!  The flowers appeared washed out and bland ...  
Well with digital you can always stylize the photo and say you are an
artiste (final 'e' just to piss them off, any George Carlin
fans?)  An example, a lovely rose
that I have added a "paint" filter to ...

Ah well, it felt better in real life.

The contrasts at the show were very interesting, from the naturalist approach, typically put on by the landscaping companies ...

 

to the flower arrangements done by, you guessed it, the florists ...

 And in here, stuck between all the big boys are the bonsai. 
My friend and I kid each other if we were to buy one of these, and we
each have had several in the past, we could bet on the day we kill the
poor thing.  Bonsai are something  I will leave till another
part of my life.

Its a time of life, potted or not!

©

Nine Degrees Of Spring

---

It
is nine degrees outside.  That can mean only one thing -
Spring!  I'm a little seasonally confused but the annual flower
show hits town.  I feel the breeze warm my cheeks, the few degrees
we have are like a few extra bucks in our wallets - unexpected and
welcome - and I place my order at Bike Nashbar in the hopes that some
day the white banks will melt and the rains will wash the streets clean
and my tires will make a warm rolling circles.

A small thing,
a bench,

a mirror of water
looking back

to me in the
warm humid

air I imagine
sweat and

your perfume rolling
through
my senses
in tight little
circles, spinning
in perfect control
around the world
warming my back,
your face a blushing rose.

One Thing

---

Just one thing, that is all I am going to do, one ... baby steps, uno.
I have been too overwhelmed or maybe it was under whelmed.

Result; lack of doing the things that are important to me, like this
site.

We just planned is a bike trip to Switzerland this August with Bravo Bike

Now that is one cool thing.