cobbled Regensburg

cobbled Regensburg with stones

lifted into walls by Roman soldiers

two thousand years ago

a stone bridge across surging Danube

with treacherous whirlpools

known as strudels

to service Rome’s northernmost fortress

near the Regen River became trade

route as few other wooden structures

or ferries gave crossing for centuries

prosperous salt and other merchants built square houses with square towers on their right, the higher, the more

ostentatious the display of wealth

but when hard times led to debt

courts lifted out a large stone to warn

would-be traders of that merchant’s debt and shame

above a hundred

the cycle or hoax of global warming

grows more intense, it seems, each year

triple digit temperatures for more

than a week now in what has been

the mild Pacific Northwest

as in many areas of the world

so few of those pale or reddened

dizzy, sick, miserable, dying

needing shade and water

and having little or none

are those whose focus on business profitability contributes

to those very tens of notches above

one hundred degrees Fahrenheit

who?

what would be a Baltimore Oriole

on the East Coast is scattering seed

and husks in my bird feeder

but here in Oregon, it must be

a hungry something else

new box

twice the contractor needed

to run to the hardware store

for the guts of an electrical outlet

as people had carried with them

their worn pieces to set into the box

when they slipped out the new

he had bought the new box but

strangely, their old, worn ones

did my outlet no good at all

shhhhh

tiptoe behind a clown

who truly does not know

you are there

you’ll find a man of foibles

and pain perhaps even deeper

than those he works

to make laugh

too many tears

too many tears

at first revealing, then relieving

but a story—or a life—loses buoyancy

when sodden with remorse or self-pity

so i’ve needed to edit out many

wet cheeks and glistening eyes

sobs, wails and weeping moments

in Exhalation, my newest novel

i believe it stands stronger now

grandpa Bob and the printer

Grandpa Bob and the printer

Writers in the Grove hosting children

awaiting a coloring book story of a hero

having their own name

excited, thrilled that the book was to be

of themselves

but the printer balked and only spat out

pages one by one when it would

we had the children color extra pages

but the wait weighed longer and longer

poor Bob ‘Grandpa’ Kratz had worked

many hard weeks to set up the event

how he hated to disappoint those kids

performances

debate performance criticized

for stammering pauses

but little said about the opponent’s

bullying accusation of causing WWIII

why are lies cause for celebration

rather than the basis for suit for libel ?

down that path

sadness overwhelms, lying down

under the weight of chaos

of knowing that without foundation

of adherence to respect and truth

with the inability to communicate

let alone trust

with the acceptance

of ‘alternative facts’ and unsubstantiated accusations

there will be no security of self

yet we rush to go down that path

though we learned where it takes us

only eighty years ago

twisting stripes

poor clown, reduced to attacking only

with inuendo, accusations and raw lies,

exposes Bluffo as the shell he has made

of himself—a common bully without

substance or integrity so all his gains

are but pain to the growing numbers

of people who have not yet realized

what they have lost by giving up

their own self-worth to admire his ‘strength’

our stars and stripes twist toward

swastikas

taking flight

grandniece will fly tomorrow

to her husband in Turkey

we can only send our love

and prayers for joy

in such a new adventure

sunrise artisans

small, silvered tent covers

tilted between tufts of grass

sparkling with captured dew

bits boasting in dawn’s slant light

gone within hours as the day warmed

the work of spider artisans

doe not fear

another doe checking out my grass

and weedy lawn this morning

such a privilege to have them come

unafraid so near my porch – and me

Sol sleeping in

muted by a stillness that smothers

the breeze leaves pine boughs drooping

waiting for animation, for sign of life

even early morning colors patinaed

with blue-gray, drugged to slumber

Sol sleeping in long past dawn

After Fasting

After Fastingreading a haiku by Robert Kratz

Hunger forced the doe closer to Man’s strange, straight-sided buildings so unlike Nature’s gently curved lines. She had been fasting by choice to remain near her whimpering fawn. But this dawn, he had grown still and cold. She had risen, finally, to shuffle as she could toward the smell of abundant corn. She had always feared Man, but she was too weak not to dare what was nearby for the taking.

The doe crept forward, trembling, then stopped, shuddering. A dog barked. The silence of the Meadow beyond beckoned, but it was so far.

Again, the dog barked, and was joined by the sharp yips of a smaller hound.

 The doe bound away, then staggered as she could toward the Meadow.

yearly anticipation

 chill these last few nights

welcome after torrid days

awaiting long summer of hot

days and nights and the longing

for autumn

computer ornery

the computer works faster  than i do

especially if i’ve brushed a key

i did not want to

semi-commanded, it rushes to print

a 358-page manuscript while i hunt

frantically for ‘Settings’ to yell “STOP”

and then, when my heart has returned

to normal pace, it creates a blank area

within the document i am listening to

for final edit – a white space it does not

permit me to correct

argggghh!

quietly herself

a slender doe is nearly on my porch

with outstretched neck she could ring

the windchimes hanging from the glass

deck cover, but she is too busy

picking at tender new shoots of grass

i sit at my desk, not ten feet from her

but am disguised by desk and shelves

and nothing to her, which is just

the way i love it to get to watch her

quietly herself

hot air summer starting

Mt. Adams profiled by sunrise

Sol now farther north on my horizon

dawns still chilly but quickly warming

under the nation’s heat dome

of rancor, mistrust, and ill-will

whispered hope

whispered hope

in a world of shouted promises

worth every penny of neon

they are written on