Short Puttering Poems

Fiddler met twiddler on his way to church
fidgeting and diddling, their fingers in a lurch
Fiddle-sticks and Fiddle-faddle stopped to watch and stare
puttering and muttering, one day in autumn’s air...

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Sand beneath
Worn feet
Damp coolness
Water treated
Moved waves away
Puttering the open shore
Enjoyment
For one and all
Making inroads
Life fine
Getting over tensions
Building on new dimensions
Old measures not forgot
Uncovering well tone mored
Deal with and go on home
Speaking happy mime...

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The only 
lesson 
 I have learned 
is that 
everything
was meant 
to burn .
Leaving in 
it’s ashes 
the repeating 
rueful record 
that’s 
always stuck 
on one track. 
Puttering 
out those 
once persistent 
fervent feelings .
 Which makes you 
yearn for her 
in your 
arms again.

But love is just 
Like a record .
When it’s broken you can never
truly get it back
 to what it once was....

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While Climbing the Rocks

Through trees and rains and 
Lakes I have lived, but today I shall remember,
Remember the child who climbed rock mountains,
Shutting out the city sounds and,
Music of wind cuddling foothills and dreams.
Dreams of a log cabin and dreams of love,
With someone to share the quiet of the dove;
Puttering with pursuits, watching horned toads play,
On the side of a mountain looking away....

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The house and barn have surrendered,
burrowing under the loose dirt of the sun.
Echoes run from house to barn, from barn to house,
a ritornello hurried along on the skirts of the wind.

In the ruined barn, decay finds its own language,
children still run here.
A transmission has leached from puttering feet;
it rattles the bones of embalmed mice.
A soundtrack of texture
running from barn to house - from house to barn....

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I'm roasting some dinner
putting things away
potatoes in the oven
meats on the way
peaches in a big dish
cinnamon and sugar
mail on the table
towels to be folded
I'm wiping the counters
putting away the dishes
thinkng about ice tea
and maybe watermelon
I'm counting how many
will sit around the table
how many will be late from work
and miss the conversation
I'm sitting on the steps outside
throwing the ball to Redd
and on the air I smell the dinner
I wish I was eating instead....

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