A Tough Place To Be

A tough place to be

Is the pitcher's mound
10 inches higher than home plate
wheel work hub
of an elongated arch of bases

A tough place to be

When fans cameras & commentators
descend centered on a dome of earth
on an arm & delivery
to a hub/to home plate

A tough place to be

When all works or doesn't
head & heart mind & body
focused this moment
a pitcher on the mound is

A tough place to be

This Season

This new season fans fresh
Cards & fantasy leagues lush
Etched stroked boasted

In any hemisphere any ballpark
Any afternoon or evening dark

Of baseball thinking & reacting
The art of pitching
Or sudden art of bat

In any hemisphere any ballpark
Any afternoon or evening dark

Arguments mouthed at a bar
a workplace or home are
part'n'parcel of baseball

In any hemisphere any ballpark
Any afternoon or evening dark

Is baseball feted
Appetite whetted

Chappaqua Tree Stand

At a MetroNorth stop
cocoons monolithic
backlit by western sun
no longer trees

Now

Consumed wood-bones
armatures hidden
by a bright sunlt
smother of green ivy

Religion, Not Faith

There is no consumption
like religion
a "speak to me" institution

resolving everything
contritely buttoning
light & dark ongoing

life & ambition enveloping
into a pocket conveniently

In My Neighborhood (She Knows She's Crazy)

She knows she's crazy
On her meds staggering around
With dog in tow

She knows sometimes
Sitting on my stoop
Talking to herself then to the dog

About neigborhood
About her missed opportunities
About love missed

And she cries
As eastbound traffic swoops by
Then lurches off

Dragging dog memories
Following the traffic

A Knife Like No Other

A knife like no other
Tip'n'tang bone'to'handle

And a handle to hold onto
To hold on to a thought

The handle itself courteous
Carved of you so rare a dream

New Age

'Twas the time

Of posting gratuitous email
of facebook and of such
of shoaling up mentally like snow
against & over cars burying them

. . . & aren't we glad

To escape humanity hugely
like great waterbirds running
the surface winging flapping
scooping up to an overview

. . . & aren't we glad

Of white clumps mounds below
of undefined shadows
ignoring a waving hand
insignificant amid the chatter