DYNAMITE ~

B O B      D Y L A N      I N T E R V I E W

UNCLE GHOST ~

Right out of the blue Ronald Baatz every now and then sends to me his latest collection of poems.

Right out of the blue I usually sit right down with the collection and read the poems. Every last drop.

RB and I have never met. I know where he lives. I haven't been to Troy New York in thirty years.

I read his poems and almost never have a pencil free at hand so I stop and go get a pencil, then I

begin to read again. As I read I check a poem here and there and some I also don't check I also like.

I'm sharing the ones I recently checked. I think I'll write to RB and ask if we might take the 
checked-poems and make a foldout booklet to share.
Yes, this is what we've done.
The above image is the booklet of Ronald's poems —
but what the hey — we'll share it all with you here.

______________________

from Uncle Ghost

Morning -

I shake

a little birth

a little death

on my eggs

I row

an unwanted dog to

the other side of the lake

along with a box

of powdered milk

It's true -

I always save

some piss for the shower

always forget to rinse

some soap from the beard

Old woman sitting

on the same bench

tells me that if she has

two hairs left under her arms

it's a lot

In my younger days

an old person's eyes seemed

to be the eyes of a donkey

now such eyes are the eyes

of a saint with bent legs

Scattering

my first wife's ashes

in a high and windy place -

so high and so windy

my hat's blown off

Relax -

no harm will come

to the merriment of the berry

spinning in its

own decay

Alone

I take the night

and slowly soften it on my tongue

so it's easy

to swallow

Like the perfect cricket

I continue singing my lazy song

knowing I've already

practically killed

a lifetime

Until they bathe

in the soft dirt at the

edge of the garden

sparrows avoid

being seen

Painstakingly

I lick every seed

I throw to the birds -

so at least some part of me

will fly away

While cutting away

the rotten parts of a pear

I wonder how many gods

can fit on the head

of a fruit fly

I was just a small kid

when I learned how to use a swing

but I was able to swing high enough

to see beyond the hedges

to the cemetery

Insomnia -

doubtless it will be

with me until the end

I'll probably die one night

while trying to fall asleep

I want to come back as a crow

and keep coming back as a crow

until the sun turns into a raisin

in a dark box

of other raisins

All night long

the mockingbird reminds me

that one must also rely

on the songs

of others

for Samuel Charters

_______________

R O N A L D      B A A T Z

Uncle Ghost

Wolfscat Press
baatzu555@gmail.com