Monday Mural

by kbware7
sand sculpture ATT10
from Photobucket

However perfect
All things disappear with time.
Mermaid, soon beach sand.

Extemporaneous
Outrageous
Completion
of the
Future of our planet.

The prompts, for the writers with whom I've been rubbing elbows of late, for today, or yesterday, maybe tomorrow or even Tuesday Seemed to lend themselves to a combined post.
Let's call it a literary manège à trois or the intercourse of three prompts.

Completion, completion, what does it mean;
Ashes unto ashes, dust unto dust?
Eons ago when we came into being
Out of the turbulent ocean we're thrust
Changing and changing, mutating our gene.
Cohabitate, fornicate, so we must,
Raping the planet, polluting it's stream-
Ashes to ashes is certainly just.
Earth will recover, with life it will teem.
Our place on this orb will come to a bust.


To find something outrageous to pontificate upon, what better place to look than the "news"? It's everywhere you look; newspapers, television, Google, radio, Why it's darn near impossible to escape it unless you're a hermit living in an abandoned mine somewhere without "modern" conveniences. Even the Amish are touched by the "news."

There isn't a day goes by, that when I look at the morning paper, I don't at least think, if not utter out loud; "for cripes sake, that's outrageous!"

Case in point: Yesterday morning I rode my bicycle the two miles to the local Parkway/Subway convenience store to purchase the paper so as to find fodder for my Writer's Island post about "outrageous" stuff. Mind you now, I rode my bicycle to protest the outrageous increases in the price of gasoline, as well as the outrageously poor gas mileage my gas guzzling SUV gets.

Case number 2: On arrival to the store I'm accosted by a cadre of pixie faced girl scouts putting on the full court press from the table they'd been allowed to set up just out side the entrance to the store to make people buy their Girl Scout fat pills. Jeepers can't a guy just go to the store without being coerced into buying something he doesn't want? Well I think that's outrageous. And just to make my point I only bought one box of Thin Mints. Actually I only bought one box 'cause I'd already order a few boxes from a friend's daughter at work.

Ok, so now I've gotten my paper, some cookies, and oh yeah,
a 2 liter jug of gingerale. I usually drink diet Pepsi, but I've been on a Gingerale kick lately. Off I pedal the two miles home, anxious to scan the front page of the paper the see what the latest local, regional, national, and world-wide outrages were. Of course I stopped by the Post Office to get the mail (like what else would you stop at the post office for), chat up Deb, the postmistress, and I stopped by the market to talk to the mayor, and she told me about a friend who'd suffered a stroke the night before, oh and to say she wanted to help out with the triathlon we're planning to put on the first week in Oct. and...... Doesn't it just peeve you to no end when I get off on these asides which pertain not one iota to the stated topic. Why, it's downright outrageous! If I was you, I'd stop reading right now just to protest! Please leave a comment if you do stop here though. Yes that means all you anonymous readers/commenters too.

Now, where was I? Oh yeah, front page of the newspaper.
What's this? I don't believe it. I must be trapped in some Nutsy Fagan of a dream here or it's some precocious editor's idea of a joke. Well let me just tell you some of the headlines and you'll see what I mean:

Detroit puts out new car that burns water and it gets 200 miles to the quart. Selling price to start at $5,237.99.

Congress gives up pensions to fund universal heath care in US.

Incidents of domestic abuse and child sex abuse plunge to zero in the past two years.

87% of Americans grew 63% of there own food last year.

Pornography disappears from the internet!

News media to stop entertaining and just report the news.

Earth year celebrations have been extended for another ten years.

Studies show increasing incidence of honesty in politicians.

All major league sport venues reduced player salaries to match average joe's wages and contributed the savings to help abolish world hunger.

That's just the front page! This can't be for real! I can't stand all this positivity and bright out look. It's positively outrageous.

There has to be a way to go back to the way we were.

Oh well, I guess I'll just have to get used to it what else can a fella do?

If any of you read this paper and looked at the inside sections, what did you read there????

Comments are open!

Pantoum
for
Peace

Their lifestyle, a votive for peace,
Insight, harmony, human rights;
Incipient molder will cease!
A festering splinter delights.

Insight, harmony, human rights;
Distractions to Olympic hype.
A festering splinter delights-
The chance to speak out is now ripe.

Distractions to Olympic hype;
Murders punctuate suppression.
The chance to speak out is now ripe;
World rebels against repression.

Murders punctuate suppression,
Incipient molder will cease.
World rebells against repression.
Their lifestyle a votive for peace.

by Leontine May
artwork Watercolor
from Flickr
Watercolor was originally uploaded to Flickr by anongrrl.

On Monday the 21st, Michelle Johnson, from Poefusion, offered the above watercolor to stimulate our creative juices. In addition for an extra challenge try writing a sestina with these words: crow, umbrella, shade, dress, post and scarecrow.
I've never written a sestina and I'm not sure the following qualifies but I think I got the form right. Whether or not it qualifies as poetry; well I let the reader be the judge.

I was also able to use today 3WW words in the sestina and you can find them as the 3 italicized words.

Something here is amiss said Crow,
Lighting upon the umbrella
Whose task, perhaps, 'twas meant to shade
This gardener found in gauzy dress,
Whose likeness seems to me a post;
A lame excuse for a scarecrow.

What bird might cringe from this scarecrow?
Not one as keen as this here crow!
Frilly adornment on a post
Accentuated by an umbrella;
Not the way for a gardener to dress,
Without a hat on her head for shade.

This is but a stop to shade,
Not to frighten birds, this scarecrow.
The wooden cross, here so dressed,
Offers a weary, curious crow
Respite under her umbrella,
As he wings from post to post.

Casting his examining gaze upon this post
His image not reflected in the shade,
He hops to the edge of the umbrella
To ponder what use to make of this scarecrow:
What chance the arrival of a she-crow,
Pirouetting for him in her black dress?

Cleaning, preening to get dressed-up,
He struts his stuff; a picture postcard
To make a favorable impression on she-crow.
Against the white dress, his blue-black shade
Shines and glistens, and he caws; I'm a scarecrow
look at me, the handsomest fella on this umbrella.

This shiny black beacon sits atop the umbrella,
While breezes ripple and wave the filmy white dress;
An invitation to investigate the scarecrow,
Beckoning the avian ladies to this post.
He offers his retreat with private shade;
Come and join me now he crows!

Under sestina's umbrella, this post
Dressed-up in shades of gray
Gives the scarecrow something to crow about.

photo by © rel 03-31-07

"Time is a sort of river of passing events, and strong is its current. No sooner is a thing brought to sight than it is swept away. Another takes its place and this too shall be swept away."

- Marcus Aurelius Antoninus (not a Buddhist or Taoist)

It's Sunday and I haven't scribbled. What can the matter be? The prompt for today was/is compose. Yesterday I wrote a piece, still incomplete, which may or may not ever see the light of day, intending to edit it for submission today. Yet nothing is forthcoming!

The reason, you see, is that in composing the events of today last night I failed to account for the decomposition of my composure that customarily follows a long training run.

Early morning, and the temp was fine and off I trotted. Finished the eleven miles and while happy with my performance my body was sending me distress signals. Nothing new this, and so on to the 15 minute ice water plunge to stop the mitocondrial break down which causes the next day's incapacitating muscle soreness. Followed by incredible fatigue, necessitating a nap.

All the while aware that I should be penning something to post for S.S., but alas my mind was unable or unwilling to wrap itself around any articulate topic of any sense or use. So I cede to the weariness and set my sights on a sestina for tomorrows Monday Mural........

And now

To
bed
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzz

Eight-one degrees F. at noon today. Whew...we jump from winter to mid-summer and skip spring.
The north side of the garage still has 3" if ice and snow on the ground in a swath three feet wide. On the south side of the property we stood and watched the daffodils and hyacinths open before our eyes. Not complaining, just saying. The forecast for tomorrow is for the mid-seventies. I have to do an eleven mile training run tomorrow in preparation for the 1/2 marathon I'll be running at the end of May in Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. Since I find it advantageous to run when it's cooler, I'll be on the road by 0700 when the temp should be in the high forties or low fifties.

Today's assignment/prompt for poefusion was to write a villenelle. I've written a villenelle about my training run tomorrow morning based on my 10 mile run over the same route two weeks ago. This route over the 4 rod road to Edwardsville is a particularly rigorous one. I describe it as ten mile loop, up-hill both ways. While technically untrue, it sure feels like it when your running it. ;)

The villanelle is a fixed form of nineteen lines consisting of five tercets (three line stanzas) and a quatrain (four line stanza). The first line (refrain) is repeated in lines six, twelve and eighteen while the third line is repeated in lines nine, fifteen and nineteen. These refrains (first/third lines) rhyme with each other and with the opening line of each stanza. The middle lines rhyme with each other to make the rhyme scheme aba.
The road rolls out; uphill everyway.
Eleven miles of macadam to go,
Counting cadence, in silence sway.

The morning is the cool of day.
Smoothly gliding, heel to toe.
The road rolls out, uphill everyway.

Breathing quickens, muscles bay,
Brain taunts and says: no, no.
Counting cadence, in silence sway.

Sips of water quench thirst away
Each and every mile or so......
The road rolls out, uphill everyway.

Reaching mile 5.5, mind in disarray,
Make the turn, feel confidence grow.
Counting cadence, in silence sway.

Almost there, at last I pray.
I've passed the test, I feel the glow!
The road rolls out, uphill everyway.
Counting cadence, in silence sway.

Ar lims sape rowd sactigous*

I’ve served caprussule faithfully

For forty cack and some.

The glureon held me happily,

But skrey, the mozzle’s come.

And now ‘tis time

She says to me;

What once was fine

‘Twill no longer be.

Beware, said I, of idleness,

When bloom fades into Fall.

Without routine, and empty nest,

The days may seem a pall.

Your gardens await

Industrious hands.

E-bay linens by the gate

To send through-out the lands.

Grand-kids come from Texas,

Books to read galore.

Wine to fill the glasses,

Trips to take and more.

Plant your bulbs, pull the weeds,

Putter around your home.

What ever call your whimsy heeds;

Your spirits free to roam.

Floating down the river

On a lazy afternoon;

Paddle all aquiver,

Margaritas by the spoon.

As a nurse, a mom, a wife,

You’re a real go-getter.

You’ve dedicated all your life,

To making our lives better!

Now it’s time for you

To satisfy your soul;

To put the icing on your cake,

And make yourself feel whole.

I’ve served caprussule faithfully

For forty cack and some.

The glureon held me happily,

But skrey, the mozzle’s come

Friday 5

* The winds of time blow in retirement.
photo: http://www.deviantart.com/print/2959292/

I saw you in the window

I saw you in the window.
Were you really there?
Or merely a reflection;
A phantom, a fleeting glare?

Captured by the window's pane
For a split second
In time?

Caught by my eye a gazing there,
You hurried by, noticing not,
Neither window nor I.
But through that window's other view,
He saw us, and I saw you;
Together, you and I.

LXXXII

Touching
Visible
Stage

"How long's she been here Sgt.?"

"M.E. says three days, lieutenant."

"Cause of death?"

"Strangulation, no sign of a struggle neither, sir."

"Anything else Sgt.?"

"Yes sir, a note in her pocket."

"And!?"

"Well sir, it don't make no sense to me. It talks about a window, and the only window in this here alley is that stained glass with the black bird in it."

"The note.....it said?"

I saw you touching,
Visible through my window.
Your stage thought private.

picture from Deviant art. POINTILLISM birds-eye-view by KataOnik Aug 3th, 2006

I've never seen his face

The bullet from his rifle
To my flesh it did race.
A yell I could not stifle;
I never saw his face.

Perhaps it was a stray round,
No target to be aced,
An accident; my Achilles found.
I never saw his face.

Was it me, his unseen foe
He wanted to erase?
Or was he just another joe?
I've never seen his face.

Did he die sometime, somewhere?
Or was he granted grace:
To gaze within the mirror there
And say; I've seen his face.

rel 16 Apr., 2008

#30 / 2 "chance encounter"

It was a dark and stormy night. No, no it wasn’t actually, It was a balmy, early spring night. The day had been cool, bright and sunny and just the perfect day to start clearing some plots for the extensive vegetable gardens he’d planned to put in.

The east side of the house proper, between it and the newly constructed compost bin, was rife with over grown honey-suckle bushes. Clearing this mini forest took him most of the day. Just before supper while making a delivery to the compost heap he startled a snake, who in turn startled him. Hard to say who was the most surprised. Being a novice about snakes he assumed that all snakes were poisonous. He knew better, but not being able to identify any snakes beyond perhaps the common garden snake he felt it the better part of caution to treat all snakes with caution. This particular snake was definitely not a garter snake; two to three feet long, fat and multi-colored, almost a diamond shaped pattern on his skin, and acting extremely aggressive put on quite a show. This sent him running to the garage to retrieve an axe with which to dispatch this seeming threat to his well being. Alas, upon his return, the creature had disappeared.

The snake, probably a puff adder or hog-nose was just taking its normal defensive actions, but not knowing that, the chemicals of fear were circulating wildly in the man.

After he finished supper and still mildly distraught as well as fatigued from his day’s labors, the thought of a fresh brewed cup of mint tea sounded like just the ticket to help sooth his nervous system. There just happened to be some new spearmint growing up underneath the hose hook-up by the cellar window. By the light of the moon he made his way around to the east corner of the house to where he had seen the mint growing. Being sure of the place, he did not take a flashlight. When he reached the place where the mint was growing he bent to pick a handful of leaves while inadvertently stepping on the garden hose in his flip flops. And then, AND THEN!, the hose moved purposefully. Holy shit he thought, jumping wildly away and running at the speed of light, or so it seemed. Jeeze, “I stepped on that SOB of a snake,” he thought

Breathing rapidly, in short gasps, he dropped the mint, tore through the front door and scaled the stairs two or three at a time and collapsed on his knees beside the tub where-in his wife sat, taking a bath and blurted out;" You won’t believe this, I just stepped on that god-damned snake in my flip flops!"

Stifling a smirk and refraining from chuckling, his wife knew he was in a terrible state from the ashen look on his face and the trembling of his hands.

Whether it was truly the/a snake or just a wiggly garden hose we will never know. What we do know was that the snake never showed itself around there again and there were no further chance encounters of that kind again.

#30-Flight

Fear of flying was not yet a novel by Erica Jong when Edmond (Eddie) Oaks was winging his way homeward in the belly of a Hercules C-130. Humorous erotica, which may have held his imagination captive while on the ground, was the last thing on his mind today 30,000 feet above the Pacific Ocean.

Eddie hated to fly. The thought of going up in an airplane would cause days and weeks of trembling anxiety in Eddie. Yet as a Boomer, he was living in the era of unsurpassed air-travel and speedy arrival at destinations was rapidly becoming the norm. One example: Many of LCpl. Oaks Marine Corps buddies had been shipped to Viet Nam on troop ships, taking 30+ days to make the crossing from the west coast of the USA to Viet Nam. Eddie wasn’t sure he’d of liked that either but taking the plane from San Francisco to DaNang, a 17 hour in the air flight, literally caused his mind to enter constant fright mode.

His escape from the reality of the trip was sleep. Yes, He slept for the greater majority of the hours the plane was airborne. Waking, or being awakened to eat was the only time he ventured into the reality of being suspended miles above a huge and treacherous sea. Thoughts of the plane diving into the ocean and plunging miles below the surface were constant reminders of the peril he saw himself in. The thought of the impending exposure to enemy gunfire was seen as a welcome reprieve from his current state of fear. To add fearful imagining to fearful imagining he also knew that after the plane had settled on the bottom of the ocean, the sharks would come in to the plane and shred his body, devouring his flesh while his mind was painfully aware until the shark finally gulped down his head.

Believe me I have given you but a minuscule snapshot of Eddie’s fear of being in a plane.

Despite the fact that he had arrived without mishap, and obviously had done so many times up to that point in his life, his fears remained unabated.

He had been taken to and from numerous battles by Huey helicopter, literally saving his life on a few occasions and still he detested flight.

Eddie was wounded in both Operation Starlight and Harvest Moon, yet any fears engendered by the war never rose to the level of that of flying.

Now here he was, cradled in the webbing seat of the uncomfortable cool cave of the C130’s cargo hold. Looking out at the sunny cumulus cloud filled sky watching the beautiful billowy clouds passing in close proximity to the plane’s window. Eddie was startled by a cloud formation that resembled a person of great stature sitting on a throne. He tried to decide if the cloud sculpture was Odin, or Zeus, or may be Neptune. No not Neptune He’d show up if they crashed in the ocean. No, No it couldn’t be God he thought. Well, He supposed it could be but anyway it was sure a curious apparition. As he continued to stare and conjure imaginings he suddenly heard a voice, a deep baritone voice and there was no mistaking that it was coming from the “God” on the cloud throne. The voice and the words were so clear, he had to look beside him to see if there was someone sitting beside him and talking to him. Nope, he was alone.

The voice said: Don’t come back this way again!

Eddie came home in 1965 and the war continued for another ten years. Interestingly, Eddie refused to watch any newscast or read any media concerning the war because when he did so he would be overcome with a strong to desire to go that way again.

It's been one f those weeks! You know, one where nothing really went horribly wrong but deviated from the norm enough to make you say, hot-dog I'm glad to see Friday get here. With the pile up of years, I really do try to stay supple, at least in my mind. Sometimes it's an effort though; cynicism is always lurking right around the corner ready to make you a brittle curmudgeon.

I'll try to keep this story short, you know, a snap shot of life, a Polaroid of sorts.

Being on call pulls you down physically if not mentally and this week I was unfortunate enough to pull two days: Monday and Thursday. If you don't get called it's not so bad, but when you work half the night and then turn around and have to put in a regular day following it there is a tendency to come to Friday with some trepidation. It's like, what else can happen to make this week a total flop?

Now in the grand scheme of things I really have nothing to complain about except some lost sleep. I didn't run over or hit the skunk that darted out in front of my car last night. Some one did put too much salt on the pop corn yesterday, but not enough to stop me from gorging myself on it for supper.

And on proper reflection, both of the ladies in OB that I gave interthecal Fentanyl to ,delivered without having to come to the OR for c-sections. The four year old boy who got kicked in the face by a horse got shipped to a higher level facility and didn't come to our OR. The kidney stone patient was suffering way more than me, and the fourteen year old girl who had her appendix out last night, the first day of her spring break vacation, wasn't too happy.

Sitting here in front of my no-name computer, meditating on the week behind me, I'm starting to think: I had a pretty good week, yeah, Heck I'm going fearless into Friday. That's the ticket, bring it on, I can handle it. I'll make my self like buttered aluminum foil for making peanut brittle: troubles, if they come will just slide off me slick as snot!

Well now, I'm glad we had this little talk. I'm feeling much better. Thanks for listening!

Every day is yours to make
Whatever it will be.
A Polaroid for you to follow
To meet the day a breeze.

I'll not become a brittle branch
No, a supple sapling will I be.
Reflecting woes like aluminum-
I'll foil misery.

With fearless fortitude I'll face
Any skunk that comes my way.
Throwing salt upon the icy place
So upright I will stay.

God willing and the creek don't rise
Raise a glass of red with me tonight.
At six PM, eastern zone, a prize-
Thankful for all that's right.

Funny
Remember
Theatre

It's funny the things you remember;
like a twist contest or
doing the limbo
at the Strand Theatre

My Blogger friend, Elisabeth, from "As My World Turns," has tagged me to do the six word memoir.
I've just recently done this meme, but since it's Elizabeth who tagged me, I'll do this fun exercise again and do it differently. If you're interested in the first one go here.

The six-word memoir meme

Here are the rules:

1. Write your own six-word memoir.
2. Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you’d like.
3. Link to the person that tagged you in your post.
4. Tag five more blogs with links.
5. And don’t forget to leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play.

Ages ago, or maybe just a week or two ago, Ren.kat tagged me to do the 6 word memoir. Then booda baby did it and included me again to do it, and then Churlita put out the call in general.
For Elisabeth I'm doing a new 6 words.

rel marries dal: 'chelle, Bob, Jay

I tag: Kristi, Jay, dal, 'chelle, S-I-L Pam, relII

#29 Lost Highway

There's a highway leads to nowhere,
I've been there many times.
For miles and miles it stretches
With nary a soul to find.

There's always been an exit
To get me back to town.

Time and time again
To the lost highway I am bound.
And I know the day will come
When no exit will be found.

The road of life has been kind
To me, and gentle by and far.

That lonely road to nowhere-
I'll trod 'til who knows when.
Put my picture in the obit there,
I won't be to work again.

exotic
colors fighting for
attention

artworkfrom Photobucket

by Nubia 1515

Sunday Scribblings
# 105
The Photograph

With Sunday winding down and bedtime closing in I decided I'd best be pecking out a submission to post or risk being late or absent altogether. The girls have given us as a prompt "the Photograph" or just photo if you wish.
99.9% of the time the prompts presented here offer a wide array of possible avenues to explore, and today's is no different. Anyone who has read this blog for any time at all know that my love of photographs is represented herein very well . I do love to use photos to help tell my stories or illustrate my poems and so they, the posts, are liberally peppered with purloined as well as self made photographs.

In keeping with my tradition of trying to pick an avenue less trod by the other Scribblers I've decided that instead of posting some of the pictures I had originally selected to grace this post, I would instead write a post of a thousand words, sans illustration, photo or image of any kind.

Just kidding! Well, about the thousand words anyway, not the absence of photos.

I'll make three points about photographs and then leave you to mull it over, or not, as you will.

1. I love photographs. They, next to trees, are some of my best friends. They are memory simulators, history keepers, art-for-art-sake images, and entertaining (think moving pictures here).

2. But really, what is a photograph?

3. Using a photo to create a character.

What is a Photograph?

A photo is a snapshot of a dream
To hold the past unchanged.
A work of art, a piece
Of time held still.
A reminder of something
That only existed for that instant.

A photograph stops time
Just as death terminates life.

They are simply a mirror reflection
O what once was-
Fading, yellowing
Aging, slowly crumbling,
Turning to dust.

These images serve to
Remind us of what once was
And can never be again.

And we love them all the same,
like nuggets of gold,
priceless treasures to save at all cost.

When we're gone they end up
In pawn shops for some
writer/ photographer to buy
For a penny and
Use to stimulate his imagination and to write a story,
That never happened.

This poem materialized in my mind as I was awakening after a night marinating in my right brain and flew out the tip of my pen almost before my feet hit the floor.

Character creation:

Shortly after I started blogging I came across Corey's blog, Tongue in Cheek.
The first post of hers that I read had to do with a girl, a fishmonger she had espied in Marseilles, France. She included in that post a picture of the young woman conspicuously posed in a metal kitchen chair with the port of Marseilles and incumbent fishing fleet behind her. Although she was sitting, I guessed her to be 5'6" or 7", with crow black hair cut short like a shaggy bob, and matching dark eyes. She was slight of build, maybe 115 lbs. Her olive skin was clear but some what hardened by hard work and exposure to the sun. Her long fingers were chaffed and scared from much fish cleaning. Over her t-shirt and black trousers she wore a heavy white rubber apron which hung from just below her collar bones to just blow her knees, and almost touching the sea green knee high rubber boots she wore.
With an unsmiling mouth but the devil twinkling in her eyes she was beautiful in an obscure sort of way. She seem out of place yet at the same time a perfect contrast to the the scene set up by Corey. I left a comment to the effect of the contrasts within the image and that was that. Until a year later and I was writing my first novel for NaNOWriMo, and one of the characters was/is a fishmonger young woman named Elodie. As I was writing her into the scene I knew immediately who Elodie was. I've seen her I said, "I know exactly what she looks like!"

Bout-Rimes

Comes it fleeting, like a butterfly

Elusive to the touch as steam,

Leaving my fervent heart to cry;
Safer this, enjoyed as a dream.

Therein the fragrance of her peppered hair

As we lay beside the limpid lake
Listening to the nickering mare

Knowing, wishing to be late

These dreams and images, but a test

Within my fervid heart to create

A tangled, mind numbing mess.

These racing thoughts do not sedate.

They force the wakened mind to scheme;

Limbs entwined, twisted wicker.

Not posting yesterday disqualifies me from the poem a day for April club....Whew, I'm glad that pressure is off!!!
Today, I've taken the liberty of combing two prompts from Poefusion: the Friday five (avacado, hemisphere, gasoline, ceiling, and brick) with poefusion #7 "write your own 13-part poem using one repeating image or symbol".

Never knock on Death's door: ring the bell and run away! Death really hates that!

Matt Frewer, as Dr. Mike Stratford in "Doctor, Doctor"

Thirteen thoughts with my dead father.

by rel

I.
Glancing out the window
To check the clothes line,
I saw you sitting on the
Winter bench.
Thirty years dead: Dad!

II.
Initial shock subsiding,
Donning my coat, I joined you there.
You wearing those avocado colored pants
And the leather elbowed sweater
I gave you one Christmas, dad.

III.
You stared without seeing.
You talked without moving your lips.
I heard every word dad.

IV.
"After all this time dad,
Why now?"

V.
"There is no time', you said;
"There is only now-
Tell me your memories of
Me as your dad".

VI.
"Remember the old Chevy dad?
130,000 miles, floor boards rusted away?
Going to fetch Julie.
Smelling gasoline all the way."

VII.
We passed a farm-
White barn, red brick house.
At 16, your step-mother farmed you out:
Your dad died when you were thirteen.

VIII.
----finishing off the attic;
Bedroom for Jeff and me.
I puzzled you with a question
about masturbation.
Dad, you slipped, stepped through
the ceiling.

IX.
"Remember the rides in the Packard dad?
You lectured, My mind wandered away.
A legacy I'd just as soon have forgotten."

X.
"Dad, I've always believed that
You memorized the W.U.D..
Your favorite altime phrase;
Look it up in the dictionary!"

XI.
You turn to look me in the eye.
Dead serious, you say,
"I'm leaving this hemisphere soon.
I won't be here when you come".
"Dad!!!!!"

XII.
"I'm retuning to this world again.
You may see me, touch me,
But you won't recognize me
As dad."

XIII.
Remember,
Your dad loves you dad!

"You will never regret the present, but you live to it's fullest."
I went to work
And never quit.
Always some young turk
Belly to slit.

Electives by day
Emergencies at night.
With insurance they pay,
Without; they might.

At four in the morning
A baby is born-
Exciting, not boring,
Mamas toil worn.

Missed some blogging,
Sleep was short-changed.
All the attention she's hogging-
Mommy and dad's lives rearranged.

Some days the outcome's quite bad.
Perhaps it's cancer, or drive-by shoot.
This morning the outcome nothing but glad.
Blogging? Sleep? who gives a hoot?

"Big things coming in future. Only a matter of time."

parallel
bounce
mysterious

On parallel bars
Acrobatic Somersault.
Mysterious bounce.

He used to have hair dark and curly.
He prayed for it to straighten--
Thinner would be great he said,
Then he'd look like Elvis.
Now it's thin, wavy,
Most white, some gray.
Yesterday
Wasn't
Bad!

The Lion must have eaten all the lambs! March left the same way it came in; cold, blustery, with snow, sleet, and freezing rain. We here in the north of New York by 8 hours, are forecast to get a reprieve today: temperatures rising into the sixties! It's only temporary, as we return to cold crappy weather on Wednesday. I'm left, therefore, with the belief that today is Nature's way of acknowledging April fools day.


Not so much in later years, but when I was younger, especially when my kids were home, I was an inveterate practical joker, most especially on the 1st of April. Why it wouldn't be beyond me to send one of my kids to the grocery store or the local hardware store to get me a case or a 1/2 case of torrid.


I'd be remiss, however, if I didn't tell the story of how my youngest, Jay, April-fooled me big time and never since has a better one been played, in this house at least.

You might say he took a Gamble.


As you may or may not know, my job requires me to take call in the local hospital. One March 31st, a few years past, I was indeed on call. Call is a twenty-four hour or more event so that on the morning of April 1st I was still on call. Mind you it was early enough that I had not recognized what DAY it was. Jay comes into the bathroom while I'm in the middle of my shower and says:
"Dad?"

"Yeah," what's up?"

"The hospital is on the phone for you!"

"Oh shit! Ok, thanks."

I jump out of the shower, and while trying to towel off, trot, dripping to the phone in the living room. When I get to the phone, which is, obviously, still in the cradle, I hear this voice from the kitchen yell:

"April Fools."

Planetary Alignment Decreases Gravity British astronomer Patrick Moore announced on BBC Radio 2 that at 9:47 AM a once-in-a-lifetime astronomical event is going to occur that listeners can experience in their very own homes. The planet Pluto would pass behind Jupiter, temporarily causing a gravitational alignment that will counteract and lessen the Earth's own gravity. Moore says that if listeners jump in the air at the exact moment that this planetary alignment occurred, they would experience a strange floating sensation. When 9:47 AM arrived, BBC2 began to receive hundreds of phone calls from listeners claiming to have felt the sensation. One woman even reported that she and her eleven friends had risen from their chairs and floated around the room.













Oh, did I forget to mention that this took place in 1976 and When 9:47 AM arrived, BBC2 began to receive hundreds of phone calls from listeners claiming to have felt the sensation. One woman even reported that she and her eleven friends had risen from their chairs and floated around the room.


You may have heard that you can stand a hen's egg on end on the first day of spring ie: the spring equinox; Well it's true and I did in fact demonstrate this for my children and their friends.

I also demonstrated it on the next day and the next and so on........

Ok folks; let's get out there and have fun to day!