Category: Poetic Narrative
Ghost Trees Wailing At the Wind
A picture couldn’t do justice to
Arctic wind’s ferocity
blowing across the
great lake thirty or forty m.p.h.
white caps rushing toward shore
water, trees, sand and leaves …
combined
Shhsssshing relentlessly,
my hoody inflated into
a reverse parachute
pushing my head and
body backward.
Dots of rain prick
my face
the occasional
snow flake spirals by.
I’m forced to retreat
to calmer climes
along the road where
not so long ago it seemed
cold before cresting
the hill at the shoreline
facing Arctic wind’s
ferocity.
I make my way up the hill to 23
turn left onto the bike path for
a mile or so, past
the alabaster pipeline then
return
the way I came
to
the top of
the hill.
Descending the hill I hear
the SNAP CRACK! of dead fir trees
breaking like sticks
the bottom half still attached
to the ground
The top looking like a snarling beast, suddenly
Escaped from
Inside the tree
patches of bleached wood where bark had fallen
with jagged, pointed, dagger teeth
An angry beast released from its confinement within the tree
Splintered teeth pointing skyward
still attached to
roots rotten and brittle below ground
(the only force keeping it
from tipping over)
the broken trees are pointing skyward
with snarling fury
the soul of each tree’s pent up frustration
raging at nature’s forces
finally allowed to express
their furiosity at
the plague of beetles who caused their
demise, long gone now
off to greener pastures.
The fir tree’s plaintive wails,
their pent up frustration,
their solitary ghost sounds
their howls of pain
unheard
in their after lives!
The fir trees wail with silent fury now, they’ve become
ghost trees wailing at
the wind!
Their pain punctuated by
SNAP! CRACK!! SNAP!! SNAP!!! CRACK!!!!!
the initial sound
of ultimate
rot …
Nature’s Life
She looked with cold indifference
at His efforts to teach us
the connection between
our lives and
nature.
Bridge parties, the daily routines of life and of course
her afternoon naps,
were the essential
components of Her
life.
He gave us the freedom to
explore the sandy beaches,
the dunes, trout streams and
The Great Lake where
I spent my days
submerged in glacial ice
melted to
65 degree water for
hours at a time, running through
the woods exploring, or
camped out alongside windbreaker trees
stretched 3/4 of a mile along the shoreline
in sleeping bags next to camp fire embers
staring at the stars
through crystal clear skies blown clean by
on shore winds cold or
chili at times even during the summer.
fishing off the end of
the Coast Guard dock
stretched a hundred or so yards into
the bay where
the “Amphibian” and smaller
rescue boats hung inside the boat house at
the same place where
he learned to fish as a boy.
He taught us how to
fend for ourselves, to
catch food, to
make fire, cook outside, provide shelter
if necessary.
He gave us opportunities for unique forms of thought patterns deeper sorts of problem solving more essential the world around shown wider in scope made more real; how to live impeccably in the natural world parallel to and inclusive of the confines of life in the everyday “real” world.
One day,
temperatures in the ‘20s
the ground covered by
light wings drifting
like feather’s down
falling,
I followed his tracks
through
two feet of freshly fallen snow to
a row of scrub pines bordering
the back side of sand
dunes running parallel to
the lake where
left alone with
shelter, warmth and
food
in a world of
muted silence
wrapped inside a black and white shell
the ground rising
upward before me
I pondered without
words or thought
the timeless mystery surrounding me
in a world of
liberation …
Ultimate Rot
A picture couldn’t do justice to
Arctic wind’s ferocity
blowing across the
great lake thirty or forty m.p.h.
white caps rushing toward shore
water, trees, sand and leaves …
combined
Shhsssshing relentlessly,
my hoody inflated into
a reverse parachute
pushing my head and
body backward.
Dots of rain prick
my face
the occasional
snow flake spirals by.
I’m forced to retreat
to calmer climes
along the road where
not so long ago it seemed
cold before cresting
the hill at the shoreline
to face Arctic wind’s
ferocity.
I made my way up the hill to 23
turned left onto the bike path for
a mile or so, past
the alabaster pipeline.
I turned around, for no reason
walked back
the way I came to the end of
the bike path at the top of
the hill.
Descending the hill I heard
the SNAP CRACK! of dead firs
breaking like sticks
the broken half still attached to the ground
looking like a beast, patches of bleached wood where bark had fallen with jagged, pointed, dagger teeth an angry beast thrust up from the earth
pointed skyward
still attached to
roots rotten and brittle below ground
the only force keeping
the trees pointing skyward
with snarling fury
the soul of each tree’s pent up frustration
raging at nature’s forces
finally allowed to express
their furiosity at
the plague of beetles who caused their
demise, long gone now
off to greener pastures.
The fir tree’s plaintive wails,
their pent up frustration,
their solitary ghost sounds
their howls of pain
unheard
in their after lives they had become
ghost trees wailing
at the wind!
their pain punctuated by
SNAP! CRACK!! SNAP!! SNAP!!! CRACK!!!!!
the initial sound
of ultimate
rot …
Hideous Nature, Life
Hideous nature,
life …
Ghastly in its death bed/its beseiging compass
run its course.
Bewildering with its struggles/
writhing in its pain/
desire seeking fire/rifting
terrorism’s claim.
Severed thinking/
thoughts of creepy crawlies/
struggling through fright’s night
against
all reasoning.
There’ll be no full moon tonight to guide
the single masted ship
sailing saw tooth tiger’s biting cold/
forces wrought by ghastly winds
likely to prevail.
Tossed about by night time breezes blowing/
dark clouds racing toward
every horizon filling every void
every which way/all shades of gray/
lashing tempest breezes
blowing light’s deepest freezes into
nascent; sadness into dreamer’s hearts
with misery’s delight …………
Hideous nature,
life.
He Gave Us the Freedom
She looked with cold indifference at
his efforts to teach
the connection between
our lives and
nature.
Bridge parties,
the daily routines of life and
an afternoon nap, were
the essential components of
her life.
He gave us freedom to
explore the sandy beaches, dunes, trout
streams and
the Great Lake where
he had fished and camped as a
boy.
We spent our days
swimming
for hours at a time,
we ran thorough
the woods like wild
Indians.
We fished in the bay
off the end of
the old Coast Guard dock
at the end of
the limerock road
where he fished at
the same
age.
He gave opportunity for
unique forms of
thought patterns taken from
the world around;
deeper sorts of problem solving
made more essential
more real
in a world parallel to but
inclusive of
the confines of
our ‘’everyday’’ lives.
One day,
temperatures in the ‘20s
walking in his tracks through
three feet of snow
the ground white
light as feathers rising while passing by
quarter sized light wings
drifting
slowly downward
soft and mesmerizing.
We traveled past
the scrub oaks
a century or more
old
gnarly and twisted from
Arctic winds
their rise and fall,
deadly cold fronts, biting winds,
great lake storms
blown onshore,
adapted to biting cold
surviving.
We walked to
a line of scrub pines
behind dunes running parallel to
the lake where .,..
with food and shelter and warmth
he left us for
some indeterminable
length of time
in a world of silence
to contemplate a world
stripped of all conveniences
wrapped in black or white
the ground softly falling through
air
from
upwards.
How the G Note Gave Me A Neck Ache
continued … maybe I muttered something like, ‘’well, you know how it goes,” blah, blah blah, when suddenly the woman named Linda (who’s pretty aggressive) says rather forcefully, “Why do you think phones were invented?!’’
continued …
The first thing I thought was, what the hell kind of bullshit attitude is this?
Was she trying to put me on the spot to test my mettle or something like that?
To tell you the truth I didn’t really care what she said while at the same time some little voice inside my head kept saying, “Fuck you bitch,” AND “Uh-oh, this could be trouble,” at the same time!
And yet, on top of all of this intrigue the question intrigued me! On the deepest level, why was the telephone invented?
It gave me ‘’pause’’ for thought during that brief interlude.
I must have said something pretty stupid after mulling over the question since, when I replied a wall of sound swept over me.
Here’s how it happened … continued ,…
When Carol, (the aggressive one) said, ‘’Why do you think phones were invented?’’ I looked up and stared over at Suzanne’s office, on the other side of Carol’s desk, into the tiny space between the edge of the open door and the window on the far wall.
I don’t know why I fixated on that particular spot. I stared at it wondering what the REAL reason telephones were invented?
I knew damn well they weren’t invented so people could be called for work assignments! I mean, did Alexander Graham Bell even consider that some day there’d be answering machines?
I was being totally over analytic as usual mulling this stupid question over and over in my mind coming up with all kinds of thoughts on the subject.
For a split second I even saw Alexander Graham Bell calling his assistant (what was his name Watson? ) to come upstairs because he had spilled acid on his hand.
All of this thinking and wondering happened within a split second but I guess the timing was perfect you know, one beat, two beat … .
The room got real quiet. Suddenly it dawned on me. I didn’t know why the fucking telephone was invented!
I went from being confused to concerned. I know it showed on my face. Maybe it looked like I had been deep in thought and was about to speak a pearl of wisdom.
So I said, ‘’Well. I don’t know why the telephone was invented.’’
Suddenly it seemed like all my senses shut down completely, when a wall of sound suddenly washed over me! You know, that high pitched cackling noise groups of women make when they all start laughing at then same time!?
Don’t they call that the G-NOTE or something like that?
That explosion of sound practically knocked my head backward!
(continued …
For tribalmysticstories: A Tribal Mystic Story; Poem For My Father
-
– Poem For My Father –
One day he took me to a copse of trees
where we sat under a canopy of
newly formed leaves
above us a clear blue sky
where he gave perspectives to me
different from anything I had
learned.
Thoughts from the other side of
what we think we know.
How wind and leaves
are not separate forces rather
part of one single entity
connected to an infinity
of larger and larger wholeness
stretching outward from
the air we breathe,
beyond heat and light
from the sun then,
further into space and time until
I saw myself in a world
quite different than my own,
a world I’d never seen before,
of single limitless form.
He drew my attention to
the random movements of
the leaves
rising and falling, relentlessly
shooting ‘round and ‘round,
limbs branches leaves and needles
the grasses and saplings below
touching one another
sharing unique thought patterns
not unlike the synapses
of our brains though
infinitely more complex,
not confined by
the craniums of our skulls,
gathering awareness,
from earth and sky,
the mysteries of the world
above and below spoken to them
content to accept all that is true
without conscious reflection.
“Trees are the supreme creation of life along the continuum of awareness, free from all bonds, able to gather all knowledge from earth and sky and share with one another.”
I listened and within
the silence of my mind
heard leaves and limbs
whispering to one another,
their voices rising and falling
in concert with
the wind,
it seemed I was watching
a playground of laughing children.
He told me all root bound life
the trees and even the grasses reach
the tendrils of their minds, their
roots,
into the planet where they feel
the living vibrations of the earth and glimpse
the secrets of life
“They know the stuff we struggle to understand.” he said. “From the smallest particles outward, one long strip of awareness from where they are rooted, to the edge of the horizon and beyond, while we scurry about like ants grabbing pieces of sticks or crumbs of knowledge thinking how clever we are.’’
FaKakda fakakda
Heard today downtown: “Fakakda this fakakda folker spoiling far a pongha fakakda, the fakakda fun a Yiddisha fakakda? that’s me! I’m the number one fakakda fakakda best fakakda there is by far! Fakakda Me! Wooh woohwhoospuke spoof woof …. Oye veigh …. so
If you don’t think this is funny then I probably need to see a psychiatrist. This definitely proves that stupid is funny which figures since, I’m the stupidest guy I know! oy .
Living most of my life within the Jewish culture taught me a very funny word and it popped into my head today … fakakda! and I laughed. So I scrambled around for something to write on when I realized the computer was on. I had a V8 moment without the can!
So, I let my fingers do the walking through the sound within my brain. Wanting to put just a LITTLE humanity into this ridiculous tirade of words I threw in the “Me” aspect … so fucking dumb …then, I had to immerse myself within the word world of “Me” (wherever that is ) and it needed to be in lock step with rest of this … I won’t say ..
See it’s all about rhythm to me. Make the words skip across the page like flat skipped stones thrown across the water. I may or may not know how to do this. But I have respect for what it is and how it feels to me!
To immerse yourself in the words is like crawling inside another world, stupid and asinine as often they are and I can be. Really! You didn’t know? ok . bye .k
A Time For Sleeping
A Time For Sleeping
Saturday was a cold, gray day.
I lit the fireplace for a quick warm up.
Before leaving the warmth of
the cottage
I wrote a little more,
donned my hoody and coat
turned off the gas
grabbed my camera and
entered the cold but
beautifully pure, refreshing
northern air.
I walked up the hill,
along 23 to
the alabaster pipeline then
backtracked toward where
my journey began.
At the bottom of the hill
frozen water looked like a small stream
or a miniature river system or
what a large river basin would look like
from high above.
Two sets of raccoon tracks lead to
a fork along
the frozen highway dusted white with snow
where they parted ways.
My frozen world had become
suspended in time,
fully sleep within
the ground of shadows,
all things living
framed in shades of gray
naked, dead or
alive and
waiting.
But, for what?
For summer’s light to return
life’s burning ember,
for warmth to come again,
a time to grow
from liquid water sugar fed
the leaves and buds of trees absorbed
from sunlight stored
a hundred differing shades of green
their roots reaching deeper
seeking … seeking …
seeking to remember …
But for now?…
a time for
sleeping .,..
London Broil: the End Again
continued … “she’ll just have to eat her goddamned popcorn with butter tonight … ! he wondered if she’d know the difference … but, he knew better … )
Two hours later when he got home she was fast asleep in bed.
“Hmmmmm”, he thought.
He figured that, since the next day was Saturday (and she’d be sleeping in) he’d leave early for his appointment at Peter’s Quickie Loan Place (across the street from the Piggly Wiggly), pick up a couple tubs of margarine for the popcorn AND a couple pounds of butter, just in case!
He knew he’d have hell to pay if there wasn’t any butter in the house since she preferred only butter on her toast.
The End ..
London Broil
They had meat for dinner almost every night.
But for months he had been eating tomatoes and feta cheese each night even though he hated feta cheese!
He couldn’t stand the taste and it made him sick!
She insisted all along he become a vegetarian and she insisted he eat feta cheese even though he loved meat and potatoes.
“Honey,” she said, “As long as you bring home the bacon you can have whatever you want!”
Which, this was the problem!
He hadn’t worked for months and tomatoes with feta cheese is a LOT cheaper than two people eating London broil!
(Even though they had plenty of money!)
He just shook his head.
But, why feta cheese he wondered ??
(She said it had something to do with goats milk and the symbiotic relationship goats have with tomatoes???)
She gloated it over him. The meat thing, I mean.
And the fact that he wasn’t working.
Naturally, he didn’t want to make waves so he ate the damned feta cheese. (After all he WAS unemployed) But he would NOT give in when she asked if he liked the feta cheese!
She always laughed, “I can tell by the look on your face it sickens you!!!”
One night he had to leave the table after eating a piece with green mold!
(He hated bleu cheese even more!)
She followed him to the bathroom chortling the whole way!
’’I know why you’re sick you jake ass!’’ she said. “It’s that cheese you liar! You hate it!’’
He told her he thought it was something he ate at the unemployment office.
She laughed again!
“Probably one of those meaty hot dogs you like so much you meat eating, in denial, vegetarian!” she yelled. A shit eating grin on her face.
She put her arms around him which, he though was kind of nice (for a change), but she faked one of those knee jabs to his crotch!
When doubled over she called him a doofey unemployed flack ass!
“You doofey eyed unemployed flack ass!” She yelled laughing.
He smiled.
What’s a ‘flack ass’, he wondered?
continued …
Maple Sap
Maple Sap
Something Discovered I Thought I Had Forgotten
We took turns gathering sap
from the big maple trees
along the street
perpendicular to my house
before sunrise/during late winter and
early spring.
What’s the world like at 4 a.m.?
Not a sound
in the world
but for my felt lined boots,
scrunching over school kids foot prints
quick frozen in slush during
a brief span
winter allowed spring to
show itself before
pulling us back into
the deep freeze
one more time.
Three street lamps
at each end and middle of
the block threw yellow halos
onto the snow; sparking
frozen crystals flashing
bright from cold moon’s
night time light echoing
points of light shimmering
bright against
the clear blue-black
sky.
Between each light
shadows momentarily
snuffed me into darkness,then
back into the halo three times
in succession to
the end of the block where
turning, with brief visit
with each tree began the
one block journey home but for
brief visits
at the trunk of each tree
collecting drops of sap
slowly collected in
little tin pails from copper tubing
tapped
into each tree.
It’s early Spring/the trees still half asleep/these early spring time nights with winter’s lingering cold,
some beating heart within/in tune with spring time light pumping upward /sap from fingers reaching deep.
Synthesized energy!
stored in caskets of root below ground
aged five months the finest wine.
The taste?
Clean and cold,
faintly sweet, maple wood flavored,
the perfect essence of each tree,
as refreshingly cool to drink
on coldest mornings
as cold water is
on a hot summer
day.
Serenity
I told you yesterday
that spring had sprung
and i knew because
i saw a fly and a bull ant
on the floor by the fireplace,
a tickling on my arm as i wrote this piece
not fifteen minutes ago
a tiny spider had invaded my space!
There are gnats and mosquitos
and other tiny things
i can’t imagine
sharing air that a week ago
floated crystals of lace like wings
each a drifting masterpiece
floating down or streaming sidewise
with crystal clarity seen
within air that was
mine to breathe
while witnessing the beauty of
each and every living thing
stripped bare of
all distractions;
Air that I’ve shared
with no one
now,
that I share with all
the little things
that come alive each spring.
My life more complicated now
no longer distraction free
avoiding their lines of intersection
between the search for
whatever it is they’re searching for
inside purest air I’ve been breathing,
air i’ve shared with no one.
The soil fecund now … i do not use that word lightly!
Stored snow or frost grown permanent
five or six ‘moon go ’rounds’ ago
where all these beings waited within
their clear winter amber
quick frozen in gathered humus
or crystalline within the muck,
the eggs of their existence
captured when sun’s light slowed
to dim orange
when trees released
their bed covers
to darker still intensity
captured by cold stillness
within their sleeping spaces
during gestation’s time
to lie in wait, for
warmer sun’s return
to free the life within
those amber spaces
not sleeping
having never been alive (as such)
waiting to emerge
from broken water,
released by whiter light!
These creatures that
surround me now
within my sight!
that feed upon my light!
that touch my flesh!
that share with me my breath!
my choice bereft!
the world no longer stripped bare
of all confusion and complexity
black and white and
clean and fresh!
They’ve STOLEN my
SERENITY! !c
I told you yesterday
that spring had sprung
and i knew because
i saw a fly and a bull ant
on the floor by the fireplace,
a tickling on my arm as i wrote this piece
not fifteen minutes ago
a tiny spider had invaded my space!
There are gnats and mosquitos
and other tiny things
i can’t imagine
sharing air that a week ago
floated crystals of lace like wings
each a drifting masterpiece
floating down or streaming sidewise
with crystal clarity seen
within air that was
mine to breathe
while witnessing the beauty of
each and every living thing
stripped bare of
all distractions;
Air that I’ve shared
with no one
now,
that I share with all
the little things
that come alive each spring.
My life more complicated now
no longer distraction free
avoiding their lines of intersection
between the search for
whatever it is they’re searching for
inside purest air I’ve been breathing,
air i’ve shared with no one.
The soil fecund now … i do not use that word lightly!
Stored snow or frost grown permanent
five or six ‘moon go ’rounds’ ago
where all these beings waited within
their clear winter amber
quick frozen in gathered humus
or crystalline within the muck,
the eggs of their existence
captured when sun’s light slowed
to dim orange
when trees released
their bed covers
to darker still intensity
captured by cold stillness
within their sleeping spaces
during gestation’s time
to lie in wait, for
warmer sun’s return
to free the life within
those amber spaces
not sleeping
having never been alive (as such)
waiting to emerge
from broken water,
released by whiter light!
These creatures that
surround me now
within my sight!
that feed upon my light!
that touch my flesh!
that share with me my breath!
my choice bereft!
the world no longer stripped bare
of all confusion and complexity
black and white and
clean and fresh!
They’ve STOLEN my
SERENITY! !
I told you yesterday
that spring had sprung
and i knew because
i saw a fly and a bull ant
on the floor by the fireplace,
a tickling on my arm as i wrote this piece
not fifteen minutes ago
a tiny spider had invaded my space!
There are gnats and mosquitos
and other tiny things
i can’t imagine
sharing air that a week ago
floated crystals of lace like wings
each a drifting masterpiece
floating down or streaming sidewise
with crystal clarity seen
within air that was
mine to breathe
while witnessing the beauty of
each and every living thing
stripped bare of
all distractions;
Air that I’ve shared
with no one
now,
that I share with all
the little things
that come alive each spring.
My life more complicated now
no longer distraction free
avoiding their lines of intersection
between the search for
whatever it is they’re searching for
inside purest air I’ve been breathing,
air i’ve shared with no one.
The soil fecund now … i do not use that word lightly!
Stored snow or frost grown permanent
five or six ‘moon go ’rounds’ ago
where all these beings waited within
their clear winter amber
quick frozen in gathered humus
or crystalline within the muck,
the eggs of their existence
captured when sun’s light slowed
to dim orange
when trees released
their bed covers
to darker still intensity
captured by cold stillness
within their sleeping spaces
during gestation’s time
to lie in wait, for
warmer sun’s return
to free the life within
those amber spaces
not sleeping
having never been alive (as such)
waiting to emerge
from broken water,
released by whiter light!
These creatures that
surround me now
within my sight!
that feed upon my light!
that touch my flesh!
that share with me my breath!
my choice bereft!
the world no longer stripped bare
of all confusion and complexity
black and white and
clean and fresh!
They’ve STOLEN my
SERENITY! !
Second Birth
See the angry acts of many rich
too proud to bond
with mother earth
their caskets bulge
with stolen goods,
no thought to share their riches
with generosity given freely
their greedy souls never searching
their habits deadened, never knowing
thoughts worth thinking.
Some people care within demise
their envy keeps them living
their thoughts so easily lead astray
their longing never ending.
It’s how falsehood gets passed down
from generations
onto the many seeking
sustenance over fear,
plentitude over awareness,
bitter after the war to win all wars is lost,
roles played again and again
they sing their lonely anthems.
Their search for meaning never stays
the price too high
the road too steep and winding
the streets unpaved,
muddy ruts along the way
too deeply formed
to costly to dispute
with academic kindness.
The end result? Blindness, winds its way/along its way,
no hope of rescue from their dying]
too lost to find/the road they think/that’s never there,
Their narrow thoughts an outside force that seeks to win the day despite the loss of living.
Their fear? Death before living life.
Their regret? Unknown dreams and fantasy that never lived,
locked up crying within,
never seeing the light of day
never love finding,
a game they play with no winners.
except those few who find themselves
home at last
at journey’s end;
the place where
life
began …
Fred and Ethel
By late stage marriage
most men want to spend their days
talking while most women just want to be
left the fuck alone! …
Oh jeez! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to do that.
Speaking of being
LEFT ALONE
I’d like to tell you a story but, may I prefix my blabber with
a short statement before we begin.
There are two states of LEFT ALONE.
LEFT ALONE! by choice.
LEFT ALONE by circumstance.
With that in mind;
I’d like to introduce you to
Fred and Ethel Steen
married 40 plus years
both have needs that
after lifetimes
have yet to be
fulfilled ….. and yet … !
they have endured.
-Poor Fred-
I mean that literally!
Born to a poor family in a poor
Memonite neighborhood outside
Philadelphis his father a
bread baker, life was not easy
they spent way too much time surviving/ time taken ‘way from/ what it takes to know what “happy family” means …
He grew into the army by
17, went to war came home, became a
pipe fitter, married Ethel,
His favorite saying was always,
“That’s shit.”
Oh! Did I tell you?
Fred’s a bit older than Ethel
But not by that much.
She’s 70.
He just turned 100.
On another “Poor Fred” level …. “Poor Fred”
refers to his intense need and desire
to be loved just like
everyone else but,
without a clue how to
“do” it. or even what it
looks like!
The only way Fred knows how to
ask for or show affection is by
displaying aggressive behavior resulting in
the thing we fear so intently!!!!!
the vicious
circle !!!!!!!!!!!
There’s nothing worse than
being dragged kicking and screaming into
a viscous circle, it’s like
being tossed head first into
a front loading
washing machine.
I hate those things! I don’t even want to go there.
On the other hand …
Ethel just wants to be
left alone ……..
It’s sad that Ethel never fulfilled
Fred’s need for love.
I’m sure she tried and and tried but
she had to have given up a long time ago.
Sad but, here’s the rub …
Ethel will tell you they talk often.
Ethel’s words to Fred
are angry resentful words
dripping with finality after a
lifetime of frustration contained within
his presence.
Her voice an instrument she plays with
timbre and tone and volume
to convey her thoughts with words that ricochet off walls
-Their Talk-
Talk is not the language they speak.
Words strung together
carefully chosen words honed to perfection; constant reminders
words searing or sublime with anger
honed like sharp knives words …..
…… words chosen
reverberating with unknown vibration
words with more than meaning …
words deflecting the tonality of ‘being. .
from years of
non abuse, abuse casual abuse.
They forged the scars of their failures
into emotional exchanges using
word triggers that trigger words
triggering bullets of sadness, anger,
humiliation and
regret.
I’m glad I didn’t know Fred when
he was his “WHOLE asshole self.
-She’s Tired-
Ethel is tired of being a
caregiver to an abusive man.
She slams the door he
crashes his walker
against her door.
Sitting on the couch
that afternoon watching
The Pickers and
the Pawn guys
on the ‘boob’
Fred searched for words
to tell his story.
His fragmented thoughts came with softness
easy to bridge the spaces between
with meaning
his sad regret and wonderment,
his bewilderment wrapped ’round the confused meaning of
broken thought.
Ethel just wants time to be left alone.
So, Fred waits, mostly in private, a prisoner of his loneliness in
forlorn despair wondering what it is he still
yearns for
wondering if he’ll ever
get it …..
I Was Just the Postman
A comment I wrote about the poem titled, “When I Was Born.”
When I Was Born
That summer hot and sultry
mid month mid year mid way past midnight
bright lights shining blinding
hands grasping fingers smashing
through the air
i did not really care
it was not my problem
i was their’s for the taking …!!
i heard the pain that wasn’t mine
explode into my space,
the air, the rush of light that came before the crack of dawn
exposed the ship that i’d been riding on
between the worlds where i once lived
when i was born … !
with great surprise i threw away my aqua lungs,
I sucked in air while water flooded,
breathing synapses firing new born pistons,
283 horses blowing streams of light
in all directions!!
… so this is what it’s like to live in the land of milk and honey … !!!
Come time to leave for home
i looked into the sky i’d never seen,
acorns falling through the air,
cool harmonies on the breeze singing memories
from where it all began
wrapped around light
that fueled the seeds of future’s flight
while tightly woven earthly patterns
leading everywhere in sight
gave great brilliance
and such
delight .. !!
Each night I see the world inside my dreams
wrapped inside the morning dew;
Each morning my life begins anew,
never sure of all that i have seen
until i return
and do it all again and again and again and again and again and again … until i think …
therefore
i am …..
That summer hot and sultry
mid month mid year mid way past midnight
bright lights shining blinding
hands grasping fingers smashing
through the air
i did not really care
it was not my problem
i was their’s for the taking …!!
i heard the pain that wasn’t mine
explode into my space,
the air, the rush of light that came before the crack of dawn
exposed the ship that i’d been riding on
between the worlds where i once lived
when i was born … !
with great surprise i threw away my aqua lungs,
I sucked in air while water flooded,
breathing synapses firing new born pistons,
283 horses blowing streams of light
in all directions!!
… so this is what it’s like to live in the land of milk and honey … !!!
Come time to leave for home
i looked into the sky i’d never seen,
acorns falling through the air,
cool harmonies on the breeze singing memories
from where it all began
wrapped around light
that fueled the seeds of future’s flight
while tightly woven earthly patterns
leading everywhere in sight
gave great brilliance
and such
delight .. !!
Each night I see the world inside my dreams
wrapped inside the morning dew;
Each morning my life begins anew,
never sure of all that i have seen
until i return
and do it all again and again and again and again and again and again … until i think …
therefore
i am …..
Bluegills
Bluegills
We bought two cardboard containers packed with 15 or 20 corn bores covered in loose black muck, at a farm five miles from town before turning off the black top then, another three miles along a gravel road, snow plowed high on both sides, past farmers fields barely visible stretched white to the gray horizon, snow tornados rising and falling then rising and falling again and again.
We parked next to a mountain of snow plowed higher than the car. Hidden from sight, a frozen desert of ice where we fished on an inland lake the shoreline a hundred yards from where we parked.
Through knee deep snow the Arctic wind gusting 25-30 mph against our backs we dragged our plywood ‘fish boxes’ to the shoreline then another quarter mile across the slippery surface.
Dad chopped five holes through the two foot thick ice using a heavy iron spud rounded at one end, a leather strap at the other wrapped around his wrist so as to keep it from slipping into the black water when punched through the the last few inches of ice.
We spent the rest of the day fishing for bluegills or pike watching for the slightest movement of our bobbers, scooping films of ice that formed over the exposed water every few minutes, moving from hole to hole, watching for the red flags of our ‘tip ups’, sitting on our ‘fish boxes’, staring downward, hunched aerodynamically against the icy cold wind flowing over our backs.
You could hear the ice thunder and moan menacingly like an angry bear, as it grew thicker; ripping sounds heard in the distance or nearby, crackling for seconds at a time; jagged points of iced lightening suddenly etching close to where we sat, sending shivers of fear through me that the ice would open its jaws swallowing us into the inky black depths below, where not even the slightest ray of light could escape.
Toward the end of day, the sun a vague halo of yellowish white against a dreary gray sky, we packed the poles and tip ups into our fish boxes, 20 or 30 bluegills frozen stiff at the bottom.
Faced downward, pushing against the north wind, my toes and the tips of my fingers frozen numb, my face burning, we trekked toward the shoreline, through thigh deep powdered snow, over the mountain, returning to the warmth of the car.
We drove through the dimming light of late afternoon into the dark sky of mid winter’s early evening night, arriving home just in time for dinner.
What I’d Write About
I stay up all night and write.
Then I sleep, get up and start over again.
I take a notebook and write when I go to the mall or when I go to restaurants.
I listen to people and write what they say.
I write what people say when I talk on the phone.
I write what flows through my head even though most of the time it’s junk and doesn’t make much sense.
I look at magazines and write the words I see.
I’d describe the granite counter top I’m writing on if I felt like it then, I’d describe the edges. Or,
I’d write about the plastic bottles I took from the garbage can at the gas station the other day and the crotch of that fat girl I saw bent over cleaning her car of empty plastic bottles when I pulled in to get gas while she was throwing them into the can.
They Have Paid; They Are ‘Us’
A man who by his actions
does not care about the citizenry of
our country … got me
wondering
as I do …
the amount of
taxes paid by the 700,000 during their
lifetime
jobs well done and
voluntary support and building of
communities and passing on
the best qualities … that the 700,000 have given to
the land … they have
paid their fair share they have
given their all to the country as have we all
no different them from
We … or even “He”
and those he’s captured
the minority among us.
. They deserve better these 700,000 are
the people who make us great for
who we are THEY are
the results of our great quest for humankind’s best
how could we turn them
away?
It’s the 700,000 who are the heroes in this
sad story given
the torch to carry forth
the dream that all brave migrants have
from families come before us
who paid their way with suffering
no different from you or I
they ARE
YOU AND I;
high school football stars and
valedictorians they’ve
given their lives for the land
they have sacrificed to defend the land!
They deserve detention?
Forced migration?
THEY are the ones who shape my dreams for
the future as were
the dreams of our fathers and their fathers before
who shaped ours; individuals created EQUAL
by “self evidence” as stated in the declaration of our freedoms.
The threat NEVER so great as now
by so low and vile a personage more
beast on prowl than gentle man’s gentleman.
From WITHIN he comes to steal thought and
high ideals from those alive
the right to be
all things
that they can
be
he
aims to destroy, to besmirch, to undo
the greatest human experiment in mankind’s
history!
With defication on our ideals
defaming those intentions of the
fathers, he would
destroy, he would
take away the benefit of our
beliefs, the belief of freedom and democracy
stolen by their colusion, two
of the hungry beasts their
greedy talons seeking blood
given power by those who are
eslaved by doctrine
and blind belief.
Making, Making, Making
It’s ok to feel good every
once in a while!
Life’s treasure doesn’t come along
that often!
It lies in wait for
the right trigger.
Or is it time, and
we all run on
cycles?
For me the treasure never lasts
as long as I want it to.
(which would be most of the time)
Alas, far more time I’ve spent with
the bad seed brother in:
days of functionless, boring self regress, the urge to make, not part of the scene to put it mildly,
disconnected.
Those long days spent waiting for
the light,
the difference between/the two places living (with and without treasure)
unequal in their
distribution.
The longer distance in between has got
the upper hand? There’s only so much
time to live in Treasureland?
My only hope?
To keep on making, making, making
until
the very very
end.
Reflection: The Web of Time
We are a travelers moving along
a web of time within the mist we call
life.
We see with light given from somewhere,
outside, within, in-between, seldom seen
at best,
reflected.
We make decisions;
where to go, how to get there,
what to think and feel;
assuming truths, affirming movement
we’re not sure of, through space most often
blindly.
Life is like that; crossroads, turnings here or there,
seconds late determining fate,
returns returned again and once again
returning, to differing paths we navigate,
endless toil, obliteration, sensory pleasures,
death, fulfillment or broken hearts,
(to learn or not to learn (that is the question … !?)),
wandering paths through space
unknown, face to face with
those we think we love?
We want to love but,
is it love we crave more than
the ones we may or may not love? For, don’t we give love to those we may not love at all?
We drag through murky spaces, love’s truths obscured, half known half not knowing, unknowable, self importance, interfering combat, crackling static, white noise, huge space separating single spaces, seldom crystal clear.
We take our chances. We make our choices.
We fill our lives with dreams? Or are they fantasies?
We self induce our misery. We thrive on living pain.
And who’s to blame?
Savoring the Melt
Snow covering the ground at 8 by 1 had
disappeared.
By 5 newly formed powder flakes/bigger than cotton balls/floated downward, /so light they rose and fell a second time/as I passed /turning my world white
once again
crystal flakes given form/from clouds high above/each its own and unique world/alive within the tiny gales/and silent currents forming/atmospheres above,
given
gentle revolution, softest landing covering ground/like thin gauze stretched/within minutes inches deep/earth tones and/ green luminescence vaguely visible
beneath.
Above, afternoon sky darkening /moves toward night time light.
Already giving their precious gift, the gauze stretched thinner/
shadows of color emerging from the
melt.
Excerpt: Strange World
Excerpt
After the nurse left his room
he thought about what had occurred and
in a drug and pain induced brain fog,
pulled the tubes from his left arm and,
using the food cart as a walker
made a half assed attempt to escape
the hospital for
some unknown
reason.
From that point forward
the “real” world was
rearranged, reconstructed and
put back together again
when
the strange specter of a man appeared
moving down a darkened hallway at
two a.m. looking very determined,
pushing a food cart, (wearing
black shorts and t-shirt
a pair of white TED hose),
where he was seen
telling two nurses, a CNA, and a security guy
that, “I have every right to leave
the hospital if I want to.’
A short while later, after
some ridiculous displays of yelling
he returned to
his room and fell asleep
on a comfortable lounge chair
after the charge nurse downstairs
(an Air Force Academy graduate)
convinced him that it would be better if
he DID return to his room.
And so, he did.
“When unexpected events occur,” he said,
“Unusual forces come together
making sparks of
different colors never seen
ricocheting light in
all directions; mirrors reflecting light from
other mirrors making new connections
striking colors never seen
briefly explode
startling into higher awareness
thought, reason, intuition,
even dreams
crossing paths
with different paths
of thinking
fleeting thoughts of consequence and
reason
to people
normally grazing grass
turned brown,
bored and
lonely.”
I loved the way he described it.
I Wasn’t Even Trying To Be Funny … Part II
if I had the balls to say ” … hey, i’ve gotta go, i left my car running … “i’d probably be just as capable of saying, ” … hey, i gotta go, I’ll see you guys
later … ” continued …
Part II
So anyway, the first thing I did when I got into the office was get stuff out of my message box.
Then, I sat down at the table to check my paper work one last time and read a memo about continuing education.
Jennifer, Linda and Carol were sitting on the other side of the table where I sat facing carol who sat behind her desk.
They were discussing which one of them wanted the stray cat they’d been feeding outside the office for the past two months.
While I read the memo Carol told me she called yesterday for an assignment and since I didn’t call back she had to cancel the order.
She said she left me a message.
I didn’t say anything so the room got real quiet.
I think that within the silence of the room Carol was questioning by implication, that I was irresponsible since, I didn’t return her call.
I sat there scanning the memo thinking, am I supposed to be feeling guilty? Or contrite? Or, what?
Then, I thought, ‘fer Christ sake! You’d think it was common knowledge by now that I’m gone a lot of the time and don’t constantly check for messages! Doesn’t a person have the choice NOT to check for messages? What if something earthshaking had happened so I couldn’t check?!
I wasn’t going to let them get the best of me!
So I kept reading or maybe I muttered something like, ‘’Oh well, you know how it goes, blah, blah, blah …. ” when suddenly the woman named Linda (who’s pretty aggressive) says, “Why do you think telephones were invented … ?!’’
continued …
Purple Words
Purple Words –
One late Spring day, my students and I
walked to the Dairy Queen with
the thought in mind that we would
capture unique experiences and
write about them when we returned to
the class room.
After lunch, we formed a single file line
crossed Monroe Road to the sidewalk,
walked west for two blocks, past
the house I grew up in (at the end off Mackinaw Street) then,
along the north side of
the fence surrounding
the big athletic field where all
the games were played on Friday night and
past the town park where
I played and
ice skated
as a
boy.
While we walked I roamed from
the front to the back of
the line pointing out details that
their eight year old minds
might not
notice.
I told them to listen to
the sound of car tires rolling over
the blacktop.
While stopped, we heard
the distant moan of a diesel engine.
They thought that
the groaning engine was probably
working hard to push boxcars to
different places at the ‘’rail yard’’.
One girl said, maybe
the engine was pulling a
quarter mile long
train of
boxcars.
I pointed to the diverse shades of
green and the different shapes of
leaves on maple or elm trees.
When a breeze gusted past,
i asked them how
the breeze felt and
what words they would use to
describe the sound as it passed over
their ears.
After a while they began to
glimpse the world between
the lines
pointing out things
I never would have noticed.
Five blocks from school
at a red and yellow blinking light,
we crossed over Monroe Road and
walked two blocks north to
the Dairy Queen where I bought
each student a chocolate or vanilla cone.
We ate our cones sitting under a
huge oak tree.
Leaned against the tree I looked around,
marveling at
the sweet innocence of
my eight year old students.
At the right moment
I spoke about some of
the unique objects, sounds and
thoughts we experienced
during our seven block journey.
I asked them to describe
what they saw, felt and heard.
Once they began sharing stories,
their experiences flowed out of them
like bright streams of light.
And so I watched and listened as
the sun born from winter into spring
shone through the budding leaves
dappling their faces with
ever changing patterns of light as they
spoke of discoveries taken from
the world around them.
Their thoughts were fluid and
bright; sunlight streaming through
the leaves knitted them together into
a tapestry of sorts.
As the sun rose higher so did
the details of their remembrances.
The tapestry grew more complex and
beautiful as the light arched higher.
When it was time to
return to school,
I told them they were to walk silently so that
their story or poem, would be
different than everyone else’s.
Later, with pencils, brown school paper and
their visions I watched them silently write.
One by one, they brought their their
papers to me and as they did,
I read each story.
Every story was beautiful in
its own way.
Unique reflections of each student’s personality.
Their words were like beautiful
uncut gems, some
the color of rubies or emeralds.
Others vibrated with sound, were simple with quiet emotion or
restless, anxious to please,
listing every impression.
One piece stood out from
the rest.
Written in purple ink by
the shiest girl in class,
her ten line poem captured
the essence of
the entire journey.
At the end of the day I
looked back at the experience with
a clarity of detail I had
never experienced before.
That night when I had dinner with
my Dad he told me that
a lot of people in town saw me walking with
my students and many of them commented that
I looked like the Pied Piper … but of course
the gentle side of the Piper …
Becka
Earlier, she ate chips and salsa off paper brought to swimming pool’s edge, earlier than earlier.
Later, he came with hot coffee sipping looking beyond ahead in front, silently.
‘I bet you can’t drink that whole thing,” she said her voice behind.
‘No. But I can take a really big gulp.’
Chugging, eyes closed vision; coffee blowing comedy movies funny.
Diaphram force contraction spraying blowing coughing … drooling? coffee blasting outward shot forward falling mist.
Turning. Smiling. Sheepish. Expectant.
“I did that on purpose.” (hahaha???)
Cold eyes, staring behind.
(*Flashback twenty minutes earlier, chips and salsa taken poolside, resting on paper.)
Following vision line behind slowly turning.
Seeing!! Unexpected!!
Forehead pulling contractions wrinkling muscle lines eyes pulled open wide and round and wide wider still lids exposed vast surprise! Unexpected! Amazement! Not a little humor! Embarrassment …
Seen??
Coffee pooled on salsa, limp chips brought to pool side earlier ugly coffee drippage spattered larger drops toward pool deck drainage strip moving, ugly gray lines.
Thought: Hilarious! Would humor share with 9 year old mind!?
Turning spinning wheel colors flashing. Expectant. Looking, seeing.
Eyes cold, staring toward pool edge. Arms folded.
(Suppressing laughter) Pointing behind. “I didn’t do THAT on purpose!”
Pause …
Waiting …
“YOU’RE SO STUPID!”
Turning heel, pulling slider open shut behind nine year old glass reflections testing self limits finding honesty exposed to absurdity adult fallibility unconditional love adults kids too.
Doubling over, bent at waist, unlocking knees, slowly spiraling downward.
Thought: Be careful not to abrade yourself rolling around on pool deck stucco floor.
Neighbors hearing cackling?
The Runner
I watched the runner from where I stood at the forty five yard line in front of the opposing team’s bleachers while on the opposite side of the field at the 20 yard line the runner caught the punt, took two steps backward, tucked the ball into the crook of his arm, lowered his right shoulder and began running a looping arc toward where I waited.
I felt a collective sense of awareness from fans on the opposing side bleachers when we both realized the runner and I were on a collision course.
I took a wide stance lowered my butt closer to the ground, bent my elbows, curled my hands into loose fists and waited.
A voice inside my head whispered, “You will not let this son of a bitch get around you!”
I smiled.
I watched the runner curve closer to where I waited.
I knew that he knew we would soon make violent contact.
I rocked left to right on the balls of my feet anxious to feel the pain. A sense of rage pumped from my heart and lungs into the center of my brain. I felt like a predator ready to pounce on its prey.
I pictured the runner’s helmet split down the middle like a pumpkin dropped from a two story building.
Fifteen yards away I spread my arms as if to embrace the runner.
My legs became coiled springs that I would unleash at precisely the right moment to stop the runner in his tracks, to drive him into the ground!
I narrowed my vision, focusing on my target; the area below the sternum where both sides of the rib cage join below the heart.
A split second before contact I saw the top half of the number on his jersey the outline of his helmet against the lights of the scoreboard, his head barely lowered his eyes wide with fear.
At precisely the right moment I unleashed the coiled power of my legs. I felt my body spring forward. My left shoulder sunk into the soft spot below his rib cage. With my right arm wrapped around his back my hand clenched into a fist, I pulled the runner tightly into my grasp hearing a forceful “whoof” as the air was forced out of his lungs.
With the runner held tightly within my grasp I opened my eyes. Green grass, grains of dirt, part of a white chalk line, the numbers on the score board blurred across my field of vision.
With my left arm curled around the other side of his body I lifted him off of his feet then, driving downward with the help of gravity completed the full 180 degree arc of the
tackle sending the runner crashing to the ground.
I heard the clatter of shoulder pads, the dull thud of the runner’s helmet bouncing off the ground then the desperate sucking noise you make when the wind has been the forced out of your lungs.
I lay partially on the runner listening to him struggle to catch his breath; familiar with that momentary sense of desperation you feel when you think you’re going to suffocate to death.
I knew that within ten seconds or so he would realize he wasn’t going to die.
Adding insult to injury, I placed my right hand against the runner’s chest pushing myself myself into a standing position.
My mind was empty of thought but a persistent sound drew my attention to the left … toward the opposing team’s bleachers.
When I` turned to look I was astonished.
Many of the opposing team fans were standing, clapping their hands their eyes fixed on
where I stood wearing smiles of respect or wide eyed wonder.
I turned and trotted toward my side of the field.
Their applause sounded like heavy rain drops splattering against concrete during a summer rainfall.
Each time my cleats sank into the ground the applause grew softer until finally it seemed I had emerged from a heavy downpour on a summer day into a cool autumn night, the smell of burning leaves in the air.
Stooley …
They told me to take
a stool softener since
Roxies make you
constipated;
I decided to try …
those little gel caps;
gray and burgundy
(pretty colors that go together … )
that slip down your gullet pretty easily, so
I tore off a chunk of
Matt’s homemade all grain bread, started chomping,
looked down, saw the little Stoooley capsule,
popped it into my
mouth and said ….
Oh fuck … !
i moved the little capsule around
defending it from the crushing blows of my molars
(which required a lot of coordination)
while swerving my food I
heard the name Donald Trump spoken
and
at that precise moment
heard a “snap” behind
my right molar.
Taking a quick pull on the water tumbler I quickly swallowed
the mostly chewed
piece of bread and
the deflated capsule and
waited …
I didn’t have long to wait …
A black inky, muddy taste
began spreading itself
across the roof of my mouth
and tongue
(directly below the roof … ) that …
“hurricane like” had decided
to stay in one place dumping its
vile taste onto my
taste buds …
and
that’s when i realized i’d had
a bad taste in my mouth for a long, long time …
BLEAH … !!
CONTINUED:
Miriam
Further adventures of Gile Steel.
So, there he was at the hospital exactly a year later at the same time, same place having the same procedure in the same room, next to the nurse’s station, by the same SURGEON where, a year earlier several factors came together in the middle of the night causing an unexpected event to happen after his nurse gave him a tiny pain pill to alleviate the fiercest, most relentless pain of his life … then told him the next little pill would NOT be due for another four hours … (four fucking hours?)!
After the nurse left his room he thought about what had just happened then, in a drug and pain induced brain fog he pulled the tubes from his left arm and, using the food cart as a walker made a half assed attempt to escape the hospital for some unknown reason.
From that point forward the “real” world was rearranged, reconstructed and put back together again when the strange spector of a man appeared moving down a darkened hallway at two a.m. looking very determined, pushing a food cart, wearing black shorts t-shirt and a pair of white TED hose, where he stopped and was seen telling two nurses, a CNA, a security guy (with arms crossed over golfing shirt … NOT proving that he was a bad ass), that he had every right to leave the hospital if he wanted to.
Soon aft he returned to his room and fell asleep on a lounger that took a bunch of pain away, after the charge nurse downstairs (an Air Force Academy graduate) convinced him it would be better if he DID return to his room.
And so, he did.
As to the significance of the occasion? He told me, “When an unexpected event occurs, you get startled out of your senses and if you’re lucky unusual forces from all over the place join together, making all kinds of sparks and new connections and shit that gyrates, that sends light out crossing with other paths, pinging, making, striking all colors never seen, crossing, drawn from people normally grazing grass turned brown, bored, lonely.” I loved the way he described it.
“Most of the time we steer ourselves along on rigidly separate flight paths, he said.
“We are all far flung variables of differing spectrum with varying degrees of heat that would NEVER have crossed paths, becoming heat/light broken/arcing/\ tapping new rhythms, twisting smoke like colors never seen/sparks and brief waves of light drawn into the void of all their dark spaces, the space of “being”, during the event, that ends with people usually returning to their grazing.
They go back to their separate flight paths but with fundamental change. Maybe startlingly singular unexpected conflagrations such as these, reach into our genome level, depending on intensity, The genome makes a recording of the event using stripes and numbers, the recordings are a measure of intensity. They’re probably color coded constantly building, writing it’s own individual formula, building building. Intent to reach some point in time … to ‘build out’. Anxious to accomplish the task or just doing what’s necessary to move about? Recording of events totaling itself within the endless array of neural connections it has been branching off and growing ….. we see evolution as a result.”
I must have looked perplexed so he explained, “Everybody’ every day has experiences that impact and startle them awake, that affect us on a fundamental level. A split second after surprise comes the relief of being safe. We laugh in relief that we are still alive. People love to be scared at least momentarily. It’s what we call ”funny” hahaha” … it’s a part of the primal instinct not to get eaten called, self preservation.”
“War is the most powerful experience bringing about change. Self preservation reduced to it’s fundamental boiled down to black hole level. But war is no laughing matter.”
He loved the absurd humor of these situations; the startled first time behavior, the surprised looks, the brief return to childhood, a re-creation of the 16 year old smile, faces dripping smooth then frozen in time with white teeth and sparkling eyes, adding color, filling in a few of the voids within, boiling it all down distilled and rendered into pure unadulterated … laughter.
He joked, “The opposite of war. Haha ha ha ..”
Next: Miriam
Miriam
Miriam
He told me about the time he was at the hospital a year ago at the same time he would be at the same hospital this year, in the same room where last year he suffered the same procedure as he would be suffering this year .. exactly a year later.
He told me about the great nurses and others who cared for him then, he told me a tale about some crazy stuff that happened one night that no one would have ever dreamed could happen.
He laughed that Sinead O’Connor laugh while shaking his head from side to side, “Not I,” he said. “Or, the hospital staff, the bouncer who looked like he wanted to kick my ass, or that Air Force Academy guy who was the charge nurse downstairs.”
Laughing he said, “But, then how can anyone anticipate the world suddenly collapsing around you after you’ve had some crazy idea? Life has its ups and downs but the sloppy fit between a crazy thought becoming a crazy idea leading to some crazy behavior tightens like welded steel since you NEVER know when some crazy IDEA is gonna pop into your brain!”
I didn’t understand a word he said but, he ket piquing my interest as the night wore on.
The world seen through the eyes of my grandfather Gile Steel would be an interesting one, indeed.
More Miriam ……
The Third Epoch
Did you hear about them coming?
yes i did. they said, ‘in droves’ but, what does that mean and where will they be coming from?
they’re already here! they’re INSIDE MY HOUSE! they won’t leave me alone. they keep sucking my blood. good God, face facts. it’s what we’ve ALL been suffering from for so long!
but, where … ? what are we gonna DO? We don’t even know what they look like!
people are setting up perimeters around their homes.
has there been any mention about flame throwers?
flame throwers are against the law dummy! you know that!
why did they said there’ll be so many?
Lucas’ science teacher told me he thought it had to do with global warming.
you hippy dippy assholes blame everything on global warming don’t you? Pastor Clint says it’s God’s punishment on the liberals in Congress.
that’s a bold faced lie you asshole!
and so it went ….
The next day as missiles from the thermal nuclear powers crossed each other half way to their respective mainlands, the ground opened and the infestation began … with numbers far beyond what anyone had expected.
Ironically … humans who weren’t consumed by the infestation were instantly vaporized.
Once again, the earth had been saved!
And The Third Epoch began.
Within the Fractures of His Mind
He lived with Her until she couldn’t stand it so
she relocated him to a room in an old house next to a
gas station …
…..
that house was consumed in flames one night in
defense – he said – of the
FBI lurking outside his
window …
…..
the court said he did it on purpose …
“Why would the FBI be there … ?” they
asked …
…..
they called his demons
arson …
…..
they relocated him to the
county lockup for 60
days …
…..
after that, he took a
test …
…..
he passed with flying
colors … !
…..
they told Her he had a
schism of sorts …
…..
some kind of
void
in the area of his
pre-cognition …
…..
so he was relocated to a room half way between
Her life and the flames of his
past …
…..
that new place had some greatness to it
but eventually –
because of a variance of gender, his curious desire
to peer through windows in the
darkness of night,
his perverse intent,
his inability to
attach …
they couldn’t stand him any longer …
…..
once again he was
relocated …
…..
after that, he lived in four walled singularity
where he found peace
in the world of his schism
and the gloominess of his
void …
…..
She visited him
frequently …
…..
they laid about watching the
light while
sleeping …
…..
few words passed between
them …
…..
She gave him
sustenance …
…..
he accepted her gifts with
bland acknowledgement …
but
after death consumed
Her
his needs festered and
grew to phantasmagorical
proportions …
Desperate to satisfy his
need
he stole
Time
from his
landlady …
…..
he milked it from the
telephone during her
numerous but
brief,
trips
away …
…..
of course she discovered his
deception …
…..
he hid behind his
deceit
but
it’s easy to see lies when they stand
naked
in the
middle of a
room …
…..
her hatred boiled
over …
it shattered his roomed
confinement …
…..
she couldn’t stand to be
around him any
longer…
…..
she hated the air he
breathed …
…..
she gave no
succor
to his
loneliness …
…..
so,
she vanquished him from the
four walls she sold
him …
…..
she banished him from her
brick
Victorian space
and
when he turned his
back
she
burned every vestige of his
life in the front
yard …
…..
she watched with calm
detachment while every
remnant
of his history rose up in
flames and black
smoke …
lost forever to the
destiny
that awaits us
all …
…..
another death had
overtaken
him …
…..
another relocation awaited
him …
…..
Now, he lives within the
fire and the
demons
he could not
fight …
…..
he lives inside the
void
of the
schism
he fell
into …
…..
through windows into
darkness
he seeks
nothing
that can be
found …
…..
he’s a sad and lonely
little boy
who’s
lost somewhere in
time …
…..
an old and toothless man
who
wanders inside
rooms
within the
fractures of his
mind …
Deadbeat Amputee
Deadbeat Amputee
Oh! Hi! … OH! Jeeze. Hi … Hey, you know what? I’m a bad person!
I was tied up for a whole week so I couldn’t send you the money.
My wife finally came home from Borneo and untied me from the hose I got wrapped up in when I fell hosing the back porch back on the day she left.
I really wanted to send $10 via Pay Pal!
The computer was close but I couldn’t get my right hand free and my left hand was amputated a few years back.
I thought I could reach the keyboard with my nose. I tried so hard! But no cigar!
And I live in a community of deaf mutes. So, no one heard my cries for help … and I couldn’t do sign language with just the stump! It was So frustrating!
Do you still need the money? Hahaha … who doesn’t need money, right?
Oh!? .. O.k. … o.k. … ok so, can I send you a check in a couple days??
Voyage: The Flatlands of Ohio
*Photo above: Dayton, Ohio from I-75
Across the Border: Into the Flatlands
Across the border into Ohio
hard to keep my eyes off
the furrowed fields, sprouts of
corn, wheat or soybeans
lines of green velveteen beckoning
my eyes to distant silos
and barns …
beautiful country given
as secret knowledge to those of us
born inside the breadbasket
(boring as hell to those who aren’t)
our genes and DNA possessed of this
loveliness … given deeper sight to
know its vast beauty …
past Dayton, Ohio
into Cincinnati with it’s never ending
road construction,
the depressing sight of
mid 20th century decay;
towering church spires, five story brick schools
miles of deserted factories
block after block
crumbling shingle by shingle
worm wood burrowing water absorbing
rot taken into each
crumbling grain of red clay and mortar
separating once wrapped ‘round
the fibres of life within giving
animation and purpose
barely clinging now …
to the present
shells of the exoskeleton,
of a once great city
those fortresses of
sustenance where
generations of life lived and worked
and died within
the clay and concrete
the lintels and mortar lines,
those slate roofs, cathedral spires,
schools and factories now
turned brittle, the life within deserted
devoid of functionality, of
all humanity,
used and abused,
willing partners now
deserted friends
thrown aside/turned away from
the stories contained inside now
dripping with finality
the final insult to all that was
the past unknown to those who never saw
and will never know
the life that grew
and lived inside
the countless souls who believed
their city’s life would live forever now …
those outward stories slowly sucked
into the ground of obscurity ..
drawing closer every day to
the black hole of anonynimity
at the center of a world
no longer real …
brittle forms now
of deserted husks
the greenery of growing life
sucked dry by
the winds of time
unmercifully leaving
a cluttered tabla rasa
of ruin and ghostly silence
the cord with past life
broken by slow decay
all precious life forsaken
fallen seeds taken
from the distant past
and thrown asunder
the next chapter of our
destiny or ..
maybe the
last?
continued; Lexington and beyond …
Voyage South
After the Departure; The Road South
And so the voyage goes …
Uneventful miles rolled beneath
the balding tires of The Explorer …
along the Huron coastline
over the Zilwaukee Bridge past
Fisher Body in Flint a skeleton
of what it used to be
when time was ‘LIGHT’ where
i used to be when all was right
alive with simple delight and small town splendor
(… while, a lurking vision of a blow out tagged along
an anxious silent vision in the back of my mind
that dogged me
a sleeping spark of possibility
ever since
the tread flew off the D Mobile
2000 miles in past time on
the road north (away from the Tropics) … stripping
the back panel from the Mustang
knocking off the rocker … a
near calamity in
the third lane of
’75 rolling along at
80 mph … toward northern/ pine wood forests …
you’d be paranoid too!)
with all my barreling through time
i wondered
would i live a dozen or so minutes
or maybe even longer
in accordance with
the laws of physics
slowing time with all this
forward motion?
or …
with greater distance
traveld through time and space and
probability
would my life end
the next
instant!?)
past the Arborland sign,
(over Washtenaw Avenue) I continued
its lofty height looking down
a beacon of constancy
a point of reference
a sign post of history marking
the golden age of youth spent
in intellectual pursuit
the days of higher learning
Timothy Leary, the Fugs
Iron Butterflies, blues bars
shady characters, lost lovers
Viet Nam
the dog days of youthful exuberance
and experimentations
success and failure
triumph and rejection
faces of friends and lovers
roommates i lived with
in the house of
our endeavors
the beating heart
of shame and lost success …
the choices that i made wrapped
most often with
careless consideration
meandering roads along
unbeaten paths
maturing to regret … but mostly
grateful that i escaped the
doom …
continued … The Flatlands of Ohio
Voyage
My tasks complete
i rose before
the early dawn,
gave one last listen to
the great lake and
the wrangling sound of
ten thousand migrating geese and
mallard ducks
closed my eyes and
breathed the last
purest air i’d breathe
for months to come,
turned away from
the tree i’d lived within
and walked away
from the planet
i’d been living on for
two lunar cycles
into the surrounding universe i’d soon
be moving through inside my
rolling ship
The Explorer …
My destination 2000
light years
from this my
home away from
home back to
the land of the midday sun
its torpid heat
south of the border that
defines my
heart …
I dared not turn
and face that planet
and my tree
one more time.
Better to leave
well enough alone than
take the chance its
gravity
would capture my mind,
drag me back and swirl me down
another rabbit hole inside
some left over task … an
inevitability since
there’s ALWAYS something more to do … !
Much too easy it would be
to seek and find further excuse
to stay and find
another destination away from
where i knew i
had to go …
I needed to break
free(!) of the freedom
i had known!
My life of duty
would guide me
home …
all good things
most often end
and after all …
the other world I lived within?
i called it
home ….
continued; Past Arborland into the Flatlands
When Love No Longer Is the Object of Your Affection
I’ve been to the monument
and the inland sea ..
the land that time forgot.
where I walked between
the rising sun
and the trees of blackest night
with diesel’s mournful wail
beneath star filled nights
the midnight sun reflected
the moon and stars
along the rails of time
the trails of tears I walk along
reflecting …
tears of lace
and wicked armor
endless tales of sacrifice and greed
told with hopeless glory
tales of sweet relief
no longer the object of their affection.
Abandoned buildings,
interiors scorched, walls,
rooms, spaces, hearts and diamonds,
mirrored ceilings left hanging,
the scars of pain from inner sight
reflecting … wandering through
a world of virtual reality with
love
no longer, the object of
affection.
The Day the Month the Hour the Minute the Second the Time That I Was Born
That summer hot and sultry
mid month mid year mid way past midnight
bright lights shining blinding
hands grasping fingers smashing
through the air
i did not really care
it was not my problem
i was their’s for the taking …
i heard the pain that wasn’t mine
explode into my space,
the air, the rush of light that came before the crack of dawn
exposed the ship that i’d been riding on
between the worlds where i once lived
when i was born …
with great surprise i threw away my aqua lungs,
I sucked in air while water flooded,
breathing synapses firing new born pistons,
283 horses blowing streams of light
in all directions!!
… so this is what it’s like to live in the land of milk and honey … !!!
Come time to leave for home
i looked into the sky i’d never seen,
acorns falling through the air,
cool harmonies on the breeze singing memories
from where it all began
wrapped around light
that fueled the seeds of future’s flight
while tightly woven earthly patterns
leading everywhere in sight
gave great brilliance
and such
delight .. !!
Each night I see the world inside my dreams
wrapped inside the morning dew;
Each morning my life begins anew,
never sure of all that i have seen
until i return
and do it all again and again and again and again and again and again … until i think …
therefore
i am …..
Trump Card Takes the Pot
Trump Card Takes the Pot
Trump card plays his hand
knowing how the game will end
He’s a big game hunter now
he has his own guns !
the biggest guns in all the lands!
the power of Life and Death held
firmly in his hands …
…..
Trump card plays his hand …
…..
Friendly nations now
the fraternity of sociopaths
they share their common secrets
they are of one mind …
They have it all inside …
the stage is set for
Act 2 …
of this tragic story
waiting to unfold …
though
who it’ll be a tragedy for
no one really knows …
maybe we’ll ALL be losers …
…..
I’ve been waiting for some time now
for the spark to set the fire ..
the flame that starts the
slow burn …
and i see it just got started!
(I should have known it would spark to life in California!)
The stage is set …
…..
Trump card played his hand …
…..
Act II is set to play … !
…..
There’s open warfare in the streets
a purposeful venture
an investment in time
the dividends paid by the investment of his
rhetoric … It’s time to reap
the payoff …
…..
Trump card played his hand …
…..
Chaotic forces needed/on demand
…..
Trump card takes his stand …
…..
Opposing forces created/hatred gives incendiary reason/
If there’s tinder when a
fire starts
the flames get out of
hand …
It could turn into a blaze … !
…..
Some people say
that’s ok … it’s just
Trump card learning
to play ….
Act 3 … Siloquoy
“Doncha wonder what’s the plan
where’s it all going from here?
willl it have a happy end ?
will we all be rich and fat … or even fatter!
Strangely enough it’s headed nowhere … !
NOWHERE! ???
A meandering pack of beasts with one accord
roaming earth
desire with equal distribution
shared/single destination
the double helix never so grand
the power hungry people
from selected lands … joined in
tribal majesty
hungry for the feast
while
Trump card plays his hand …
…..
It’s all about power
once the thrill of money dies
it doesn’t really matter
it’s the next step as you rise ..
another conquered feast
to feed the hungry beasts
another draght to slake the power hungry
thirst …
It flows
It grows
It waits
and when time is right
it will flash point … !
We’ll live in an orderly world
very little crime to speak of
the prayers of little children
will echo through the halls ..
…..
Inside tiny cubicles
within the tiny walls
will sit the hungry masses/innocent victims of the law/creating space for peace to grow/gentrification/repartiation of the masses …
…..
Prisoners inside cubicles walls
waiting for the day they know
will never come …
While the rest of us will
fein happiness, freedom and joy
waiting for
the other shoe to
drop …..
———————-
Trump card plays his cards
and takes the
pot …
More Lake Magic: Morphing Sparrows
I sat and watched in peaceful trance
water cascade toward me,
it’s white caps reaching for the shore
where purest water and land meet
in perfect balance.
A half mile off shore men fished in the trough between shallow water colored tan and
deep water blue that extended to the horizon
then further where deepest knowledge lies hidden beyond the
fog that blurs the boundary line
of the event horizon …
… when the world and everything in it
came alive!
…
an immense delta shaped cloud miles across
morphed into a giant sparrow
its tail feathers tendril-like
emerging from a roiling line of black
trailing far behind
each twisting through air
in its own unique way …
parts of the whole drifting away,
thin strands of cloud DNA
seeking like minded life forms
reforming into new more powerful forces or
receding into the mist
…
i listened for words grown silent; empty space greater than
the sound of crashing waves,
or the passing wind that filled my ears … when shades of gray
surrounded me;
the sandy bottom of the great lake became a subtle shade of gray;
the white caps a more subtle shade … with motion …
the shoreline grass multi faceted shades,
the sky in slow diminishing muted shades of gray
slowly turning toward
the blue black of night
…
I was living in the gray zone before nighttime on the
boundary line between time when
dreams from beyond the horizon are born
within the light of darkest night
A Day In the Life III
continued … So i grabbed the shop vac went into the bathroom and and sucked it up …
While I was sucking I noticed
how lousy the baseboards looked
so I decided I’d tape them off
and paint them …
BUT NOT TODAY .. ! I had enough on my platter! (and the list was growing … )
I just wanted to make note of it
AND … that I needed high gloss paint
So i got smart …
I went to where my tablet was,
but on the way i saw the computer
and remembered the pictures
I wanted to download so …
I figured I’d probably remember the paint job AND
that i needed high gloss paint ….
So, I sat down at the computer,
started looking around for
the pictures when I noticed
there was a ”Events” file which,
… once i figured out what it was …
I realized it would make
accessing pictures so much easier …
So I set up a new “Events” file for
”moonlight photos” because along
the way, I noticed that i had taken
some pretty cool moon shots
(they were grainy, but I thought the graininess added to their character.)
I centered a couple of those moon shots
and used the color enhancer … (which made the clouds pop)
then i found some pictures i took one night,
of water sprinkling down from
the shower head with the outside light
shining from behind,
making the drops
look like globules of gold
falling through the air …
I cropped a lot of dark space around them
THEN, I saw some of my
”everyday things” pictures which … (what the heck, as long as I was there) I
clicked on and dragged into that file …
THEN I noticed I another moonlight file!
so put them all together …
I continued searching for my
“Everyday Things” pictures
when I found
a whole shit load of barn shots that I
put into the barn file …
Then i said … FUCK … !
i’ve got to take a shower and get the fuck out of here!
continued .,…
A Day In the Life
continued …… I HAPPENED TO PASS BY THE LAUNDRY ROOM ON THE WAY TO THE BATHROOM, I SAW SOME JEANS THAT NEEDED TO GO INTO THE DRYER …
… so i put them into the dryer then I started to move the furniture back to where I wanted it. When I finished I remembered I was going to take a shower so I went in and took all the tools out of the tub, that I had brought in earlier.
I grabbed my tools put them where they needed to be then … Oh! There’s that sandwich! I hadn’t eaten it all. So I continued eating the sandwich while walking around looking for my camera (so i could take a before and after picture of the tub) when I remembered taking some cool pictures a couple of days ago … I decided to take a look a them … so i sat down, logged in, started to peruse when i looked over and saw two globs of grape jelly on the floor … shit!
after considering my options i grabbed an old wash cloth, wet it down in the bathroom and wiped up the jelly … ummm i wonder if i should throw the washcloth in the laundry basket … hell yes, so i threw it into the laundry basket then, i remembered there was dirt in the tub from my tools.
So while I was in the laundry room I grabbed the shop vac went into the bathroom and and sucked it up … CONTINUED ….. WHILE SUCKING I NOTICED HOW LOUSY THE BASEBOARDS … A Day In the Life ………
I Know … It Knows … I Love … Her So …
Pretty soon
i’ll be flyin’ the big bird to
the northern climes,
hitting the ‘motor city’ around eight
to ride with the Explorer …
Three hours later i’ll be on the sunrise side in
big pine country
watchin’ the sun rise up orangery/red shining’ low
over big lake water;
glaciers child/pure and fresh
above the eastern plane
beneath grey streaks of sliver
clouds …throwing light
across the
broad water plain from the event horizon
Brilliant!
white light beads
embedded at speeds
of light and time
streaking deep.
Blue black seething water
in light chop
breaking over the top
throwing mystery
straight at me;
funnels of light
through my face
exploding on my eyes
focused on my sight
TO my ME it
wants ME to see IT
wants ME to feel IT
wants to give TO me
IT
WANTS TO BLIND ME WITH ITS VISION and
slay me with its WONDER
…
i know … She knows
i love … Her so …
and
She
loves me so we know/and so ..
We go … We go …
eternally …
…
i’m part of
Her and the
IT
of all She is
while
standing at the shoreline
with a cup of coffee with real cream
five feet above the distant plane
looking down on
shimmering light
moving
at my feet
feeling sun’s warmth
soft white shimmers
blown against my
face.
…
Don’t they call that
the solar
wind … ?
The Eternal Mystery: 10/01/15
The Eternal Mystery: 10/01/15
Great Lake pounds the shoreline with fury.
More power than i’ve witnessed before.
Extraordinary the only word
to describe it.
The rushing sound of
an infinite number of wavelets
one continual line of white caps
breaking parallel to the shore ,
a mile in each direction
Mirrored offshore
a broken surge
crackles with fluid electricity
along the curvature of the
earth …
Waves reach their peak
6 – 7 – 8 feet tall
begin their descent,
fingers reaching
downward into
the swale below,
drawn up and over
by their own weight
wide and round and fat
they break along their curvature
wrapped around air
trapped inside the curl
streaks of gray and white and
filligries of sandy green
streaks of color
rolling forward downward
white form coursing the front
passion spent
collapsed onto the sand
flowing through
the sieve of past conversions
the clock of time
along the hour glass shoreline
each grain a tiny piece
of what was once a mighty
seed … the earths crust at
the time of the
creation.
There Was His Face
There was his face …
A mixture of youthful mirth, his right eyebrow a calligraphy flare at the end of a sentence, his mouth twisted into a half smile, his head cocked to the side, mischeviousness written all over the place. A question mark at the end of his eyes that said, you don’t know what I’m thinking do you?
When he looked into her his eyes his face lost expression.
He saw the color and its dark circle corona and the black pool he fell into.
She stared back . Her benign smile said, “What’s on your mind?”
Waiting …..
Tell me about your excellent day?
“I spoke softly and the vibrations went into people and made them feel good.”
Waiting …
“There were plenty of smiles and laughter. It felt like I was spreading something around. It seemed like people were flowers that hadn’t had water in a week. I gave them a drink of Miracle Grow and they perked up for a bit… took in a little more sunshine. It seems strange that I can pass all this positivity around but i can’t spread it to myself. Fear still lurks. Fear can pounce without warning. A crystal vase that can fall and shatter in a heart beat.”
I know his states of mind the way he thinks … his moods, both bright AND dark but I only see his light. Only HE knows and sees the dark.
Waiting …..
So you were fearful a lot of the time?
“Fear!!… that common concoction that mixes so well with just about any situation?”
You have nothing to fear. This I’ve never understood.
“My feelings? My thoughts are a river that carries a river boat. The boat is my physical self. It and I float along on the feelings that are beneath. They are the feelings I have at that moment …….. But, no matter what you think … you know it’s bigger … It’s the river and then … well you know. There’s so much more. The river is a constant force … a powerful force. But there are forces that control the river!
Waiting …
And, when you have a day like today what’s it like?
“The guys in the engine room had that engine running smooth. The fuel injectors were working perfectly. I was at the helm of the ship. I took it to different places and I was in complete control although, I only thought I was. The engine was still in control but the river controlled the engine …. still … everything ran smooth for a change. Even the boat thought it was in control but it wasn’t. But, it was so great! I steered into little coves and inlets. I explored little communities along this journey.”
“I can stop for a while, and even get out of myself. You know … get out of the boat … for a change.”
Waiting .,…. Thinking …..
“That’s when I can stand back … apart from ‘ME’ … I SEE the world …. not ‘ME’ … for what it is. That damn ”Me” … it’s always getting in the way of things … .”
“I can watch the river flow by and I understand it better. I see logs out there on swirly sub currents. Murky water, whirlpools for crying out loud! I don’t even want to go there!”
“I don’t know where the source of that fucking river is. I ask myself, what is the source of that raging river? A little stream like the mighty Mississippi? Or, does it bubble to the surface of the earth from some dark, black place within the planet? Maybe I was born in that black place and bubbled up with the black water … ?
Waiting … Smiling ….
“… Although, there are times most often when the river is clear and runs smooth and it’s a pleasure to coast along at a slow enough pace that the world looks beautiful and you have time to see it as a wonderful montage ….. .”
Does Anybody See?
Can ANYONE read
the writing on the wall?
**********************
Ronald Regan founder co/conspirator; Jerry Falwell, leader of the Silent Majority. Regan gets the support of millions of Christian voters in return for supporting Born Again Christians in government races nationwide. The Christian Right begins its infiltration into positions of power.
Within the Senate and House of Representatives great numbers of Christian Right politicians/officials are now poised to seize power to save the country by bringing ‘Christian Ideals’ to the people.
Donald Trump creates the schism through incendiary oratory. Hatred is a powerful force driven by lies.
Lies stoke hatred. Hatred Divides
Diversions/Secrets/Deals/Deceit/Lust/Hunger/Power/Lies
Greed!
Insatiable Appetites
Divide and Conquer/Bait and Switch
Divide to Conquer ..
Waiting For the End
Sheep of the Land
Well Fed Pastures
has no one read
Watership Down ?
I’ll Have London Broil and Feta Cheese With Extra Tomato On the Side
They had meat for dinner almost every night.
But for months he had been eating tomatoes and feta cheese each night even though he hated feta cheese!
He couldn’t stand the taste and it made him sick!
She insisted all along he become a vegetarian and she insisted he eat feta cheese even though he loved meat and potatoes.
“Honey,” she said, “As long as you bring home the bacon you can have whatever you want!”
Which, this was the problem!
He hadn’t worked for months and tomatoes with feta cheese is a LOT cheaper than two people eating London broil!
(Even though they had plenty of money!)
He just shook his head.
But, why feta cheese he wondered ??
(She said it had something to do with goats milk and the symbiotic relationship goats have with tomatoes???)
She gloated it over him. The meat thing, I mean.
And the fact that he wasn’t working.
Naturally, he didn’t want to make waves so he ate the damned feta cheese. (After all he WAS unemployed) But he would NOT give in when she asked if he liked the feta cheese!
She always laughed, “I can tell by the look on your face it sickens you!!!”
One night he had to leave the table after eating a piece with green mold!
(He hated bleu cheese even more!)
She followed him to the bathroom chortling the whole way!
’’I know why you’re sick you jake ass!’’ she said. “It’s that cheese you liar! You hate it!’’
He told her he thought it was something he ate at the unemployment office.
She laughed again!
“Probably one of those meaty hot dogs you like so much you meat eating, in denial, vegetarian!” she yelled. A shit eating grin on her face.
She put her arms around him which, he though was kind of nice (for a change), but she faked one of those knee jabs to his crotch!
When doubled over she called him a doofey unemployed flack ass!
“You doofey eyed unemployed flack ass!” She yelled laughing.
He smiled.
What’s a ‘flack ass’, he wondered?
continued …
Ghost Trees Wailing In the Wind
A picture couldn’t capture
the ferocity of constant
wind blowing at least forty m.p.h.
across the surface of the lake
straight from the north
white caps rushing
the water the trees
the sand and leaves …
everything combined
Shhsssshing relentlessly
my hoody inflated into
a reverse parachute
pushing my head and
body backward
dots of rain prickling
my face the occasional
snow flake spiraling through
space
forcing me to retreat
to calmer climes
along the road
so much
calmer now
than 5 minutes ago when i/first walked to the shoreline
I walked to 23 then back down the hill
hearing cracks and snaps
of dead firs breaking
like sticks
the bottom half
of each broken tree attached
to the ground pointing upward
topped by splinters looking like
beasts in snarling anger
released from prison allowed
to express their furiosity
at the plague of
beetles who had
caused their demise … long gone now …
off to greener
pastures …
their plaintive wails
and pent up frustration
their howls of pain
unheard …
ghost sounds
each tree could only hear
in their own after lives …
ghost trees wailing
at the wind
unheard ..
punctuated by
SNAP! CRACK!! SNAP!! SNAP!!! CRACK!!!!!
the initial sound
of ultimate
rot …
Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll or How the Fugs and the Monkees Changed the World
The 60s and 70s were such tumultuous times!
It started when the song “Masturbation Fantasy’’ by the Fugs and ‘Pleasant Valley Sunday” by the Monkees drove baby boomers into an insane frenzy of utter and complete madness intent as they were, on remaking the world to their own liking.
Following The Fugs lead soon everybody was fucking everybody!
Adding idiocy to mayhem, Timothy Leary was telling people to get high on Nyquil or Contact Cold Syrup while Carlos Castenada told everyone they could be in two places at the same time!
Their individual messages only fueled the fires of insanity described by the New York Times as, “An uprising of the deviant ‘mid-range I.Qers.”
Clusters of “long hairs” vomiting on street corners were seen brandishing psychedelic colored bottles of cold syrup held tightly in their clenched fists giving the finger or yelling ”Fuck you capitalist pig,” to men driving by wearing neck ties and fedora hats.
Women flaunted their breasts and wore crotchless jeans. A couple had sex on the Quad and no one even noticed!
After the Viet Nam War things changed. All of the draft dodgers were out of full time jobs. So, they decided to be part of the American dream.
Most of them became insurance agents or ‘Call Girls’ but a lot of them became Tupperware sales people, train conductors, Gal Fridays, car salesmen, psychiatric nursing technicians, convenience store clerks, short order cooks, corporate executives or they worked at GM or Ford.
Whenever their favorite ‘oldies’ station played “Pleasant Valley Sunday” they’d looked wistfully into the distance. The air, thick with charcoal smoke, they’d throw another burger on the bar-bee and tell stories about the good ‘ole days and their kids would just stay inside with their smart phones moving thumbs up and down not even giving a shit.
Where I’ll Sleep
Where I’ll Sleep
I want to be buried surrounded by the fields of my youth
next to other kindred souls
who decided to lie in similar peace
on that grassy knoll, sheltered by a giant oak
it’s limbs spread wide to shield us,
it’s roots embracing our boxed homes
cradling us in our sleep,
apart from the hub-bub of life,
too far away for casual visitors with plastic flowers
our serenity only slightly disturbed
by the occasional car rushing by
the sound of tires rolling fast
metal barreling through thick air
rising from summer heat
when corn silk and yellow seedlings trees and grass
all join in the dance of life
thrusting higher and higher toward the sun
the same as my neighbors when they produced seed
multiplied, then passed on
leaving tiny bits of themselves behind
to prove there’s life
after.
…
In the stillness of winter’s coldest clear night
I’ll rise from within the Earth
to glide on moon’s rays
the wind my flesh,
the air my breath,
the stars my sight.
…
The oak tree above
my haven …
The Amphibian
The Amphibian
Occasionally the amphibian/rose out of the water/climbed the dune then clamored along the sandy lane in front of the cabin.
If we were lucky we got to see it
lumbering past dripping water,
it’s propellers still spinning,
balanced on six huge tires
taller than me,
three on each side
in the middle/it’s two powerful diesel engines roaring,
the air vibrating with sound and power,
thick black smoke blown rearward
from curved exhaust pipes
six or eight feet high
on both sides of the raised cab
where we could see the top half
of the drivers face
his eyes peering through three narrow windows
and the individual faces of ten men
looking through five portholes
on each side/before it disappeared
around the curve two houses away
the only remnants of its presence
the decrescendo
of its twin diesels
moving toward the lime rock road
I rode to go fishing …
and a black haze of
smoke slowly moving west
pushed along by an on shore breeze
blown in from the lake/before only
silence
filled the
air
Bluegills
We bought two cardboard containers packed with 15 or 20 corn bores covered in loose black muck, at a farm five miles from where we turned off the black top, then another three miles along a gravel road, snow plowed high on both sides, past farmers fields barely visible stretched white to the gray horizon line, snow tornados rising and falling then rising and falling again and again.
We parked next to a mountain of snow plowed higher than the car. Hidden from sight a frozen desert of ice where, we fished on an inland lake the shoreline a hundred yards from where we parked.
Through knee deep snow the Arctic wind gusting 25-30 mph against our backs we dragged our plywood ‘fish boxes’ to the shoreline then another quarter mile across the slippery surface.
He chopped five holes through the two foot thick ice (careful to angle each larger at the bottom so as not to be funnel shaped, impossible to pull a fish through) using a heavy iron spud rounded at one end, a leather strap at the other wrapped around his wrist to keep it from slipping into the black water when punched through the the last few inches of ice.
We spent the rest of the day fishing for bluegills, watching for the slightest movement of our bobbers, scooping films of ice that formed over the exposed water every few minutes, moving from hole to hole, watching for the red flags of our ‘tip ups’, sitting on our ‘fish boxes’, staring downward, hunched aerodynamically against the icy cold wind flowing over our backs.
You could hear the ice thunder and moan menacingly like an angry bear, as it grew thicker, ripping sounds heard in the distance or nearby, crackling for seconds at a time, jagged points of iced lightening suddenly etched close to where we sat, sending shivers of fear through me that the ice would open its jaws and swallow us into the inky black depths where not even the slightest ray of light could possibly exist.
Toward the end of day, the sun a vague halo of yellowish white against a dreary gray sky, we packed the poles and tip ups into our fish boxes, 20 or 30 bluegills frozen stiff at the bottom.
Faced downward, pushing against the north wind my toes and the tips of my fingers frozen numb, my face burning we trekked toward the shoreline, through thigh deep powdered snow, over the mountain, returning to the warmth of the car.
We drove through the dimming light of late afternoon into the dark sky of mid winter’s early evening night, arriving home just in time for dinner.
Lake and Stone
We pitched our tents behind the dunes within a gnarly stretch of evergreens/ that tempered onshore breezes/by the glacier lake/moving and alive/her ever present hypnosis/the sound of water lapping the
shoreline;
the gentle round stones she makes/flat like Decco candy/or tiny sculptures/move with circular motion/all along the shoreline/as far as you can
see.
With sudden drop of miniature curls/the sound she makes when resting/a farewell kiss is planted/to rocks and boulders/scurged from land while melting/broken down over millennia …
reapportioned.
Some fantastic journey through the ages/rocks and boulders bit by bit/surrendering sizes/to grains of flash, quartz, prismatic color/tiny atoms born of the mass/ from which they’d been
taken.
…..
With low toned emotion the great lake at rest now, from days of liquid passion …
The marriage of lake and stone …
Journey Home
At the end of the road I turned and faced the wind.
Flying dirt or bits of snow piled about in patches stung my face. Small sticks, newspapers tumbled past. What few leaves left over from Fall were being plucked and sent flying over empty farmers’ fields like dark butterflys speeding along at breakneck speed in circular patterns.
I stared back at the road where moments before I had sailed through life, the wind at my back speeding past life’s beauty, aware only of the burden of unforeseen consequence and pain, the beauty of the world having passed by passed by unnoticed. My only concern … TIME.
I tossed the heavy knapsack I carried for longer than I can remember into the tall grass where it disappeared.
Golden memories flowed into my mind.
“I must journey forward now, against the bitter cold.” My destination? A world where I once lived within the light.
Arms around my chest to keep warm the beating heart within, I stepped forward and began the journey home.
Elephant Shit
The States:
It’s where the elephant in the room took a huge crap which meant all the other elephants could rush in and take huge craps too!
There was so much elephant crap in the room they began to worship their own shit, that way when everything they touch turns to shit they can say they wanted it that way!
These elephants! They worked hard to make that rancid, stinking pile of shit they called their work! Strange how they look so proud when all they did was take a dump! What does that accompolish but, more shit!?
(I’ve heard it said that, their’s isn’t a political movement. It’s a bowell movement!)
I’ve also heard it said that, if that pile of shit’s their work then it proves they’re nothing but a bunch of assholes!
Works for me.
Some of the animal trainers, those brown shirted guys with the emblems on their chests, (who do their bidding) will soom be seeking cages to tame what they call, ”The wilder beasts who don’t deserve what little they’ve been given.”
They’ll be out there beating the bush. Oh my! The fun they’ll have! I’ve even heard they might try tar and feathering!
Is it possible these elephant forms are not even elephants? Could they be giant tape worms or aliens or sub human forms of feces in disguise?
I ask myself, how can they call themselves ”humanity”?
…..
In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in deep shit already! Don’t you think it’s about time to do something about it?
So, hey good people! Let’s get off our asses and make the deicision to clean up this fucking mess. Oh … ! Sorry … ! Wull, let’s get off our butts!
Sparking Lives
Miserable the only word to describe /sparking and unsparking/whiplash/negative charges thrown into the kiln/changing polarities/just enough to be dra
wn into/swords and suits of armor/wild assertions/positive forces negative sparks/static/crackling/lines of lightening flashes/downpours of anguished regret/the cruel heat of friction/despair/the will to punish and to forgive with confusing regularity/at odds for many reasons/in love to … or with .. what it used to be when living in light was magnified x 2.
Elizabethan Songs
In the village of the offspring/they kept true what they believed/they kept their secrets to themselves.
Each stem and root among them grew/the tallest oaks and elms/and there were many! living there as well/foxes/and hens/deer and rabbit/ pheasants, starlings, doves.
The dove! Beautiful light of angelic heart.
It’s the dove’s first song/that leads the way/with gentle wonder/from the dark of winter/through endless days of summer.
In the Place of Hearts/there were those lives/joined more not less together/than all the others/equal genius their greatest gift/equal visions their common trait/their natures known before even seen.
In the Village Of the Hearts/before meaning and time came together/the offspring went different ways/each achieving wisdom along their separate journey’s/the best that they could be/both worlds /a part of destiny/but apart ……
Dusty: May She Rest In Peace
I picture Dusty wanting to come in/or facing the sliding glass door window wondering if she wanted to go out. .
What should I do? Slide the door open or turn and walk away?
At the precise moment I finish asking the question, I hear her plaintive OOWWWwwww …
“She answered my question!! She does that all the time!”
The door slides open.
She stands, stares straight ahead for at least 30 seconds, maybe even a minute before limping, her right hind quarter damaged from an accident before we adopted her, across the aluminum threshold into the screened lanai.
“She’s always done that!” I say to myself.
“Don’t all cats have a thing about going through doors?! Maybe we should wait one more day.”
I feel tears welling. I see the world through glowing ripples.
Maybe we can put it off until tomorrow? But …
I know the time is right …
Dusty
1995 – 2016
May She Rest In Peace
Bluegills
We bought two cardboard containers packed with 15 or 20 corn bores covered in loose black muck, at a farm five miles from where we turned off the black top, then drove another three miles along a gravel road, snow plowed high on both sides, past farmers fields barely visible stretched white to the gray horizon line, snow tornados rising and falling then rising and falling again and again.
We parked next to a mountain of snow plowed higher than the car. Hidden from sight a frozen desert of ice where, for the rest of the day we fished on an inland lake the shoreline a hundred yards from where we parked.
Through knee deep snow the Arctic wind gusting 25-30 mph against our backs we dragged our plywood ‘fish boxes’ to the shoreline then another quarter mile across the slippery surface.
He chopped five holes through the two foot thick ice (careful to angle each larger at the bottom so as not to be funnel shaped, impossible to pull a fish through) using a heavy iron spud rounded at one end, a leather strap at the other wrapped around his wrist to keep it from slipping into the black water when punched through the the last few inches of ice.
We spent the rest of the day fishing for bluegills (or pike if we were lucky) watching for the slightest movement of our bobbers, scooping films of ice that formed over the exposed water every few minutes, moving from hole to hole, watching for the red flags of the ‘tip ups’, sitting on our ‘fish boxes’, staring downward, hunched aerodynamically against the icy cold wind flowing over our backs.
You could hear the ice thunder and moan menacingly like an angry bear, as it grew thicker, ripping sounds heard in the distance or nearby, crackling for seconds at a time, jagged points of iced lightening suddenly etched close to where we sat, sending shivers of fear through me that the ice would open its jaws and swallow us into the inky black depths where not even the slightest ray of light could possibly exist.
Toward the end of day, the sun a vague halo of yellowish white against a dreary gray sky, we packed the poles and tip ups into our fish boxes, 20 or 30 bluegills frozen stiff at the bottom.
Faced downward, pushing against the north wind my toes and the tips of my fingers frozen numb, my face burning we trekked toward the shoreline, through thigh deep powdered snow, over the mountain, returning to the warmth of the car.
We drove through the dimming light of late afternoon into the dark sky of mid winter’s early evening night, arriving home just in time for dinner.
The Amphibian
Occasionally “The Amphibian” rose out of the water at our beach climbed up the dune then along the sandy lane in front of the cottage.
If we were lucky we got to see it lumbering past dripping water, it’s propellers still spinning, balanced on six huge tires taller than me, three on each side in the middle, it’s two powerful diesel engines roaring, the air vibrating with sound and power, thick black smoke blown rearward from curved exhaust pipes six or eight feet high on both sides of a raised cab where we could see the top half of the drivers face his eyes peering through three narrow windows and the individual faces of ten men looking out through five portholes on each side, before it disappeared around the curve two houses away the only remnants of its presence the decrescendo of its twin diesels moving toward the lime rock road I rode to go fishing and a black haze of smoke slowly moving west pushed along by an on shore breeze blown in from the lake before only silence filled the air …
The Day the Year the Month the Hour the Minute the Second: The Time That I Was Born
That summer hot and sultry mid month mid year mid way past midnight bright lights shining blinding hands grasping fingers smashing through the air i didn’t really care it was not my problem i was their’s for the taking …
i heard the pain that wasn’t mine explode into my space, the air, the rush of light that came before the crack of dawn exposed the ship that i’d been riding on between the worlds where i once lived when i was born.
with great surprise i threw away my aqua lungs, I sucked in air while water flooded, breathing synapses firing new born pistons, 283 horses blowing streams of light in all directions!!
… so this is what it’s like to live in the land of milk and honey … !!!
Came time to leave for home i looked into the sky i’d never seen, acorns falling through the air, cool harmonies on the breeze singing memories from where it all began wrapped around light that fueled the seeds of future’s flight; tightly woven earthly patterns leading everywhere in sight that gave great brilliance and such delight!!
Each night i see the world inside my dreams wrapped inside the morning dew; each morning my life begins anew, never sure of all that i have seen until i return and do it all again and again and again and again and again and again … until i think … therefore i am …..
Kurt Struble Writing 
This is one of my favorite pieces not just because it describes what childbirth might be like but, I think it’s beautifully written. I like how it flows and trips along with cadence and sound.
Hey! I can comment about my own work can’t I? It wasn’t even ‘Me’ who wrote the thing. I remember it well. “I felt a slight glow on the pads of my fingers a kind of pulsing and I began to stroke the keys and it felt like my digits were being guided by Aphrodite herself.”
Not quite. More like, my inner roulette wheel spinning words and with the luck of the draw I was able to catch a few every once in a while.
Anyway. BIRTH! The most significant event of our lives! (And, at such a young age!) After all being born into this fucked up world is no easy job. It’s true! Ask any new born kid!
Birth! It’s the door we step through to gain entry into this place with its good and bad and every increment in between, evil and good and all the polar opposites that are the price we pay for living on a planet with a North and South Pole. Shit!
Then, there’s the mistakes we make! Think about how many concussions you’ve given yourself after slapping your self in the forehead saying, “You dumb shit!” Or, I coulda’ had a V8 but with the can.
But that’s life! Right?
The never ending parade that cascades before us, our journey through light with density that we are contained within and can exist in along with other beings just like us and we like them; plants and animals, trees and birds and all those finials from biology no species better or worse we think we are the high ideal but, all we’ve ever done is destroy things.
Yet, BIRTH continues.
Perhaps we judge our lives by how significantly apart we grow from the newborn child’s ultimate experience; the outside and the inside world coming face on with each other at birth, a double brightness, a kind of symbiotic relationship with light given/taken in/returned/then, given back in a never ending cycle.
Just like love and marriage. Right? Except, you can’t have one without the other.
Or, on the abstract level, seen in its entire and completely different and absurd light and really hard to understand level; if a tree falls in the forest and no one hears it is there a noise?
THAT’S ONE FOR THE AGES ISN’T IT REXI?. Fuck yes! There’s NOISE because there’s SOUND because the WHOLE PLACE heard the tree fall by the birds and the other trees and the lichen and the bear who was rubbing his butt when the tree fell. Jeez. What a ridiculous posit that, if a human being wasn’t present there MIGHT NOT be no sound. That’s kind of pre infantile thinking isn’t it? Oh? It’s not important? Good.
(That, and the angels dancing on the heads of pins discussion always gets me. Sooooo interesting. Someone should put THAT posit on a post it note and file it in the floor file.)
I think that every day it’s possible that at some point in time when time is the right time and the stars and all that other crap fit together just right I could find myself in the ‘real’ world behind all of the facades of daily life. We need those facades but they can be all consuming!
To suddenly experience the revery of speechless awe at the world around us. We all KNOW that other place is here, waiting to be experienced. Is that desire what keeps us going?
I think that, as life moves along we judge the degrees of success with our lives by the baseline of CHILDBIRTH. Which brings us back to the poem.
The words in that poem flowed through my fingers with such DELIGHT!
Wull … it’s ok to comment on my own work isn’t it? Actually, I don’t even know who wrote this piece remember? I was just the postman. Check out the post, “When I Was Born.” I hope you like it as much as I do. Au’revoir.