it splashes the vision
with the limpid light of fall
sun’s long rays at the day’s end
a spotlight of startling hues
shone through the shorn bleakness
reflected from fiery cloudbank
take me back
take me back to the sadness
take me back
to the love
inspired by the painting “Crystal Light” by Erin Hanson (shown above)
I am delighted that so many people read my eclectic stuff. It keeps me going, and provides a reason to get beyond that first cuppa coffee in the morning. I thank you all.
Some sage observations from my two month career as a pizza delivery man.
I’ve enjoyed the ambiance of working in a busy well run establishment. The exuberant repartee of the mostly young crew. Their forgiveness of neophyte mistakes. The hugs they give one another when they leave for the night. The absence of any prejudice, within a crew of different races. Just people talking to people working with people.
The Realtor called this morning, mid coffee. Someone wants to see my house.
So, I run about, getting the place ready for buyers, once again, once again….Start the vacuum, scare the piss out of the cats (they’ll never forgive me). Dust and polish those floors. Spray the covers with a little scent. Hide all of those small things that might betray the fact that we lived here. Straighten the broom closet, sweep up the cat crumbs. A foreign neatness of sorts. We slobs are not used to this. Go and buy a nice plant to sit outside the front door. Welcome, welcome. They say a good idea is to put a pot of coffee on to simmer, before you slip quietly out the front door. An enticing smell. To some. A tray of cookies, labelled “please help yourself”.
But, the last thing I do, I don’t know why, is to turn that vase of sunflowers just a little, to show its best side. I move to clean up its fallen petals, then stop. Leave them there. Don’t you know it’s Van Gogh?
At least someone cared.
wax of ear
and jam of toes
and crusty nugget
out of nose
seeping sweat
from tofu arms
are just a few of Charlie’s charms.
crunchy crumbs
from sleepy eyes
and fingernails
unsanitized.
peeling skin
from burning sun
and dandruff flakes
one thousand one.
All these sunny things, so gnarly
will serve to recommend Our Charlie.
A scholar once told me
I pull from the past,
retreat to the past,
ornament the present,
and look with caution
to the unknowable future.
Not altogether sure that this constitutes wisdom.
THE PRESIDENT threatened my country with “Ruination” today.
Brings to mind “That ain’t no way to treat a lady”.
Brings to mind a speech by Nikita Khrushchev, who once said “We will bury you!”
Ever since I saw this man on Celebrity Apprentice, I have disliked him.
The classic schoolyard bully.
This is your closest ally you are talking to.
This is your Art of the Deal?
I had the darkest dream last night
It pinned me to my bed
A humming buzz of blackishness
was leaning o’er my head
Its eyes were but a sickly gleam
Its curtains brushed my chest
Its leathered hands upon my mouth
my heartbeat did arrest
My hands and feet were flailing fast
to break this evil dream
I shouted out, but only cast
a smother-muffled scream.
a squeezing of the throat it gave
I thought I would be killed.
but morning broke this devil’s cave,
this darkness, unfulfilled.
On the last doorstep before green, I stand.
The mossy carpet rolls and ripples to the very jamb.
From away. Away.
These three have seen me, shepherded me,
sung me, into their house of home.
How long I have slept the sleep I do not know.
We awaken, four, in muslin robes.
Hands, sleeves, embraces long.
And now, the morning vista seen,
I swell with desire for the rolling green.
Our woman, our Queen
encircles my waist
and we float.
She laughs a hearty laugh, and lets go.
I have been touched, and I move through the airs with her.
I anticipate. I know…
every blade, every knoll, what comes next, what might be at the end.
Our muslins flapping, our hands entwined, we smile to each other.
Me and my Auntie Gravity.
I always use that old chipped green coffee mug.
I never could tell you why.
Stupid secret from another time.
Antiques that follow me.
Our old ice cream haunt from the decades
died this summer.
You began your folding, too.
Still you soldier on,
wearing regret that you could not incite me
to a life.
We come home to the warm room.
Awkward furniture, arranged oddly.
Not encouraging real warmth.
There’s a plush chair, the odd man out, never sat in,
except by the cat.
Company be damned.
I undress for bed.
Pull the car keys and change from my pockets.
Bypassing the proper places,
I lay the keys on a soft stack of facecloths,
the change on a wooly sock, also out of place.
Quiet private wishes,
vicarious comfort for the bones.
Where is the green cup, I ask.
Aremyfeetofftheground 