Category Archives: Uncategorized

The honeymoon is over

We married in the summertime
My bride, she was just twenty
We planned a little honeymoon
With fun and laughs aplenty

Did it on the cheap, we did
And brought our moldy tent
Inside of which, a Katydid
had thought it was for rent

It jumped as we unrolled it
And gave us both a fright
The wife said “can I hold it?
I’m sure it doesn’t bite”

We felt a little eeriness
Alone, in this big park
And tried to keep our cheeriness
But there were snuffles in the dark

The shambling sound of something big
A sniffing ’round the tent
It hardly seemed to snap a twig
Then, thankfully, it went

I nearly had to pee my pants
Before I’d go outside
But all there was was army ants
Going for a ride

I heard the wifey”s laughter
As she spied me through the door
But I found what I was after
And then she laughed no more

A set of muddy print marks
And big ones, if you please
The doings after it was dark
Had caused us more unease

But daylight made us cheerful
She said “let’s take a dip”
No longer were we fearful
Until I felt a nip

The air abuzz with flitting flies
(they were the Horsey type)
they bit, and were a goodly size
And we, their targets ripe

“That’s it!  We must surrender!”
I said, and packed our bags
And thought “return to sender”
These bloody scallywags

Now, going home this early
Had not been in our thoughts
While I was getting surly
The wife was hatching plots

“Put a smile upon your face!
A-golfing we will go!
I know the perfect putting place
With an after dinner show!”

So, off we went, and got a cart
She had the keys to drive
I prayed that my unsteady heart
Would make it out alive

She nearly overturned us
By driving on a hill
The beating sun had burned us
And then, she felt a chill

So finally, in the evening gloom
We got her some first aid
And booked an air conditioned room
Exhaustedly, we stayed

When morning came, we had a fight
She yelled, in her pajamas
Next time, dear, don’t be so tight
We’ll go to the Bahamas!

The girl of his dreams

It’s three in the morning.

He gets up to pee, second time since bed.  Hobbles to the hallway bathroom, then stops suddenly, swallowing a seeming lump in his throat.  Silhouetted against the streetlights of his bay window, there’s a figure sitting on his couch.  His stomach jumping as if in a fast elevator descent, he closets himself in the bathroom, shutting the door.  He’s scared to even turn on the light switch, but there’s a small night light by his mirror.  This must be one of those lucid dreams I keep hearing about.  Shit, that scared me.  He studies his reflection.  It has an eerie cast in the drowsy glow.  A sheepish expression after his sudden retreat from the remnants of a dream.  Takes a leisurely pee, makes sure he’s well drained this time.  Opens the door and looks foolishly up the hall.

She’s still there.  He knows it’s a she from the long tresses and the manner of sitting.  She reaches out an arm and motions him to come.  She has no visible features except her eyes, showing dimly but tantalizingly, as if in the weakened beam of a dying flashlight.
A thrill of fear and excitement races down his spine, and he feels immobile.  In a body cast with an ant colony.  No good.  Can’t hide.  Go there.  Come on, lift the lead weights.  No, go back to bed Joe.  Wake the wife.  He’s half turned, groping for the wall, when he hears the hissing (from their cats?), and feels an almost physical pull to the couch by the picture window.

All is still darkness, backlit by the streetlights projecting a heavy fog, hints of tarnished glints suggested by the familiar:  his dirty ashtray, a coffee cup and spoon left on the end table.  And now, to complement those charnel-house eyes, there’s a spreading disembodied smile.  Oh God, he thinks.  My own Cheshire Cat.  Not knowing and not remembering how, he is beside her on the cold couch.  She does not look in his direction, but faces front.  Stunned, and at the apex of his fear, he feels her clammy hands upon his cheeks, turning his head to hers.  The eyes, dimly radiant, show nothing, like coins laid on a dead thing.  The left is half closed, and twitches, shuttering the silverness.  Some moans escape her, but in a singsong tone.  His nerves are as taught as catgut strings, and she is playing him, playing him.

Able to speak at last, he mouths the first of one thousand questions….Who…How…Why?

SSHHHHHH……You called me.  You did, you know.  Still she grips him, as within a vise.

He faints, or sleeps.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That is where his wife finds him.  On the couch, in the newborn position.  She asks why.
Bad dream, bad dream, dear.  That’s all.
She feels funny and strange, because of the way he looks, so shaken, and because he has never sleepwalked as long as she has known him.

The morning brings the workaday world back to him.  Today’s gonna be a tough one at the office.  My goddamn presentation, after three hours of sleep?  Off he goes, finally out of that body cast.  When it’s all done with, his friend Sasha whispers to him that the boss wants to see him.  Funny, the way she puts her hands upon his head, then gives him that sly little wink.

Saturday morning blessedly arrives for Joe.  He doesn’t get out of bed until eleven, and his wife awaits him with a kettle already boiled.  “You’re so nice”, he says, as he drinks the hot cup of his namesake.

Marlene says to him, as she’s reading the morning paper, “Joe, wasn’t there a Sasha at your work?”

He grips the table and spills the coffee.

Wrong tense, Marlene.  Please let it be someone else………….

Lifeblood and the loss of innocence

I dream of two plucked ducks.
I see them at the bottom of a large garbage can
in the dirty restaurant kitchen.
I can tell they’ve been dipped in boiled water
then discarded.
I don’t know why, but I cry.
They still breathe slowly
and their eyes beseech.
I run to the fat, cigar smoking, hairy, sweating son of a bitch of a chef
and say why you do this?  Why?
He says shut the fuck up, and punches me hard.
I stumble back to the ducks.
Lifting them out gingerly, I feel their lives ebb out.
I take them through the snow to the creek out back.
I break the ice and let them go in the cold flow.
Once again, I cry
and wipe the tears, mixed with blood.

Fished with my Dad and brother, as a kid. Not a dream.
I was the lucky one, who caught the first one.
There was the thrill of the bite, the bending and writhing rod,
my Dad reaching down with the net.
You got a big one!
What to do now?  Take the hook out.  What’s the matter?
Here, I’ll give you a glove, you ninny.
Hold it fast, and work the hook out.
It had swallowed the hook.
Just hold on tight, and pull!
Scared shitless.  The struggle.  The eyes.  The guts came out.
I cried then too, and ran back to the car.
Ridiculed.  Mister Sensitivity. Only a fish, but we didn’t need it.

Years later, married.
I was expected to go partridge hunting
With some dull cousin on my wife’s side.
We crept through the bush
Amid his admonishments to keep the noise down.
From behind, I heard his hoarse whisper.
Freeze!
He had spied a winter rabbit.
I did not know.
His shotgun went off six inches from my ear.
The rabbit was blown to hell, not even good for meat.
You Jerk.
He laughed.
I am still half deaf in that ear.

***

Photo credit:  https://www.flickr.com/photos/eking1989/

367 million miles

My pearly eyes breathing the soot of space, I swim the sidestroke.
With each convulsing push, my snaggletoothed smile grows wider, wilder.

Now I am gigantic, a black behemoth blotting the needlepoint lights as I go.
Smoky stroke- a million miles.
Striations of stars in one surge.

There- one of rusty orange increasing.
Now a fruit size, now a beachball,
then a magnetic ocean of vibrant orange.
It pulls on my reins, yes it pulls.
But I have the bit between grinning teeth.
I wrest it away.  Not yet, I say.

Another whooshing stroke, ten more,
and I am playing Asteroids-
for real, my friend.
They test my skill, I do not slow.

I think-  I am the Otter of space.
I weave with his wonderful wilyness.
I am through!

Pinpointed dark awhile.

Then a cathedral of banded swirling light.
In the Jovian region.
My monster wing-arms are taken control of.
I assume a diving praying position.
I am headlong.  My teeth crack on the bit.
My eyes strain to ovalness.

These, I willingly pay.

I am home.

 

***

Artwork: Dragon Fantasy computer game.

The Spiral

I am travelling.
I am travelling.
Circling the sides of a furious funnel,
Ever downward, with underlying thrum.
A cyclone in reverse,
but slowly, slowly.
As in the fixed grooves
of a rotating record.
I grow faint from the force centrifugal.
Vision is grayness.
I hear the cacophony
of a hired choir,
singing sweet sighs
and promising rest.
But, why do they fade
after so much I’ve paid?
And what is to come
from this sonorous thrum?

Growing into it

I saw you many days when I was but a child.
You were in fine leaf then.

We lassoed you twice and made a swing.
When days were happy, we swung
among your slanted sunbeams and jumped off, sailing,
into your baby’s breath cushions,
just in time for the dinner bell.

When days were unhappy,
we knew, and stuffed our pockets with stolen sandwiches,
in hopes that they wouldn’t come for us
until the fights were over.
We had our bug jars,
and caught fireflies to light our way home.

In time, I got a little sorry.
Father gone, mother so sick, brother needing a wing to enfold him.
I tried to do what was expected, to be called a man.
Odd jobs, gone all day.
Having to talk to the grown ups about plans.

Sporadic were the times we saw you then.
Your weathered tethers had snapped.
The cracked wooden seat hung crazily in the warm breeze,
drawing childish patterns in the sandy track we had worn.
I took a picture, and left you for a man’s age.

I write this now with a bowed head, for I am old.
There’s a happy young family now, on this lane.
They’ve shyly let me wander their back path.

You’re not the worse for wear, you know.
The grooves we once cut into your arterial limb
are now sporting new stout ropes, with a big black tire.
The sand pictures gone, with time’s etch-a-sketch.

You’ve seen all the weathers of the world,
and I wonder how many children you have made happy.
You seem to stand and study,
and, I wager, you have many long names
for this vector in space and time.

And so, I have grown into it.
Whatever it is.
But I think you will still dream your long names
until the world encroaches at last
and you must go
the way that I am going.

***

Art by https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.geofhickey-artist.com%2Fnew-work-in-progress%2F&psig=AOvVaw1T2qqGnacbKvQtntjmkrPL&ust=1622571352644000&source=images&cd=vfe&ved=2ahUKEwiK9YW6w_TwAhXRBc0KHR54Cq8Qr4kDegQIARAj

Liebster Award nomination

N.  over at  https://therebemonstershere.com/  has kindly given me the nod for this award.  Please check them out for superb stories of an eerie, eloquent, and absorbing nature.  Although I don’t go in for this sort of thing, I feel I must show my appreciation by accepting their gracious gesture and by making a reasonable effort to carry on with the ins and outs of it.

The Liebster Award is an opportunity for bloggers to recognize and support other bloggers for their achievements. It’s available between January 1 – December 31, 2018. All nominations are voluntary and geared towards blogs with 1000 readers or less. The Rules are below if the nominees choose to accept.
IF YOU HAVE BEEN NOMINATED AND YOU CHOOSE TO ACCEPT, WRITE A BLOG ABOUT THE LIEBSTER AWARD, IN WHICH YOU:
*Thank the person who nominated you, and post a link to their blog on your blog.
*Display the award on your blog, by including it in your post and/or displaying it using a “widget” or “gadget.” (Note that the best way to do this is to save the image to your computer, and then upload it to your blog post.)
*Answer 11 questions about yourself which will be provided by the person who nominated you. Provide eleven random facts about yourself.
*Nominate 5-11 bloggers that you feel deserve the award, and who have less than 1000 followers. (NOTE: you can always ask the blogger how many followers he or she has, as not all blogs display a widget that lets the readers know this information).
*Create a new list of questions for the blogger to answer.
*List these rules in your post (you can copy and paste from here.) Once you have written and published the blog, you have to:
*Inform the people/blogs that you have nominated for the Liebster Award and provide a link for them to your post, so that they may learn about it.

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Here are the questions posed to me:

1 – What was your favourite scary story as a child?

That horrific film The Wizard of Oz. I mean tornadoes, flying monkeys, not to mention the Wicked Witch?

2 – Who is your favourite book character of all time?

Levin, from Anna Karenina. Don’t ask me why.

3 – When did you first begin writing?

I have some musty old copies of poetry written in my late teens. Geesh. Pretty bad stuff.

4 – Who of your friends have you used as characters in the things you have written?

My wife, my brother, myself…..I know, not really friends.

5 – Were you a ghost, where and who would you haunt?

I would haunt the woman who tore my brother away from all ties with family, so that he remained estranged from all of us for the last thirty years. Vengeance is mine!

6 – If you were given the opportunity to live in any era, what and where would it be?

Ancient Egypt…..always wanted to know how they built the pyramids.

7 – What noises can you hear right now?

The ringing in my ears, the tapping of keys, the stuttering of my hard drive, and the
air conditioning fan.

8 – If you could make one blog related statement, what would it be?

Please don’t apologize for skipping a few days in your blog, or for having nothing to write about. Come back when you feel you want to. We will still be there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some random facts about yours Truly:

1. I began writing a bit of poetry at the age of 17, I think. I still have some of these original hand scribblings, which I found in a file box the other day some 50 years later.
2. I knew my wife for 3 months before we got married 41 years ago. No, it wasn’t a quickie or a shotgun.
3. I have been knocked unconscious three times in my life that I can remember. In a game of minor hockey, diving into a shallow stream too eagerly, and falling down a slope into a ravine.
4. I’ve had three “careers” that lasted more than 10 years each.
5. I fell head over heels in love with reading when I first picked up a paperback edition of The Lord of the Rings in 1967.
6. As for the 60’s, I was there, I was of age, I did the things, there’s a lot I can’t remember, but the music of the Beatles will always be there.
7. I’m in a band with some like-minded older guys. We’ve been together for close to 10 years.
8. I have two adult children who are on their own. Good thing one of them is pretty rich, because she’s gonna be spending lots of money taking care of us in our old age.
9. I began this blog about a year and a half ago, as an outlet for stored-up creative impulses.
10. I’ve been nominated for a Liebster once before, and for the Versatile Blogger Award and the Mystery Blogger Award.
11. Have recently been published (for money!) in a town newspaper.

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The most eminent bloggers I wish to nominate here are:

http://muellermusings.com/

https://lmjones01.wordpress.com

https://allanesinclair.wordpress.com/

About

http://thestoriesinbetweenblog.wordpress.com/

HERE ARE YOUR QUESTIONS, FOLKS:

1. Have you ever run across a blogger who, based on their writings, seemed to be at risk of self harm? If so, how did you approach it?
2. What are the things that would deter you from reading someone’s blog?
3. If you ever have self doubt about your work, or writer’s block, how do you deal with it?
4. Have you ever taken down a post after having second thoughts?
5. What are the things that have made you do multiple edits before or after publishing a post?
6. Are you smart enough to appreciate some of the puzzling poetry out there, or am I just dull? (Humorous response, please)
7. Do you, or do you not, post stories of a personal nature?
8. Do you, or would you, give your website’s address to a friend or family member?
9. Do you post your work on social media?

 

 

Wonder World

 

The saddler’s leather
The vane of a feather
The needles that come from a pine
Electrical static
And the smoke aromatic
And the shivery feel up your spine
Hot summer hazes
The Moon, in its phases
The whoosh in revolving of doors
Cheeses so smelly
Hot food in your belly
And the sauna’s white steam in your pores
A pussycat’s tongue
An aria sung
The shadows that blot out the stars
The drizzle that’s staining
The snow, when it’s raining
And the sound of flamenco guitars
Bumblebees lazy
On summer days hazy
The waves from the pavement, of heat
The hummingbirds hover
We cannot discover
The speed of their wings, as they beat
The things in the Sea
Like the wild Manatee
And the squid with its fluids of ink
And the dolphins a-playing
And the predators preying
And the jellyfish, purple or pink
The eagles espying
The rabbit they’re eyeing
The spider that’s spinning its web
The spring ice that’s melting
The hailstorm that’s pelting
And the tides of the flow and the ebb
So, all is connected
And shan’t be corrected
”Tis part of the master design
And all things imagined
Belong to this pageant
That’s wrought by the Artist Divine.

 

 

 

 

Dangerous day

 

Yesterday, in my little corner of the world, we ran into some coincidental calamities, or nearly so….. all in the space of ten minutes.

I was driving east on the main street of town and was attempting to make a legal left turn to go northbound.  A southbound vehicle on my intended route had his signal on to make a left turn, into my path,  where it was strictly prohibited with numerous highly visible signs.  When westbound traffic was clear, I began to make my turn, and he came out right in front of me.  Had to slam on my brakes to avoid a collision.  He acted as if it were my fault and made various rude gestures.

After that heart stopping moment, we continued up the street and I had to brake sharply once again.  A little girl in a saggy diaper was running around in the middle of the roadway.  I stopped abruptly and put on my flashers.  My wife got out and took the little girl by the hand and asked her where she lived, quickly leading her to the side of the road.  She called over to a woman who was doing some gardening and asked her if the child was hers.  The woman came running out, picked up the girl, said an embarrassed thank you, and went into her house.

Five minutes up the road from there, just as we were leaving town, I nearly ran a dog over.  It was off leash, but obviously owned by someone, having a collar and tag.

Maybe my planets are out of alignment, or something like that.