Afield they stand
these evolutions of the windmill
masts of three hundred feet
each blade one fifty
Dun they are
Low they swoop
Rumble they make through your shoes
By night, they set the land alight
with intermittent red
Some say majestic
Others revile
In the right blue-grey sky,
Invisible.
Quixote would be confounded.
At the X-Ray dept.
Well, I went in for a CT scan today. More about that in a minute. If you’re lucky enough not to have been for X-rays, you may not relate to some of this. What is with those gowns they make you put on? The nurse tells you ” please strip from the waist down (or waist up), and put on the gown. It ties up in the back.” Yes. Sure. It ties in the back. Now, I have always prided myself on being able to tie my own shoes with a flourish, but trying to tie bows behind your back is like doing brain surgery with a catchers mitt on. Why can’t they give you a bathrobe style thing with a string around the waist that you can do up? Easier and more dignified. They’re going to want it open anyways, right? And don’t even get me started about those ones with three arm holes.
As for the scan, the first thing she tells me is that they are going to put a bigger than normal needle into me so they can inject the special fluid into my system. Right away, I am at ease. And, it hurt like freaking hell. To add to the calmness, she informs me that the special fluid has certain properties, and can cause certain reactions, the most common of which are hot flashes and an instant urge to pee. Less common side effects can include difficulty breathing, and numbness in the lips. I am to report these things so they can give me an emergency antidote. Fine. Just fine. I am on the table now, rolling slowly towards the scanner. I hear a voice say OK Mr. Dunn, here comes the fluid. Almost instantly, I have a fever, a bad taste in my mouth, and I really really have to pee. (Actually, I had to go before I even got on the table, but was too embarrassed to say anything).
Then, the machine itself speaks to me. “Take a deep breath, and hold it for 15 seconds”.
Please, just kill me now.
Just cuttin’ my lawn
The terror of Godzilla
The mighty King of Kong
Ain’t nothin’ like the thriller
Of mowin’ my front lawn
Seven primes and seven pulls
It takes, to start the beast
The horsepower, the raging bulls
Strikes fear, to say the least
I care but not a mere pittance
For the forests I destroy
I show ’em my omnipotence
In the tactics I employ
There’s Henry, King of Fire Ants
He’s running for his life
In nothing but his underpants
Without his nasty wife
The bumblebees and butterflies
I spare ’em when I can
and watch ’em as they flutter by
It’s in the master plan
I blunder on, so nonchalant
and never have a care
Supreme am I, the Commandant
Come at me if you dare
But, one sad day, I felt a jolt
That made me stop and stare
The Crows had staged a mad revolt
and gave me quite a scare
The angry birds had organized
to help their helpless friends
They had me truly terrorized
I had to make amends
So now, today, my cutting’s done
I’ve given up for good
My weeds and grass, they’re having fun
The talk of the neighborhood.
On a hay field
undulate acres
gold under sun
neatness of mown rows
randomness of dropped bales
without pattern, it seems
might they be the tines and the prongs
in some airy music box
that, when plucked,
would fill the world with sweetness?
(one thinks)
Ticket to ride
Miles down,
by jutting ankle bone he reaches.
Retrieves the fallen peanut shell.
With smiling morning memories
of bathing in autonomy.
They have left on a shiny shopping spree,
and they smile too, at their well-earned freedom.
Home now, from the wars of the ward,
he has his ticket, his assurance.
The snakeskin of sickness is shed.
Crunch one more, such delicious.
Another shell he lets drop,
in amused clumsiness.
Spies it with new eyes,
and down he dives.
The Hospitable Cabin
A comforting story of a revered gathering place, by Gael Mueller. Loved it, especially the plaque on the wall.
Tres Pinos.
The cabin was built in 1923 by my great-grandparents. It is where they went every summer to escape the heat of the Central Valley.
It was a Cabin. With a capital “C”. One room, a wood stove for cooking and heating, a kitchen sink and cupboards with curtains (no doors). There was running water from a spring. My mother spent summers at the cabin with her grandmother when she was a child.
There have been a few upgrades. It has electricity. It has indoor plumbing. It now has a bedroom and a separate kitchen. All the comforts of home. Except there is no television, no radio, and, until recently, no phone. There is no such thing as cell service.
New front wall and porch. 2017
The place is stocked with very old books, picture albums of the family, fishing poles, flashlights and mouse traps. There is a granite…
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In plain sight
the adolescence of a nameless bird
studied, through patio glass
nothing to eat here, my friend
one or three peremptory pecks he makes,
then sees me
why aren’t you flying away, old chum,
like birds do
I look more closely-
sure looks like the one who hit our window yesterday
and we couldn’t find him
there’s a peculiar head movement
a familiar cockeyed tilt
he bobs up and down, takes his leave
a spinal chill comes to me
I ring up Charlie’s room
Charlie passed in the night.
JULY 6, 1957 THE GREATEST DAY OF THE 20TH CENTURY- THE DAY JOHN MET PAUL- 60 YEARS AGO TODAY
A glimpse into a moment of musical history. From https://slicethelife.com
On this day in 1957- 60 years ago today-John Lennon met Paul McCartney. Maybe I overstated it- calling this day the greatest day of the century, maybe I didn’t.
John Lennon’s group the Quarry Men were playing at the Woolton Parish Church Garden Fete. John Lennon and Paul McCartney had a mutual friend named Ivan Vaughan [who was born the same day as Paul was} It was Ivan’s idea to invite Paul to the event and introduce him to his friend John.
The Quarry Men were playing in a field behind the church [ a picture from the performance is above-with John and the Quarry Men- there is no picture of Paul on that day } This church fete was a big deal in Woolton- you have to wonder how The Quarry Men got invited to play at this?
On the way to the Fete- Ivan filled Paul in on…
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Moonlight
Such finely worded paintings she makes…a poem by Devika Mathur at My Valiant Soul.
i hear jars of jasmine in the pale moonlight singing and swallowing the day's lie the fallen mask of scalded hearts. the night has a belly of jam and butter smooth, a swamp of blood moons. a feverish rush of adrenaline, saying chants to hypnotize.
I hit 3k Subscribers today. Thank you all for showing me your love.
Scene seen
Broadest blue
Clear palette
One white wisp
I’ll not forget.
Aremyfeetofftheground 