A peculiar guy?

Haha….today’s little spot of amusement.

I had stopped along a country road to take a photo of an interesting tree, standing by itself.  I had to navigate a shallow ditch to get into proper position.  As I was doing so, a Police Officer pulled up behind my car.  My first thoughts were Oh oh.  Am I trespassing? Perhaps she thinks I am peeing in public?  Or maybe doing an illegal drop off?
Of course, what actually happened was that she opened her window, kind of gave me a look, and said “Are you alright?”.  Yes, Officer, I was….ah….just taking a shot of this pretty tree.  She looked from me to the tree, then back, gave kind of a funny smile, then waved goodbye.

Hopefully, we made each other’s day.

Two more weeks

Two more weeks
says the eternal optimist.
Two more weeks
and Spring is here!
This hoary winter- blasted bush
may commence to cloak its brokenness.
Time-thwarted.
Challenged at every turn.
Of the Bonsai persuasion, of its own accord.

I have seen you, lonely friend,
budding with those precious green stems.
Are we of a kin?
Downtrodden for now,
we but await the blooming
of those summer smiles.
They make up for all.

The overseer

This man has overseen our house, no matter where we have been, for the last 41 years. His serene smile and kindly eyes have been a calming influence to me during turbulent times. There have been moments when I have wanted to shake his hand and sit by the fire with him. The name of the painting is Mountain Man and his Fox, by James Bama.

the Tetris of decision

slowly he walks in the snowy night.  approaching the street lights, he’s in one of those glass globes, shaken.  frozen furrows underfoot. crispy, crunchy.  making statements in the deadened sound.  there’s only the baying of solitary hounds, fading back into cotton in the ears.  he’s glad of the long johns and the fur hood.  much to think about in this wintry vacuum.  a relationship that’s run its course.  irreconcilable, he thinks.  how much, or even whether, he has sinned in seeking or accepting new friendships.  whether he cares about the fallout.  what she will do if he leaves, how she will live.  will these clunky intractable blocks of woe somehow fit together and form a path, a way out.  she knows they are in trouble.  she sees his half smiles and repartee with others, and is despairing of what to do, what to offer.

he is rounding the block, and sees home now.  the wind is picking up and he’s shivering a little, but he thinks he will do it one more time.  Maybe one more time.

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Good luck to you, Carol Anne!

Carol anne's avatarTherapy Bits

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Shaddup you face

i tella you one a’ stoopit ting
you nevva wanna do
and dat’s forget the valentines
and her 60 birthday too

and dat weddin’ anniversary
was forty one or forty two?
i always gotta scratcha ma head
if it’s all the same to you

and when she gimme grocery list
and send me to the store
i need a damn interpreter
’cause i never can be sure

she calla me on the telephone
says ‘pick up thirty more
the sale she ends on Saturday
we only got forty four’

‘hey- who’s a’ dat girl you talkin’ to
you better watcha you mouth
or I’ll be packin’ all a’ my bags
and headin’ for the south’

but now she has forgiven me
I’m such a handsome guy
i tell her she will never ever
catcha me in a lie

i buy us tickets to a show
and take her to a dance
she fixes makeup and her hair
and puts me in a trance

but i tella you one more stoopit ting
it doesn’t make no sense
dat hundred dolla perfume
don’t mix with flatulence!

Not complainin’

i won’t complain no more, no more
you see

only should i say what i have
that so many have not

a modest house
whose roof does not leak
and holds the heat in winter

a rusty car that still runs
and a license to drive it

someone with whom i have shared 40 Years

adult children who care

a body, still somewhat serviceable

enough faculties left to feel what is real,
discern what matters now,
scribble a few poems and stories
i hope my kids will read one day

and the strength given me
to overcome some of my weaknesses

someone said
“I used to cry because i had no shoes,
until i met a man who had no feet”

Put away that pipe, Joe (or, a compendium of confusing dreams)

i was selling seashells by the seashore
in a big sombrero
under the rakish palms
i was wearing broken teeth
and a black moustache
there were many flies
my sister weaves baskets
and she made my hat
the air is hot and fishy
and something moves under the sand

we’re hiding
scared to death
in a room
in a building
with walls and halls of tin
they are coming for us
we have six kittens in a basket
all are quiet except one
I hold it tightly
we are shaking with fear
i have to smother it
now it is done

within the horizon’s heat wave haze
there’s an untrustworthy form or shape
we do not want to guess its intent
so we climb into our egg shaped capsule
made from galvanized garbage cans
and naugahide sofas
the two of us pull down on the big slot machine lever
and up We rise with fluidity
hovering above the uncertainty