Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Horseman pass by

travels-ireland-sligo-dublin-elsinore-yeats-05
Under the shadows of Benbulben
The Balloon of the Mind
Hands, do what you’re bid,
Bring the balloon of the mind
That bellies and drags
In the wind,
Into its narrow shed.
Wm. B. Yeats 



2 glasses of wine
Source: wine as medicine
A Drinking Song
Wine comes in at the mouth
And Love comes in at the eyes.
That’s all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift my glass to my mouth,

I look at you and I sigh.
Wm. B. Yeats
                                                               
William B. Yeats—always a favorite of mine.  

Monday, October 28, 2013

Well, then...

B-29 Superfortress
 Well, then…

My father began every story with those words.  He’d lean back in the kitchen chair—that is where most stories were told—and tilted back the John Deere cap.

Me and Sweetman were on a long run over the China Hump…you know what that is, dontcha?  Well, that is a flight over Burma and China to Japan.  We dropped bombs on towns there.  But... Well, then. 

It took close to 24 hours to fly there and back.  Had to fly low over the waters, so low that we could see the white caps on the waves.  I betcha we coulda reached out to grab some sea water. 

We flew so low to conserve fuel.  Plane was heavy.  Man, it was heavy with the fuel tanks and the artillery.  Me and Sweetman were the bay gunners.  The closer we got to Japan, the Japs would be buzzing around us like hornets.  Me and Sweetman would shoot at them, heavy guns and loud.  Now and then, we’d say, “I got one…”

Well, then.  This story is about a rule we had on the bomber.  The first one who had to pee would have to clean the latrine.  Nasty, bad job.

Ol’ Gandy had to go bad.  The rest of us were pent-up about the mission, we couldn’t have peed for nothing.  But Gundy had to go.

But the latrine?  He decided he’d open the bomb bay doors just a little and pee down them.  Worked just fine.

Then we heard the navigator Ol' Shelton say somethin’ like.  “What’s this?  Yellow sea water?”  He smacked his lips, wiped his face.  “Tastes funny.”

We never told him what that was.  Don’t think he’da like it.

Top Row (rt. to lt.): Charles T. Rock,  Charles H. Donalds,  Ronald M. Gandy,
Louis E. Peck (my dad),  John Sweetman

Middle Row:  Capt.Willam O. Ezell (pilot), Lt. Hump Halsey (co-pilot),  Arthur M Shelton, Merril Williams

Front:  James. D. Waring,  Robert Quick










Then Dad would stand up, straighten his cap, and go out to do chores.  

Dad loved to tell stories, but only certain stories.

Friday, October 25, 2013

Chosen Rocks

Source
Gray still sky over
Roiling silver sea,
Soaking gold to slate
Slabs of sand.

Satin rocks, ancient rocks
Worn and beaten
Smooth by
Merciless waves.

My brother is dying.
Her whispers cast
To deaf waters.
Salt to salt,
Whispered over and over.

Three speckled rocks
Chosen by grace.

One rock resting
in a noisy room,
Whispering silently
My brother is dying...

One rock for bedside
Where whispers and tears merged.

One rock more--

At last, gazing at her
Blessed brother, eyes closed, 
In steel gray casket.

Tucking a smooth
Ocean stone into icy hand.
My brother has died.

Tears to tears,
Sea to earth,
Cold hand to warm,
Words silenced,
Whispers lie heavy
in the heart.

Thursday, October 24, 2013

Wednesday Words: Evening Plays Out


Oh, Delores!
As a blazing sun descended, a crescent moon waited to emerge. An evening mist spread over the rainbow leaves.


Black Squirrel made a rapid assessment of the perimeter before retiring in his acorn filled nest. Staring at a hidden camera, Squirrel thought, Get a life, why dontcha? He scampered up to his beloved hoard.

Black Crow landed in the old oak, just above Squirrel’s home. He cawed to Squirrel, “You up for some Texas Holdem tonight, Billy?”

To which Billy chattered, “You betcha, Timmy. Your place or mine?”

starting 3
A Winning Hand


 Again, many many thanks to Delores at Under the Porch Light, whose words, wit, evil (vociferous?) and tricky mind, photos, and just downright clever personality never cease to amaze me.  Her site contains some amazing answers to this week's challenge.  Enjoy!

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

A Wish for Nat

Source: Feral hogs
Nat was not ashamed of his family or of his herd.  He had been born into the community of feral hogs, been nurtured, and now was expected to learn the ways of the hunt.

Being a runt had not been easy, but Nat bore up to the digs, the snorting derision.  But, this revealed to Nat even more that he was not meant to be a raging boar with deadly tusks.

It was out on another foray for food, which involved destruction of some field or roots that a thought occurred to Nat.  He was eager to share it with the sow mother who was already nursing the next generation of wild feral hogs.

He grunted a few times, and his mother looked at him.  She rolled her small hog eyes, shook off the piglets from her teats, and guided Nat to a secluded part of the mud roll.  When Nat began to share his desires for a different life, she grunted and squealed quietly.

“Don’t you ever say those things again!  Especially to your father!”  Then she turned tail and waddled off in a huff.

But Nat could not help himself.  He confronted his father, who was the Alpha Boar of the herd.  He grunted quietly.  “Pa, I don’t want to be a feral hog.  I want…”

But that was as far as Nat got.  His pa lit into him with every profane squeal he knew, which was quite impressive.  Then Pa knocked and rolled Nat with his huge tusks, slashing Nat’s hind quarters.  Nat took off, knowing that he was forever banned.
Where to go was the question.  Nat raised his snout to sense the air.  West.  He would go West.

Monday, October 21, 2013

Sock Drawer Suffers Thinning


No one had said anything, but it was clear that the ranks were thinning in the Land of Sock Drawer.  Fewer and fewer socks were returning.  Tragedy was floating heavily in the linted air.

After the Strangers finally had been removed, all the residents congregated around the Sage Surgery Sock with the Chevron footing.  Their wailing was heard all the way to the Underwear World.

What?  What have we done to anger the Hand of God?  Why would wrath womp our world with withering whirling washing?  Tell us, Oh Great Sock!
The Sage Surgical Sock spoke. Argyle wool blend, stood tall and imperiously as a wool sock can stand.  Do not weep!  We must stay matched and strong.  Answers will come soon. 

Somehow that did not reassure the weeping mob.  But answers did arrive and boy-howdy-did-they-arrive.

The drawer was opened and a mass flooded the drawer.  It was nothing like the Flood of ’97 when the Drawer was mixed up with bras and undies.

The shivering arrivals were surrounded by their loved ones.  Finally they were able to tell of their mysterious disappearance.
We were trapped, trapped! I tell you.  One moment we were happily enjoying Laundry Land in the new Mesh and Zippered Sock Protector.  AND thenoh and thenwe found ourselves buried in the new Mesh and Zippered Sock Protector, in a basket Then other cloth items were layered over us, cutting out all light.  Forgotten.  We were forgotten!!


That was all any of the Sock Drawer could take.  Their tale would be sorted out eventually.


NiceLaundry
Source: A company will help you with Sock drawer dilemmas

This photo below made me laugh, so I put it here.  It bears no relationship to any Sock Drawer, living or dead.

What do you think?

Friday, October 18, 2013

A Night at the Opera

extreme closeup 2: cat closeup
Source: costiq
Sassy groomed her inky coat until it glinted in the moonlight.  She flipped and tossed her feline tail.  Lookingood, girl!

Initially Sassy had been ambivalent about her fence-top performance.  But now? 

 Sassy would deliver her most vociferous performance ever.  Her initial dread had given way to confidence and anticipation.  Bring it on!

As Sassy sauntered down the alley, a gurgling rumble came from beneath her paws.  Peering down, Sassy was abruptly covered with spewing grunge from a broken septic drain.


So much for opera tonight.


Vociferous, Delores?  Oh you, girl, you!  Delores at Under the Porch Light consistently challenges bloggers with interesting words every Wednesday.  You must check her blog site to read other bloggers!

Thursday, October 17, 2013

Pumpkin Mush


Source: cheap Halloween costumes

After four solid hours of the door bell ringing and “trick-or-treat”, Delores couldn’t think.  Her mind was full of pumpkin mush, as was her front yard, the path to the front door, and even on the roof of her car.
  

The inside anatomy of a pumpkin, including the brains and seeds
Source: The Magic Pumpkin page projects
Pumpkin mush was everywhere.


It is time for a double Scotch on the rocks, Delores decided, turning off the porch light.


Thanks to Delores at Under the Porch Light for this prompt.  Please go to her site to check out other versions!

Monday, October 14, 2013

The Witching Hours

Source
Sunburnt sun
Streaked with
Gray and pink....
Wisp to wild.
Grasping, consuming.

Billows of ashes and dust
Swirl upward—
A gift to fires
Of all fires.

Witch Creek,
Cedar Creek,
Mount Palomar,
Esperanza: 

Burn to the ocean
Or stop at the crest?


Wikipedia: Witch Creek Fire

Fiery tongues lick cold 
Impassive walls, lying and
Waiting for the end.

Gusts transport feathery remains
of homes and trees

To rest, layer upon layer,
White and Gray.
Green life, now absent, 


Source: goldenstatephoto.com/weather
Becomes moonscape
In moments, in hours.

All from
A sunburnt sun.


Fire at its witching hour



Friday, October 11, 2013

Her Words Dropped...

ice cubes: glass with ice cubes,
Source: just4you
Maddy tried to sleep, but the noise of her mommy’s party was too loud. 

“Well, I should try to pee, that’s what Mommy would say,” she whispered as she drowsily walked to the little bathroom only she used.

On the counter top Maddy noticed something odd, truly odd.  It was an empty box, with a note to Nana Sylvia from her mommy.  ”Sylvia, blah, blah, blah I hope blah, blah Love, Brenda” Maddy could not read cursive, but clearly something was important.

Maddy carried the strange stick to return to Nana Sylvia.  Grandpa had married her last year after Grandma had died some years before.  Nana was really old, maybe the same age as her mommy, like 42 years old.

She carried the stick to Nana Sylvia.  “Nana…what does a +means, and it’s kinda purple blue?”

Her words dropped like ice cubes into the warmth of conversations. 

Mommy ushered Maddy upstairs to her bed.  The room below was silent and then erupted in laughter and clapping.  “Mommy,” Maddy asked sleepily as Mommy tucked her into bed.  “Why are they all calling Grandpa ‘you old dog, you’?”


Mommy smiled and closed the door. 

I'm like an actor!: what difficult life!
Source: duchessa

Oh, Delores--you old wordmaster, you!  I hope you enjoy this one!!
Readers: pop over to Delores' site at Under the Porch Light and read other contributions from some great writers.

Thursday, October 10, 2013

Wednesday Words: Fanny

morning sun: no description
Source: alexbruda
Fanny blinked at the early morning sunlight.  Another day, just like all the others…

She would go along, doing her job, making frequent starts and stops.  And always always hearing the same clattering and chattering.  ‘This is such a plodding bore, Fanny reflectedThe weight of her servitude lay upon her, heavy as cast iron.

Fanny over-heard Harold talking with Maude as he poured his coffee.  She could barely catch the conversation without being obvious, but she did distinctly heard three very important words:  slaughter house and glue.

Desperation gripped her.

Fanny kicked down the rotten stall door and took off running at a pace she did not realize she still possessed.

As the green rolling pastures passed beneath her hooves, Fanny recalled an old stallion named Big Boy, a stud from days gone by.  ‘Big Boy, get ready!  Here I come!’


Estrus cannot be denied.


horse portrait: horses on the meadow
Source: just4you
Thank you, Delores, for another set of challenging words.  Please go to Under the Porch Light to find other writers who have heard the call and written some creative posts!

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

Sock Drawer: Strangers in a Strange Land

blue wrist watch: none
Source: lusi
After the tick-tick blue round was heaved out the drawer, the Sock Drawer resumed it general pace and rhythm.  Socks left, were worn, sent to the dreaded Laundry Land, and hopefully returned. 

Gossip was still the primary form of entertainment.  The tick-tick had provided a brief break bringing Socks to near unraveling point.  Now, Sock residents resumed chattering of lint, static, and thread snapping.

Source: info on recycling yarn

But what about the Strangers?  The unique and curious objects that had been swept off the Land of Dresser Top, and landed in the Sock Drawer?  Gossip and speculation was the big topic among the resident socks.

The shabby-chic striped nylon/spandex (who managed to stay, despite an obvious hole in the cuff) was the most vitriolic about them.  She shook the hole at the Strangers, bitching in her peculiar way…And look!  Look at the shoddy bright green…thing!..

The other sassy socks of poly/nylon/spandex genre joined with Shabby Sock.  The atmosphere was rife with lint and crackling.  A riot was building, and in a land of static could set off a storm of electric charge. 
Holiday Socks - Gifts, Clothing, Jewelry, Home Decor and Home Furnishings - Unique and Affordable Gifts | Potpourri Gift
Source

Then Wise Argyle stepped in and stopped them with the boldness of his diamond woven in brown/blue/tan woolen and spandex.  He remembered the Electric Charge Storm from the last riot, the one when the new Christmas socks arrived.  Oh, no. 

But what about the Strangers??  Where were they and what were they doing while the riot wound down?

Monday, October 7, 2013

Sweep the Floor Clean

common broom: none
Source: lusi
Mama said we gotta clean this whole damn place.  “Every inch of it!” she said.

Mama filled up a bucket of scrubbing soap that smelled like pine tree.  She handed me a rag, and we started scrubbing.  Scrubbing hard, like there was sin in every crack. 

From the ceiling to the floor, Mama scrubbed, scrubbed some more.  Then she changed the water with more pine stuff. 

What was I doing?  “Sweep the floor!  You gotta sweep clean!”  So I did what Mama said.  Then she told me to do it all over again. 

Mama filled another bucket of water and pine stuff.  Gave me a stiff brush, got on her knees, and started scrubbing the floor in big circles.  She sent me to work  along  side, so as we’d scrub from one end to the other.

She dumped the bucket, put clear water and a dose of pine stuff.  And we started all over again, circle and circle, on our knees.  Did this until the water ran clear at the end.  Thought we was done.
But no.  We got some old rags and rinsed off the pine water.  One end to the other.


Then Mama stood up.  “You always gotta sweep the floor clean.”  That was what we done.

Went out to the porch where a cool breeze was blowing.  Mama had some coffee and a cigarette.  I had some water.

I asked her why men didn't do this, since as it was darn hard work.

"Men don't know much about cleaning the house."  She took a long hard drag on the cigarette.  "They don't know much at all."