Archive for the ‘poem’ Category

Field and Stream

Posted: June 11, 2018 in free verse, poem, poet, poetry, writing

A few weeks ago, my company purchased for me a new work vehicle. A new shiny white pickup. It is equipped with all the options, you name it, AM FM XM radio, chrome bumpers, four wheel drive, a nice fiberglass topper. It even has electric adjustable seats, mirrors and windows. I spend a lot of time on the road traveling between assignments. Although I really loved it, after over 215,000 uneventful miles in the old Tundra, a new vehicle was a welcome break and change of pace.

Unfortunately, with only 3500 miles accumulated on this new beast of burden, I had a fatal encounter with a deer. Fatal for the deer that is. Thinking about how the accident happened, I really don’t believe I killed it. It was broad daylight, it ran out of a deep ditch and squarely in front of me, neither of us had a chance. She was killed on contact and the contact caused a little over 5,000 dollars in damage to the new, shiny white front end of the pickup. I firmly believe that the animal committed suicide after choosing the first fast traveling passing vehicle. I certainly didn’t want to hurt it so I must place some of the blame on the deer. But it did bring back an old memory.

When I was young, I had a memorable encounter with the white tail deer. Growing up in a Field and Stream family, I learned to hunt and fish from my father and older brother. Wild game was a staple of our diet. Fish, rabbit, pheasant, quail and squirrel were not unusual in the freezer or on our dinner table. We always hunted and fished legally, never exceeded the harvest limits and always respected the natural habitat. I saw many deer in the wild and along the side of our roads. The deer population was not as many as it is today. Then the occasional spotting of a small herd of deer was considered a treat or even an event.

But I only remember hunting deer one time with my father. On that occasion, after spotting the deer in the distance and ready to shoot, my father paused looking over the barrel of his slug loaded shotgun and quietly whispers to me, “He sure is a good looking animal, he’ll live for another day” and brought down the heavy Savage 12 gauge to his side. Taking turns, we watched the big magnificently racked buck through our binoculars, letting him slowly wander out of range back into the thick timber of hickory, oak trees and raspberry brier. We never hunted deer again. Some may call that buck fever or weak sentimentalism, I saw it as a father showing his son respect for another living being.

Since then, I have gone on deer and elk hunting expeditions with acquaintances, but in other states where I didn’t have a resident or nonresident license or carry a gun. In places where the shot animals had to be hauled out on pack horses. But I’ve never really hunted, I’ve only observed. So now, after over 50 years, I can say that I have killed my first deer. Not with a slug loaded shotgun or high powered rifle but by the chrome bumper, fender, grille and hood of a shiny, new, white 2012 Silverado Chevy. Not that there is much glamour in either. And certainly not as memorable as it was in the late afternoon on that crisp chilly fall day in southern Iowa when my Dad without shooting, un-shouldered his heavy old Savage shotgun while whispering “he’ll live for another day”.

Such is the life of John.

(First posted 09/10/2013)

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Here it is May and I’m still thinking winter. We are well into the fifth month of the year and before we know it the year will be half gone, will we miss it, the time? Was it really ever here or are we just walking through life and the miles and steps are just making time, our forward motion only making an allusion of time? We are covering the distance, we must be moving. Well, there is TIME (the kind that Einstein talked about) and there is another kind of time, Brain Time. Because I’m not as smart as Einstein, I have to deal in the easier understandable, Brain Time.

Brain Time is the time we use when we are waiting to meet someone at such ‘n such a place at such n’ such a time. If you get there first, the time waiting for them to arrive seems long. But if you’re the one that is late, the time getting there seems to go fast. Those seconds and minutes add up, but depending on your brain, some accumulate slowly, some more quickly. Unlike TIME, there are no mathematical formulas for computing Brain Time. We have to wing it and do all of the computing in our head. And the neat thing is, we don’t have to show all of our work.

Here’s an example (we don’t need to show our work but we must have examples),  we are driving past a grocery store and the wife says “Stop, I need to run in here and get a head of lettuce, it will just take a minute”.  Need I say more?

After sitting in the car waiting for that minute to pass, you clean your finger nails, play both CD’s of Pink Floyd’s “The Wall”.  And finally decide you can’t hold it any longer and will have to use the store’s facilities to pee when your wife finally immerses out the door with three sacks of necessities to go with that one head of lettuce in a Santa Fe chicken salad she has decided to make.

Brain Time her, one minute twenty seconds, Brain Time me, 95 minutes…….. exactly. Hopefully she hasn’t forgotten the lettuce.

 

Such is the life of John

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Let’s do it.

DSS, OC, E, and John

** Fair Use for educational purposes only.

I have this thing that is still bothering me. This old post may explain it.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Ok, I can’t hold my tongue any longer. This has been bothering me for a month now and the events of this weekend have brought it to a head. It is something that no one has mentioned.

The event of this weekend was the death of Andy Rooney. I shouldn’t have to remind anyone in the U.S. that watches the news or the 60 Minutes TV show who he was. It was very well known that he closed the news magazine’s last 5 minutes practically every Sunday night for the last 30 years. In so many opinions he was a wonderful writer. I say wonderful not great because he was not a Steinbeck or a Hemingway and he would have been the first to say that. He was just a writer that you could read or listen to his commentary and it made you feel good and maybe chuckle, no matter what the subject. Those that liked to read him were in love with the way he could take any subject and expand upon it just enough to make an interesting few minutes. I think this came from his experience as a reporter for the Army newspapers during World War II.

As most have heard, Mr. Rooney at the age of 92, died this weekend after having retired from television less that a month ago. He died from complications after a minor surgery. After the news of his so late retirement, the news of his death is very surreal. But that is not what’s bothering me, although I will miss his talent very much. I say “bothers me” because that is what he wrote about. He even published a book titled “Things That Bother Andy Rooney” so I know, now that he’s dead it is alright for me to tell “The Thing that Bothered Me About Andy Rooney”. Something that no one has mentioned.

Have you ever wondered how anyone could allow their eyebrows to grow so long and thick? Eyebrows, long bushy eyebrows. Andy Rooney had the longest, bushiest eyebrows of anyone I have ever seen. I mean long eyebrows that turned around onto themselves. It had to have become his “look”, his identity. So much so that a barber wouldn’t dream of touching them. It bothers me that he could be so public in allowing his eyebrows to become so unkempt. And no one that I know of has ever mentioned it. Perhaps I have gotten fixated on this because as I grow older, the more I notice and have to trim my own eyebrows.

It would seem, that guys like myself and Andy, as we shave everyday, we would notice the eyebrows. Even after having trimmed mine innumerable times, I still don’t specifically inspect them every morning as I shave. It seems I will go for days without thinking of them and then one day I notice that the brow hairs are standing out at an outlandishly long length acquiring a very bushy look. I think, if I would allow them, my eyebrows could become every bit as bushy as Andy’s. I wonder at what age I will become like Andy and just let the darn things grow and not fuss with them. And maybe if I could write as well as Andy did, my eyebrows could be over looked unnoticed by others, also.

E.

Intelligence is the ability to adapt to change.

The greatest enemy of knowledge is not ignorance, it is the illusion of knowledge.

I have noticed even people who claim everything is predestined, and that we can do nothing to change it, look before they cross the road.

Stephen Hawking

 

 Hawking    
April 17, 2014

Among the jumbling mumbling mode
the Racker Thatcher crumbs his creel.

his back’s crunched bent
– his chrome’s thrust spent,
fingers palms thick tough as heel.

upon the humbling rumbling ride
the Racker Thatcher moves his way.

his voice’s grunt gone
– now electron’s song,
teared eyes movewink what to say.

within the mightling thinkling mind
the Racker Thatcher spins his rhyme.

smiles gum and tooth
– speaks Universal truth,
of our, A Brief History of Time.

DSS.

Through the Veil

Posted: March 12, 2018 in free verse, poem, poet, poetry, writing
Tags: , , , ,

Modesty, sculptured by Antonio Corradini,

As my eyes fade and my breath weakens
Come to me
Come to me wrapped in your transparent veil
with draped naked breasts and swollen teats
Veil loose over your light hair, brilliant eyes and smooth face
Come to me
Come to me and see me now through your gauzed eyes
see my wrinkled skin, pale chiseled unshaven face
as it was, under your silken folds, when I was a younger man
please see me as then
Come to me
Come to me and hold my swollen hand
beneath your translucent silks
tight against your warm and supple belly skin
so I can again steal the deliciousness of its taste and feel
Come to me
Come to me naked beneath your veil, your earthly form vaguely exposed
and rest your hip on my bed’s edge
so we can closely gaze the last look of our softened naked earthly souls.

DSS  © 3/10/2018

 

Follow Me Today

Posted: March 11, 2018 in free verse, poem, poet, poetry, writing
Tags: , , , ,

Feeling bad…
I’ll tell ya feeling bad….
wake up without a dime to your name
Or a bed to call your own
No place to clean up, your clothes or your face

I’ll show ya feeling bad…..
Just need a job …
work your ass off
for a day of poor wages ….
But no chance of making it better

Hell no…no chance of makin’ it better..
with worn out clothes and shoes…
the only livin thing that talks at ya and smiles
is a dog that’s only lookin for a meal
and a box as warm as yours

follow me today….
I’ll show ya feeling bad…
all that I own in a shoppin’ bag,
a pair of socks and a book..
a book to read to feel I’m still alive

Don’t read no Bible to me
For now I’m alive without it…..
I’ll listen for the soup but the soup is thin,
as thin as the platitudes it’s made from
and the stench of your Holy speak

say your words ….
give your sour looks…
when you leave look back.
yeah..I’ll still be here feeling bad …
yeah.. follow me today

follow me today…
like the shadows behind me
talkin’ in my ear so loud,
shoutin’ my name,
tellin’ me to keep movin’ or die..

yeah….follow me today….

DSS.
Tuesday December 14, 2010

December 11, 2013
I spent a couple days working in a downtown area this week. The temps were below freezing. It doesn’t matter what city, in most that I travel to I see the same thing. It’s not changed much since I wrote this three years ago.

March 10, 2018

Well, let’s see if tax cuts will change this. Wrote this over 7 years ago.

 

Goddamn it! It is “Ba da Bing Ba da Boom”!

Not “BADDA Book, BADDA Boom”.  Jeez!

As in “It’s easy, walk in, raise the motherfuckin’ tariffs, walk out, done!  Ba Da Bing Ba Da Boom,”.

Dumb fuckard.

OC

 

 

Guidance

Posted: February 25, 2018 in free verse, poem, poet, poetry, writing
Tags: , , , ,

“Traffic is very heavy at the moment, so if you are thinking of leaving now, you better set off a few minutes earlier.”

Sometimes I feel we are being guided by those that believe this statement is good advice.

E.

Narrowly Understood

Posted: February 22, 2018 in free verse, poem, poet, poetry, writing
Tags: , , , ,

We were led to the decision
to not support
The yelling voice
from a distant class
that knows no empathy,
has no tears or sorrow
only blame spewed
in all directions
for things that are narrowly understood
Knowing only blue eyes, fair skin
and bleached wheat bread feasts
Spending all of the energy struggling,
struggling to undo past years of goodness.

DSS