Posts Tagged ‘love’

 

This leather couch
I have sat in this leather couch
nearly 10 years
Is there anything more comfortable
than a leather couch
You don’t sit here
you sink in and lounge
Your butt becomes lower
than your knees
You must rest your feet
on the old coffee table
The hollow of your back is filled
by the generous cushion stuffing
The narrow gap of space
between the soft armrest
and the cushion allows
potato chips and pencils
and quarters to easily pass through
to the floor.
This leather couch.
It is for grandsons and old men
to fall asleep on.

DSS

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Well I did it again. We received an E-mail informing us that I am offending another one of our readers.

My images of women’s bare backs and beautiful asses were found of poor taste, hopefully you have noticed them in our picture gallery side-bar of the DistantShipSmoke blog page. There are three of them. And as you all know, we do love naked women, all parts of them. But I guess, just to be tasteful or perhaps more teasing, I only display images of their backs and usually covered butts.

I am showing restraint. I don’t know, it must be due to our early Methodist upbringing. Don’t get me wrong, I love the frontal parts and other details of the female nude (preferably in person in the flesh) as much if not more than the soft smooth backs and buttocks but I just leave those wonderful frontal images for myself, so I can view them in private, with heavy mouth breathing, in front of the light and silvery glow of my 21 inch wide-screen high-definition computer screen.

The only thing as good as a nude picture is a nearly nude woman in lingerie, I do love (preferably in person) the images and pin-ups of women in lingerie. I used to collect them but we just didn’t have enough storage or hard drive space. Terabytes can be quickly eaten (heh.. eaten)  storing the high res lingerie and pin-up jpegs. We had clunky ol’ programs like Outlook e-mail, Office 2ooo, Excel worksheets, Cad drawings and Wire Shark data to maintain. We were constantly forced to make trade-offs between Rita Hayworth, Ava Gardner, Veronica Lake, Zoe Mozert, Jane Russell, Vargas Girls, Bettie Page, Betty Grable (the list goes on) or the complete set of Cad drawings for the Houston Oil Storage Tank Terminal. The decisions were dizzying! But I was the conscientious employee (most of the time) and work always won out, maybe a couple of times, Zoe.

So my dear reader, please don’t stop reading our stuff just because I find Vanessa Marcil’s and Julia Louis-Dreyfus’s perfectly placed Dimples of Venus on their smooth soft backs beautiful and worthy of sharing (preferably in person). Not to mention Vanessa’s perfect ass in 86% nylon and 14% lycra string tied bikini or Julia’s perfectly placed U.S. Constitution. (I know, John Hancock, didn’t sign the real document). We are really using more restraint  than I would myself prefer. And I find them both beautiful and intriguing and titillating and fun. You surely don’t want to rob a man of a little fun? Do you? The images are staying but please keep reading. But we do not want to hear another bad word from you of Pink Floyd’s six wonderfully placed nude body paintings of possibly the world’s six most beautiful albums.

O.C.

 

My “first”, we have all had our “first”. Just name it and hopefully you have had it. Nothing better than getting our “first” done and over with, no matter what or who it was. Which “first” immediately came to your mind when you first read this? Now just because something was your “first” doesn’t mean it was a pleasant experience. I remember my first beer with my old man.

On a very hot July afternoon, I was cutting weeds on my grandmother’s farm with my father. I came upon a very thick elm tree sprout along the fence line that the hand scythe wouldn’t cleanly cut, so I began to use a small hand saw. On my first stroke, the saw bounced  across the limb and landed squarely on my finger at the base of my thumb nail. It cut deeply into the flesh and nail.  The pain on my thumb and the sight of white bone made me a little sick and woozy. I asked for a drink of water, which we had just ran out of, so my father gave me the last cold can of beer in our cooler.

On that hot, humid day, I remember the coolness of the can and the sound of the crunch of making the two triangular holes in its top with the beer can opener. (Yes, before “pop-top” cans) I took a long, long cool swig of the Hamms and immediately got light-headed, sicker at my stomach and threw up.  That was my first beer with my father at the age of 12.

Not as good of an experience that you would dream, of a young man’s first sharing of a beer with the old man, but I do remember it distinctly and perhaps a little fondly. As I stood there, bent over, spewing and ridding my stomach of my over accumulation of the contents of that day’s water jug and its first introduction of beer on a hot day, my old man says “well it is too hot to waste it that way, if you aren’t going to finish that beer, I will sure as hell finish it for ya”. He threw me another rag to wrap around my thumb and we left for town to get the stitches put in.

And yes, after he evidently smelled my breath, the doctor asked , “have you been drinking?”.  I belched. The Doc looked at the sheepish grin on my old man’s face and only smiled and shook his head.

OC

 

Friday March 12, 2010

There’s an old fashion saying, “Home Is Where the Heart Is”. Perhaps I really didn’t appreciate the meaning of that until today.

After a two-week absence, spending all but two nights in hotels, I arrived at my own digs today. But the house was empty. As in, my wife was out-of-town. She is staying one more day with our children and grandchildren. As I reported yesterday, I was able to spend some family time with her and the kids Wednesday afternoon and Thursday. But I must regroup today and Saturday for a return trip to my project in Illinois on Sunday afternoon.

So now you may know what I’m talking about. I’m at my house but I’m not yet home. Home will arrive tomorrow in a red Prius with my wife. It’s funny because my wife believed home arrived today with me in a white Tundra. Home is a very complex concept that is sometimes hard to identify and keep track of. Although we were not in our house, we probably were more at home Thursday night at the middle school in Leavenworth attending Em’s band concert.

But we have been married many years and we have learned that we can adapt easily. I think you call it “rolling with the blows”. We have been very lucky to have raised our two children and now we get to watch our children as they raise their five and create homes for themselves.

Hopefully tomorrow after Marcia’s visit ends, their houses will be just a little bit less home without us. Just as ours through the years has become just a little bit less without them.

Such is the life of John

Deep down in Louisiana  *
close to New Orleans,
Way back up in the woods
among the evergreens
There stood a log cabin
made of earth and wood,
Where lived a country boy
named Johnny B. Goode
Who never ever learned
to read or write so well,
But he could play a guitar
just like a ringing a bell. *

“Johnny B. Goode” by Chuck Berry

 

My name is John. I grew up in the 50’s and 60’s. So when the music “Johnny B. Goode” came out, I instantly had a new name.

February third ’59 may have been the day the music died in Clear Lake, Iowa but in St. Louis, MO, they were still singing about “Memphis” Tennessee  and still playin’ “Rock and Roll Music”. And things were just fine “Back in the USA”.

If there is a Heaven, Roll Over Beethoven” and listen, you’re going to meet one hell  of a Rock ‘n Roll Man!     And Ludwig, I guess even if you aren’t ready for this yet, your kids are gonna love it. **

We are going to miss you Chuck.

John

*  Lyrics from the Music  “Johnny B. Goode” by Chuck Berry
** Words roughly quoted from movie “Back to the Future”

February’s End

Posted: February 25, 2017 in free verse, poem, poet, poetry, writing
Tags: , , , , , ,

We had a February ending,
A time of two beating hearts
but not enough days.
Oh to have just one more evening
we would have arrived into the March of spring
and loved once again.
Refreshed , once again , bloomed, once again.

We must blame the short February.
A time of Valentine hearts.
But there was no sweetness there.
I could have given just one more gift,
if not for just one less day, in February.
just to love once again
And bloom once again,
into that next full March of spring.

DSS

It can’t be painted
But can we describe it
by just the smell of the shampoo
or the scent of perspiration
from under the arm
the touch of soft hands
the texture of exposed warm private flesh
the taste
that damn sweet musky taste
melded with strawberry.
The wet smoothness
the tight void
soft voiced sounds of yes and feel good
the loosened hips
and firm thighs’ rhythm and rhyme
the tight tendons
and firm stiffness
and curled colored nail toes
burst of nerves
entwined heartbeats and sated breaths
of entangled sleep and entangled bond.

DSS

When I need love
when I am blind and nothing else will  do
I choose your love
Your sweet sweet love
when love will bind our mind of two
When I feel love
I choose my love
when I’m blind and don’t feel what other lovers do
I choose your love
I choose love, my sweet love, my sweet sweet love of you.

DSS

“There ain’t no sin and there ain’t no virtue, there’s just stuff people do.” Casy the Preacher – Grapes of Wrath.

As a guy travels around the country, working on different projects, working with different crews and spending a little time with different kinds of men with many experiences and backgrounds, you learn not to ask any questions of their past. They may be and probably are there because of a past that they are trying to forget or get away from. But eventually a man will voluntarily begin to talk, without being asked.

Over the most eye squinting whiskey that I’ve ever tasted, Orie started talking. It was a very short story. The words seemed to spill from his mouth, slowly draining from his skull. Words that had been festering in his head for years and pushing to get out. It started abruptly with ” San Quintin is a terrible place to be. Men have been in there for years and are just forgotten, no family, no friends, no nothin’! They are in there because they had nothin’ and when and if they leave they’ll have nothin’, nothin’ but their old underwear and socks under a new cheap suit. I spent five years there pounding stones for rock roads. And I left with nothin. I know.”

He went on to say, ” Tin Cup Tim was a friendly sort, sold pencils and pens out of a tin cup. Wouldn’t have hurt anybody. We were on a high speed freight, barreling through Iowa. The train came to a fast screeching stop. High speed Coast to Coasters don’t do that unless there’s trouble. Stuck my head out of the box and I saw silver passenger cars side railed ahead. It was the California Zephyr with her engines down. Our freighter was pickin’ her up for the pull West of Ottumwa. Tin Cup and I stayed put where we were in the boxcar. They broke the train at the rear of our car, side railed and hooked on to the Zephyr. First thing we know we are part of a passenger setup. Unspoken rule was for the Bo’s to stay off the Zephyrs and there we were stuck there.”

“Tin Cup got real worried about this, the Railroad Bulls on the passenger lines were mean sons of bitches and didn’t put up with Bo’s on their trains. The freights were no trouble, hell we were part of the crews, but the Zephyrs got your ass beat and then thrown into the next jail! A few miles out of Osceola and Tin Cup decides to bail out before the stop. But the train wasn’t slowing enough for him to jump. While his head was stickin out the door the Bull on the Zephyr must have caught a glimpse of him and before we knew it the Bull had swung up and around and was on his way into the car. Hell we were still going 70 or 80 mile an hour. Well Tin Cup started a scuffle with the Bull, they both lost their balance and fell out the door. The Bull was alright cuz I saw him land and get up but Tin Cup fell under the train. Must of been drug the two mile to the depot. His body parts were strung the whole way. It was right before school time in the morning. An arm and a foot were dropped right in front of some school kids at a crossing.”

Orie went on to say that he’d stepped off the train unnoticed at the Osceola depot and started walking down along side of Highway 69 and hitched a ride at a big intersection in town with a car going west on Highway 34. He hitched all the way to Omaha.

“I hopped a freight out of Omaha, figured I’d take her all the way out to Emeryville, California.”

Well the railroad took the Osceola incident very serious. They couldn’t have body parts falling off their trains in front of school kids. And so the railroad detectives hunted down Orie and caught up with him in California. He didn’t say how they identified him, probably the railroad Bull. He knew it would be the Bull’s word against his about what happened and that would be used against him.They got him convicted of murder of Tin Cup. San Quintin was taking a few Federal prisoners at the time and he ended up there. I think any crimes happening on the railroads were handled as federal offenses and you could end up anywhere. “Glad they didn’t pick me up in Iowa!” he said as he pulled back his old felt hat and downed another shot, “I could have ended up in Ft. Madison.”

Orie spent most of the time in prison forgotten like so many others. Doing hard labor while working on roads. But he said one day he received a letter from a woman that he had known before the war. They had planned to marry when he returned from overseas. They corresponded all of the time that he had served in Europe. When he returned and went to see her, he found that she had been married for two years and had one child and was pregnant with another. She had mentioned nothing about the marriage in any of her letters and said she couldn’t bring herself to tell him while he was at war. I’m sure this is what first fueled his wanderlust.

She had heard from a friend about Orie being in prison and just couldn’t believe he had done anything to deserve it. Her father was a well known attorney on the East coast. She ask her father to do something to help Orie. Her father somehow got Orie’s conviction reduced to manslaughter and he was released from prison with time served.

In 1954 Orie Penny was given a new lease on life.

Into the Wind

Posted: January 23, 2017 in free verse, poem, poet, poetry, writing
Tags: , , , , , ,

I once knew a man in blue jeans that rode wild horses,
sang loud songs and drank cheap sour whiskey.
He went to his grave in a suit that he had never worn
as we listened to music he had never heard
and we toasted his life with thin stemmed glasses he never drank from.

I once knew a man who taught me to climb mountains,
to talk to strangers and to use my hands to fix broken things.
He died not from a high fall or from a miss-tied rope
but silently in his bed alone with swollen joints and sore stiff knuckles.
and a failing broken heart that could not be fixed.

I know a man who writes words and sweet poems,
loves his home and strong family
and lives to fly high into the light evening winds.
When he dies, we will surround him with his sweet family
We will read his tender words and verses,
We will cast his ashes into the light evening winds.

DSS