HARVESTING SWEATER MELONS

The CLOUD CHAMBER

 sweater melons

HARVESTING SWEATER MELONS

        Call me Richard.  I am not a “Dick”.

        A couple years ago – whatever – I ran out of money to stay in school, and, anyway, I wasn’t really interested enough in Marine Biology to commit to graduate school, so I took the money I had left and I followed my fisherman friend, Bob, and his wife, Cinda, up to Morro Bay, California.  We got apartments in the little coastal town of Cambria, a few miles north of Morro Bay, and just a few miles south of Hearst Castle, the famous estate of that newspaper magnate William Randolph Hearst.

        Our cluster of tiny apartments was called The Art Villa.

        Bob and Cinda soon sold their boat and opened a fish market up the street in Cambria (I could always bum a free plate of deep-fried calamari with marinara sauce and a slice…

View original post 6,064 more words

KILLING TIME

The CLOUD CHAMBER

 
  killing time

KILLING TIME

        It is Sunday morning.  The library doesn’t open until 1 PM.  I sit on a bench in the little memorial park adjacent to the library.

In Memory Of Thomas Iparaguirre Public Works Employee April 19, 1977 – February 6, 1995

        Eighteen years old.  Sad.  I wonder how he died.  I get out my iPhone and I google the plaque.  No results shown.  Well, they built him a nice gazebo here.  Nice deep shade.  It’s getting hot in the sun.  Supposed to be 99 today.   I used to sweat like a pig when I only weighed 150 pounds.  I hope this doesn’t take long.

        I tied my little Pit Bull Dulcinea to this bench. She’s in heaven rolling in the clover patch in the grass.  You can see in the green where the lawn sprinklers soak the most.  The zones outside the bright green…

View original post 536 more words

SINS OF THE FATHER

The CLOUD CHAMBER

 sins of the father - cropped

SINS OF THE FATHER

SIN 1

The Prodigal Sin

        It is the summer of 1864 and a lone horseman rides into the humble Mexican village of Santuario.  The horseman is a thin and dissolute pistolero, gunman, with a full head of long matted hair and no hat.  In the mid-day heat of Santuario no souls tread the dust.  Insects hide upon the sparse shadows of adobe walls.  The pistolero feels the prosecution of the sun

        The pistolero finally dismounts carefully not far from the little adobe capilla, chapel.  Softly he approaches and then he enters the cloak of the Church.  He maneuvers slowly down the aisle of wooden benches toward the altar.  There at the altar a young priest kneels with his back to the pistolero at the feet of a tattered crucified Jesus.

        When the stealthy pistolero is only a footstep behind the…

View original post 1,174 more words

RUBBERTA

The CLOUD CHAMBER

 

  rubberta3

RUBBERTA

        I live here.  You haven’t seen me before ‘cause I don’t come here into town but once in a while.  ‘Specially not when it’s crawlin’ with tourists.

        OK, hi, Zanelle.  I’m “Woody”.  “Woody” Grover.  I been retired here in Cambria for, well, years.  I am an artist, a wood sculptor, well, not professionally (I was a carpenter) but now that I am retired I am an artist without anybody telling me otherwise.  Well, I still make most my money doing carpentry and repairs for the antique shops and the furniture shop here in Cambria.

        I live a ways up Santa Rosa creek.  A cabin built by a marijuana grower back in the ‘70’s.  My shop is the shed that he built to dry the marijuana. Yeah.  I live alone.

          No.  Living alone is highly underrated.  No one fucking tells me I’m wasting my…

View original post 917 more words

FALLING TO PIECES TOGETHER

The CLOUD CHAMBER

The murmuring flies,

The croaking crows,

The scoffing horses,

Reflect in the rippling daydreams where

I am a dog

Following a cat

Mewing to a mouse

Hidden in the hay

Where sleeps a boy beneath a book,

Ripe with wonder.

My eyes are torn pages

Worn by the wind devouring

Ashes of my mother cast

Unto the meadow, unveiling

A tiny finger bone, it

Once held me as a baby holding

That finger, I held

That finger bone.

I don’t know why I let it go.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

My Own Blogsite At Last! ASH-fiction.com

Visit My Library: ASH Library

Follow This Link To My AMAZON.com SITE

But, the most ancient scrolls are kept on: THE TABLE OF MALCONTENTS

 

View original post

I LOVE MY WIFE

The CLOUD CHAMBER

I love my wife
Forever will she be
The treasure of my life
Inspiring me
With no Ambition’s knife
With naught for quantity
Beyond the realm
Of her desire
.
.
My heart does whelm
My inner choir
To spare me silently
All the senseless strife
If alone I be
With self Ambition rife
With only vanity
To steer the helm
So pointlessly
.
.
This all above
I would have said of you
If it were me you love

View original post

THE LOVE OF MY LIFE

The CLOUD CHAMBER

 __paula faye martin profile pic 122313A - - 1497645_10152110224797859_1750451123_n

THE LOVE OF MY LIFE

        I am Shelly.  It is December twenty-fifth, Christmas Day, and it is also will be the first night of Hanukkah, something which has only happened three other times in 100 years.

        My daughter Kaitlyn is driving.  I had asked her to roll down all the windows and turn up the floor heater.

        Kaitlyn protests, “Mom, its warm in the sun.”

        I say, “Yes, dear, but the air is chilly.”

        I love to take drives with the windows down and the floor heater on high.  I feel like I’m in a warm Jacuzzi yet the chill air is invigorating.  My purse and my coat are beside me with the thermos of hot cocoa just the way my father likes it, made with milk not water.

        Kaitlyn is driving me to Fullerton Gardens, an Alzheimer’s residential care facility, “Memory Care”…

View original post 2,344 more words