TABLE OF MALCONTENTS 2010 – 2020

 

ASHs to ASHs 4-HISTORY - crop-resize 1

THE GRASSHOPPER IN WINTER

Sentenced to chain-gangs,

Words will surely set you free.

Conjugate visit:

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

Follow This Link To My AMAZON.com SITE

BELOW, OPEN THE ANCIENT OF SCROLLS

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

*NOTE: several of the earlier links below were lost when my previous website host folded – ASH 4/13/15

~

2010

1. GABRIELLA

2. Where_the_Hours_Clanged_and_Fell

3. Kenny_in_the_Crosswinds

4. OLLA_PODRIDA

5. HAIKU_THE_CAT

6. LIVING IT DOWN

7. OWED_TO_A_CIGARETTE

8. 中華民國 EVERY REVOLUTIONARY KNOWS 東風, 东风強國, 强国

9. Dr._Seuss_and_Dos_Equis

10. REQUIEM_FOR_THOSE_WE_SHELTER

11. THE_WEDDING_OF_GRANT_AND_MICHELLE

12. PAPA_GOOSE_-_”Rabbit,_Monkey,_and_Little_Girl”

13. HAIKU_THE_SPIDER

14. HAIKU_THE_THOUGHT_LEADER

15. aDVISe_FrOM_A_fRIEnD

16. PAPA_GOOSE_-_”Under_the_Stove”

17. THE_REVEREND_O.L._DUCK_SONGBOOK,_VOL._I

18. SEX_OBJECT

19. ELEGY_FOR_OUR_CAT_RONCHO

20. TRAVIS_HAS_COME

21. THE_REVEREND_O.L._DUCK_SONGBOOK,_VOL._II

22. VISIONS_OF_THE_GONE

23. ON_THE_DEATH_OF_JOHN_LENNON

24. THE_BALLAD_OF_HARRY_PALMS

~

2011

25. THE_GRASSHOPPER_IN_WINTER

26. HAIKU_THE_LOVE_ZOMBIE

27. HAIKU_LE_SACRÉ_BLEU

28. PAPA_GOOSE_-_”TWO_BLACK_SHEEP”

29. BETWEEN_THE_LETTERS

30. CRUZAR_MI_CORAZÓN

31. The_Lickitty_Splitz

32. Nothing Rhymes with Month, Silver, Orange or Purple

33. ONE_LAST_LEAF_IN_WINTER_SKY

34. HAIKU_CONVALESCENT_HOME

35. HAIKU_THE_SINNER’S_HYMN

36. THE_CATALINA_VARIATIONS

37. HAIKU_MOON_IN_THE_YOUNG_EARTH

38. HAIKU_THESE_THREE_THINGS_I_KNOW

39. BOLSA_CHICA

40. I_REMEMBER_TOMORROW

41. We_met_in_the_4th_grade

42. THE_AUTHOR_OF_OUR_FATE

43. THE_RAINBOW_BEHIND_US

44. tHe_pUnK_cRitiC’s_NotEbOOK

45. MY_FAMILY_TREE

46. GENEVIEVE

47. PRIVATE_COMPARTMENTS

48. Professor_LeJeune’s_Substitute

49. PRESENT TENSE (ME MORIA)

50. JACK_THE_HACK

51. ABJECTISM

52. HOW_WAS_YOUR_DAY,_DANNY?

53. THE_TANGO_LESSON

54. PAPA_GOOSE – “The_Wolf_Who_Cried_Boy”

55. A_YOUNG_WIVES’TALE-_”Suzie’s_Bullet”

56. LAZARUS_AGONISTES

57. PAPA_GOOSE_-“El_Burro_Viejo(The_Old_Burro)”

58. SCRABBLE_THE_MUDDY_COBBLES

59. OH_BELOVED

60. A_YOUNG_WIVES’TALE-_”Palmdale”

61. THE_HARD

62. The_Diary_of_My_Mentally_Ill_Brother

63. Servant_Of_The_Scorpion_-Chapters_1&_2

64. Servant_Of_The_Scorpion_-Chapters_3,_4,&_5

65. Servant_Of_The_Scorpion_-_Chapter_6

66. Servant_Of_The_Scorpion_-_Chapter_7

67. Servant_Of_The_Scorpion_-_Chapter_8

68. Servant_Of_The_Scorpion_-Chapters_9&_10

69. Servant_Of_The_Scorpion_-Chapters_11&_12

70. Servant_Of_The_Scorpion_-Chapters_13&_14

71. Servant_Of_The_Scorpion_-Chapters_15&_16

72. Servant_Of_The_Scorpion_-Chapters_17&_18

73. Servant_Of_The_Scorpion_-Chapters_19&_20

74. Servant_Of_The_Scorpion_-Chapters_21&_22

75. Servant_Of_The_Scorpion_-Chapters_23&_24

76. Servant_Of_The_Scorpion_-_Chapter_25

77. Servant_Of_The_Scorpion_-_Chapter_26

78. The OS Wednesday Fiction Club for 8/3/11 – CLOSING TIME

79. The OS Wednesday Fiction Club for 8/10/11 – CONTROLLED BURN

80. OS Fiction Weekend Club for September 2-4 – JOURNEES INDESIRABLES

81. WhisperYour Name Into My Heart – Chapitre II –DANS LA FORÊT DE VIEUX HOMMES

82. OS Fiction Weekend Club for September 9 – 11 – A TOWN CALLED BAD WEATHER

83. The Outlaw Honey Moses and THE INDISCRETIONS OF KATE GRODY

84. Whisper Your Name Into My Heart – Chapitre III – COUPS DE LA QUEUE DU DEMON

85. OS Fiction Weekend Club for September 16 – 18 – The Outlaw Honey Moses and THE ONE BAD HABIT OF REX RAMSEY

86. OS Fiction Weeked Club for September 23 -25 – Whisper Your Name Into My Heart – Chapitre IV – CHANSON

87. OS Weekend Fiction Club for 9/30/11 to 10/2/11 – THE POUNDING OF NAILS

88. OS Weekend Fiction Club for 10/7-9/11: A PIANO IN THE WOODS

89. Whisper Your Name Into My Heart – Chapitre V – LE GRAND GUERRIER

90. The Outlaw Honey Moses and THE DUNBAR, AUSTIN, & TAYLOR SECURITY COMPANY

91. OS Weekend Fiction Club for 10/14 – 16/11 – MISS GAIDO

92. The OS Fiction Weekend Club 10/21-23/11 ~HIDING OF THE FACE

93. Whisper Your Name Into My Heart – Chapitre VI – LE TREIZIÈME MOINE

94. The OS Fiction Weekend Club 10/28-30/11 ~JUST GHOST TO SHOW YOU

95. THE CUTTERS LOUNGE

96. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 11/4-6/11 ~ THE EARTH ALSO MOVES

97. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 11/11-13/11 ~ THE COUNSEL OF FEARS

98. Whisper Your Name Into My Heart – Chapitre VII – LES ACOLYTES

99. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 11/18-20/11 ~ VENGEANCE IS MINE

100. The Outlaw Honey Moses and JUBILEE DUNBAR

101. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 11/25-27/11 ~ Whisper Your Name Into My Heart ~ Chapitre VIII ~ LA SCIENCE DE GUEULE

102. Servant Of The Scorpion – Chapter 27 – Mateo, Marcos, Lucas, and Juan

103. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 12/2-4/11 ~ THE TWO FIGURINES

104. The Outlaw Honey Moses and THE PASSOVER BANK

105. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 12/9-11/11 ~ THE CUTTERS LOUNGE – CARLA

106. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 12/16-18/11 ~ EUPHORANASIA

107. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 12/23-25/11 ~ INFINITELY BLUE

108. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for NeW yEaRs 2012THE END OF YEARS

~

2012

109. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 1/6-8/12 ~ VAN DIEMAN’S LAND

110. Whisper Your Name Into My Heart – Chapitre IX – LES VOIES D’HOMMES (The Ways of Men)

111. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 1/13-15/12 ~ A YOUNG WIVES’ TALE: LORELLA SHIEKH

112. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 1/20-22/12 ~ THE NARROW WOODS

113. The Outlaw Honey Moses and THE DOG NAMED PUSSY

114. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 1/27-29/12 ~ ALAMOUD THE GOAT

115. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 2/3-5/12 ~ I JUST FELT LIKE IT

116. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 2/10-12/12 ~ MAN AND WOMAN DROWNING

117. Whisper Your Name Into My Heart ~ Chapitre X – LA CHANSON DE LA MÈRE D’ESPRIT (Song of The Spirit Mother)

118. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 2/17-19/12 ~ SEE SPOT READ

119. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 2/24-26/12 ~ TOUCHING

120. THE CRUISE

121. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 3/2-4/12 ~ THE CUTTERS LOUNGE ~ THE SILVER STOGIE AWARD

122. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 3/9-11/12 ~ HEY THERE LONELY GIRL

123. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 3/16-18/12 ~ ANNA SYBILLA

124. Servant of the Scorpion – Chapter 28 ~ ARMS OF FIRE

125. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 3/23-25/12 ~ COME APART

126. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 3/30-4/1/12 ~ THE RAGGED CLAWS OF MICHELA PIATTA

127. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 4/6-8/12 ~ UNDERGROWTH WITH TWO FIGURES

128. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 4/13-15/12 ~ ANGEL FALLS

129. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 4/20-22/12 ~ DUST AND DREAMS

130. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 4/27-29/12 ~ COLD, HUNGRY, NAKED, WET

131. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 5/4-6/12 ~ LAMBA RISING

132. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 5/11-13/12 ~ THE BEAST OF TIN CAN BEACH

133. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 5/18-20/12 ~ WALK THE YARD

134. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 5/25-27/12 ~ TWILIGHT IN PARIS

135. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 6/1-2/12 ~ FLASH DRIVE

136. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 6/8-10/12 ~ DINNER WITH MY MENTALLY ILL BROTHER

137. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 6/15-17/12 ~ DADDY’S DOLL HOUSE

138. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 6/22-24/12 ~ CROSS COUNTRY

139. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 6/29 – 7/1/2012 ~ CEVICHE

140. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 7/6-8/12 ~ ORCHARD OF THE GOLDEN APPLES

141. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 7/13 – 15/2012 ~ You are HERE

142. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 7/20-22/12 ~ HUNTING FOR YOUR SKIN

143. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 7/27-29/12 ~ I HAVE NEVER BEEN

144. STALKING EMMA STONE

145. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 8/3-5/12 ~ SPESHUL OLYMPICS

146. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 8/10-12/12 ~ The Cutters Lounge – A REALITY TOO FAR

147. THE LAST SONGBIRD

148. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 8/17-19/12 ~ APPOGGIATURA

149. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 8/24-26/12 ~ POLARITY (TOO OLD TO POLE)

150. The OS Fiction Weekend Club for 8/31-9/2/12 ~ WORD TO THE WISE

151. IMPERFECT PEBBLES

152. OS Fiction Weekend for 9/28-30/12 ~ ROLLING THUNDER

153. OS Fiction Weekend for 10/5-7/12 ~ THE EDEN REUNION

154. OS Fiction Weekend for 10/12-14/12 ~ SMALL TALK

155. OS Fiction Weekend for 10/19-21/12 ~ CHÂTEAU DE CHATS

156. DRAGGL

Cleek -à>>>pequeña publicita<<<

157. OS Fiction Weekend for 10/26-28/12 ~ OUT OF SERVICE

158. OS Fiction Week for 10/31-11/4/2012 ~ THE GRAVES OF LOUIS GAROU

159. DANCING WITH THE BLACK BULL

160. THE PILLARS OF HEAVEN

161. AMISH MASH

162. THE GRIMPILS FARM

163. EVERY DAY ABOVE GROUND (Chapter 1)

164. THE GOLDEN RULE CLUB

165. CAPTAIN CATERPILLAR

166. (Farewell when OS failed) LOVE TO YOU ALL, MY SISTERS AND BROTHERS

167. OUT OF THE PARK

168. EVERY DAY ABOVE GROUND (Chapter 2)

169. SAVING JESUS

170. EVERY DAY ABOVE GROUND (Chapter 3)

~

2013

171. A TRACE OF (WO)MAN

172. PATOFLAUTA

173. Goodies On Demand

174. THE TEMPEST LOUNGE

175. ECCLESIASTES 20:13

176. BAREFOOT IN THE PARKING LOT

177. FAMILY, FRIENDS, AND DEBT COLLECTORS

178. MOOD SWINGS

179. ADOLPH MEISTERMANN (Carl Reiner Writers’ Contest Entry)

180. THE END OF THE HOUR (excerpt from Adolph Meistermann)

181. THE BAD BOY BLUES (excerpt from Adolph Meistermann)

182. LAUGH THROUGH TEARS AGAINST HIS WILL (excerpt from Adolph Meistermann)

183. GOD COUNTS HER TEARS (excerpt from Adolph Meistermann)

184. CITIES OF REFUGE (excerpt from Adolph Meistermann)

185. SOCRATES DIED TODAY

186. IN THE TEMPLE OF THREE ANTE MERIDIEM

187. PASS BY THE MINUTE

188. THE UNICORN’S BLESSING

189. MACK COBB “THE ARROYO OF THE SOMBRA OF DEATH”

190. The Apples of My Eyes

191. MACK COBB “THE BONES OF THE RIVER”

192. THE PEARL IN MY OYSTER

193. ETHANAC, MARGARTH, AND THEDA

194. MACK COBB “DONKEY JÓTE”

195. Whispers In My Left Ear

196. HUNTING THE CLEAN BOOTY

197. DIARY OF A BRINE SHRIMP

198. MANIFESTOLES

199. I’M A GUY

200. BRÛLÉE

201. GIN FLY

202. THE JERRY SLITHER SHOW!

  1. THE SPIRIT OF AMOS GODFREY
  2. MEAT ME
  3. SAY NO MORE
  4. EVERY REVOLUTIONARY KNOWS
  5. THE ERROR OF MY WAYS
  6. AMERICAN DISMANTLING
  7. THE SILENCE OF SKELLY WEAVER
  8. KILLING TIME
  9. SINS OF THE FATHER
  10. IMAGINARY LETTER No. 1 (“no one”?) 7/17/13

213. IMAGINARY LETTER No. 2 (“know, too”?) 7/20/13

214. WHY THERE ARE ORGASMS

215. THUS WITH A KISS

216. GET LUCKY

217. YOUR WIFE IS HOT

218. HARVESTING SWEATER MELONS

219. LOVE SAUCE

220. IN MY BLOOD

221. THE TIP RAIL

222. THE ASSAULT ON STINKY GIRL HILL

223. SEXY TRIGONOMETRY KILLS

224. MATOU, MINETTE, MINOU

225. KISSING HER KOWBELL (beginning)

226. KISSING HER KOWBELL (conclusion)

227. VOX CANINA: the dog’s tale

228. THE STOLEN KISSES OF PEPO PUMM

  1. CHRISTIANS HAVE MADE A CRUCIAL ERROR
  2. THE CARROT AND THE STICKUP
  3. SAPPHIRE CURRY
  4. THE PANTRY
  5. DID YOU HEAR ABOUT THE WITCH AND THE WEREWOLF?
  6. I, GOBLIN
  7. THE FALL LINE
  8. HUH?
  9. IMAGINARY LETTER No. 3 (11/17/13)
  10. LUCIOLE
  11. THE BIG STICKY
  12. IMAGINARY LETTER no. 4 (12/8/13)
  13. CHAPEL OF THE SACRED MIRRORS
  14. DECEMBER IN THE RAILROAD WOODS
  15. THE POPE FUCKERS
  16. THE PSALM OF CHRISTMAS
  17. I, SHADOW HAIKU
  18. THE LOVE OF MY LIFE

~

2014

  1. THE ANGELIC POSITION AND THE MANNER OF SERPENTS
  2. CHERRY BLAZE
  3. BULL SWAN
  4. LUCKY HAPPY ENDINGS
  5. MY FUCKIT LIST
  6. MY AMAZON TRIP
  7. A WRITER MUST DECIDE
  8. A BUTCHER AT THE PETTING ZOO
  9. IN THE VALLEY OF YOUR EYES
  10. OPERATION PORK SWORD
  11. THIS IS MY AUTUMN
  12. THE COCK CREW THRICE
  13. A FEW WORDS OVER THE GRAVE OF GOD
  14. MY HEART IS A HAUNTED HOUSE
  15. TERMINAL VELOCITIES
  16. SWEETEN THE PIE
  17. THE WORRY DOLLS, (1) “Run, Rosalinda, Run”
  18. WAITING FOR THE NEXT MOMENT
  19. THE WORRY DOLLS, (2) “Kristen’s Blues”
  20. THE WORRY DOLLS, (3) “Rosalinda’s Resurrection
  21. THE WORRY DOLLS, (4) “Rosalinda and the Devil’s Kiss”
  22. THE WORRY DOLLS, (5) “Code 6-Adam”
  23. I LOVE MY WIFE
  24. THE WORRY DOLLS, (6) “Help Me! I Dance!”
  25. MEMORIAL DAY TRIAGE
  26. THE WORRY DOLLS, (7) “They Call Me Kahuna”
  27. KINGDOM OF THE GRAVE
  28. (REFLECTION) ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE RECEIVING OF THE TEN COMMANDMENTS
  29. REFUGEES FROM EDEN
  30. FALLING TO PIECES TOGETHER
  31. THE DIARIES OF MY MENTALLY iLL BROTHER, vOLUME 1
  32. THE WORRY DOLLS, (8) “Hi-yo, Batman!”
  33. RUBBERTA
  34. IN MEMORY OF CRAWLEY
  35. A CHILD’S LETTER TO SOD
  36. BAD MILK
  37. A COCKWORK VAGINA
  38. TWYLA BELLEGRAVE
  39. THE WORRY DOLLS, (9) “Las Chupacabras”
  40. THE CUTTERS LOUNGE “The Treasure of Heather Meadows”
  41. YOU BE THE GRASS GROWING
  42. HAIKU THE WOUNDED COYOTE
  43. THE REAL HOUSEFLIES OF BEVERLY HILLS
  44. CLICK O’ TREAT (orignially posted 2014, reposted 2015)
  45. MY BROTHER’S VISION
  46. SUGAR SKULL
  47. THE BLOOD OF ALLAH
  48. ONCE UPON A DAY GONE BY
  49. IMAGINARY LETTER no. 5 (The Poison in the Gift)
  50. TENNESSEE HONEY ON MY LIPS
  51. ONE MORE TEAR AND THEN I’LL BE HAPPY

~

2015

  1. YOU ARE A COYOTE FOR THE LAST TIME

299. BÊTE ET MÉCHANT (DUMB AND NASTY)

300. ABORTING JESUS

301. CHICA BRAVA

302. BORN FRY

303. REVELATION 3:16

304. THE HAIKU CHU CHU

305. A FORETASTE OF GLORY DIVINE

306. EPITAPHS

307. CAMINO BARBACOA

308. MARTHA AND ELMER

309. BRATWURST AND RUMBLEGUTS

310. IN THE WINE DROWSY MORROW

311. SHADOW WITHOUT A MAN

312 A WRITER’S GUIDE TO SUICIDE (1982, Cut 1)

313. THE UNBORN IDENTITY

314. HAIKU A HOUSE BURNS DOWN

315. A TASTE FOR LIFE

316. THE DEVOURED HEART

317. PATRICK BUTCHER’S HAUNTED THEATER

318. TEMPEST

319. FALL OF THE SPARROW

320. THE FOGDOGS

321. PEANUT BUTTER AND PUMPKIN JAM

322. DUCKY SHINCRACKER

323. IMAGINARY LETTER No. 6

324. BAFFLEGAB

325. IMAGINARY LETTER No. 7 (“Perish”, the thought)

326. MY BROTHER’S THANKSGIVING TOPIC ADDRESS (2014)

327. DOWN A PATH DRIVEN

328. BLUE SKY HOLDS THE PALE MOON HIGH

329. PIG IN BOOTS

330. MERRY CHRISTOPHER

331. SERMON IN THE FIREPLACE

~

2016

332. SKUNK IN THE MEADOW

333. MARMOSETTE AND ARROW HEAD

334. BAUBLES UNDER THE DOME

335. ON THE FLY

336. THE GOSSIP OF ATOMS

337. IMAGINARY LETTER No. 8 (“Leap Day”)

338. FIRE MONKEY AND THE ZODIAC ARMY (Tail 1 )

339. WAVES CHASING A SHORE~

340. ALFA ROMEO

341. OWNLY

342. FEW WORDS

343. I’M CLAZY

344. HEAR THE LIGHT

345. THE AWFULLY BIG WISH

346. PRUDENCE FERRY

347. THE HAVANA BONEYARD

348. IMAGINARY LETTER No. 9 (“Buried in the Soul Crypt”)

349. THAT I AM

350. A LOVELY TRICK

~

2017

351. HAIKU FLOATING

352. DEAD RINGERS

353. OUR MOMBIE

354. NIBLOSH

355. CHUM

356. THE LINEMAN’S WIFE

357. BOO HOO!

  1. CLICK O’TREAT (2017)

359. DANCIN’ TO THE FUNERAL MARCH

  1. WHAT AM I?
  2. SATAN’S HALLOWEEN ADDRESS
  3. HEAVY PETTING
  4. SATAN DON’T SURF
  5. ILLYCIT
  6. A BUS STOP SHELTER
  7. THE MIRROR OF WORDS

~

2018

  1. GETTING AHEAD
  2. THOSE WHO HAVE EYES
  3. KISS THE GODS AND MAKE THEM CRY
  4. THE CHANTING CAVE
  5. THE FAITH OF A FLY
  6. VANISHING POINT
  7. SPIN_MIRROR
  8. VOX CANINA: The Bow Wow Theory
  9. FORGETTANCE
  10. FAMA
  11. EVILUTION: THE CRYSTAL WOEMEN
  12. EULOGIES FOR THE LIVING
  13. POOR RELATIONS
  14. ADRIENNE’S WALL
  15. FARTING RAINBOWS
  16. JONNI SEBASTIANA BACH
  17. JONNI SEBASTIANA BACH 2
  18. SUCKFACE
  19. WITCHESMOON
  20. CECILIO: THE SWALLOWED TOWN
  21. RAVENNA’S INFERNO
  22. MATAKU AND THE MOON

~

2019

  1. Take it off from every checklist
  2. You want your history to be your tombstone. Your father and your mother rest in ashes
  3. TALES OF KIBASH
  4. NOW NOT NOW
  5. THE JOYFUL SUTRA
  6. NOW AND THEN
  7. DARWIN’S CHILDREN
  8. THE WINTER FOAL

~

2020

347. MY AMAZON TRIP

 

 

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

My Own Blogsite At Last! ASH-fiction.com

Visit My Library: ASH Library

Follow This Link To My AMAZON.com SITE

VAN DIEMEN’S LAND

13_van dieman's land 2, CROWD LOWER crop1

VAN DIEMEN’S LAND

 

     

     The first day of the year was cold and rainy. I awakened onboard Marten’s yacht, confused. New Year’s Eve had been the usual balmy night in the middle of Melbourne’s summer.

      I know I am alone now. I sit on the edge of the bed, naked. I light a clove cigarette, the nastiest habit I could conceive until last night. My eyes chase the edge of the storm inland. I see the illumination of distant lightning. All the moored boats are rolling with the thunder and the storm-swell in the bay.

     Last night begins to creep back to me.

     I had gone to The Spice Trade bar. I was joking with the voluptuous blonde bartendress. She was wearing a bronze name tag that said Real Sheila.

     “Why ‘Real Sheila’?” I asked before I gulped my gin and tonic.

     “Because all of the tourists used to ask me ‘Is your name really Sheila?’ and so my co-workers began to call me ‘Real Sheila’”.

     She looked past me and smiled. I turned to look over my shoulder. Approaching was a lovely young woman with a dark complexion and wavy raven hair. She was wearing a short silk skirt. My first thought was about lifting that skirt over her head.

     She sat down right next to me, so I was either sexy or insignificant. I gave her the most sang froid “Hello” I could restrain. “My name is…“

     “Where is your wife?” she asked without looking at me.

     That was like a kick in the coconuts. Without thinking I answered, “Fucking my best friend in California.”

     I had picked the farthest point of civilization away from that previous life yet here was this stranger sticking it back to me.

     She glanced at me and said, “I’m sorry. You still have that married look.”

     I shriveled in bitter acquiescence. She glanced at me again, “I’m Dyanne.”

     I said lifelessly, “I’m Allen”. Real Sheila put an elegant glass of champagne down in front of Dyanne without being asked.

     Onstage, ContraBand began to blow a typhoon of music. I was actually relieved when this big swinging dick came up to Dyanne and spoke beside her cheek, over the music. She stood up to go with him to the dance floor. She turned back to me and spoke into my ear, under the music, “Will you watch my stuff for a minute, please?” Her breath validated my testosterone at least.

     I looked at her purse and her glass of champagne and I soon felt like kicking my pride right out of there. I looked up. Real Sheila was setting down a tall dark iced drink in front of me. “I ordered gin and tonic,” I said with frustration. “What’s this?”

     “This is a Taser. This is where you want to be, trust me. First one is free.” Real Sheila looked out onto the dance floor. I followed her eyes to Dyanne undulating in that short silk dress. Real Sheila’s eyes were reflecting my own animal cortex. I suddenly wondered which of us was more turned-on. How could I compete with that?

     I sucked the Taser like it was a Coke. Where the ice displaced the liquid it was the color of blood. The surrounding liquid was black. I felt piquant flashes in my throat that were carried away by a savory effervescence. That Taser went down far too easily. I leaned toward Real Sheila and shouted through the music, “You’re right. Give me another one, ok?”

     Finally, half-way through the second Taser, I was sure I heard a “click” and then everything about that night became cozy. I had a vision from Cat On A Hot Tin Roof where the tormented character Brick had waited for that same “click”. I never understood what it meant until that moment.

     Dyanne returned, shining, “Thanks for watching my stuff.” Smiling, “What do I owe you?”

     My mind gridlocked. I tried a sly grin.

     “Oh, God, Sheila. You’re feeding him Tasers?” She sipped her champagne.

     Real Sheila shrugged, “He was threatening to put a stick up his ass.”

     I cringed but I was laughing. I didn’t care.

     “What do you do, Allen?” asked Dyanne. I was enthralled by the logic of her inquiry.

     “I work sales for an American company that sells veterinary medicines here. I just moved here, actually. May I ask what you do?”

     Dyanne ignored my question and asked me, “Do you like it here?”

     “I like visiting the ranches, I mean the ‘cattle stations’, in the countryside.”

     Dyanne chuckled, “A real California jackeroo, eh?”

     The thought of California was suddenly like being flushed down a toilet. It must have showed in my face. Real Sheila was there saying, “Here, I’ll trade you for that stick,” and she handed me another Taser.

     After that, I just remember our conversations being so wrenchingly profound that I wanted to cry but I don’t think I did.

     “She was everything to me. I was so devoted to her. Was it wrong? Is it unnatural?”

     “Maybe you bored her by being such a slave.”

     “My momma always used to say ‘Too thick don’t stick’”.

     Around 10PM Real Sheila leaned toward Dyanne, saying, “I’m off. Let’s go to your place and watch the fireworks.” She winked at me, “You too, jackeroo.”

     We navigated out of The Spice Trade. By then I had become a pair of eyes floating between them. I think they both had their arms around me. I was sure I was holding both of them around the hips.

     We came to Dyanne’s car. It was a sporty little orange Tesla. There were only two tight seats inside. “Cool!” I said after considering the implications carefully. But instead they helped me to lie back upon the sculpted trunk, resting my head against the roof of the rear window.

     We drove slowly down the crowded street. Faces passed steadily above me as if they were viewing an open casket. Why were they laughing? I was the Martyr of Love. I remembered being rocked side to side and trying to anchor my stomach to the unmoving stars above. I could hear Dyanne and Real Sheila laughing behind me inside the car. I must have dozed off. Eventually, I realized that we had arrived at the bay.

     They helped me onto a long dock. “Why are we at the docks?” We stopped in front of a moored boat. As my eyes focused, it became a small yacht! On the stern was written the name VAN DIEMEN’S LAND.

     Real Sheila giggled, “Permission to come onboard?”

     “I will insist.” Dyanne then said to me, “This is where I live.”

     I stammered, “On a boat? Why a boat? This must be really expensive. Dyanne, please, may I ask you what you do?”

     She replied, “A rich Dutch bloke I know, Marten, is letting me stay here.”

     Real Sheila asked Dyanne, “Where is Marten tonight, anyway?”

     “Some-fucking-where in India.”

     Once onboard, they sat me in a chair and they went below. I swiveled to look over the side. My mind bounced out into the bay with all the lights and commotion.

     I heard Real Sheila and Dyanne returning and they giggled as they swiveled my chair back around. I swear they were now wearing only bra and panties. OK, why not? I found myself standing swiftly erect and undressing myself down to my shorts.

     We embraced as a trio. Our kisses met at a point between the three of us. Real Sheila disengaged just enough to remove Dyanne’s bra. Then she let her own bra fall. My hands drifted down between their panties and their smooth cool bottoms. I knelt slowly, pulling the panties down with me. When the panties dropped below their knees and fell to the deck, Real Sheila and Dyanne both stepped out of them. The two of them embraced tightly and kissed.

     Still crouching between them, I sipped nectar from one and then the other of them as they slowly gyrated. It was Dyanne who began to twirl her fingers into my hair. I slowly rose back up. Dyanne turned to face me and pulled down my shorts, taking hold of me. Real Sheila moved behind Dyanne, kissing her neck and helping to lift her onto me. I held Dyanne’s bottom while Real Sheila pressed against my hands. I began to caress Real Sheila with my knuckles.

     And so we divided ourselves and shared everything.

     I became aware of the New Year’s midnight by the thunderous crackling of the skies and the canopy of colorful fire that blossomed above us and reflected in the bay.

.

#

.

     Last night has crept away again. That’s all I can remember right now.

     The storm-swell is becoming stronger and VAN DIEMEN’S LAND is starting to roll so much that I must get out of here before my hangover reaches my stomach. I find my clothes and pull them on and step overboard to the dock, leaving VAN DIEMEN’S LAND.

     In the smattering rainfall I start the long walk back to wherever I live now.

 .

 #

 .

 .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~^~~~~~~~~~~

Follow This Link To My AMAZON.com SITE

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

 

THE END OF YEARS

14_end of years, crop1

THE END OF YEARS

.

        It was New Year’s Eve. Arlen was at the mini-mall Lavanderia Laundromat loading a washing machine. He was alone under the fluorescent glare. He shut the washer lid and pushed the slotted tray of coins into the machine. The washer began to throb.

        Arlen shuffled outside into the icy-cold evening. There was a lot of moonlight. He looked up at the great asteroid now looming brightly behind the full moon. The great asteroid made the moon look like the iris in a cosmic eyeball. It peered through the shimmering auroras in the upper atmosphere and it blinked behind the gauze of smoke from volcanoes far away.

        “It’s actually beautiful,” said a voice behind Arlen.

        “Aesthetics is dead,” replied Arlen curtly to the stranger. Arlen went back inside the Lavanderia Laundromat to watch the TV on the wall.

        The stranger followed him inside and said, “Funny how the European Space Agency nick-named the asteroid Godot.”

        Arlen muttered, “What’s a GUH-DOH, anyway?”

        “Waiting for Godot?”

        “Huh?”

        “The famous play: Waiting for Godot? Oh, Godot’s the pivotal character that you wait and wait for and never hear and never see,” replied the stranger.

        “That’s probably why I never heard of it and never saw it.”

        “It’s about waiting in faith, about the meaning of day to day existence, about God.”

        Arlen looked over at the stranger and furrowed his brow, “What are you?”

        “Oh, I was a Performing Arts major. Now there are no students left. It was a private school and they closed.”

        On the TV a team of NASA administrators addressed the army of glaring cameras. “The prognosis remains the same: Godot will likely miss the earth but there is a slight chance that it could strike the moon and send it careening into… toward us… the earth.”

        A reporter asked, “What does ‘a slight chance’ mean?”

        A NASA administrator consulted with his colleagues and then answered, “We are working on an exact answer. Parameters are shifting as Godot approaches.”

        Another NASA administrator said, “Even if it misses the moon, we know that the effects of Godot’s gravity will be…severe.”

        The TV flickered and lost the satellite signal.

        Arlen turned around to see if the wash was done. The washer rocked rhythmically with the spin dry cycle.

        “Almost done,” observed the stranger behind him. That irritated Arlen for some reason.

        Arlen said to the stranger, “The last wash allowed was at 9PM. What are you doing here?”

        “Oh, I just wanted to share this with somebody,” said the stranger as he reached into his oversized coat and withdrew a big squared bottle of Devil’s Cut, “Kentucky straight bourbon whiskey,” he smacked, “Happy New Year!”

        Arlen licked his lips involuntarily. “What’s your name?”

        “Name’s Asher. And yours is…?”

        “Arlen.” He instinctively put on his salesman’s smile.

        “Can you believe that the Iranian guy in the liquor store next door just gave this to me?”

        “What? Why?”

        “Actually, he’s giving everything away. He’s leaving for Las Vegas.”

        The TV reignited. A pale news anchor was blinking, “The migrations are continuing. This is the stream of vehicles going to Las Vegas, Nevada, as seen from SkyWatch-6.”

        “And this is a scene of the Holy Repentance Tent City in the Canadian wilderness. It was taken by a viewer in a private plane crossing to Colorado.”

        “Please remember to forward your pictures and videos to us at Channel Six…”

        The picture became a dancing jig-saw puzzle rainbow. Then the TV lost signal completely.

        “Arlen, let’s drink to the end of your spin cycle!” and Asher took a hot gulp. He winced and handed the bottle to Arlen.

        “It was a flawless cycle, wasn’t it?” asked Arlen rhetorically as he dug out his damp compressed clothes and plopped them in the wheeled basket with the one hand and received the Devil’s Cut with the other hand. He halted and took a quick series of gulps. He sighed, “Flawless.” Arlen then bent over and wheeled the basket around the washers, “I only hope the dryer is half as good.”

        Asher laid his palm on the round glass door of a dryer, “This one is still warm.”

        Arlen loaded the dryer, “The owner of the Lavanderia Laundromat came in a while ago to collect coins and to refill the bill-changer. He is thinking about staying open around-the-clock now. He won’t leave his business. He doesn’t approve of Vegas, and he is not religious. He will stay open until the electricity and gas are gone. He told me that this business is all he has.”

        “It is good to have something,” said Asher wisely.

        Arlen shut the dryer door and nudged the coins into the slot. The dryer began to labor. The damp clothing leapt up and collapsed down, again and again.

        The TV signal revived briefly, “Already there have been recurrent tidal inundations along all seaboards.”

        Asher recalled thoughtfully, “There was an army truck up at the Food-4-Less. They told me that most of the military has deserted to be with their families. They said it’s the same in most other countries.”

        “At least, at last, we have ‘peace in our time’,” observed Arlen reverently.

        “Except the Middle East, of course,” amended Asher.

        “War is all they have.” said Arlen.

        The Devil’s Cut was shared between them like a gentleman’s game of tennis. Their understanding grew more and more incisive. Their minds became one.

        “I am sure that the government has created a giant underground computer to back-up all our knowledge and understanding.”

        “What will it run on when the power grid is gone?”

        “Nuclear power. They have dozens of nuclear reactors underground that are cooled by underground streams. They will provide power for hundreds of years even if no one touches them again.”

        “Well, by then the streams will have changed course. The reactors will have overheated and melted and fallen into the center of the earth.”

        “Whoa! Then, when the computers are found by our descendants, or by the aliens, they’ll wonder why we carved those tiny silicone tablets, chips, and wonder what the strange patterns mean, and ask why we enshrined them in a catacomb of metal. There won’t be any Internet to search for understanding and meaning and truth.”

        “So we will not even be a memory. We will not have existed in any way that can be proven except by God.”

        “Except…by…God… thus proving the existence of God!!”

        “You see? You understand.”

        “I like to understand.”

        “What else is there to strive for but to understand?”

        “What about faith?”

        “We must have the faith that we will be able to understand.”

        “But.. when you understand then there is no longer faith.”

        “I don’t understand.”

        “Take this dryer here. I pretty much understand how it works and so do you. It doesn’t take faith, it takes money.”

        “So, money is faith understood?”

        “That’s a good way to think of it.”

        “So that is why the money says ‘In God We Trust’.”

        “Yes, the government understands God.”

        “And we have faith in our government.”

        “Your logic is like clockwork.”

        “I’m not sure. I heard that even the atomic clock is undependable in Godot’s gravity field.”

        Asher looked toward the large plate glass window of the harshly lit Lavanderia Laundromat. There was a ghostly Asher and a ghostly Arlen that seemed to be standing out in the empty parking lot.

        “Is it the New Year yet?”

        Arlen made a sour face, “What does it matter?”

        “I have resolved to be more understanding. Won’t you join me?”

        Arlen raised the diminished bottle of Devil’s Cut, “We still have a little Sweet Abandon left before our New Year’s Resolutions are in effect.”

.

#

.

.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~^~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Follow This Link To My AMAZON.com SITE

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

 

THE WINTER FOAL

THE WINTER FOAL

 

I was a child in 1906. My family lived in the gold-mining village of Hale, up in the San Bernardino mountains.

Gold had been mined in that area since the early Spaniards.

Our village was served by horse-drawn stages which took two days to reach us along the rough dirt trails through pine forest and grizzly bear country.

There was a band of wild burros that lived around us. The burros were the descendants of burros that had run-away from the early Spanish gold-miners.

At night during three seasons those wild burros might come one by one into our village to eat from piles of refuse vegetables, grass, and shrubs.

In the cold snowy winters the wild burros would migrate to lower, warmer altitudes.

Late one snowy winter night I heard a burro bray. I got out of my bed and I quietly went outside. I saw a burro with a white foal.

No vegetation showed above the snow along the pathway.
I took our box of vegetable refuse and set it on the road before the burro and her white foal.

When I retreated to our doorway the burro and her white foal were drawn hesitantly to that box of refuse. They both then ate from the box hungrily.
When the box was empty the burro and her white foal plodded away through the snow into the night.

When I told people of what I had seen I then found out that there were others who had seen the burro and her white foal.

Others began to leave boxes of refuse in the road in front of their homes at night.

In daylight I tried to follow the tracks of the burro and her white foal. Their trail vanished into the forested hills. What I did discover were the prints of a mountain lion apparently tracking the burro and her white foal.

My father consoled me by saying that a lone mountain lion would not prevail over a burro’s deadly hind leg kicks.

Christmas was closely upon us and remarkably the burro and her white foal continued to visit our village.

Three hunters rode into our village upon the afternoon of Christmas Eve. They came from the east, three pelt-robed mountain men.

My mother welcomed the three hunters, and then, saying on behalf of us all, “A person’s steps are directed by the Lord, and the Lord delights in his way,” my mother introduced the present men of the village.

My mother had been a school teacher back in the east when she began preaching and praying for the sick in a local Quaker gathering. In our village she had become the unconfirmed pastor.

My father was not inclined to religion.

One of the three hunters expressed, “Truly, obliged. We never seen a righteous man abandoned or begging for food. We bring pelts and we three seek a warm camp.”

The three hunters were shown shelter beside the stable where they could raise their tent. They told me that their tent was a Cree teepee.

From inside their Cree teepee the three hunters shared whiskey, tobacco, and praise in song.

On that Christmas Eve the evening sky was shivering the stars. The tall pine trees shushed the night air.

We villagers and the three hunters all gathered in the clearing. My mother led us in singing a shy and humble Silent Night.

There was a bonfire that made the snow sparkle with gold. Our bonfire illuminated far into the forest.

At the distant edge of that light I saw the burro and her white foal for the last time.

 

 

 

==================
Thanks for the inspiration from THE HISTORY OF BIG BEAR VALLEY

 

THE BALLAD OF HARRY PALMS

THE BALLAD OF HARRY PALMS

 

His life was sweet no more because
His job two years ago
Was lost in economic storm.
Now, he was out of dough.

The winter came to reap his shame,
Unwelcome as he was,
Within his daughter’s basement, where
“Apply for Santa Claus”,

His daughter and her boyfriend gnawed,
“You’ve got to pay some rent!”
“But, we are Jewish!” Harry kvetched.
Yet up the stairs he went

Into the hall and out the door.
The blizzard was a shock.
The once and future Harry Palms
Behind him heard the lock.

His breath condensed into his beard,
His cheeks with cold did burn.
He got onboard the empty bus
Some money for to earn.

He got out at the Shopping Mall;
The stores so gaily lit.
Before he could apply himself
He had to give a shit.

Beside the bathroom stalls he stopped
And saw two men a’kissing.
He grabbed their collars, banged their heads.
They beat him.  Teeth a’missing,

Still Harry Palms had got the job
Of Santa Claus, First Shift.
“I guess my life is now complete”.
His pride he had to sift,

Like cat-box turds, beside his bed,
The night he set the clock
For five AM to catch the bus.
He couldn’t find his cock.

As Santa Claus he did preside
Above the World Toy™ scenes
For Children of Jerusalem,
Sponsored by Marines.

All day long the shoppers climbed
To leave their gifts of toys
And sit their children on his lap.
He almost lost his poise

When three young Persian girls appeared
In line to visit him
Dressed like ornaments with jewels
And voices like a hymn.

“I am Sofa Kush” one spoke
“And these, my sisters, be
Avesta and Daeva”.  Wise
Beyond her beauty she

Was dressed in gold, Avesta white,
And Daeva shaped in red.
The three of them leaned to his ears
And this is what they said:

Daeva: “Listen closely now,
To warn you we have come”.
Avesta: “Toys you gather here
Will harm Jerusalem”.

Said Sofa: “It’s the TNA”.
But Harry looked bemused.
“The Terror Net Alliances.
And we three stand accused

Of being traitors to our lords;
Mawlas, to whom we’re wives,
Will surely stone us three to death.
We offer you our lives:

Please help us save Jerusalem.
Allah’ cannot want this:
There are the toys that will explode
And open the Abyss.”

Poor Harry sat there so confused
Because their Sirens’ voice
Had spun enchanting arabesque
That left him with no choice

But to believe them; was he nuts?
They clearly were afraid
Of something that was going down
That wasn’t a charade.

He turned to find the host Marine
Did have his weapon drawn
And pointed at his geezer brains.
The three young girls were gone.

The mothers screamed and children ran
In chaos so appalling
The soldier had to drop his gun;
The Christmas Tree was falling

Onto his head.  The needles rained
And stuck him in the eyes.
He fell down to his knees and screamed
Vile curses to incise

Whoever had pushed o’er the Tree.
He swore in Farsi tongue
To cut the heart of those who laughed:
Three Persian girls so young

They could not hide their merry laugh,
For they had done the deed
To no Marine: a terrorist
Who thought he could mislead.

Poor Harry Palms had tumbled back
And fallen from the lair
Of Santa Claus, onto the floor,
At circling stars to stare.

“You must arise and follow us”,
He heard the Angel say.
She looked a lot like Sofa Kush
And so he did obey.

Into the Manger Scene they fled
And lifted Baby Jesus.
A trap-door opened at their feet,
So down there Harry squeezes.

Below, past tense and present fear
A tunnel lead them out
The Service Exit Door.  The girls
The parking lot did scout

As if they knew what should be, they
The World Toy™ truck did see
Without a guard nearby.  Not luck:
Avesta had the key.

So off they went with reckless speed.
On, Daeva! Sofa Kush!
Avesta! And on, Harry Palms,
But watch your sorry tush!

“Where do we go?” did Harry cry.
He saw they were pursued
By someone in a Cadillac.
He was not in the mood!

His basement room seemed pretty good,
Retreating in his mind.
If he could just get out of this
He nevermore would find

A fault within his broken life.
It always can be worse!
To Harry, like the Bible’s Job,
Jehovah seemed adverse,

Because just then they overturned
The World Toy™ truck and smashed
Right through the lobby, where the staff
Of Trumpet Towers dashed.

A shroud of smoke concealed the four,
Untangled from debris.
Avesta, Daeva, Sofa Kush,
And Harry all did flee

Into the elevator car,
Penthouse Floor they keyed
To where the Persian girls did live.
It cost not chicken feed.

But suddenly their motion stopped,
The elevator dead
One floor below the penthouse suite.
They exited instead

And ran into the studio
Of KABL Radio.
The three girls knew the DJ well.
The DJ exhaled, “Whoa”.

Kid KABL Rock, as he was known,
Did listen to the girls
As he stared at Santa Claus,
His stoner mind in whorls.

He locked-up tight the studio
In record time, for then
Upon the door fell pounding fists
Of several angry men.

Kid KABL Rock was monitoring
The evening TV news
That pictured Harry (Santa Claus)
“Police uncovered clues

That Santa Claus had helpers who
Conspired to steal each toy
Donated for Jerusalem
Baseerah, Hebrew, Goy.”

The World Toy™ lawyers fed the news
And Sofa Kush just knew
They had to broadcast their own side
To rescue what was true.

Kid KABL Rock was ‘way ahead
And sat down at the mike
To spread the “Siege of Santa Claus”
Which children wouldn’t like.

The children listened everywhere
To hear their hero speak.
Kid KABL Rock laid down the scene
And it was getting bleak:

“Our door those men are battering down,
With force to hit home-runs.”
Kid KABL Rock beseeched the kids
To get their parent’s guns.

“Come up to Trumpet Towers, all!
To station KABL Rock!
Help us to save Santa Claus!”
He rallied them ad hoc.

Avesta cried “Time’s running out!”
But Daeva had a scheme,
“If Kid can hack the broadcast net
We can send a beam

That reaches to Jerusalem
Before they land those toys.”
Kid KABL Rock was on the case;
“His talent he employs”,

Said Sofa Kush, “to hack for fun
The broadcast net before.”
Avesta held a cell-phone high,
“I took my husband’s phone.

It has the code to detonate
The high-explosive bombs,
Before the children have to die
And grief consume their moms.”

But Harry saw the door give-in
And shatter to the floor
As men crashed through and aimed their guns
Upon the other four.

What happened next was like dream
As Harry leapt between
The gunmen and the other four,
Screaming, so obscene,

As bullets patted Harry Palms,
And so did Santa slay,
Avesta plugged the cell-phone in
Where Kid KABL did say,

As Sofa Kush a doll did throw
Toward a gunman’s face,
Avesta pushed the icon dial
And blew the coup de grace,

So fire ate alive those men
And ruptured in the lobby.
The plane above Jerusalem
Was hailing Abu Dhabi,

When in a super-nova blast
It blew to smithereens
And starred above, just like all those
Nativity night scenes.

 

.

.

 

.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~^~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

DECEMBER IN THE RAILROAD WOODS

December in the railroad woods the sun is bright
and sky full of blue
but warmth is a cold memory.
I root myself on damp earth and I fill the barrel
with water for horses.
I revolve on the damp earth that blushes
with green new grass grateful for the plowing of horse hooves
and the rich horse turds
and the overflowing barrel of water,
the hose making the same sound as a horse pissing.
I see
therefore I exist
among the Eucalyptus woods planted a century gone
for the feeding of the iron horses, the steam railroad.
The clouds are hung over from a righteous night of  riotous rain.
I tap like rain against my iPhone.
Let this inside world outside.
My electrons howled in the Solstice of Winter,
the longest night of the year,
dwarfing the queen rat among the discarded couches
and the soggy rugs
and the exhausted tires
and the baby shoes
and the  lamb skulls.
A creek once scurried here but the loose silt
now holds the earthy remains of my dog
wagging with worms for the end of her drought.
The silt is damp now with redemption.
I raise up my cat to my shoulder.
My horse nudges me and nods.
The truck with alfalfa cometh.
.
.
#
.
~~~~~~~~~~~~^~~~~~~~
🐟

THE GRASSHOPPER IN WINTER

 

In all the facets of his eyes, with Meadow of the Valley burning green,
The rolling colors up and down the hillside shined, petted by the wind.
Galahad the Grasshopper did thus not need to dream,
Offering to Aesop Ant, in passing, morsels of a leaf that he did love,
From high atop the towering weed, from where his heart did leap,
Called Galahad to him below, “Hey, can you stop, Aesop, my friend, and watch the spring in beauty burn?”

Aesop Ant replied, “Well, meadows do that sort of thing”, and tilting head from toil’s burn,
“You will find the Meadow is not always green,
And what is real is dreadful preparation.  Somehow does the worst upon us always leap.”
Appalled at Aesop’s rude philosophy, cried Galahad into the wind:
“What of Love?”
Aesop Ant just smiled and waved good-bye, “Good luck with Love, a Dream.”

A shadow fell on Galahad, and startled him from Aesop’s troubling Dream;
Above him saw a Butterfly alight upon the flower, wings a prism interceding for the sunlight’s burn.
“Sorry to disturb your dreaming.  I am Bethanie.”  She sipped the flower she did love.
“I am Galahad.  It is a lovely day.” His armor never shone before so green.
And Bethanie enjoined, “I hid when I was just a silly little caterpillar, dreaming of the wind.
But now I raise my wings to me and into beauty soon shall leap!”

Into every facet of his eyes did Bethanie’s true beauty leap.
Galahad did nod with every movement of her wings, to hear as if he did thus deeply dream:
“But now is time to drink the world and spill no drop into the wind.”
Then suddenly was Galahad no longer happy; something in his eyes did burn.
Added Bethanie, “But, you are welcome to accompany my journey high above the green.”
Galahad restrained himself from leaping then and there, while saying “That, I would be sure to love.”

“Can you stay apace with me?” asked Bethanie, “No matter what you love?”
Galahad without restraint said, “Yes, I can.  For I can glide the farthest of them all after I leap.”
“Then let us go while sun still shines and all the grass is green.”
Away from Galahad she fluttered like a dream.
Galahad leapt to the sky, and spread his wings to glide; to leap and glide until his legs did burn.
Down the valley to unseen horizon blew the wind.

Galahad did slowly fall apace, and finally descry not Bethanie in bygone wind.
Heart of his, a beating compass, blindly pointed love
Until the sun of that first day was no more seen to burn,
And from behind, a full moon crouched and into stars did leap.
Galahad now found himself beside a tiny creek that fell into a sandy pool, inviting him to dream.
Wearily he nibbled on a leaf, and heavy was his armor, fading green.

Far away, a Cricket choir chirping helped his spirit into slumber leap,
Rekindling desire, cherishing an unforgotten Dream.
Something cold did his way whisper, withering that Dream so green.

Waking up most suddenly from all he thought were memories still green
Galahad felt fiercely cold and bitten by the wind.
In all the facets of his eyes were tears that froze that former Dream
Of springtime months ago; Of Love.
Winter cold was gnawing now upon his heart, to death if he away could no more leap.
Beyond the gloaming garden, thence he knew not when he fell, he smelled a farmhouse fire burn.

Shivering, an ember in his heart did once more flare and burn,
Shining in all facets of his eyes, again so brightly green.
A leap
Into the wind,
Gliding for his unseen Love
With their waiting Dream,

Narrowly ajar, an open window, shining bright, perchance another dream,
Through which Galahad could see a lusty fire burn,
Embracing in the fireplace a sweet dry branch with love.
And near the windowsill in colored lights bestrewn, there stood a Christmas tree still green.
Galahad nudged through the open window, as it kept at bay the wind,
To the Christmas tree then did he leap.

Sailing to the crowning star where with that faithful leap,
Galahad, now warm beside a golden light that shined just like his Dream,
Without the wolfish winter wind,
Within him fever still did burn,
Glowing tarnished armor green.
Thus did he believe delirium brought Bethanie, in visions of his Love.

Galahad was sure that now he truly saw his Love;
All the facets of his eyes across the room did leap
Above the mantle, on the wall, inside a frame of green,
Where Bethanie, transfixed as mid-flight in a dream,
Held her wings outstretched, where interceding shadows race and burn,
Everlasting in a chambered replica of wind.

Then Galahad in flashing horror saw a pin was driven through her back, to hold her in imaginary wind.
He cried out as he leapt across the void to be beside his Love.
Tapping frantically on glass reflections in which shadows race and burn,
Slipped and fell he to the hearth.  In paralyzed despair he watched for an eternity the hellish fire leap
Until the flames revealed his fate inside a final Dream.
Into the glowing ashes dipped he tattered wings that once were green.

With wings of fire, back up to the crucifixion chamber’s frame of green
Galahad did leap his last, to lie with Bethanie and immolate his Dream.
The mingled smoke did through the open window toward unseen horizon leap.

.
#
.

.

 

 

THE GRIMPILS FARM

THE GRIMPILS FARM

          A coyote is walking up the road from the city to the country.  On the back of the coyote is a crow.  On the back of the crow is a cockroach.  The three of them are friends from the city.  They are traveling up to the Grimpils farm for Giving Thanks Day.

A few hours pass and the three companions find themselves admiring the countryside.  A turkey meets them in the road.

The turkey says, “I am Snood.”

The coyote says, “I am Moontalker.”

The crow on Moontalker’s back says, “I am Caucus.”

The cockroach on Caucus’s back says, “I am Scurry.”

Snood the turkey says, “I will guide you from here.  Welcome to the Grimpils farm.”

Moontalker the coyote replies with a suave voice, saying, “Happy Giving Thanks Day.”

Caucus the crow replies with a rattling voice, saying, “Yaw, yaw.  Say, Snood, will there be Red Wing Blackbirds there?”

Scurry the cockroach replies with a soft hiss, saying, “Caucus can’t keep his pecker still.  Happy Giving Thanks Day, Snood.”

Snood the turkey turns and a raises a wing, saying, “Follow me, please.”

Snood and Moontalker, with Caucus and Scurry, turn off of the dirt road and climb through the old wooden rail fence.  Many of the rails are weathered and dislocated.

Snood and Moontalker, with Caucus and Scurry are now in a rolling green meadow, glazed with tiny yellow and purple wildflowers.  The warm air trembles with grasshoppers and butterflies.  Ahead they can see the Grimpils farmhouse and the enormous red barn.  As the four of them approach, the distant farmyard seems to be boiling.

Snood acknowledges the illusion and assures the others, saying, “It is all of the turkeys and their guests the cows, the pigs, the sheep, the chickens, and all of the others who were Born Again!”

Moontalker trots more quickly, saying, “A good turnout for Giving Thanks Day.”

Caucus starts to hop up and down Moontalker’s spine, saying, “Yaw, yaw, I see Red Wing Blackbirds!”

Upon Caucus’s back, poor Scurry hangs on like a burr on a bucking bronco, saying, “Cau! Cus! Will! You! Please! Be! Cool!”

When Snood and Moontalker, with Caucus and Scurry, finally arrive the vortex of animals is gravitating toward the big red barn.  The big red barn has an enormous doorway but no door.  Above the door can still be seen the faint white lettering: GRIMPILS FARM CAGE-FREE POULTRY.

Erected in front of the big red barn is a pole with what was once known as a scarecrow.  It is comprised of straw feet, a straw-stuffed pair of tattered overalls, a straw-stuffed red plaid shirt, and on the top of the pole is a human skull with a straw hat.

Moontalker growls softly, and then he says, “Sorry.  Habit.”

Caucus clicks and rattles nervously, saying, “I still have nightmares.”

Scurry scrambles a figure-8 over Caucus’s back, saying, “I don’t like religion.  Can’t we be thankful without it?”

Snood says, “Please excuse me,” and then he flaps and flutters up onto the head of the scarecrow.

Snood tips his head back and calls out over the crowd, saying, “Gentle animals, welcome, all, to this Giving Thanks Day; to this gathering of the Born Again!”

The variegated crowd assents.

Snood begins to preach, “Hear me, Born Again.  We must never forget.  On this day seasons ago we lived in what Man called Factory Farms.  All of us!”

Across the crowd rolls an ominous vibration.

“All of us!  And we were treated by Man like we were his personal vegetables!”

Across the crowd rolls an ominous vibration.

“Behind me in the shelter of this benign red barn was once a prison for innocent turkeys.  Innocent turkeys who never knew the comfort of a natural environment or the satisfaction of instinctual behaviors.  Today, Born Again baby turkeys stay with their mothers for months, but seasons ago these poor turkeys never experienced the safety or warmth of the nurturing mother they instinctively longed for.”

Across the crowd rolls an ominous vibration.

“Instead, they endured confinement in a ‘cage free’ barn, crowded beak to beak, the tops of their beaks broken off so that they could not kill themselves, their toes were sheared off; they were diseased, neglected, sometimes for days without water, abused by the attending Men; they bore a short life of intense suffering that ended in brutality: in the end they were hung upside down and their throats were slit and they bled to death.”

Silence crushes the crowd.

“Those who bled to death were the lucky ones.  Those who had not died yet were dumped alive into the steamer that scalded their feathers off.”

Some animals begin to cry out inarticulately.

“Three hundred million turkeys were raised for slaughter every season!  More than fifty million alone were slaughtered for a day that Man called Thanksgiving!”

Some animals begin to wail, “Why us?  Why us?”

Snood then takes a deep breath and with his wing he indicates the sun brightly above, saying, “And one day Great Sun took pity upon the poor animals under Man’s bondage.  Great Sun grew angrier and angrier.  And one day Great Sun cried out to the earth.”

The crowd opens their mouths and makes the loudest sounds that they can make.

Snood continues, saying, “And then for forty days and forty nights great Solar Flares engulfed the earth, flooded the earth.  First the Machines died.  Then Men died.  And then even the Men who could live without the Machines went mad from the radiation and they perished!”

“And finally, the God that had given Man such cruel, sadistic, unfeeling dominion over the world…, that petty, jealous, vengeful God of Man was dead!  Dead!  Dead forever!  So help us Great Sun.”

The crowd opens their mouths and makes the loudest sounds that they can make.

Snood shakes his wings in climax, shouting, “And Great Sun gave unto all the innocent animals his Gift of the Light, the Light of our Born Again Minds!  And we were all one upon the earth at last as it once was in the beginning!”

And Scurry cries out to Caucus and Moontalker, saying, “Happy Giving Thanks to all of us, every one!”

Inspired by: Woodstock Animal Farm Sanctuary

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

FOLLOW THIS LINK TO MY AMAZON.COM SITE

MY BROTHER’S THANKSGIVING TOPIC ADDRESS

Grant

MY BROTHER’S

THANKSGIVING TOPIC

ADDRESS

(2014)

.

        I, who have nothing but the clothes on my back donated by the grace of those who gave to the Salvation Army, said the following during an 8AM meeting of Narcotics Anonymous in a city park while surrounded by homeless people.

     Narcotics Anonymous teaches us two basic things: Get out of yourself and help others. Doing so helps us feel good about ourselves and that eliminates the need to use drugs or drink alcohol.

     Today’s topic is The Will of God because we need God’s will to help us get out of ourselves. You can’t get out of yourself by yourself. So God helps us step aside from our selfish ways. Once we do that we look back on our past lives and say, “Oh,… shit.” Then we clean up our mess. Moving forward we help other addicts clean up their messes, too. So the world gets a little better one addict at a time. And we feel good. So we don’t use. One day at a time.

     Today is Thanksgiving and I’m thankful that I’m not sitting in line somewhere waiting to buy a big-screen TV. Those people are just missing the point of Thanksgiving. The Pilgrims didn’t line up for big-screen TVs on the original Thanksgiving. The Pilgrims gathered with Native Americans to thank them and God that there was enough of a harvest to make it through the winter.

     Those of us here today in this place in this circle should also thank God because we are among the wealthiest people in the world. You know that, right? Most of us have a safe place to sleep and food to eat and clean clothes to wear by the mercy of the donors to the Salvation Army.

     There are billions of people on this planet who don’t have that.

     So I thank God that I am not in line purchasing a big-screen TV because there is no big-screen TV big enough to bring me that sense of happiness.

.

#

.

 

.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~^~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Follow This Link To My AMAZON.com SITE

 

ILLYCIT

+

ILLYCIT

+

I should not have been born.

It be twenty years of an earlier time our Pilgrim Fathers lead our families to this new world.

Seeking to preserve us midst wickedness that is England, our Fathers put faith into God’s Hands and sailed their congregation of five score souls hither on a sea of troubles.

Forced by the elements to avoid their true destination in the Virginia Colony, it was God’s Will that we settle here the wilderness of Cape Cod Bay.

Half of our good Pilgrim founders died that first bitter frigid winter.

It was then my mother dishonored our Pilgrim Fathers. She sought warmth in dark sinful embrace, she did so confess, darkening the pious light from our spiritual City Upon A Hill.

Our good General Court did decree my mother’s chastening and penance ‘ere I was born. As constant admonishment I was to be named, as I am, “Illycit”.

I was verily conceived of that bitter cold.

It so be seventeen years of an earlier time my mother brought me into this world.

I have always been shunned by my good peers as thus wisely instructed by their good mothers.

I have so borne my repentant mother’s punishment as she had so borne me into life.

I have seen her tears of anguish that she did give me such of her life, this dowry of sin.

At night often do I come here and in my soundless spirit follow along yon moonlight road upon dark water.

Pray pardon me to have been startled by your approach, good Pilgrim.

I have not noticed you in town likely for my head is often bowed.

I am unworthy for your company, young Brother Clemence. You are kind. Know ye, your presence is sweet water to my parched soul.

I am so bleak. Do not depart me just yet. Remain yet a while hence.

I have always drawn much solace from our honorable visits though I dread what might bethought of our innocent unchaperoned assignations.

It is your honor at risk, good Clemence. My honor has been denied me summarily by decree.

I fear I shall enter and dwell in the allegorical pig and drown, only in loneliness.

Clemence! Harken that! Who goes there?
Clemence, hide thee!

The Constable! And goodwives of the colony!

How fare ye this night, all?

What say? The Devil? I am no foul witch! I spoke not to the Devil this night!

Unhand me, please!

All is innocence!

Since you demand, it was good and honorable Brother Clemence offering me mere words of kindly Christian consolations. He took charitable mercy upon this sinner.

What say ye? Why do ye mock my humble testament?

Say ye all? There is no Clemence who habits our colony?

I swear a good Christian Clemence heard my prayers and came to me! Not the cruel and foul Devil! I could not be so fooled!

Pride? I am already cursed with sin?

You have known me! I show ye penance each day!

You would murder me by fire! I am not a witch! I am not a witch! Dear God of Mercy Who is my fair witness! I am not a witch!

Clemence! Clemence! Show yourself! In God’s Name I pray thee! I see you in my mind! I do verily!

What? You all see? What?

Now I do see there too! A star falls from heaven! No! It be a wandering star, not the Devil! Not the Devil falling to earth!

I am doomed, merciful God! With that Sign You have sentenced me to fire!

Thus does Your Infinite Wisdom set me free of this world that wants me not.

Oh, Wandering Star, for whom the gloom of utter darkness has been reserved forever, Clemence! Kind Clemence, will you be there for my lonely purified soul?

.

.
#
.
.
~~~~~~~~~~~~^~~~~~~~~~