Even the Basket is Italian

 

A Fish Story

 

Laundry Day

 

Eerie is the cry of the Hawk

dangerously alluring –

perched above the scurry and the scamper,

 

No other bird would dare to talk

with laundry day still stirring

clothes still wadded-up inside the hamper,

 

It’s quiet when the morning breaks

dew still intertwines –

a lovely scarf, a pair of socks hung upon the line,

 

The meter skips, the cadence shifts

You’re caught a bit off guard –

Tis when he strikes on laundry day

there in your own backyard.

 

On reading a Book

 

I seem to know right away if I like the author.   Not just what they say but how they say it.  I can tell if they have a sense of humor or are just faking it.  Do they have something to say, or are they just filling pages to sell another book?

I remember reading a book one time at an airport.  I was laughing so hard I couldn’t read anymore.  I slipped my bookmark in, closed it up but continued to giggle throughout the trip.

I like art.  I like paintings on canvas, but they’ve never made me laugh or even giggle.  A blend of the right subject matter and the perfect colors can draw me into a canvas and actually hold my attention so long that the security guard will have to nudge me and let me know they will be closing shortly.

Sometimes it takes a second nudge, but that would have to be a nude or card playing dogs.  Maybe nudes playing cards, but I’ve never seen that one.

I like the adventure of reading a book.  The author has already done all the twists and turns, now it’s up to the reader to keep it between the ditches, to follow along, as if being towed.  Don’t skip ahead, don’t daydream or text and read at the same time.

Are there rocks ahead?

What annoys me the most are the authors that feel they need to use chrome-plated words.  I am not a highfalutin person.  I like simple.  I believe an author should write just good enough to get a passing grade.  If extra credit is offered, trade it for a sandwich, or Snickers bar.  You don’t need to use big words, not when a modicum of insignificant and superfluous non-verbal expressions will suffice.

Know your audience  

I believe that before writing any book, you should go out and introduce yourself to everyone who might possibly buy it.  Travel to various states, hand out business cards, try to remember everyone’s birthday and their kid’s names.  You’ll thank me later.

  

Moron this later. 

Viewmaster

 

They were like binoculars but with our life inside.  There were slides with pictures and when you looked into it, it was like a magical 3-D color image.

The older slides showed us as children.  We were small and innocent, being amazed at the life around us.  Look at our little friends in the old neighborhood – look how we were dressed.  I can almost remember their names.

Of course, many of the slides are missing.  I expect they are in a box, maybe up in the attic.  “Oh, look at this one.  I remember this.”

None of these later slides are in order.  I don’t know what happened to them.  “Here’s my old car.  Remember this one?  We had some good times, I’ll tell you.”

No thanks, I don’t think I can look into that with my glasses on.  How come it’s fuzzy?  Is that our old house?  Where was that?  Did we live there long?  Were you kids with us then?  What was our neighbor’s name?  He was such an old fuss-budget, I can almost think of it.”

 

Remember – keep only the slides you like, the ones that make you happy.

Like Oil and Water

 

Advancements from the International Space Station were announced yesterday as scientists successfully blended cotton with vegetable fiber.

It is only in the absence of gravity that various materials can be blended together.  Until recently, progress in this area has been limited to creating new, stronger metals, or blending shampoos and conditioners in the same bottle, but Doctor Erick Leipheimer, of the (ISS) announced that he has been successful in combining cotton and vegetable fiber, creating a new and exciting line of men’s clothing.

Celery strings are chemically woven with a 10% cotton and 90% organically grown material.  Now, men will be able to dress for success and dinner at the same time.  Doctor Leipheimer says the important thing is to remember to not hang these shirts in the closet, but to fold them neatly and tuck them into the crisper.

The report went on to suggest that button mushrooms may soon be a reality.

 

The Hawk

 

With wings for arms and claws for feet,

I grab and tear the things I eat –

I leave for Crows the road-kill stew,

but much prefer my meals be new.

Crows are noisy – they squawk around,

I sit quiet and watch the ground,

Before too long they’ll be a chase –

I’ll snatch a mouse and then say grace.

Last Meal

 

Oh sad and pouty mushroom,

your friends seem gay and fun –

did you, by chance, get baked too long?

It seems you’re over-done.

Plump enough for stuffing,

Maybe butter and some wine –

A slice of bright tomato,

plucked from my neighbor’s vine.

It isn’t really all that bad,

a salad as your fate –

I’m hoping, should I eat you,

I don’t become the late.

 

 

LXXIV

 

 

Twood be a wonderful delight

to photograph instead of write –

No spelling errors here and there

punctuation – wouldn’t care,

How wonderful with just a snap

to flush this literary crap.

 

How wonderful if I could paint -

I write,  because I kaint.

 

 

Travels

 

There lay a blanket of frost upon the ground,

while I, with my pen and pad –

appeared to be frozen in my ways.

Later, that spring –

the river ran freely,

and I, still with pen in hand,

did chase it –

down through the valleys,

past the corner bank –

along life’s path,

far beyond reason

until ink and river ended.

It's not you - it's me

 

It’s on me.  I am the one who put unrealistic expectations on you.  It was my thinking that with new technology you’d suddenly start writing to me.  It was all in my head that somehow your new smart phone would move you closer to me.

I am the idiot, the numbskull.  You will always be you, and of course, you should never be anything else, but here’s the thing…

I am no longer going to write to you.  I can’t.  It makes me too sad, first in never knowing if you’re even reading what I’ve sent, and second – in knowing that you’ll never even think of picking up the phone to write to me.