The Negotiated Settlement
English: Rabbit shape Français : Silhouette d’un lapin (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
The Negotiated Settlement (part three)
I leaned on my hoe and thought about all that had transpired this summer and last. I was losing the garden war. My vegetables were disappearing at an increasing rate under the onslaught of the critters, especially by the attacks of the rabbits. In reality I had already given up. They were simply too much for me.
I toyed with the ideas of putting poison in each rabbit and ground squirrel hole, or sitting outside with my shotgun and trying to shoot just one. I finally decided both of those plans had flaws. I could be fined or arrested for shooting a firearm too close to residences, disturbing my neighbors with the noise, or worse, accidently shooting myself in all of the excitement.
As for the poison, it could have been long slow deaths for the rabbits and squirrels, and possibly for dogs or cats which happened upon a weakened rodent and decided it was a snack. I couldn’t take a chance.
I sat down and leaned against a tree as I pondered the ultimate demise of the pesky critters. My eyelids were heavy and I closed them just for a moment. I was so tired and I needed to rest. It seemed that I was floating, but the tree hadn’t moved. I hadn’t moved either but now I could see and hear things I had missed before.
Off in the distance a strange cadence broke the silence. The noise grew louder and I decided that the noisemaker was getting closer. I finally recognized the sound, just as a line of rabbits came thumping and hopping into view. It was a parade.
Each rabbit carried a musical instrument. I counted twenty trombones, twenty trumpets, fifteen snare drums, ten clarinets, and ten saxophones. At first, only the drummers were producing music, but the other musicians soon combined and began playing a Souza march.
Behind the musical marchers were three rows of suited rabbits. Each rabbit had two tall ears and a button nose. They wore crisp pin-striped suits and looked like they were fresh out of Entrepreneur or Playboy. The marching rabbits stopped and marched in place before separating and forming a path to let one of the suited rabbits through.
The rabbit was grizzled and old. He stepped forward and leaned on his polished cane. “Son,” he muttered, “we’re here to negotiate a truce. The vegetables are going to be gone soon if nothing is done. I’m here to help you!”
This was a surprise. Why did the rabbits want to help me? I was the enemy.
Two rabbits handed some papers to the old rabbit. He glanced at the papers before clearing his throat and saying, “We think all could benefit from our proposal.”
I thought t over quickly. “It’s my garden so I’m willing to give the rabbits and squirrels ten percent. No, make it twenty percent.” I was feeling generous and happy my ordeal was over.
The rabbit chuckled and then thumped the ground, howling with laughter. Other rabbits joined in and continued to laugh until he raised his paw and bade them to stop.
“There are so many more of us and we need more just because of our sheer numbers. We think the split should be ninety percent for us and ten percent for you. In addition, we also expect you to maintain the garden in order to earn your ten percent. To be fair, for our part we’ll eat the grass and thin the vegetables, leaving you ten percent.”
“That’s not fair!” I fumed. “That’s robbery!”
The old rabbit frowned at his assistants. All were solemn without any changes of expression, except for an occasional nose twitch. “You have no choice. Take it or leave it. We might decide to take it all!”
He stomped out of the garden, stopping only for a moment while he whispered to his assistants. They hopped about nervously, occasionally frowning at me, before proceeding out the gate.
While I considered his offer, a young rabbit pushed against the garden fence, looking for a place to enter. “This is ridiculous,” I said. “They’ve gotten so fat they can’t even get in.”
What could I do? I had nothing to bargain with. It was either lose everything, or get ten percent, if I worked hard to keep the garden up. Unless I acted quickly I would lose my garden entirely. I decided to agree with terms even though the settlement was not right. This year I was beaten.
I shook myself. I must have been dreaming. An idea began to form and I smiled. “Next year,” I said quietly. “Next year I will win. I will thwart all attacks because I won’t care. I will plant weeds!”
I smiled again at my devilish plan. I’d win by losing. I wouldn’t have a garden but the critters and lawyers would get nothing! It was brilliant!
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The Garden Wars (part 2)
English: A rabbit (A cottontail, I think) posing on the grounds of Pompeys Pillar National Monument. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
The Garden Wars (part 2)
The garden war intensified. The rabbits responded to my attempts to drive them away. No longer did they simply hide behind plants and run. Despite my border control, the attacks on the garden increased on all fronts. The cute little bunnies enlisted the help of gophers to assist the ground squirrels. Instead of holes here and there that the rabbits and squirrels could dive into, I discovered an intricate underground tunnel system that allowed the critters to appear or disappear at will. Under all the stress my mind began creating little rhymes. I went around muttering, “Hop, hop, hop. They keep on munching and never stop.”
An aerial attack was also underway. Doves, pigeons, and blue jays swooped down on my strawberries and sampled them, selecting only the ripest and plumpest, disdainfully rejecting the green ones. I tied colorful streamers to poles, hoping that the motions of the aluminum strips fluttering in the wind would keep the birds away. However, the multi-colored strips attracted larger flocks of birds, which I think reminded them of parties held in my neighborhood. Or perhaps the streamers served as wind socks, letting the incoming traffic land without mishap. In any case, the combined forces presented a front that was overwhelming.
For awhile I hated all the critters because they had taken charge and eliminated any chance of a successful harvest. I yelled at them frequently. “You’re greedy and selfish. You’re destroying everything. Have you no decency?”
I needed to be patient. Everything had its season and the garden’s season had brought its bounty. Maybe all of the critters would overeat and pop. I could see the chubby rabbits hopping between the rows without regard for my needs. I still couldn’t catch them but if I had patience I might catch one off guard.
I waited my chance but my heart softened as I began observing their traits and habits. I decided all rabbit families were not the same. Some families turned the little rabbits loose as soon as they entered the garden. The wee ones scampered about wildly, disregarding all danger and became a distraction to the other rabbits. Other rabbit families kept their offspring under control, keeping them nearby until their shopping was completed. But whether the families allowed wild hares or not, I began realizing rabbit families were similar in many ways to humans. I could not harm them after that.
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My Inquiring Mind
English: Allie Darum (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
My Inquiring Mind
I see you in the mirror
As you put on your face.
Carefully your makeup goes on.
You didn’t miss any place.
Eye liner, perfume, lipstick,
Even more than I recall.
I’ll never say I love you best,
When you wear nothing at all.
You have nothing to wear,
Is a complaint you often share.
But ,darling, if that was true,
You’d be walking around cold and bare.
Don’t tell me what you want.
Just tell me what you need.
Your silence and body language
Are not very hard to read.
I’ll give my best for you.
You mean the world to me.
I’ll try to keep you in clothes,
Good enough for the world to see.
You’re not very happy with me..
You might think I’m a dunce.
You could wear that wedding gown,
Because you only wore it once.
Who cares if you clothes look worn?
For once we would finally agree.
Throw on sweats and come along.
You could be comfortable like me.
If going to a concert makes you mad,
Why do you always want to go?
I don’t understand that about a woman,
And my inquiring mind wants to know.
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With a Breeze in the Back
One lump or two? Or fifteen? (Photo credit: Joff Hopkins)
With a Breeze in the Back
“One lump or two?” I heard the nurse say,
My heart began pounding twice as fast,
I wasn’t mentally prepared on that fateful day,
I thought, This day could be my last.
From his office into the clean crisp air,
Escaping because I was upset and afraid,
Suddenly I realized that I was almost bare,
And in front of the Thanksgiving parade.
I couldn’t decide exactly what to do,
I still wore my gown with a breeze in the back,
I was embarrassed and a little cold too,
But I was in the parade, the leader of the pack.
My mind was numb and I lost my fear,
And I began to relax and wave,
The crowd roared and began to cheer,
For they thought I was extremely brave.
High stepping and saluting to the crowd’s delight,
I marched past the judges’ stand,
I was in my glory and in full sight,
I won a trophy for most spectacular in all the land.
I led that parade down a frontage street,
Until I marched into the doctor’s office again,
I entered and had just taken a seat,
When the doctor rushed in with a grin.
He asked, “Have you been waiting long?”
As he spent two minutes looking over my chart,
“Well I marched in a parade and wrote a song.”
He squinted and said, “Patience is an art.”
“Doc, I need to know. Was it one lump or two?”
“Why would you want to know that?
I want my coffee sweet so two lumps will do,
My wife would kill me. She thinks I’m getting fat.”
Two lumps of sugar had been my downfall,
I had led a parade where everyone could see,
It hadn’t been my lymphatic glands at all,
It was sugar that almost killed me.
In the doctor’s office listen to what he says,
Don’t jump to conclusions if you’ve found a little bump,
Unless he shows you the x-rays,
Let his coffee contain the lump.
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Expiration Date
Expiration Date (film) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Expiration Date
Questions without answers drive me out of my mind,
And one answer in particular has been hard to find,
I’ve been noticing the labels on products in stores,
All the way to the ceilings and down to the floors,
From the ones I think marginal to the ones first-rate,
They’re all bar coded and have an expiration date,
Now I’ve been wondering but I’m not sure it’s true,
Are there expiration dates stamped on me and you?
Although I’ve inspected my skin from head to toes,
That date might still be hidden right under my nose,
There is so much to know and I want to relate,
What conditions are expected with my expiration date?
Am I like a fragrance and age pleasantly over time?
Or will I degrade quickly after I pass my prime?
No longer guaranteed to be as effective as before,
Even with a receipt I can’t be returned to the store,
Freshness, quality assurance, an answer I seek,
How long will it be before I’m past flavor’s peak?
Am I like a Golden Delicious that’s juicy and sweet,
And then become rotten and not fit to eat?
Do I have a warranty that’s determined by fate?
Or should I just expect to gradually deteriorate?
If I don’t have an answer then what will I do?
Time will expire without a chance to renew.
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Your Pets Know
English: There Cap’n Goldsack goes, creeping, creeping, creeping, Looking for his reasure down below!: illustration of a pirate ghost. This was originally published in Sharp, William (July 1902). “Cap’n Goldsack”. Harper’s Magazine. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Your Pets Know
When you’re alone or scared at night and feeling very tense,
Who knows what dogs hear, and who knows what they sense,
A dog might snarl and show her teeth while staring at a wall,
Someone might have entered the room, yet you see nothing at all,
When the silence gets too loud, during the time that you fear most,
You’ll wish you had a dog around, to warn you of the ghosts,
A faint smell of decaying flesh or a chill running up your spine,
Is enough to put your teeth on edge, but when the dog starts to whine,
A powerful force is in the room, sharing your time and space,
Your dog will remain beside you, as the ghost meets you face to face.
A cat, on the other hand, might hiss and arch his back,
A cat knows whether friend or foe, and if the ghost will attack,
Should the cat stretch and purr, as if stroked by a ghostly hand,
There’s a gentle soul in the room, who hopes you understand,
If either the dog or the cat runs, terror evident in their eyes,
Then it might not be a simple ghost, but the devil in disguise,
Pull the covers over your head, should you be scared at night,
And if you want a chance to flee, keep your pets in sight.
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The Monster from Forest Drive
English: Raider’s Road, Forest Drive Sunlight shines through the new growth on the pine trees on the Raider’s Road, Forest Drive. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
The Monster From Forest Drive
A monster lived at forest edge,
Right at the end of Forest Drive,
His neighbors chose to lock their doors,
If they wished to stay alive.
Both his wings had been broken,
With a cane he could hardly walk,
He didn’t look mean or scary,
But he could talk real monster talk.
There were rumors he lived in the basement,
Others said the attic was his home,
He was often seen on cloudy days,
And at night he chose to roam.
He shuffles, he stumbles,
As he howls at the moon,
He is sure to catch one of you,
If he’s not caught real soon.
No one knew where he came from,
He suddenly appeared one day,
The neighborhood was upset he was there,
Because he took their place to play.
Their meeting place had been at forest edge,
Where their bonfires often lit the sky,
He built his house on their spot,
Without telling them his reason why.
He snorts, he chuckles,
He’s covered with blood and gore,
Waiting for the lights to go off,
He stands quietly by the door.
The witches of the cul-de-sac,
Stirred up a powerful brew,
They thought their potion lethal,
But he said, “Thank you. I’ll have two.”
To their surprise he took a sip,
Without losing his feeble mind,
There seemed to be no aftereffects,
Except the foot he dragged behind.
He shuffles, he stumbles,
As he howls at the moon,
He is sure to catch one of you,
If he’s not caught real soon.
Blood-red wine was his favorite drink,
And bones he chewed for lunch,
All thought his manners were impeccable,
Royal blood would be their hunch.
One dark night they gathered,
To discuss his solitary ways,
He had made them all uncomfortable,
For five years, two months, and ten days.
He snorts, he chuckles,
He’s covered with blood and gore,
Waiting for the lights to go off,
He stands quietly by the door.
In a large casket they sealed him,
No more to see the light,
Security police accidently let him loose,
And he slipped quietly into the night.
Somewhere in this vast country,
He was last seen entering a town,
Hunters of all kinds searched the woods,
But no monster could be found.
He shuffles, he stumbles,
As he howls at the moon,
He is sure to catch one of you,
If he’s not caught real soon.
He snorts, he chuckles,
He’s covered with blood and gore,
Waiting for the lights to go off,
He stands quietly by the door.
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I Loved From Afar
Album cover of From Afar by Ensiferum. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I Loved From Afar
I admired her from afar,
She had the eyes of an angel,
The smile of a devil,
She swore like a sailor,
And had a silver tongue like a lawyer,
The flair of an actress,
Told stories like a fisherman,
Lied like a trooper,
And wrote like a poet,
Studied like a scholar,
Worked like a carpenter,
If she had cared like a nurse,
Or showed one shred of remorse,
I would not have feared her,
I could have risked and loved,
Willing to learn from being vulnerable,
Squeezing success away from failure,
Telling her how much I cared,
But I feared making a mistake,
I was terrified I would be rejected,
So I left happiness lying in the street,
While I ran with my eyes and heart closed,
Keeping my emotions bottled up,
And I loved from afar,
Safe for another day,
Or maybe an eternity.
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Are We There Yet?
Four Horsemen of Apocalypse, by Viktor Vasnetsov. Painted in 1887. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I often heard my children ask, “Are we there yet?”
On a trip we had just begun,
That was their way of saying,
They weren’t having any fun.
When I consider we’re all kids,
Traveling the same kind of road,
“Are we there yet?” means to me,
Someone is tired of his load.
We live in a smug cruel world,
Where we claim everything is under control,
But it’s time we search our hearts and ask,
Have we really reached our goals?
We haven’t found the ways to peace,
Though we tried with flowers in our hair,
Even SGT. Pepper could not stop the wars,
Even though we tried to care.
A white horse appeared on a cloud,
Its rider clutched a bow,
Representing conquest and a destructive force,
Sending peace reeling with a mighty blow.
Famine spreads across the land,
While food supplies dwindle down,
Animals and people fight to live,
But little grows on bloody parched ground.
A black horse stepping high,
With weighing scales at his side,
Famine strikes fear in all hearts,
While hope disappears worldwide.
A fiery horse gallops with color aglow,
Mass slaughter is his game,
His rider lets persecution and pain go free,
War is still the one to blame.
Pestilence still sweeps the world,
While we turn our heads in vain,
Trying to ignore terrible diseases,
That keep third world children in pain.
Death still stalks each of us,
We won’t leave this world alive,
But couldn’t we try to slow death down,
Allowing us a few more years to thrive.
Astride a pale horse with sunken eyes,
The Grim Reaper wears a grin,
He scans the earth looking for those,
Who have already died within.
Are we there yet?
It’s a question we should ask,
Have we done all we can possibly do,
Before we give up our chosen task?
The Four Horsemen continue to ride,
Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death,
With sword and gun they sweep the land,
And steal each feeble breath.
Are we there yet?
The question echoes on,
We can’t stop to boast or reset,
Until the battles are won.
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Class Reunions Are Measuring Points
50th Class Reunion (Photo credit: roanokecollege)
Class Reunions Are Measuring Points
After my senior year in high school,
I left and vowed I’d never return.
For twenty years I kept my word,
For I had worldly lessons to learn.
But I began celebrating with my graduating class,
While I continued acting on life’s stage.
I found class reunions to be entertaining,
I wasn’t content to be left frozen on a yearbook page.
My ten year reunion seemed a little cold,
Conversations were earnest and matter of fact,
I laid out my dreams for all to see,
Pressure was on me to perform and act.
“Step in line. Let me take your picture.”
I wanted pictures reminding me of the past,
I believed the beautiful people should pose first,
Although my inner fear was I might be last.
“Smile!” the photographer barked,
My picture was taken and I found my seat,
Around an oval table sat unrecognized friends,
Who waited for a tri-tip dinner and good things to eat.
An invitation to the twentieth reunion arrived by mail,
“Your senior class is inviting you to attend,”
The invitation told me where and when,
Then signed, Your Anonymous Friends.
My curiosity was piqued by that note,
I put it on my calendar to make sure I was there.
Classmates arrived from parts unknown,
They all looked different; I had to stare.
Some men had beards or lost their hair,
My high school sweetheart was someone’s wife,
She had been married fifteen years,
Had a truckload of kids and was enjoying life.
I went from table to table searching for friends,
But many didn’t respond and didn’t go,
I tried not to show my disappointment,
When people asked, I’d say, “I don’t know.”
After twenty years the race was still on,
Life goals were in concrete set,
Families and jobs were often compared,
Friends asked, “Have your expectations been met?”
Classmates acted young and were chasing dreams,
They were waist deep in life as years flew past,
Each reunion became a measuring point,
And it seemed everyone was having a blast.
When the thirtieth rolled around I was racing by the rail,
Some classmates were ahead and avoiding the dust,
Their fortunes were already made,
They’d reached a level called “upper crust”.
The fortieth reunion was far more relaxed,
My retirement was rolling into sight,
Conversations were more about grandkids,
Houses and travel, and how money was tight.
Although I needed glasses and the light was dim,
I dared to study one rough-hewn face,
Memories of a young athlete competing
Were evoked from distant time and space.
His face was one I immediately recognized,
But when I shook his hand he seemed surprised,
“Bill,” I said, glad I could remember his name,
“Remember when we beat the Tigers in the big game?”
Then a woman’s face, etched with lines,
Hiding things she seemed afraid to share,
Perhaps she worried about a child’s health,
Or about a husband who didn’t care.
I wanted to distract her with a few kind words,
“Mary, I sat behind you n Spanish class,
I just wanted to tell you thanks,
Without your help I knew I could not pass.”
My role in life was to encourage and entertain,
I never won any academic awards,
But seeing my friends grin or smile,
Was to me a fantastic reward.
Once my mind had kept my body under control,
“Mind over matter,” had been often said,
Now my mind was losing its grip
“What’s next?” was running through my head.
I bought tickets to the fiftieth reunion
I decided to go before my energy drained,
Time was taking its daily toll
Sometimes it seemed little energy remained.
Before festivities started I looked around,
Wondering why men and women stared at me,
Squinting as they looked at my name tag,
They mumbled things like, “Long time, no see.”
It was time to focus on serious matters,
Because discussions centered around health,
Medicare, operations, medicines, and pills,
I noted that everyone cared less about wealth.
There wasn’t enough time to share my life,
For after dinner there was a live band,
Stirring up excitement with words I knew,
Playing sixties music to those who could stand.
Time and years had changed me,
From being indestructible with unstoppable plans,
I came to the realization I was fragile
And life had not been left in my hands.
My mirror tells me I have changed,
The years had not always treated me kind,
If I wander off or get left behind,
I’ve come to the conclusion I’ve lost my mind.
My features have coarsened and my hair turned gray,
Suddenly it seemed I became old and bent,
But the memories of reunions I’ve collected,
Are there to remind me I was glad I went.
I wouldn’t do things differently if we meet again,
Except print name tags larger so I can see,
An extra one backwards, larger, and upside down,
For I might need to be reminded that I am me.
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