GOOSE DROPPINGS


Goose Droppings

As politicians search for more money

To create magical castles in the sky,

All that they say and all that they do

Are illusions that are sometimes called lies.

In a land far away and a long time ago

A farmer and his family lived a peaceful life.

He got along with his neighbors

And he got along with his wife.

He had a beautiful goose

That laid big eggs of gold.

He tried to keep the goose a secret

But the secret was exposed when someone told.

One day a car stopped at the farmer’s house.

A man in a fancy suit got out and looked around.

He wrote numbers in his computer

Then screamed, “Look, what I found!

You haven’t reported your eggs of gold.”

The farmer wanted to argue but he wasn’t bold.

The farmer tried to explain his oversight,

But the government man was not appeased.

“I’ll make this right if it takes all night!”

When morning came the g-man took the goose.

And the golden eggs, he took those too.

He smiled and said, “You still owe lots of gold,

But with three jobs you might make it through.”

That g-man left brochures on organic gardening,

With instructions on how to use it.

And every autumn the g-man sends buckets of droppings,

Labeled  “COMPOST” or just plain (    ).

The tax people kept the gold

But estimated the earnings and the cost,

For organic droppings are very special,

If none of the nutrients are lost.

The farmer urges everyone to heed his story

And keep records regarding each and every bit.

He says, “Label everything  they have or they’ll be sorry,

Very clearly they should write,“COMPOST” or just plain (    ).

October 12, 2017

 

 

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STEPHANIE


Stephanie

She says, “The bluebird of happiness gave her the bird.”

Or  “life can be peachy or the pits.”

She has interesting ways to describe her life.

Although some days may be rough, she is tough,

And very positive.

She wants her primary focus to be family,

Kind and loving,

Working as a team,

Instead of fighting and feuding,

And letting off steam.

Married twenty years, she frequently talks about her two daughters,

And how important they are in her life.

Stephanie’s a delightful combination, Swedish and Italian,

Filled with energy.

Stephanie is a true blond, an Aries, fiery, dizzy and strong,

Laughing at her own confusion and always smiling,

Her co-workers confirm she is very knowledgeable

Very caring and helpful with patients.

She loves to read but she says she doesn’t practice wordition,

although after a small glass of wine,

she becomes super outgoing with an occasional slip of the tongue.

She wanted to be a correctional officer

But chose to work in the medical field.

Although Stephanie has been employee of the year

she wants to go back to school.

This time she wants to return in a Camero.

A girl’s gotta have a dream or two.

September 19, 2017

PAGES OF MY JOURNAL


PAGES OF MY JOURNAL

 

INVISiBLE, Page One

 

She doesn’t see me sitting there,

She stares and stares at an empty chair.

Does the day start too early to catch her eye?

What should I do to make her aware of me?

Or should I try?

My life is made up of distinct pages.

There was the incident regarding the hamster.

I hated to see its demise;

And the page regarding the neighbor’s cat,

I have no vocabulary to describe that.

So much to learn from the cat, but now it’s gone, that darn cat!”

The dog was a remarkable mutt,

Winning several hearts with an unflappable eagerness

From the day she appeared.

The dog belonged to someone , or to no one,

It didn’t matter at the time.

Until the story was over, I didn’t have time to check her out.

The hurricanes were the real story and I focused on them.  I’m not good at story telling so I’ll just tell my story kind of relaxed, kind of like I am. If you get confused I’ll try to explain when I have time but you have to realize that I’m not as good as the others.

THE AFTERMATH OF HURRICANE ONE

As people ran from one house to the other they left things behind.

Maybe that was how Tripod, named after a three -legged camera stand, got rescued. She was simply left behind and tried to follow her owners, or maybe the water got high enough and she escaped her cage.

I did notice she did not like men. When I pulled her from the water she tried to bite but her teeth were gone, knocked out by someone in a bad mood. Her right hind leg hung limply and appeared to be unfit for use.  At least I never saw her try to use it   I decided she had been terribly mistreated. I wrapped a blanket around her and forgot she was there for a while.

Although at first she tried desperately to get away, she began to settle down. As we paddled around the streets looking for peoplewho were trapped, I began to feel new strength in my arms and legs.  I wasn’t used to helping others and this just felt right.

 

“Yes, I was living again, and words written on the pages proved my existence. Now, if I can find a woman to keep me warm and happy, my life will be better than I ever imagined.

September 20, 2017

By Dan

 

PAGE TWO

I was sure I heard a sound, but I was alone and no one was around.

I couldn’t decide whether it was my imagination or a person, or the creaking and groaning of another house being lifted from its foundation. I was ready to turn back but I heard the sound again, this time closer. I still had no evidence that something was alive, and  I was in dangerous waters. I wasn’t sure which way to go anymore. Most of the rescuers had retreated for the night and I didn’t see anybody around. With luck maybe I would find someone drifting in the currents and I could rescue them and me at the same time. unless it was a crew of crazy weathermen proving they could stay alive during a storm, I wasn’t sure I wanted to meet people who were possibly armed and dangerous, prepared to take over a small boat. I had gone through floods and storms before, and I had seen many people lose their cool when their lives were in danger.

The sound was nearby and I worked my way around a tree that had fallen between two houses.  The tree was on the verge of lifting up and moving downstream. The water was pushing the tree and the houses, and I could feel the tree shudder as smaller objects struck. The sound I was hunting for, began again, but this time in rhythm.  I tied my boat to the tree and went inside the first house.  Two people, their eyes large and frightened, grabbed me. I was afraid they might make me a victim also if they didn’t let go. Before I could swing a branch at them I saw their senses were returning. I urged them into the boat, and despite worrying about leaving them with my boat and supplies,  I went into the second house. Four children moved towards me and I carried one at a time into the boat. The houses and the tree were beginning to shift and the two adults were standing up in the boat, trying to unloose the knot.  Just in time! I told both to sit down or I would throw them overboard.  We had gone less than twenty feet when the two houses lost their grip on the tree.  Both houses slipped into the current just behind us and I started the boat motor.  The extra weight of six made the boat slower and the houses began gaining on the boat, but I refused to panic. I still had to redeem myself.

Another page to keep my thoughts organized. PAGE THREE

Dawn was near and the two houses had gained speed as the stream widened.  The rain continued pouring down and I felt helpless.  The six people wanted to get out of the boat and I was tired of their complaints. Maybe I should throw one overboard so they understood the seriousness of the situation.  While I mulled this concept the little dog stuck her head out from under the blanket.  She was shivering and looked like she was starving. The two adults and the four children had worn out their welcome but the dog could stay. I liked dogs.

There was a television crew filming the destruction for their morning show.  They focused on us as we motored slowly by. One of the newsmen called out, “you’d better get to shore. You’ll be running into a sea of debris in a few minutes.  Why are you out this early? The rules were clear.  You only endanger other rescuers when you don’t follow directions.”

On television some crews had helped bring survivors to shore or kept the pilots informed as to the exact     locations of those needing help.  The teams of rescuers would prepare their supplies as the helicopters  circled, survey the area for hazards, and lower their baskets. The rescuers worked efficiently, working in groups, while this television crew did nothing to help and only succeeded in putting themselves in harm’s way. For example, three of the television crew climbed into their boat and sped off looking for an exciting interview.

The military teams were still getting organized and now I saw the mass of trees and house parts ahead.  It seemed like forever but the sky cleared for a few minutes, allowing one helicopter to slip beneath the clouds. The crew was efficient and quick, knowing that their time was limited. Three times the basket lowered and lifted the six to the hovering copter. Then the army group waved and disappeared into the returning clouds.

PAGE FOUR

Alone at last, just me and the dog. The boat was lighter and I negotiated my way through the debris.  I didn’t get far before I came across the t.v. crew and they were in trouble. One of the newsmen had tried to slow their boat by grabbing a tree branch. The front of the boat rose up and the back sank deeper.  “Let go of the branch before you sink your boat,” I yelled. He released the branch and the boat continued down the stream. I pulled up alongside of them and saw they had a rope.  I towed them back to their starting point.

 

FIX THE LEAKS


FIX THE LEAKS

As I get older I fit into society better than ever.

I think about my health, my finances, religion and weather.

It’s more than finding out what’s wrong

Because it’s been of great concern all along.

I listened to our President and I’m beginning to freak,

Because it’s time that I should fix my leak.

The problem is around me and everything depends

If I have control straight through to the end.

Tires get leaks, roofs leak too,

Leaks keep me awake nighttime through.

Boats spring leaks and become dangerous and sink,

Footballs get leaks and drive men to drink.

All over the country it’s the topic of the week,

Surely someone knows how to fix a leak.

Leaks in government destroy security and trust,

Yet I want our government to be true and just.

Too much power in the hand s of a few

Without restraints concern me and should alarm you.

The President seems anxious to fix his leak.

If he doesn’t fix it soon he could be up a creek.

Leaks in gossip are entertaining to hear,

But leaks without controls could bring destruction near.

I hope it is simple to fix a leak,

And all my words are truthful as I speak.

There is less need to fix a leak,

If I am honest and it’s truth I seek.

August 4, 2017

 

Savage


 

Savage is a term that was both good and bad.  “You’re not dressed for church. You don’t have your “Sunday go to meeting” clothes on.  Neither do you have on your shoes. You can’t go barefoot.  You look like a savage.”

Savages to Grandmother were the painted Indians who ran around scalping the helpless folk. She rarely mentioned the atrocities committed by those who stole Indian lands, killed women and children while the braves were away. It was only when she was mad that she muttered “Indian Giver”, an insult directed at politicians, and other higher ups, a most distasteful term. “Indian Givers” were the whites who solemnly pledged their word and signed peace treaties, knowing full well the treaties were lies and were worth nothing. “Indian Givers” was a term worse than “savages”. “Indian Givers” spoke with a “forked tongue”.

Grandmother knew I couldn’t go dressed like that. Church time was very important. It meant wear your best after getting cleaned up.  It meant being attentive and listening quietly to lessons from the Bible.  It meant no funny faces at the preacher or the girls who giggled because I was misbehaving.  It meant sitting straight without any fun until the preaching was done. It meant my world had to stop until my parents heard the lesson for the week. 

The quiet time gave me time to think.  How could God expect me to be quiet when birds were singing, cows were mooing, babies were crying, and Mom was hushing me?  God also liked lots of music, with voices singing His favorite songs.  Yes, even the savages chanted and sang songs.  On Saturday night, Dad told Indian stories, Cherokee and Choctaw mostly, because he and Mom believed they had “Indian blood.”  After those stories came card games and the adults played with intensity, their voices loud and clear. During those games news of kinfolk and news of the world were exchanged. 

It was easier to be poor during those hard days.  The Dust Bowl and World War II were over but supplies of food were limited.  Mom and Dad grew gardens, bartered, or worked extra jobs to maintain the family.  We lived outside of reservations so we weren’t entitled to Indian rights but we also were free of many of the government restrictions.  The only proof of Indian blood we had were a land grant certificate signed by a President, a box of arrowheads made by an expert warrior, and a few stories handed down orally. The certificate and arrowheads disappeared while we were in the process of moving, and the stories were shared by strangers and claimed to be part of another tribe.

I took pride in having Indian blood related to one of the “five civilized tribes”, a name given to the five largest tribes that were squeezed into Oklahoma.  I could see with an inner eye, follow the stars in the sky, and knew I belonged in the world.

I saw little difference between those of any color, any culture, any language.  At times, all people were savages. All had to stop and sit up straight and listen to the lessons of the week. Then and now, after the lessons, then came the fun time when I could wear comfortable clothes and run barefoot.

July 9, 2017

DASH AWAY!


Just before I dash away to work,

I check the mirror for my smirk.

Yes, the smirk is there. I’m  retired

and I can dash away or not at all.

Yet out of habit I grab my coffee,

my phone, a pen or two,

a notepad, and head for the door,

stopping for a moment or more,

to throw in an extra dash of sugar.

My coffee has to be extra sweet

in case the president calls to remind me

that I’m not so perfect either.

That is a real possibility because I dash around

telling every new friend I’ve found

that our country is still sound as a dollar,

at least for one more day.

July 3, 2017

 

 

 

 

DEBBIE


                SHE FORGOT TO WRITE HER NAME

She was in a rush, at least walking fast.

I thought she might walk on past,

But she didn’t.

She became intrigued by what I was asking.

Asking questions about what her friends knew,

And when they knew it, sort of presidential questions.

“Who are you, and why are you questioning them?” she asked.

“It’s a fun way of finding out more information about friends,” I said.

“What do you mean?” she asked, evidently not convinced.

“Put down ten questions about yourself with answers,” I said.

“Everybody has secrets, more than what you read.”

She was convinced suddenly, and her questions flowed like water in a stream,

Tumbling one after another, as in a rapidly growing dream.

“I want to see what you see when you talk about me.”

Then she blurted, “I want you to make a poem about me!”

In case you are ready to assign blame,

Debbie is her name. Also known as ‘LIL Debbie.

She loves being a grandma with nine kids,

And loves her own three children, if you should ask.

She loves to travel, evidently enjoying the company of others,

Every day she does extra things that make people smile,

 whether it’s a friend, a patient or a stranger.   

She’s married and she loves the food her husband cooks.

Debbie is a shopper extraordinaire, using coupons to have fun

But still stay on a budget.

Debbie was a single mom with three children and three jobs

For many years.  That kept her strong through the years of tears.

Debbie might ask anyone some questions, as I found out.

She wants answers that don’t leave any doubts.

She had to scramble to keep up with her kids,

And she learned to be a multitasker in order to cope.

Debbie is an optimist with lots of hope. 

If you want more information look for her smile,

Then sit her right down and chat for a while.

chope,years of tears,chat, June 24, 2017

PAPER, WASTED


I know I waste too much paper.  I throw away stacks of paper when one of my characters takes a wrong turn and I have to rewrite her direction,  her moods, and her new plans.  If there’s a conflict a whole chapter may be filled with worst case scenarios. Only the final scenes determine which pages remain and which ones burn. Even poetry burns hotter some nights.

Long ago stories were chiseled on rock pages, and were much heavier than paper. Happy was the poet when he could do a little trimming and make his story lighter before he put it on his blog. A long story had to wait until paper was invented and ready to waste. the first story had to be short and sweet. It might have been told like this.  “I threw my spear with skill, moved village near kill.”

The Romans cut the stories even shorter. “Veni, Vidi, Vici.”

There were no paper magazines to advertise clothing. It was use hides and cloth or nothing. Paper was still gaining status until finally it was used as waste, one catalogue page at a time.

Pulp fiction took on a new meaning and paper became the norm. Those who star in the program, “Naked and Afraid,” must have tricks up their sleeves or hidden somewhere or they couldn’t turn down “paper or plastic.” Natural materials are not always as soft as paper.

Once in a country with less wealth and less waste, I discovered huts with cardboard walls.  I was amazed to see toilet paper used once, dried, and used again. I was more careful with waste paper after that. I want to leave this planet cleaner and as a responsible man, not as a paper tiger.

june 22, 2017

JUST ONE MOMENT


Life is a temporary stop in our journey through the heavens.  We will have time to visit without feeling rushed. We will  sing or dance or do all the things we imagined we could do.

Time is a variable. Each plant and each animal has its own time line. My space is located within the space allocated to humans.

I am a transient passing through worlds parallel, overlapping, and superimposed but to me there is only one lifetime I can live. I tried to explain all that to Albert but he was having trouble understanding all of the concepts.  Finally I said, “Albert, time is relative.”

We took a train trip and I explained the difference between riding in the train and watching the train go by. It took a while but gradually he began to understand.  I think he might be able to explain several theories if he pays attention but he is still fuzzy about the speed of light and how light can be bent and go even faster.  I’ll explain it again next week. I’d hate for him to give up when he’s this close. On the other hand, he could learn to be a poet and become famous. No one ever gets famous learning obscure mathematical theories. And maybe Albert could be a politician. No one ever knows what they’re talking about.  (or cares)

June 21, 2017

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