PUNCTURE


PUNCTURE

 

When I was twelve I had no time for capers,

I had a job delivering newspapers

 by bicycle,

Going to the newspaper office at four a.m.,

Folding one hundred sixty papers,

packing them into a bag,

putting the bag on the back

where it would not sag or drag

and riding across town to my route

where I carefully tossed

or placed the papers

on the porches of their owners.

One mornings I was half asleep

And I forgot about the punctures.

There were two kinds,

One kind of puncture was dog bites,

The other kind was the thorns

Of a plant we called “goat heads”

Because they resembled goats with horns.

Both kinds of punctures hurt

And usually stayed alert

 As I carefully navigated the locations

Where the mean dogs hid.

This morning one dog jumped too quick,

I missed him with my stick and

I tumbled head first into a patch of goat heads.

The dog tried to bite, but he lost all the fight

He had inside,

When he stepped on the goat heads.

He whimpered and cried,

Until I removed the stickers in his paws.

I was distracted and did not see the car,

(it was still too far),

Weaving back and forth.

As it approached I wanted to flee,

It didn’t really want me, did it?

The car hit a pole a few yards away,

This was not going to be a good day.

The car hit the back of my bike,

I flew up in the air, no time to say “yikes!”

And the car stopped at a gas station,

After it knocked over a pump.

All the excitement was not over.

An electric line came dancing across the street.

I wanted to run but I couldn’t move my feet.

Somehow the fire department turned off the gas,

Turned off the power.

I’m thankful I’m still here even at this hour.

Demons were angry and stomped their feet,                                        .

They knew they had me in defeat.

But angels were watching once again,

Final score was demons zero, angels ten.

June 17, 2017

 

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OTHERS, LIARS, and MANY MORE


OTHERS, LIARS, AND MANY  MORE

 

Hezer did not listen to their lies.  Everything they said seemed to be poisoned arrows aimed directly at him. Why did they continue to speak their malicious words? Why were they lying? What had he done to deserve this?

                More and more people were beginning to hate him.  He could feel the hatred, see their eyes grow cold, and know they were talking about him behind his back. “Don’t talk to him. He’s not someone we want to associate with.” “Did you hear what he wants to do now?” “People are disappearing.  He’s got to be stopped before it gets worse.”

 The lies were growing, stretching from small sores into festering, gaping wounds that he could not stop.  The more the lies were told, the more the lies were believed. The lies became the truth, comprehended and interpreted to be facts.   Facts were created out of imagined truths and soon there was no distinction between fact and fiction.

His skin was brown and soft, different from theirs.  He was one of the newly created liars, his DNA altered by scientists eager to produce a race of people who could survive under the extreme conditions of a nuclear war.

 At first scientists were proud to claim they had made improvements to mankind. But it was only a matter of time before things began to change.

 The media began with grandiose announcements informing the general public that scientists were gods capable of building a new future.   With the cooperation of everyone the new people could be blended into everyday life with no harmful results. The new people were reputed to be extraordinary workers, requiring less sleep and less rest. In addition, they were very friendly. That brought up the possibility of less hate between nations and less wars.  On paper and in controlled situations everything seemed perfect.  Everybody was thrilled to see changes being made.

As the years passed and war loomed over mankind without actually happening, the differences between the liars and normal humans became festering sores.  All the things humans wanted to do, the new people insisted they could do better.  The liars were reputed to jump higher, run faster, and have better sex.

A lie gets better in the telling, while the truth is always the same.  Stories became ludicrous as the stories stretched and grew.  The liars changed the truth in small increments, made the lies deceive humans who were ready to believe.  Scientists rushed to tell the truth and make claims based on fact, but it was too late.  The lies were no longer lies.  They had been told too often with no opposition and now all the people believed them.

Because the liars had few differences, the others, (the common humans) were concerned the liars would begin taking over. The others struck first, quietly replacing the liars in their jobs. Humans retook  power positions. This time the others were careful to keep the appearance of being fair with no discrimination.  Laws were enacted to increase the number of lies. Lawyers, politicians, and sales personnel were expected to lie consistently.  Their habits were already well established.

The truth is plain, although it has been known to be naked, harsh, or ugly.  Lies come in many colors, and can be very pretty or very ugly.  The liars came in many colors, which made them very special and easily seen.  They were often targets and many had been attacked and killed by frustrated others. Although liars liked being noticed and admired, they were opposed to being killed. The others, or humans as they liked to be called, deviated from the plain truth, and many others would testify in court that liars did not have as many witnesses as others did.  Therefore the liars must be lying. Others ignored the fact that “it only takes one to tell the truth. It takes many to keep a lie.”

Wars did not stop because the liars were created. Wars were often started because of miscommunication between political groups. Liars became the scapegoats in many countries and were forced to defend the truth, especially when others covered up the truth or divided it into small portions.  Liars continued to ask for the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

The world became divided into four distinct levels.  But that was after the world lost much of its wisdom and hope. It was a time of lies and secrets, a time to restore life and love, and a time when all things beautiful became a part of truth. But that’s another story that deserves to be embellished and expanded, stretched and interpreted, loved and hated, and turned into choices which began at the very beginning of time.

 

Others became the highest group. Liars were the middle group. Many were in the next level.

The lowest group were the poets, singers, philosophers, and others who told the truth.  

June 4, 2017

 

 

Imaginary


What is imaginary? Except for distorted stories, embellished lies, and mathematical impossibilities, imagination is a loneliness changer.  When I was growing up in the verdant hills of Oklahoma, I had a lot of time to think alone and invent playmates.

There was no television set, radio, or big city lights. I did have a younger brother who was my shadow.  He followed me around and we studied snakes, insects, farm animals, and people.  Life was exciting when we let our imaginations take over.

We played marbles, climbed trees, invented implements of destruction, captured crawdads, knocked down wasp nests, and read.  Sometimes I thought my brother was the lucky one because he was two years younger.  Because of his age some of our neighbors thought he was entitled to life’s little extras.

One neighbor, Mrs. Olson, lived alone in the house next door.  Once or twice a week I would go to her house and draw ten to fifteen buckets of water from her well for her cooking water and her bath water.  While I worked, she would read to Billy.  Often she would get out her family pictures and show Billy places she had traveled. I was envious that Billy got to use her viewer because the pictures were 3D.  Although I was irritated, I also noticed he was given cookies and ice cream.  I believed in fairness and this was not fair!

We moved every two or three years as my dad got a new job.  There were always new neighbors and new friends and new things to discover.  I was in the habit  of picking up little sacks which had been thrown on the ground.  The sacks originally contained bubble gum and were always empty.  On a string looped at the top of the bag was a small cardboard circle.  When I pulled on a circle the bag would tighten and the contents remained inside.  My intentions were to keep my steelies, cats eyes, boulders, and other marbles in a bag without losing them.

But one day when my imagination was running wild, and I was bored, I told Billy he could collect ten of those circles and the people at the store would exchange them for an ice cream cone.  I watched him rushing around gathering the circles, pleased with myself for playing such a prank.  After ten circles were in his possession, he went into the store. I expected Billy to come out of the store mad or crying.  Instead, he was carrying and eating a huge ice cream cone.

“How did you get that cone?” I asked.

“Just like you said. I traded the circles for the ice cream.  Thanks for telling me!”

My mouth fell open. Then I raced around picking up circles.  When I went inside the clerk said, “Sorry. That was the last ice cream given away. Maybe next week.”  I was disappointed but forever hopeful as week after week I stopped at the store looking for my ice cream.

My world was small and yet it was filled with ghost stories, constellations, woodland animals, insects, and warm gingerbread.  I did not have to imagine family love.  It was always there.

June 3, 2017

TOMORROW IS THE BEST DAY


Every day is sweeter than the day before,
Every day I love life a little bit more.
Starting with eye raising exercises,
Making my eyes look full of surprises.
Leaping out of bed, (o.k. If I’m honest instead)
I crawl out and sometimes bump my head.
I stumble down the hall, holding on to the wall,
Realize I’m getting shorter than ever, I’m growing small.
Saying, Parkinson’s Disease, you ain’t got me yet!
I mumble a few other words like….oh I forget,
But it’s still a beautiful day, and nothing’s in my way,
There are Tigers (lilies) and Lions (dandelions)
A whole world full of animals, wild, and free,
Living with gusto just like me, don’t you agree?
Sooner or later I might take a swim,
I might wait until the ocean is filled to the brim.
Splash around in water trying not to sink.
Wondering where’s my woman? She’s my missing link.
But I manage to survive another fine day
With God’s abundant love packed around my solitary life,
And just maybe I could have survived a wife.
I remember to count the stars shimmering silver on black,
They remind me there’s nothing I need and nothing I lack.
But just in case I forgot even one little thing,
There’s always tomorrow to add to my list
One more time to kiss or be kissed,
Tonight when I bow down to pray,
I’ll say ,Lord, I’m ready but I need one more day.
P.S.
And Lord, I have three more blogs to write
And three more books, no, not tonight,
I’m writing about you, and I need more time.
There’s a few poems also with a little rhyme.
And I haven’t seen Sri Lanka, Moscow, or Idaho,
Your world is beautiful, you put on a show.
Yes, I’m finished with your world. I’d like to show it.
It’ll slow me down in the ground.
But it’ll take time BECAUSE I’m a poet.

May 24,2017

JUST A FARCE


The emperor marched through the center of town,
All people were courteous, all eyes were down.
An archer, his long bow taut and ready,
Was set to strike, his aim was steady.
The emperor danced through the crowd,
Dignified, majestic, and very proud.
Many maidens turned red from head to toes,
No one dared question the emperor’s new clothes.
Finally one young lad, innocent or not,
Put question to what the town folk thought.
The men gasped and held their breath,
Surely the lad would meet his death.
The emperor heard what the young lad said,
And he almost screamed, “Off with his head!”
But murmurs of truth swept the day,
The tailors were apprehended and told to pray,
The punishment was clear, “Crime doesn’t pay.”
The tailors were stripped, without shirts or pants,
Buried to their necks, covered with honey and ants.
A farce that tested the emperor’s ego,
Almost ended badly, because politicians know,
Their pants should stay up, even on their own farm,
Because without restraints, they lose their charm.
Each farce exposed means an emperor loses face,
And the whole world sees another naked disgrace.

May 18, 2017

VIVID!


Vivid! Bright colors and raucous sounds
The scene stands out in my mind,
Vivid is a special word and I find
it jarring!
Vivid! Bright lipstick red,
Pick another color instead!
How about yellow?
Could it be mellow?
How about icy blue,
To stand in sharp contrast
And Still remain true?
Or white, even at night,
White can be bright.
Vivid! A bright crimson red,
Startling the world
And filling me with dread.

WHEN POWER S OFF


The power went off last night,
I couldn’t see without any light.
Flashlights were in a cabinet somewhere,
But I couldn’t get there from here,
In the darknessI was stumbling along the way
Over things I should have put away.
Shoes, clothes, bottle of water I left to drink,
Everything but the kitchen sink.
Ah ha, I remembered my trusty cell phone,
It worked for ET. He was able to call home.
But where was I when I made my last call?
Was I in bed or somewhere down the hall?
I thought I was wandering in the temple of doom,
Until I realized I hadn’t left my room.
The power came on and everything was in sight,
But now I couldn’t sleep because of the light.
I’m glad I was up, for goodness sake,
Everyone was complaining I was keeping them awake.
The power went off again, I was almost in bed,
Too much trouble, I’ll sleep on the floor instead.
I’ll organize my things and put them away,
But not tonight, I’m tired, some other day.

TOO OLD I’m too old for sex…according to my kids. My life is over, I’m on the skids. I’m too old to drive…according to impatient youth If I object to their speeds, I’m rude and uncouth. What am I too old for? I’m too old for hot foods, cold foods, and maybe all foods. My teeth are gone, but my taste buds are good. I’m too old for women, But can’t I still look? My eyes still work. Does that make me a jerk? I can admire what young men ignore, So what am I too old for? I shouldn’t be hiking, riding any kind of cycle. Exercise might kill me or might make me smile. Might give me reasons to walk a mile. Too old to live, not ready to die, My time is coming and you don’t need to cry. I’m not as young, as smart, as tall, or as slim. My medical conditions are real, not based on whim. I’m not a decoration, a person without a mind, I’m still me, one of a kind. Am I too old to enjoy this earth? Am I without value, without any worth? I am older than yesterday, younger than tomorrow. I’ve faced challenges, deep joys, and sorrow. I’m not too old to love or care, My love doesn’t rely on muscles or hair. My knowledge is not based on flimsy lies. Consider me old but very wise. Am I too old for one more day? Too old to kneel, thank God, and pray? I’m not too old to dream or regret, Or to appreciate the moments I get. The world is traveling at a faster pace, But i’m not too old to make it a better place. Tell me your secrets, whether bad or worse, And I’ll still dance with you across the universe. My worth does not rely on my outer shell, I think it’s love, that has served me well. Am I too old to hold you tight? If your heart is empty, I’ll be there tonight. We will discuss all things like this, Then sleep soundly after a kiss. Dan Roberson


No Rain in Sight


the crickets were forecasting the weather last night,

singing, “No rain in sight, No rain in sight!”

wells are drying up, businesses are shutting down,

soon no one will be living in this deserted town.

today two men were chastised for washing their car,

I’ve got to escape real soon to someplace real far.

my friends are looking at me with evil in their eyes,

my well is still working but i’m beginning to tell lies.

if they only knew I took a bath last night,

they’d sputter and yell and say it wasn’t right.

then one and all would leave with a frown,

and sometime at night my house might burn down.

I’ve got to be careful when crickets sing their song.

anything I might say could be construed as wrong.

I’m breathing dust that hangs heavy in the air,

there’s no rain in sight, so beware, beware!

by dan roberson

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