Sammi’s Weekender #242 (goodnight)

Click on the graphic image to be transported to Sammi’s page and other ‘goodnight’ works.

 


Ginny-Ginny is Forever

I wish we were again
She, her; I, me, when
Somehow two were one,
All days and nights were special
When bedtime was large
with Daddy’s love.

I kissed her neck, repeating
Goodnight, g’night so fast, ginny-ginny
became our special time,
She’d laugh, then sleep.


Look both ways at special bonds of love,
for wanting to be better than we were,
for past moments that will never be forgotten.
Mind the gaps of imperfection in humanity.

***

“A daughter is the happy memories of the past, the joyful moments of the present, and the hope and promise of the future.” ~ Unknown

“Watching your daughter being collected by her date feels like handing over a million-dollar Stradivarius to a gorilla.” ~ Jim Bishop

Happy New Year, Dewey (Julie). ~ Me

Thursday’s Rune: Candles in Darkness

Thanks to Dale for the photo.

(Time to go home)

The streetlight was
outside my second-floor bedroom window,
about sixty feet away,
kiddy corner from me,
but right across from Packy’s Bar.
At night, it dimly lit my bedroom.

(I didn’t like the pull-chain single bulb
that hung from a chain in the middle of the room.)

There was another light
a block farther up on Main Street,
and another was down on Washington
where a traffic signal clicked
when it changed to another color (all night long).
It had to be late and quiet to hear.

I didn’t care.
When I pushed my bed next to the window,
I could feel and smell smoke-free night air.
I saw and heard street and sidewalk sounds,
I watched the glorious night rain,
and sometimes people who were quieter at night.
Summertime I could see bugs flying around the light
as I listened to the raucous people up at Packy’s.

The light was near enough
to work with my mind adding drama to boredom
as the nearby maple-tree limbs and leaves
silhouetted diabolical shapes and shadows.

That’s how I saw them.
Frightening then. Old friends now.
Along with rain, the streetlight showed me
falling snow or eerie fog on dark nights.

Streetlights comforted me.
Now, when I get up before sunrise, I look out
to see another lonely, bored streetlight father away
on a much quieter street with no bars (just houses with old people).
I recall the days when I looked out for the light to tell me things.

I still do.


Look both ways to see the light.
Mind the gaps, the bars, and the interesting shadows.
Watch people.

Friday Fictioneers 12/31/2021

Another fine photo prompt as FF Mistress Rochelle and Darling Dale team up yet again to prompt me into some foolish fiction for the final 2021 Friday fib.

Click on Dale’s photo to flash over to Rochelle’s blog in case you want to learn more about writing to a photographer’s photo. The prompt pic and my yarn follow.

Click on the PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson to be carried on over to Rochelle’s blog page.

Genre: Biographical Fiction
Title: Dale’s Candid Camera
Word Count: 100

Are you sure we got the right one, Maggie? We’ll never get away with this. We’re gunna get caught. Who cops trees at Christmas time?

It’ll be fine Ralphie boy. Once we get past this hotel, we’ll have a free tree, Eh?

Who’s that?

Who is what?

That lady over there is taking our fucking picture. Quick, hide your faces. Everybody has a freaking camera these days. It’s almost enough to make me stop stealing things.

Do you think we’ll be published? Maybe she wants to make us famous.

Just keep moving and hope… Oh shit Maggie. I think that’s Dale.


Look both ways, everyone is camera ready these days.
Mind the gaps and check the trees for varmints and critters.
Smile, you’re in the blogosphere.

Click on Jack and Sarah (Tony Danza & Lea Thompson) in “Stealing Christmas” to read more soon to-be-famous micro-fiction.

Sammi’s Weekender #241 (din)

Click on graphic for Sammi’s blog.

shameful silence

early morning sounds
soft, in silent darkness
distracted by clichéd neon din
imprisoned without art,
terrified by evil’s truth.


Look both ways to see and to say.
Mind the gaps of paranoia while seeking better days.

Inspired by S&G’s hymn to resistance, The Sound of Silence.

Thursday Rune: Arrogant Demerits


I admit it. Sometimes I joke about lesser folk,
about how I am grateful to them
for making me look better than I am.
We called them shit screens,
or wedges that raised everyone else up
the totem as they forced their way into
the bottom of the pile. Isn’t that awful?

I don’t know by what standard I should be judged,
nor how I should think about myself.
I just want hot coffee on cold mornings
and time to think about a full life,
or to worry about people I love,
for no specific reason except I care.

To all those whose tarnished image I have improved
when I wedged my own way down,
or screened out the shit storm on my own,
or played the bug on your windshield,
you’re most welcome,
from the bottom of my sniffy faults.


Look both ways and reflect on things like envy and greed.
Mind the gaps as dysfunction becomes the new normal.

Friday Fictioneers 12 24 2021

Each Wednesday, the wonderful and majestic Rochelle sends a photo to inspire us to write one-hundred or fewer words that tell a story. Friday Fictioneers is fun. Click on the prompt photo for the access to her special page.

Here is the prompting picture and my fib.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Click on the photo to be transported to Rochelle’s blog page.

Genre: Sci-Fi
Title: It Is What Was
Word Count: 100

“This SUV is a time machine that transports mentally, not physically. You can only go back during your lifetime, not forward.

“That mirror shows exact time and place holographically. You go from now to then for about five minutes, then you are back here. You may change any past decision of yours, but rules disallow affecting life or death—kind of a prime directive. Your life will change based on the new decision. Any questions?”

What if I change my mind afterwards?

“We allow one free return trip to reset things. So far, everyone has done that. Ready?”

Not yet.


Look both ways, regret little, love much, and be yourself.
Mind the gaps and SUV, time machine sales staff.

“Finish each day and be done with it.” (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

 

Click on the time machine module to read other stories.

Sammi’s Weekender #240 (pavonine)

Click on graphic for Sammi’s blog.

 


An Old Dog Bit Me

My Dog was a big, ugly, fat fucker (BUFF),
boasting an un-pavonine but prominent
forty-eight-foot-tall tail
painted a horrid unreflective tar-black; likewise,
his underside, from empennage guns to radome nose.

Chemical odors inside mixed with piss and puke
fouled the air; noise enough to deafen,
disaster and destruction filled his big ebony belly.

On command, my camouflaged killer would ‘Cry Havoc;’
wreaking horrible death and terror onto the earth below.

Now, we haunt display grounds at air museums across the country.


Look both ways.
What you don’t see can kill.
Mind the gaps and don’t be a target.

Note: Allusion is to “Cry ‘Havoc!’, and let slip the dogs of war,” spoken by Mark Antony in Act 3, Scene 1, line 273 of Shakespeare’s history play, The Tragedy of Julius Caesar.

 

A B-52D (circa 1975), also known as a tall tail or the “Old Dog.” It was the B-52 model (there were eight) used in the novel “Flight of the Old Dog” by Dale Brown.

A Thursday Rune (walk with me)

’tis Raining Intimacy

Here’s the thing, people think I’m crazy
when they scramble for cover
seeking unrequited protection
from spit and sprinkle.
As my smile betrays my thing for rain.

Well, you see, proud me knows
what they don’t.
I feel something
they flat-out won’t.
Yet I’m not alone.

I dig walkin’ in all the rains—
deluge or drizzle,
mist or mizzle, or
let it pour a storm.

Control Nature? I cannot!
But guess what that
atmospheric effect does for me.
If I could, I’d make it so, and gawd,
you’d see; it would rain a lot.

I dunno, though,
cuz here’s another thing;
what I get is more than wet.
Rain’s just Nature’s grace
poured out on us
says no less than the likes of
John Updike. I get what he meant.

Anyway, it’s more than water,
more than moisture,
rain refreshes me, spiritually
cleanses me, it quenches my thirsty soul.
You know what I mean?

And Jeeze Louise, we always need rain.
It’s a feeling—a cosmic commune—
with what, I’m not so sure, but it,
in fact, flows with cycles of life.

Okay, I get it. No freezing cold.
Likewise,
I’ll pass on thunder and lightning
so close
it makes me mess myself.

Don’t worry though, I dress for temperatures.
On warm days, it’s shorts and old cotton tees;
my warm red rain jacket at colder times.
I eschew ducking under umbrella’s shadow.

I wear wet-able shoes. And I walk alone.
But then again, don’t you know?
I’d never refuse a fellow Pluvio,
and we’d want to dance
to the music and the rhythm of falling rain.


Look both ways.
Feel it, smell it, taste it, hear it, and see the rain;
all that it does, all that it loves.
Mind the gaps, the dips, and the puddles, unless you’re five.
Then, just dive right in.

Friday Fictioneers 12/17/2021

The Mistress of Friday Fictioneers, Rochelle, has posted a photo prompt. I (we) must write a complete story in fewer than 101 words and post it here.

Click the prompt photo for teleportation to Rochelle’s blog where you can get all the rules and join the fun.

Here’s today’s picture and my micro-fiction story (titles and backstories do not count against the 100-word limit).

Click on the PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields to to to her blog page.

Genre: Historical Fiction
Title: Dead Mollys
Word count: 100

They hung them Molly Maguires, Jimmy. That Pinkerton spy said they was murderers.

Jesus, Paddy. They was coal miners and union men, just like us, not Mollys. Pinkertons lie. It’s the coal barons, Paddy. They want us dead. One man was Ukrainian, not Irish, not even Catholic.

Augh, Jimmy. Then the whole feckin’ government’s paid off. What can we do?

All the power’s higher up. If we fight, we die. We got the numbers. We need to make unions work. Let’s talk to that John L. Lewis kid. He’s on our side.

Okay. But let’s fill these growlers. I’m thirsty.


Look both ways, even in the worst of times.
Mind the gaps and find your tribe.

***

Click on Sean Connery to see other stories or to link yours.

Backstories:

The Molly Maguires was an Irish (Catholic) secret society active in northeastern Pennsylvania (circa late 1800s), where I grew up. After a series of often violent conflicts, twenty suspected members of the Molly Maguires were convicted of murder and other crimes and were hanged.

John L. Lewis was president of the Mine Workers Union from 1920 to 1960.

The Molly Maguires is a 1970 historical drama movie (Richard Harris and Sean Connery) based on the 1964 book, Lament for the Molly Maguires by Arthur H. Lewis.

dVerse Quadrille #142 (tinsel)

Thanks to Mish for hosting (and sucking me into this post which I did not plan to do).


Back in town

tinsel tensing nuts in town
leaders, all bozos

and clowns,

suky tawdry for a.g,
macheath and mackie messer,

for all the world to see

liars swear another judge jackleg

threepenny opera

death was healthy,

good is bad, bloodsuckers’ protagonists,

what do you want now?


Look both ways to tell the good guys from the rest.
Mind the gaps in a saint’s past and the sinner’s future.

Click on my cigar for more wonderful poems.