How is your summer going? (Poem)

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How is your summer going?

.

How is your summer going,

a fellow blogger did ask

.

Well, the bright red rashes

and itching on my ankles

tried to answer the response task

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Oh, overall it’s been fine

however, yesterday was a reminder

that life is so inclined

to have its ups and frowns

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For simple chores

that so often bore

can sing a loud ‘wake up’ refrain

well, let me explain

.

The grass needed mowing

but nature was not cooperating 001 (2)the side of the house would have to wait

for the neighborhood bunny was dining late

.

And the same in the back

a loud mower would be rude  photo (2)the little nestlings eating under the deck

chirped that the noise would intrude

 

Which left but the front yard

available to be mowed

that is until ground nesting yellow jackets

decided to feast upon my ankles,

what nerve

.

For the second time in but a month

these new pests hidden under the tall grass

on me did swam for lunch

before I had the merest hunch

.

Thus ice for the swelling

took me back inside

but I did not hide

.

Although today the rashes are bright red

and the itching still plays

the bees are history ground nesting yellow jackets hole

thanks to mowed grass

and hornet spray

.

(How is your summer going? copyright Steven S. Walsky July 2014, all rights reserved.)

And a big thanks to fellow blogger Skye Alexander for the “How is you summer going ?” inspiration to write this poem.

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A writer’s contemplation (fun with homophones, take 4)

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It’s time once again for Fun with Homophones.

 

As we drove to the mall you gave me some interesting thoughts to maul over while you looked out the window at the ewes by the yews.   When the car’s old creak called out as we crossed over the creek, you mentioned how we too were getting older.  “Enjoy this sight,” you said, “I heard some guy on the radio cite a proposal to build on this site.”   “Yep, I saw red when I read that proposal, and wondered about Fred’s herd of sheep that feed here.”

At the mall you chastised me for ordering moouse; something about gaining too much weight.  “Wait, our days go by in a daze,” I replied, “so why pause when you can sink your paws in a dessert that tastes great and reminds me of Bullwinkle J. Moose.”   You let out a groan and said I was too grown to still think about Bullwinkle.  At that sound byte, to make peace I offered you a small piece.  Even though you let out two sighs at the size of my offering, I was glad when you took a bite.  Of course you reminded me again about my waist when I said don’t waste any, and I scrapped the plate clean.

For previous fun with homophones, see takes One, Two, and Three.

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Building Blocks (A Boat Skirting Hell (short story))

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Time molds vivid memories from one’s past into the building blocks of one’s writing….

As I have mentioned, as a young and single lad I was able to travel around Europe thanks to being stationed in Germany and the excellent rail service.  This is a true story that I had originally allowed Dave, the fictional protagonist in my novel Through a Stranger’s Eyes, tell as his own adventure.  However, I have edited it out; and I have also hit ‘delete draft’ several times for this blog.  To preface the story, on a trip to Italy I had met a group of fellow young travelers, and as we were discussing women and sports over beers, I mentioned that I was looking for a beautiful blond haired, green eyed, single Italian woman.  Strange as it may seem, Dave had said the same thing to his best friend Rich, who he was traveling with.  I also need to mention, that Dave’s final comment was thought up a few years after the trip, when I told the story at a weekly card game and someone related the story to a movie that had recently come out (because at the time I was speechless).

A Boat Skirting Hell

Venice is a remarkable city, sinking into the sea, sinking under the weight of a gazillion elderly tourist trying to recapture romance via a gondola ride.  Rich did not find any gold coins, but we left Venice with one of these life experiences that you wait until the right time to tell your sons about; why scare them before their prime.  We were on a boat to go down the Grand Canal.  There we are sitting on a bench when a blond haired Italian woman, gorgeous Italian woman, and this pretty little girl of nine or ten sit down on the bench facing us.  The boat pulls away from the mooring and the woman smiles a pleasant hello to us.

Rich leans over and whispers “Dave, you just found your gold coins.  Just don’t make it so obvious”

“Rich, she’s likely married and with her daughter.  And stop whispering.”

The boat slips through the water and I’m lost in her vividly blue eyes, silhouetted by hair of spun gold, when I feel Rich elbowing me.  Whisper…“Dave, look at the little girl…Dave…Dave, look at the little girl!”

“Rich…what…,” can’t you see I don’t want to wake from this dream…OH, stunned stare, mouth open stare, the stare you give when you look at an ‘F’ on your Physics final, the ‘I can’t believe this is happening to me’ stare you freeze into when you have just backed hard into a fire hydrant in front of two cops who are staked out at two in the morning looking to catch drunk drivers in the Dunking Doughnuts parking lot…that kind of stare!

The little girl is looking at me, not just looking, BUT really looking…and…when she sees me looking at her, she proceeds to use her tongue on her lips in a way that left nothing to your imagination.

The mother sees me frozen in that stare, looks down at her daughter, slaps little Lolita across the face, grabs her arm, and drags the vamp away.  And as she is being pulled away, Lolita looks over her shoulder and gives me one last, remember for your lifetime, wanton smile.

“Da…da…Dave, did we just see what I think we saw?”

“Ya, Linda Blair’s role model for The Exorcist;” and for Rich, nothing else could match our experience riding a boat skirting Hell.

(A Boat Skirting Hell, copyright Steven S. Walsky, 2005, all rights reserved.)

Think about your ‘building blocks’; we can not write without them.

 

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