The tide shifted
The sun blazed into the cuddy hatch
Moments later the anchor re caught
To tip the empty glass to the deck
The eyes opened then squeezed tightly
Shut to the sudden glare
Awareness filled the suddenly small space
Tide turn two o’clock sun
Line to tend
Wind picking up
Lets hope the fish run as well as the nap did
Now we’ll see if those hours of baiting
Where worth the effort
Two long pulls on the icy thermos
Then out into afternoon sun
I'm like a one-eyed cat peepin' in a seafood sto'
I'm like a one-eyed cat peepin' in a seafood sto'
Well I can look at you and tell you ain' no child no mo'
A few interpretations for this visually challanged and rather paranoid creature:
Still makes me hungry just don't LOOK good as it used to or
Still smells good, just ain't sure what I'm SMELLIN' no more or
Don't LOOK good as it used to, Don't SMELL good as it used to and
Definitely don't TASTE good as it used to or...
I was born that way, so what? or
Used to have two, now I only got one and
That's all you need to peep with anyways and
I think that's all you got left too so...
Let's put our eyes together on this thing and
Let's sneak over there and tom-peep that hole and
You peep on the women seafood and tell me about it and
I'll peep on the men seafood and tell you about it and...
Wait a minute here, something's not...
No, no I'm not gay! I swear I'm not!
I know by the above verse it might appear that way but
I swear to god! I swear to god I never...
Alright now, this has gone JUST ABOUT FAR ENOUGH and
You can't hardly tell them apart anyway and
The men don't even have one...they just kinda sprinkle, you know and
The rest just...How do I know? Well I-uh...read it somewhere and...
Oh, just kiss my big you-know-what! and
Wait!...I-I mean...if you're a FEMALE fish you can or a lady uh...
Oyster? Or girl crab or ..Hey, stop that!...Ow!
I didn't say...Ouch! Why you!...(Sigh) let's try this again, shall we?
Sorry folks...Just had to get this out of my system...Hope you think it's funny and
What?... WELL!! Kiss my-my uh...Elbow!...yeah, that's it! My elbow...
Bill Haley and the Comets became rich and famous for doing a 'sanitized' version of this song in 1954... Big Joe's original was considered too suggestive and sexual for white audiences...
Second verse for example:
'Way you wear those dresses, the sun come shinin' thru
Way you wear those dresses, the sun come shinin' thru
I can't believe my eyes all that mess belong to you'
(In 'proper' English: THE way you wear those dresses)
what new plant is this
flowering bees this morning
and butterflies too?
running to and fro
a group of ants in action
searching for food
bathed in the sunshine
shimmering pools of water
pulsating with life
Mother Earth spinning on your centre
while revolving around Father Sun
making day and night on your surface
and the different seasons every one
Your flesh provides the vital substance
on which trees, plants and grasses feed
and become food for birds and animals
who partake of them as they need
Some of those birds and animals
feed others higher in the food chain
and become part of the eco cycle
which continues full circle again
All living things decay when they die
and return to you dearest mother
to become substance that feeds plant life
and start off a new eco chapter
Rain and snow from the sky bring water
that feeds the lakes, seas and rivers
which have a food chain of their own
among all their different creatures
Water from the sea becomes vapour
and rises as a cloud formation
which precipitates as rain and snow
and water after condensation
Sun and Earth combine in harmony
doing so since before our birth
Thank you for feeding all living things
Our dearest blessed Mother Earth
It is...within the tiny things of early morning, that moment breaths alive, it is within the tiny whisperings, that a melodye plays...like the very dear and the antelope, play home on the range.
so goes the melodye of heart beat, that plays quietly the songs of soul,
here a rhyme is born of day-light coming so soon, through the early morning eyes of the moon-light, and the starry dreams of twilight's transitioning...
into the light of a love letter written to dawn.
soul to soul conversing, as in this love letter, the letters just join hands with the words and just march across the sky...and at the end of the rainbow, there be plenty of golden time,
way down deep on the inside,
...as the inspired choir, of a bumble bee, or a butterfly, starts to sing, like tiny things that live,
flower to flower,
blossom to bloom,
watered and deeply cared for...
I say, deep beneath the surface of a wishing well...where the pennies lay,
I wish a sun-rise.
As spring's golden sun rises awakening the fog. Its light reveals fog's gray clinging tenacles all about. A Dove coos softly singing in spaces opened up when the roosters quieten their chorus..The tree's dark silhouettes stand still for no breeze rustles the air this morn. Those Blackbirds are back their voices fill the Oaks with lively music. Then they go down upon the good earth to feed upon the rich food available. I don't even see anything there but they seem to find plenty everyday. It seems they are here to stay this year. They usually come for awhile then leave until about the same time the next year. I wonder if they are going to pair off and stay around. Only God knows if they will stay or leave. He has provided for the troup to have sufficient food everyday. All they have to do is come and feed. We His creation only have to come into His Presence each day for a short time, open our hearts and minds to hear His Voice. He is there waiting won't you come and feed upon His Word(The Bible) and then wait to hear His Voice for it is pleasant to the ears..
On a trip to Grandmother's,
we'd hear Mother say,
"Your next botany lesson
will soon be on its way."
A visit invariably meant
an immediate tour of her garden,
while the roast in the oven
began to shrivel and harden.
Our stomachs would growl,
our patience would wane,
as she spoke each plant's
history and worth again.
A friend questions
my knowledge of flowers.
Stomachache returns briefly,
recalling all those hours.
Slowly, awareness dawns
of my grandmother's legacy;
a love for earth's harvest
stems from the gift she gave.
Her words wash over me,
the scene before me transposes,
as her voice again expounds
the virtue and fragrance of
On a bright day
I will be
Grabbing a drink at the bar
Brighton Beach, it seems so far
Coney Island is where you'll find me
Sideshows and Hotdogs
Where I need to be.
pizza and beer, hot summer breezes
marinara flavor, and melted cheeses
sourdough knows how to navigate my soul
pizza pie is my food goddess idol
soft with a hint of warmth, freshness absorbed
one bite and oh lord, a believer is born
out the oven, 510 degrees, cut on the stone
save a piece, foodie lovin, just me at home
i will eat this till none, newcastle havin fun
watch a setting sun, shadows start to run
things i live for, pleasures that keep me awake
refreshing brews, and a homemade pizza to bake
Look at this poppy-seed bread:
Black stars in a white sky,
Outside, an aloe plant rustles in the wind,
As out of place as dead people whispering.
I am not planning to die, however
Will they write my autobiography,
Listening to Fall Out Boy's 'Centuries'
For small recollections
Of a day-time moon,
This hot-cross bun blazoned across a handful
Of wayward seasons.
And I am not making any promises,
But this side of having a cold, far out stars
Sun Noodles Lake Two- Haiku
lake, water falls, shaped
noodles spilled, boiled up flavor
sun ladled two scoops
Do Not Disturb
While walking through the bush one day
Hot sun burning the planet to a cinder
I happened upon a black mamba snake
When I say “happened upon” I mean stepped upon
The creature had no legs or toes or shoes
It knocked me off my feet with one swift strike
Signs all over nature read, “Do Not Disturb”
If only I could read I would have read them
Instead I’m feeling a little woozy
Thinking about a nap
Perhaps a cracker with some tea would perk me up
With luck I might make it to supper by three
Or the cemetery
Dancing in mid-day sun, in Kansas heat,
was a land of grain tender and sweet.
Over to the east sparkling in the sun,
was piles of corn, picked and done.
Harvest went, along with winter meat.
Winter comes hard in backyard and street.
Not caring if there is enough food to eat,
Before long, winter will be won
Dancing in mid-day sun.
Wildlife hunkers low and travel fleet,
no fresh wet water but a solid sheet.
The earth returns from where it had begun,
Once again the children are having fun.
Playing long on tired hot feet
Dancing in mid-day sun.
Copyright © 2008 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Exercising belief about unknowns.
Makes sense to take your best guess.
Using history, numbers, extrapolation.
Getting the trajectory right for re-entry.
Few dissenters left for climate change, evolution.
Nuclear power brings a process to earth
that occurs only in space. Dangerous
but necessary? Not a risk-averse weasel.
One among many mammals is the weasel,
not known for its consideration of unknowns
but, for its extreme caloric needs, considered dangerous.
My wife says in England violent gusts
forced a locomotive off its tracks. One interpretation
might reasonably be that the mother, earth,
has stopped mothering man. We're entering
a period of unknowns and must evolve.
What might this involve
and what adjustments are possibly feasible?
Walking rather than riding to the subway entrance,
using less electricity until more is known,
preserving agricultural soils and forest land,
buying fewer plastic contraptions.
My brother's washing his pajamas less often.
None of this may make the slightest difference
in how the earth and the sun and universe revolve.
But we are human and addicted to action,
the probable less attractive than the possible.
Also, there's no percentage in respecting death
unless it's imminent. Better to remain centered,
focused on food, child-bearing, war and the poem.
All driveways plowed, all lawns mowed.
Just in time before the first snow, I raked our leaves.
Two eight hour days. What percent of all time is that?
Draw a ray with point A the first pile of leaves
extending to the extrapolating end of universe.
.01 of Aaron. Zero of Zach.
Hawks playing, hunting, mating, canaries in the mine.
Having been too many places to count.
Sex bars, infant formulas, fire crews, last rites, permanent jobs, traffic
tickets, judges' chambers, out houses, wedding banquets, boiling
teapots, frantic centuries, facial tissues, presumed innocent, clear
intentions, stainless steel.
Spiderweb glove. Deerfly earring. Daddylonglegs seeingeyedog.
Memorized songs. Privatized loans.
You cannot know what you're doing until you've done it.
Erudite sweep the floor. Articulate make the bed.
Infrared town hall. Crab nebula. Your last crap.
Eye of the tropical January sun. Slouching toward temperate zone.
I do not know?
He goes slowly, a turtle in motion
Goes all day long, never says a word
The desert sand is dry and hot, it tells the tale
They are his problem, finding them is his solution
The bird and the breeze plays his song, nothing else can be heard
A sip of water and he is back on their trail
Follows the tracks made by their feet, he can smell their scent
Their tracks tell the story, he know if they are moving fast or slow
The Sun and time are on his side, their ball and chain
His thoughts are miles ahead, he knows where they went
Back packs filled with drugs are heavy, their tracks will show
No food and water, they are feeling hunger's pain
They are walking in circles, seeing an oasis on the horizon
He takes a sip form his canteen, it won't be long for him to wait
The Sun is hot and high, the buzzards circle over head
He know that they will see tomorrow's dawn
No sense of direction, for them it is to late
He will find their bones, but they will be dead
It is the same old story, over and over again
A fish out of water trying to swim in a desert land
Their tracks tell the tale, and that is all they leave behind
The tracker's job is done, but really he did not win
Greed got in their eyes, dying is all they understand
In the world's largest cemetery, for history to find
Many illegal aliens coming over are from Central America, in the jungles. They know
nothing or what it can do. Some are forced to mule drugs, not giving them any food
or water on their journey...telling them that Chicago is just over the hill. Then the
trackers or buzzards come to pick their bones and salvage the drugs left behind?
of the desert
Days, weeks, and months no condensation
Months, weeks, and days evaporation
The dry dusty meadows has given up faith
To the minors who covered with water play in gait
Even the plants leaves are upright
Always waiting for the night
Women during heat gossips call the children to shade
Farmers, arms at an akimbo, look at the harm the sun had made
Sacrifices had been made but their god answer not
Workaholic peasants go to the farm and come back without a nut
They look at their past for taboos or a great sin
They find nothing the priest says the gods has nothing
The sun continues to punish there bare foot till it cuts
They sweat till sun dries it, their body then becomes forts
Within my sight of ocean breeze
I see the curve of earth and sea
The little ducks as they walk about
A show of wings for a simple handout.
White clouds pass, subtle and calm
Giving rest to the sun upon the kiddie pond
The sunlight twinkles as the children play
Together they're dancing within the waves.
Here comes a duck with questioning eyes
A piece of bread or even some pie?
Bikinis and trunks play in the sand
Not one of them lovers, not one holding hands.
This all seems distracted as in playful dispute
The beach is so quiet, maybe they're mute
The glare of the sun brings me back to my write
I see the seagulls attacking a kite.
Although the beach I thought serene
This one corrects me of all I have seen
Only the ducks seem peaceful to know
Their questioning eyes and hunger side show.
The people are sad or poor I bet
To come to this beach, in silence get wet
If this is the price of the beach for me
I'll come for the ducks, the ducks are free.
BY: DARREN J McMURRAY
September 14, 2008
A lobster aspic chaud-froid
un petit pate
Beef with gold-leaf spangles
a morel suffle
edible candle *
*Chocolate truffles to you & me
Tim went to the Bovington Tank Festival...
baking in hot sun
spud boy wargasms like blitzkrieg
injustice of war ice cream
chocolate shrapnel sprinkled