.
(((pong)))
n'ow eve
(((wahp)))
that hurt
didn't
hon
(((pong)) **)
*pong; think uv cast iron(kitchen)
wahp; eve'z purty thick
mitt back mine
dome ")>
Battle axe (For the 2nd Half) ... "At last!"
Way too fast past the rescue rascal hassling haphazardly mastered dastardly bastards' fractions of captioning cast iron spiraling wired wax on wax off golf cart Bart Simpson minced garlic cubes boob tube huge goober schooner dooms Days Taser taker wafer run stun gun NOT funny honey bun for one shunned lonesome wholesome quotient potion grunt of a stunt punt the ball into mid autumn leaves fall raking reiki draped date maker place mat patty whack hacky sack crap slapped happy tap dance romance slanted jambalaya riot spliced mice diet quiet cheese, please teases on both knees bereavement easing Fort Leavenworth girth that brings birth to twerk twerps slurred slurping squirts of hurting beef Jerky lurching around the church yard disbarred and charred crash cars 100 yards too far to see scars Mars rover Range Rover Red rover come over 4 leaf clover lawn mower seed Sower leaf blower as NOT just another voter devotional spokesperson swerving tertiary but too scary hairy fairy blue berry merry go round sage turns the page safe and sound clown town brown bag the sandwich fad dude and all of that...
I am blaming it on weather
Feel a bit too old today
Sky is pale, the clouds gather
In cyclonic disarray
Clouds may tell about something
I’d prefer to stay untold
Before scattering to nothing
They hang over the old road
That goes down to the quay
With its bollards of cast iron
Not a single boat I see
Seagulls overhead keep crying
Why I’m here again, could be
Just a call I answer to
By inertia, thoughtlessly
Like an animal can do.
Oasis
I wish you two things
Everything that
makes you feel better
And nothing what
makes you suffer
I promise I’ll love you
In my heart will keep you
If you whenever need me
You can count on me
I will love you regardless
What life can bring
My breathing cause
My only trace
Worshipping you forever
Is my soulmate case
You’re the Soulhalf I desiderate
The significant other, Helpmate
Preprayed benevolence
In submissive haven
Second self Helpmeet
Alter Ego Twin Flame
A beautiful frame
My sweetheart
My hubby Better half
One I cherish
above all others
My consort special
someone luvver
My first and only love
Rock solid pillar
Safeguarding armor
Oasis, Treasure Above All
Kindred soul Companion
A labor of love
Cast iron chemistry
Of qualitative symmetry
Altar and shield
With the heart of a cherubim
The adorable divine offering
In fascinating combinatory
When the setting sun settles
Upon the weeping western skies
That's when I earn my medals
Hearth fires from smoldering eyes
Crystalline orbs glow like rare art
Gemstones shine light on my eyes
Mining ore from cast-iron heart
Molten metal melts the skies
Smelting, my weeping western eyes
Gemstones spark life in my heart
Heavy metal forged from her skies
Casts raw iron into art
Formula Fe2 O3
Iron is just awesome – let’s see!
First it was prehistoric man
Who was always an iron fan
Iron is a third of the earth
Industry is iron by birth
Pritchard designed and Darby made
Iconic Iron Bridge won’t fade
Smelt pig iron from iron ore
Produces cast iron galore
Backbone of skyscrapers, bridges
Organs of cars, washers, fridges
Clever Bessemer carbon gone
Heralded steel for everyone
Mankind’s most ingenious feat
Turning raw earth to steel – so neat!
Iron’s compounds are versatile
No wonder it’s used all the while
Inks, fertilisers, pesticides
Paints, enamels and more besides
Many iron phrases pervade
Each as an English language aid
There’s ironclad, iron curtain
Iron grip and more for certain
We need it in a small amount
For on haemoglobin we count
Open your eyes and look around
Everywhere an iron surround
Iron has magnetic appeal
First place must be iron with steel
barter for the bellmaker
fire the forge, fill the flue
cast cast-iron chimes
chime for time's renew
fire the forge, fend the flash
fan the flames, feed the fire
cast cast-iron cauldrons
cast a spell, catch desire
bitter for the bellmaker
fires the forge, fans the same
casts cast-iron tears
cannot catch desire's flame
“Wake up, breakfast is cooking.”
Bacon in cast iron skillet,
sounds and smells, wafted through the tent.
“Coming”, the crackling bacon got me!
after Privilege of Being by Robert Haas
A tipping point of too many
are talking harshly. Down below,
demon-dead in the unstirred inferno
and perdition of animal thirsting
are coiling one another's tails in response.
They are honeyed vermillion and covered
in trim the texture of hot picamar.
They espy up all the time
at the graceless rapture—
it must sound to them like cold butter
dancing across a cast iron skillet.
Then one voice—she is about to shout—
takes the man's rigid hand and says,
listen to me, and he does.
Or is it the man caressing loose
the gravelly noose of anger?
Anyway, they do,
they listen to each other:
two minds with matured mediums,
hungry to be heard, to be fed by the frisson
of recognition, their skin sizzling with it—
brutal words turned into kindness
by well-intended touches,
and the gossiping, nosy dead are derelict
and growing deaf. They hate it.
They scream a chivvy about injustice
that breaks no skin, but frays the veil
between
what's bone and broth—
a warning, a dirge, a hiss of envy
worse than silence.
A withered hand,his body frail
Where once formidable strength
had been,
He still had a cast iron will,
but there was so much
that stroke had stolen
By: J.N.R Dutton
ONE OLD HAT AND FRYING PAN
Our life is like a book of endless short stories..
filled with a myriad of highs and lows.
Stories we will write today stretching as far back as our memory goes.
One of the wonders and beauty we possess…as every day we age
is how easily a memory can be triggered…opening our book to a certain page.
Sometimes it a thing, a word, a photo…a melody…
and before we know it our book is opened to that page in our memory.
Today before my morning walk…two memories awoke…
both of them unplanned.
Stirred by Deborah’s dad’s old fishing hat
and her mom’s cast iron frying pan.
I stopped and smiled at the memories evoked
and since there were more memories I wanted to see…
I asked these two memories if they’d like to take a walk with me.
So as the three of us walked this morning
with the stars shining and the wind whistling through the trees…
I perused through a few short stories in the book of my memories.
What a beautiful walk we had this morning…
and to think it all began…
with memories awakened by an old fishing hat
and a cast iron frying pan.
speckled snow and bootprints,
French coffee sips, tire-treads,
leftover leaves like birdy wings.
upside-down pizza, for such
an occasion, slips from cast iron.
the blending of sausage balls,
pepperoni, baby bellas, onion,
jalapeno, parmesan, mozzarella,
provolone, seasoned sauce
and browned crust, unlike the classic -
a finger kiss satisfaction. drip drip
drip of icicles forming, branches
covered in powdered confection.
a snowball, formed by my honey,
in freezer, for a keepsake. realizing
the importance of commas.
in other words the snowball’s in
the freezer, not my honey.
he chats it up about work.
charcoal grey horizon~
on the rusty cast iron bench
my old self sits in pensive mood
beside the lake beneath December sky
the wayward wind as it teases my hair
whispers melodies from long ago~
that breath echo in the air
the echo reverberates ~
weaving fragments into vivid voices
and symphonies of yesteryears
my grandma's lullaby
our high-school graduation song
then tender laughters
of children at play fill the air
then comes the echo
of my father's sobbing voice
as he handed me to my groom
on that Saturday afternoon
whilst the organist played
the Wedding March by Mendelssohn
as the echo fades
and turns tenebrous twilight
into enchanting ebony evening
I look around ~
the coffee shop behind me
inviting for another cup
whilst the coffee on my lap
gets colder and colder
yet not as cold as the winter chill
perching inside of me
We didn’t have much stuff
We weren’t poor
Or so we were told
Ya got one pair of shoes
Maybe sneakers in the summer
A few “hand-me-downs”
A “cold water flat” in the city
An old black cast iron stove
For warming feet in the winter
Had a baseball glove
Which I protected
Treated with oils
A favorite shirt
Which my sister hated
Probably why I liked it so much
We were fed, clothed, warm(?)
In my early twenties
All, and I mean ALL
Of my “stuff”
Fit into my VW bug
Including the black and white TV.
Today, I have a truck
All my stuff will fit into it
(if I leave my wife at home)
The cuffs and collars
Of my flannel shirts are frayed
My jeans faded in mysteries
I have a lot of NEW stuff
Y’know, like memories
Of kids and grandkids
Stealing my flannel shirts
Lumbering around in my work boots
So, I guess I have a lot of stuff now
It will still fit into a VW bug
For I carry it in my heart
And dream of it at night.
The ancient organ groaned
ended the passion
- bitter vinegar tones
pierced the walls
Heart had lost its fire
The prophets rubbed their heads
wisdom at any time and place
Overly high hopes
Resignation found in a
cast iron saucepan
The criteria for organ donors
are clear
~
Bell tower mourns
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