"It's RUBY TUESDAY night" declared Charlie.
Why do yer call it that when it's ruby murray for curry?" retorts Steve.
"It's coz we 'ave it on Tuesdays that's why mate" replies Charlie.
Steve shakes his head "But Charlie, we do 'ave it on Saturday nights too."
Charlie laughs."Last one your ANGIE cooked, my guts felt like WILD HORSES were stampeding inside and lets say it wasn't quiet the TUMBLIN' DICE coming out the other end either."
"Too much info there Charlie boy and if she hears yer say that you'll get more than a clip round the ear, bunch of fives more like. You still helping me decorate Jades bedroom this weekend? She wants us to PAINT IT BLACK" asks Steve.
"Black? ain't that gonna be dark and make it feel smaller?" Charlie asks.
Steve sighs "Yeah, probably, it's her space so she can have it. Not my choice but YOU CAN'T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT even in yer own house when yer surrounded by HONKY TONK WOMEN. Anyway, gotta get this splinter out that's UNDER MY THUMB from sanding down the skirting. Sort that, grab a beer and play THE ROLLING STONES cd the Mrs got for me birthday. See ya later mate".
Dominate space
At the end of the, argument
Outside the fight
Runt the challenge
Litter the ballads
Confronting the battles
Never landing
Never sanding
Off the grit
Shoulders visit me
One down
And grumpy again
Infinite muse
Turning straight
Becoming hate
Facing suicide
Or nothing comes back
Not allowing a come back
A word and its sworn
To be
The deceit, conceived
I am without
As wist
I became wist
A woman in a shop
She sat in a shop that sells jumpers and scarves
doing some embroidery for a wealthy client who
wanted his name in big red letters to make it clear
his exalted sanding, but also as a person who
bought wares made by hand
When the man who runs a famous site had
gone in a fanfare surrounded by sycophants
she tied on a silk dress of untold value and
we embraced at the foot of hell
the dress was not for the intended bride
The girl, artis with needles and threads, had
green eyes as a bottomless sea impossible to
read in bedroom light or in a shelter waiting
for the bus to take us heavenward in the sin
of greedy sex and thorn lips
Oh, this heavenly day, a haze of dreams
most of them unfulfilled, lacking in the truth
as something partly remembered, a line
a famous poet wrote, but whatever it was
she stung me with her needles
Unstain
As I reach for fresh paper
In the hopes to start over
I dog-eared that chapter
Yellowed in time
Seeped in tea
Sepia to the tee
You stained me
Like old photographs
From distant memory
You can’t stain without sanding
I can’t stay withstanding
Waiting in line
If I don’t stand down
You sand me down
I’m stripped, then sealed
Am I oak or ash
Did you even ask?
If I want to be finished
How many coats will you cover me?
Before you could no longer see
What I used to be
Strip the grain
You cannot stain over stain
My skin light
Rubbed raw
But you’re overstaying
Your welcome
You’re welcome!
I've asked you to stop
And yet you strip me
Of my colors
With even strokes
You wipe away what’s left
You didn’t leave a trace
Of the woman that I used to be
How many times will you coat me?
How many quotes till you let me be.
Through a break in the trees -
Flows a tawny river -
Sanding the rock endlessly
As a peerless carver.
The jungle is not seen
In the murky water's face;
The sky does not skim upon
Its delicate countenance.
It refuses the trees' approach;
The rushing seeks to replace
Tribulations for peace -
Skipping them away.
Its waters fill my mind;
I remember Zongo Falls
As an obscure haven
For which my heart longs.
when it comes to renovating
I'm definitely slapdash
in fact it would be fair to say
that I can be rather rash
sanding bores me senseless
and it's a job I try to shirk
because I lack the patience
for the preparation work
I’ve slapped the paint on badly
it’s dripping down the door
oozing over skirting boards
to decorate the floor
spots are on the window
and spilled upon on the stair
unfortunately I've got most of it
stuck on my face and hair
they say patience is a virtue
a saying I should not ignore
because now that it’s all finished.....
I wish I'd sanded more
The crescent is bright today
It sparkles in the sky
Just above my head
High in the sky
Reminding of romance
That plays in my mind
Whenever you are in sight
Of the romance
That comes in all my dreams
Yes dreams
That makes me wish
The night could be long
So I keep dreaming of you
That night under stars
imagining of a day at the beach
blowing those anniversary candles
tasting ur taste
sanding ur name
And when the day comes
I tell myself
i will dream nxt to u
... wake up
only to find i was fantasizing
The day will come
When I'll express my love
In words and not poems
no where to be seen
let me just practice
what I will tell then
Upside down teardrops falling gently onto a magical mirror
as crystal chandeliers of soft light filters through reflecting
a treasure of pearls that speak to a thousand bounties paid,
whilst a sanding of polished memories stone cut a diamond,
at once, that’s truly regal once upon a time in a deep dream
that shows inside a mystical castle embodied around a circle
that splits into a quarter wherein four cells hangs a real picture
of truest beauty and love that bathes inside the ocean’s breath
and sighs, whilst murmuring your name and speaking of the tides
lost at sea, whereby all of us, at the end now, shall become sacred
sailors who must freely seek out and fulfill our own human destiny.
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
August 20, 2021 (Free Verse)
Upside Down Teardrops Falling Gently
Upside down teardrops falling gently onto a magical mirror
as crystal chandeliers of soft light filters through reflecting
a treasure of pearls that speak to a thousand bounties paid,
whilst a sanding of polished memories stone cut a diamond,
at once, that’s truly regal once upon a time in a deep dream
that shows inside a mystical castle embodied around a circle
that splits into a quarter wherein four cells hangs a real picture
of truest beauty and love that bathes inside the ocean’s breath
and sighs, whilst murmuring your name and speaking of the tides
lost at sea, whereby all of us, at the end now, shall become sacred
sailors who must freely seek out and fulfill our own human destiny.
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
August 20, 2021 (Free Verse)
once upon a mid-flight weary
my mind wandered in a hurry
as to he who sat beside the door
suddenly there was a yapping
as of someone's internal scrapping
t'is just a nut i thought and nothing more
quite distinctly then i remembered
my headphones were not in the bag upon the floor
as he who sat beside me began to snore
the sounds did chill me of his napping
a darkness dreaming of thunder clapping
as his voice kept repeating 'please....no more'
finally appeared the steward for just a minute
and watched he who slept beside loudly snore
mumbling and snoring noises and nothing more
then a microphoned voice announced we were landing
and the passenger beside me snapped out of his sanding
as the voice on the speaker announced 'leave by this door'
stan sand
there is a sheeesey sound as water slides
up and around then all through me
as the wave is swallowed by the sand
making clucking sounds as bubbles pop
in a final burp of sandy breath
along the shore all shorn and smoothly worn
from countless liquid sanding strokes
shells and stones are tossed to grind
in a kaleidoscope of nature’s weave of textures
muted hues of earth in harmony with the sea
I wait for the breech of the next wave song
to come and playfully tickle my shins
as the foam dances together with air
that teaches me softness in its evaporated bliss
with closed eyes this memory finds me
9-17-2020
'COMPLETELY YOUR CHOICE(12) any theme any form' Poetry Contest
I stopped in front of a decaying house
That takes up some space on a busy road
I stepped up on the porch - it's not my house
It was not my house - never my abode
Those are ferns in the garden doing well
I would have planted those if it were mine
So that I could see them through the window
And smile that the plantings are doing fine
I see the rosette hung above the door
It needs a little sanding and some stain
One of those chores that I would have put off -
I would have promised again and again
A wobbly staircase leads uncertainly
Toward what seems to be a roof with a hole
In the center- a patchable problem -
And then I heard the whispers, bless my soul
Children I never had whispered nearby
In a decaying house I never owned
With a garden that I never planted
And a staircase of wood that moaned and groaned
I leaned on my cane headed for the door
It had been the right choice to stop and see
The decaying old house close by the road
Just two of a kind, the old house and me
7-15-20
Contest: The Decaying House
Sponsor: Constance La France
My neighbour once had a puppy,
A not so cute but sweet buddy;
But she had no name when I came;
So I gave her a name Sanding;
Derived from my couple neighbour's name,
The sweet and kind Susan and Ding.
But new assignment called hubby;
Had to say bye to my buddy,
To another place, we should stay.
I wished I could bring her with me.
To ease the longing while faraway,
But her owner couldn’t let be.
After a couple of years, we returned;
Just to visit the place and this I learned,
A once little puppy, now a mommy,
Of three little brown puppies in a cage;
Lest she"ll chase folks that she's in rage;
Caged for a long time, she became scary;
That no one could came near
except her caretaker.
As I slowly walked down the cage
In a rugged voice, I called her name, “Sanding? ”
she stood up and looked at me intensely,
I looked at her and her puppies;
I repeated in a loud voice, " Sandingggggg!!! "
Her eyes brightened, waved her tail
and murmured like a lost child
that finally seen her mom.
Footnotes:
This was my own true story happened in 2006.
A smithy peers into a white hot
Ingot formed square
Seeing the idea of a meaning
Form there
How many turns at the anvil
How many soakings
In the heat
Long sweating hours hammering
Out her beat
The shape of the curve
Coaxed, twisted
Unnerve
Rough forged
Dimpled and scaled
The infant soul struggles
To be released
Feverishly filing
Sanding
Blasting
Pausing...
Was that too much
Sleep on it
Dream of it
Put her on the table
Wait for her to speak
To cry out for your care
Grow into your dream
Polish until her sparkling
Truth is revealed
The word smith
Gazes in awe
She has been the midwife
Servant and guide through the
Strife
Chaos
Of meanings life
Trump and His Horse
Wonder when Trump will play the part;
Where he does began or ever can start;
Big pain being;
Not worth seeing;
He and his horse could not find the cart.
Wow. On a roll. Have to go back
and finish sanding house so I can
paint it. Jim Horn
PS. Here is another Horn Haiku.
How you communicate,
With someone is how they will,
Always respond back.
Trump acts and communicates like a
child. People will act the same way in
return.
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