Sour Grapes in Doggerel

A ream of cotton bond, unbound,
blown about the landfill's rotting ground,
and there, at least, by seagulls read,
at night, some sheets, a rodent's bed
for dreams in stream of consciousness.

The author (dead), O had he known
his characters through smoke have flown
beyond chain link and into hands
of his most erstwhile fellow man
who saw profound abstraction.

In morning sun, though sheets were lost,
some badly stained, some wet from frost,
our vagrant bent and gathered those
to denouement, as kismet chose,
bemused without contrition.

He knew the shelves were fully stocked
with movie stars the bookstores hawked,
and talking heads, politicos,
both left and right, the lengthy nose,
blowing social mediation.

As he hoped, indeed suspected,
the manuscript, oft rejected,
required just a tweak or two,
a liberal bent, and off it flew,
from shame to sanctimony.

He cleanly typed it on a stick,
and from the shelter, emailed it
to Pearson, Reuters, Random House,
where each one nibbled like a mouse,
but choked on publication.

Rejection stuck not in his craw;
he sent the work on to McGraw,
and there, at last, the angels sang,
as silver in his pockets rang,
fame and fortune pealing.

The Pulitzer, he bowed and took
but with few words, as his voice shook,
though talk shows, well, he shunned them all--
They clearly lacked the wherewithal
to distinguish art from garbage.


(01/28/2014)

Out of Context 22

According to author and Ranger historian, Robert Black, Bren gun fire came so close, it shattered wooden paddles in the hands of Rangers as they made amphibious landings from Loch Lochy.  Sometimes fire came too close, as when Ranger Donald Torbett failed to keep his tail down in the boat and got shot through the buttocks (his nickname thereafter was “Butt”).  In addition to amphibious landings, the training included climbing, rappelling, speed marching, hand-to-hand combat, night fighting, use of German weapons, toggle bridge and rope sliding across the River Arkaig, the latter exercise called, “The Death Slide”, and indeed one Ranger drowned in the attempt. The Rangers were housed in ten man tents, lived in the mud, dined on mutton and cold fish, and if they wanted a bath, they were invited to bathe in the icy river.  The American upstarts not only survived, they excelled, exceeded expectations, and were awarded the Commando “Green Beret” on graduation, which is where that history began.



From "Spean Bridge"--Citrus County Chronicle,12/29/2013  

Email to a Snowbird

                                                                                                              

Thomas,

I imagine I should inform you of a certain matter sooner rather than later; although, it now comes somewhat late.  But not long after you and Elizabeth departed for parts north, a rather substantial sink hole developed in your backyard—well, mostly in your backyard, with a bit on my side and some, I believe, in the Green Zone.  George Smith of the Lakes Grounds Committee came by soon after it happened to take a look.  George believes the sink hole developed due to, perhaps, overly aggressive lopping of kudzu and skunk vine.  The leaves, he believes, serve to disperse the rain, and with the leaves gone, the rain, especially the extremely hard rains we had in late May and June, drilled right down into the earth and fostered the sinkhole.  With all the rain, the hole quickly filled with water, and the water level has remained constant and overtime gained clarity on par with Weeki Wachee. George and I approached the Lakes HOA, and while they plan to do nothing about the hole, they did stock it with rainbow trout.  Unfortunately, trout, like yours truly, require cool water, and they quickly died, but our HOA, always striving to please, restocked the sinkhole, or, I suppose, the pond, with largemouth bass, and those fish are thriving! I’ve caught many, and it’s quite a joy to take fresh fish directly to my charcoal grill.  As to the sinkhole’s dimensions, it’s longer than your pool by a half and wider by two.  No doubt, you’ll want to use it for swimming, but I’m compelled to warn you that in addition to the fish, a small alligator (some four feet in length), and two Burmese pythons of much greater length have taken up residence at what I suggest we call, as it’s mostly on your property, “Meier’s Pond.”  Those creatures were not stocked courtesy of the HOA, but arrived sua sponte, in the manner of U.S. Army Rangers.  One python punched a hole in your pool screen, and sometimes swims in the pool and lounges on the lanai (information best kept from Elizabeth; your pool man said before her return, he would repair the screen and wrap the lower portion with chicken wire). You’re probably concerned about me fishing in the pond with such creatures about, but no worries, as I’ve bought a small fishing boat—just a dingy with paddles—that I leave in the water on my side of the pond, naturally, where I’ve built a dock, and feel free to use either whenever you like.  Even so, I am most vigilant walking to and from the dingy, especially from it with a stringer of fish as that gator has a nose for fish and once chased me twice around my house before I managed to build up a substantial lead and escape into the garage. You’re probably thinking, “Why didn’t you just throw him a fish?”  To which I say, “To Hell with him!  Let him catch his own damn fish!”  (We certainly don’t want to attract a pack of eleemosynary gators.)  Oh, and I was wondering, how do you feel about catfish?  I’ve forgotten whether or not you like them, but regardless, would you mind if I contact Fish & Wildlife and request they stock the pond with flathead cats?  (I love catfish!)  I spoke with Joey about the python, and he said not to kill one until he gets back, as it’s a good eating snake, excellent for BBQ, tastes somewhat like a cross between chicken and farm raised salmon that I know you like, so I figure once you and Joey get back, we’ll have a Burmese Python BBQ.  Anyway, Thomas, that’s the long and short of it. While having a sinkhole in your back yard is not optimal in regard to resale value, it grows on you, or it did on me, in any event.  Oh, I forgot to mention, LJ said it would really look nice with flowering bushes planted along the shore; while I agree, that’s your call, of course. On the other hand, if the bushes get too tall, you won’t be able to see the egrets and blue heron.  Life is full of choices, I suppose. Hope all is well up North.

Best,

Steve

P.S.

I write this from jail as I was caught fishing in “our” pond without a Florida Fishing License. What a travesty of justice!  But, regardless, I will be out in a few days and free to inspect your and Joey’s property, although both were fine the last time I looked, except for the sinkhole.            

Stepping in Shite

Nothing quite provides
possibilities for synesthesia
like stepping in shit.
Even the president, king for a day,
knows that feeling, sees the image,
the squish, slide and smell,
muttering, "Damn that dog,"
as he, trailing poo,
walks back from the Rose Garden
and hands his shoes to a Marine to clean.
Oh, it's no worse than holding
umbrellas for heads of state,
or having retirements reduced;
the poor Corps (no, not yet a corpse, sir,
but heading in that direction, thank you),
with their staggering, blood soaked brethren,
Army, Navy, Air Force, victors all,
bucking up, awaiting the next call,
while the president departs, strutting in socks,
"Hail to the Chief" bleating.


(01/01/2014)