Rain Shower

It’s raining this afternoon. I can hear the rain outside on my window. I hear sirens blaring outside. I know that someone’s in trouble or at least I suspect so.

I made it home just before the start of the rain storm.  The lights flickered twice and then went out.  I’m lying in bed now just listening to the rain on the window, feeling as though my heart is sinking low.  

I can rummage about in the rain puddles and hope for something of consequence.  You can predict rain coming.  I knew it was about to rain, but it’s always new when it arrives.  

I watched the wind shake the branches and tentacles of my trees almost to the point of breaking. Sometimes a branch is torn away. Also leaves fill the sky with the wind. They don’t seem so powerful, when the wind is high tearing bits off them. Those trees do not anyway. They don’t seem powerful at all. Rather they seem like they’re hanging on for dear life.

Yet when the storm ends and it is true of this one as any other, more branches and trees and limbs will stand upright.  They may remind you of a cat licking its wounds after an alley fight.  As bad as any storm is, Earth remains.  And that is the difference.

The rain is dissipating now. When it is gone tomorrow I will go outside to make sure that everything there … is still there.

Starlight Catalogue

What to say

That makes me think of you?

You’re the warm air

Touched by the morning Sun.

You’re the drop of a tear

After the midnight storm in June.

You’re a ray of fleeting wisdom

That turns my head to run.

You’re the light

That goes away too soon.

I’m a Lucky Man

Backing up, I was really frustrated yesterday. A couple of boondoggles be-flummoxed me and my family. To begin with, the eldest who lives an hour away and is just now getting on her feet is bothered with car problems. I was at her house on Saturday to get her back on the road. Three hours (and $350.00) later I thought the 99,000 miles on her Toyota were just getting their season on. Suffice to say I was not amused when the problems resurfaced Sunday night.

Second, and more debilitating and as previously discussed, my autistic son was released by his employer. I think this has to do with a large organization not knowing its left hand from its right. My puzzlement from the weekend has matured into hardened steel. We’re going to sue. Will we win? Mayhaps. Will it be years … plural … before we know? Yes.

Third, and I’ll announce this before I circle back, Mrs. Wallace lost her billfold. Furious was she, and running a sleep deficit, she was not easily dissuaded from woe … what with one child having recently been sacked the other in automotive limbo.

Circling back… is anything really worth getting upset about? I mean really … what is the big deal?!

He will get his old job back. He doesn’t spend his money anyway. And we’ll turn the screws slowly so that for the next two years … two years plus. Someone is going to worry … a lot! Won’t be me. I’m done worrying. Someone is going to give painful depositions. Mine will last about 30 minutes. 😂

We’ll get the car repaired. Usually, there are reasonable repair expenses even for Japanese cars! The girl likes her job, and she can take public transportation. You know who took the El into work and law school … for five years?!?! 🤣 This guy! 👍👍 That’s who!! 😂

Finally, the wallet which is probably lost will be forgotten. I’ve lost mine. Twice! This is a first-world problem. Lots of people lose their wallets.

Many, many, many bigger problems than mine! I’m a lucky man. I really am!😇

Onto Night’s Wire

I’ve tried to write

Something worth saying 

Something doesn’t sound like

Donkeys gone braying

But something which sounds like

A wish list that’s praying—

***

I dare nights divide

Is to me my slaying

For, if I am at once

Merely game playing

Then onto night’s wire

Go I for the staying

***

Then onto night’s wire

I go for the staying.

The Sun Scorches — SSW

The Sun scorches the yielding grass

And I am left beside myself —

The youth in me swims with the lass

Here I float … astride of my health.

—

The grip lasts for over a year

And I am on my own flavor —

The risk stretches onward … so dear

The sweet of the brisket I savor.

—

But I am a person who’s small 

Have no other gods before me —

The risk so much greater for tall

Wrongs I am the lesser for thee.

—

The Sun scorches the yielding grass

I am cautious and … at ease —

But evenings Sun sets very fast

For me and my assured of wealth.

Raymond

For the last several weeks now I have set my alarm at 6:00. I envision myself at work by 7:00. Unfortunately, I am a growing boy, at 53 if you wonder, and I get up closer to 7:00. I still make it in by 8:00, which is when everyone else comes in. No big whup. There’s plenty of time to read the paper whether I start at 7:00 or 8:00.

But for several weeks I have not been the first one up in our home. That mark has steadily been achieved by my autistic son, Raymond. At 6:00 he’s up, every day. By 6:40 he is showered, dressed, fed and out the door. I see him about two times a week to wish him good luck. Only when I too rise on the first bell … which he has done now for eight weeks. More times than not, I hear the door shut and he is gone.

That won’t be happening Monday, because my son was fired. He’s autistic. I realize I’ve said that already. Though he was improving on his order stocking, making fewer mistakes this week than last, it wasn’t good enough. He was fired.

He left his earlier job of grocery clerking two months ago, for his chance to grasp the ring. That will wait another date. His job coach was exasperated and embarrassed. No early warning to him either. I left work early to come be with Raymond. He doesn’t show a lot emotion. He just gets up, listens as best he can, and tries his hardest. No telling if he can return to his old job. There’s no telling about it at all.

Man Orders a Drink in the Bar

There is a man seated by himself. He’s drinking out of a glass. The drink is almost out and the barkeep wonders whether he’ll have another one.

The man is beside himself staring at his phone. He laughs a little. He types something. He stairs at the screen. Then he laughs again. This time he laughs out loud.

The barkeep wonders if he should say something. Once upon a time you spoke in bars. Now, no more. At least not as much.

The man laughs again. He’s starting to annoy. Really bug. So much so that he senses it himself. “Sorry” he says first to himself, then he repeats the expression looking up to the man at the bar who is drying a beer glass from the wash. “Sorry,” says the man.

“You need anything, stranger?” says the barkeep.

“No. No. I’m fine.”

The barkeep stairs across the bar at his patron and says nothing.

The man catches a glimpse of his rudeness in the expression of the man polishing the glass. “Actually, yes. Yes. I will have another.”

*****

I’m going to publish this. I wrote it. What’s the point of not punishing? 🤷🏼‍♂️ Actually, there’s plenty of good reasons to do lots of things. Like not publish something!🤣😂🤣 Still, it’s part of the creative process. It’s part of continuing to get better. Oh for goodness sake who cares what the reason for publishing something is?! 😂

Panic

I panic, I really do—

Panic, panic, panic—

Go back the dame way—

I am back … in the same way—

***

Change, change, change—

Because it’s summer time—

She’s a little bit sad to me—

But it’s summer time—

The lillies are golden in the field—

It’s summer time—

Breathe, breathe, breathe—

***

Resting now—

How frustrating it is to be—

A little bit slower now—

But just as wise—

Impartial too—

If a bit in disguise—

A bit obtuse—

Glad to be of use—

I look the other way—

Until … panic … comes again.

***

I hope this is a funny one! 🤣 I’m on a bit of a writing jag now. I think I’ll close with a joke!! 😂🤣😂

Sacred Glass Cows … And Other Stuff

My sacred cows are made of glass

Fed upon the hills of grass

They glisten on the pastured lawn

Shining like a terra-don!

***

I am she, your mother man

I wonder if you know what I am

I am the one who holds your coat

And wraps your cloak around your shoulders.

***

I am she, your mother man

I brew fresh pots of coffee

And wrap your cloak around your shoulders

When December winds blow cold and East.

***

I brew fresh pots of coffee

Desserts comes first — always with me

When December winds blows cold and East

My Christmas wine is warm.

***

Dessert comes first always with me

Your glow is perfect like a flower

My Christmas wine is warm —

Newly decanted and forever austere.

*****

I found this scribbling in my office today. I decided to preserve it … into perpetuity! 😂 I couldn’t decide if the first stanza was connected to the second part. Maybe yes. Maybe no. There’s some kind of form where you repeat yourself. (It’s not just me and my feeble brain at work here! 🤣😂🤣) I think I started the poem in dedication to the form. Then I got tired … the phone rang… whatever. 😂 Anyway, for what it’s worth, here it is. Hope you enjoy!!! — SSW

The Right Side of Night

Starling angel, angel star

Where I may is where you are

To the left and to the far

If what I want the door’s ajar —

To the left requited place

On the right my stricken face!

***

Mars

***

On the edge the center grows

Off the edge where no one knows

On the ledge where the angel goes

To simplify the highs and lows —

Still the door stands ajar

It’s how it goes from Earth to Mars

*****

Just a fun bit of drivel on a Wednesday evening…. Go Martians!!! 👽🛸👽🛸🤣

— SSW