I WISH MY LIVE OAKS WERE DEAD
They are beautiful trees.
Our home is enhanced
By several Live Oak trees.
To even think of wanting a tree to die in Austin
Where the very word "Green" is revered
Is tantamount to saying "Shit" in church
(Which I could get by with in my church)
Or in a poem sent to my daughters.
But what's with this Spring ritual?
Shedding leaves like there is no tomorrow.
It's like they watched other trees
Devoid themselves of leaves in the Fall
While thinking "You ain't seen nothing yet."
How do they do it?
They are not naked after their Spring undressing.
They do not seem overburdened
With leaves in Winter.
They must have little leave suitcases from which they draw.
Fall shedding trees
Are empty of leaves after their act.
Spindly bare branches testifying to the fact.
Live Oaks keep right on truckin'
As leaf producing monsters.
Clean out your gutters.
Rake up your yard
In early March.
And again in mid-March.
And again in late March
And again in early April
Where will this insanity end?
Then, in mid April
You see the light of day.
The daily leaf deposits seem to subside.
In time for the onslaught
Of brown wormy things
Sometimes accompanied by caterpillars.
So what now?
Should I climb up on the roof again
With my trusty leaf blower?
(I'm not exactly a spring chicken.)
Or can I just leave the mess up there
And pretend we have a thatched roof?
That's the thing in England.
Just call me Limey.
© 2010 Dan Vickers
Know Thyself: I am From
I am from Verna Inez and Verneal Melvin, Ida Lorena and Granville Watson, Guy Melvin and Lillie Ann.From Arkansas woods, Panhandle cold, and Dawson County heat.
From blowing snow, blowing dust, gin smoke and raining mud.
I am from cornbread and buttermilk eaters, creamed corn and black eyed peas eaters, and everything fried eaters.
I am from conservative-in-all things, dry wit, do-it-yourself, and church going.
From stick with it, do your best, and have a good time.
From "God will provide", "You can do anything you set your mind to", and "Be home in time for supper".
I am from no-drinking Methodist, no-dancing Baptist, and no PDA.
From two week revivals and two week Vacation Bible School.
I am from Roy Rogers, Howdy Doody, Sputnik, and S & H Green Stamps.
From stray cats that stayed, his and her shirts, and after school jobs.
From glorious sunsets, cool summer nights, and crop-eating hail.
I am from 10 below to 110 in the shade, and Republican.
From cotton fields, cotton gins, and cotton denim jeans with brass grommets.
From Elvis, Rogers and Hammerstein, and The Broadman Hymnal.
My own deep-rooted tree sprung from granite and sandy loam, nurtured by familial springs of love.
© 2010 Don Roberts
The Conductor
After the seven-years-old's bedtime.
Her after-hours silliness kicks in
With a vengeance.
She has convinced herself
That I have no commuter ticket
And the conductor is moving close.
Her efforts to warn of his approach
Fell on my deaf ears.
Wide eyed she gestures
As active as the clickety-click of the tracks
Pointing at the approaching official.
Trying with all her might
To warn of the on-coming danger.
The previous evening
She had been trying to get me
To turn around and look behind
At some imagined spectacle.
Sometimes I would not.
So I used her game of the day before
As an excuse for not looking now.
She shifted into high gear
Insisting that "He is right there"
With facial contortions previously unseen.
She gave it her all.
The dreaded confrontation occurred.
I calmly handed over our ticket.
She settled back into her seat
The inevitable disaster averted.
The conductor had not missed the show.
As he passed she stated "I'm free".
He calmly proceeded with his duties,
Punching tickets, saying "I doubt it".
© 2010 Dan Vickers
An assignment from our Creative Journaling Workshop (March 2009)...
The Portrait
Butch and Spike sat languidly at the table waiting on the others. Spike shuffled and reshuffled the cards to relieve the boredom. Butch stacked his chips clacking them over and over. Hank slunk into the room carrying the drinks. "Whiskey," grumbled Butch. "I was hoping for a brew." "Ah, finally, he comes" said Spike.
Chester sauntered up to the table wearing a tawny fur. He pulled out his pack of Camels and tamped the package. Pulling out a cigarette, he offered them to the others. Heads shook no as Hank lit up a cigar.
As they seated themselves around the table, the painter began setting up his easel. Placing a strange, black canvas on the easel, he mixed his paints on the palette and began his work on a masterpiece: "Dogs Playing Poker" on black velvet.
© 2009 David E. McKee, Jr.
Happy Holidays!
Sayings to prevent short term perfectionism
IF YOU CANNOT DO SOMETHING PERFECTLY, DO IT ANY WAY YOU CAN,
(and do it again, and do it again, and do it again.)
The weakest part of a growing thing is the part that is growing.
I dance any way that I can, and I dance, anyway!
© 2008 Betty Foster
Diamanti
Religion:
ancient, steadfast —
unyielding unmoving, unchanging
tradition. Nation, World, Union:
living, moving, loving,
steadfast, radiant
Faith.
God:
powerful, eternal —
creating, ruling, destroying.
Enmity, Crisis, Revelation, Love.
Beginning loving protecting.
Faithful, truthful
God.
© 2007 Gregg Geist
Space
Thoughts like explosions,
Then and Now,
Beyond Then and Now ...
Thoughts that have
A life of their own ...
The Space between
Creates
Distances and Attractions,
Necessities and Art,
Perhaps Love ...
Seeing is believing,
But believing — Ah
Believing
Through telescopes,
And microscopes,
Thousands of scopes and probes ... even millions,
Backwards and forwards,
Forwards and backwards.
So much Space
Defies Perspective
To See.
Believing
Words and the faces,
Stories and pictures,
Movies and songs,
DNA.
Young and old
Old and young
So much Space
Defies Meaning
To See.
Yet, In the Space
There is the Belief
To See
What to Believe In.
I Cannot Believe
The Space is Empty ...
It is in The Space
Where My Beliefs Are Born.
© 2007 G. Michael Lawrence