Sunday, April 28, 2013

Storm At Sunset (Blogophilia 10.)

 


Fuzzy memories of a beach at sunset.
Your silhouette against the storm, sunlight bursting
Through the top of the dark cloud
Fractals of scarlet and indigo 
Surround you.

The call came as a mystery to me
So long apart and now so near
 Glorious it is my wandering
 Time has come

To reunite and renew
To finish old business
And begin some new
Come to me now

Let me be the sunlight at the top
While you rain down upon me.
While we wash ourselves away.
 

Saturday, April 27, 2013

Mr. Rogers (GBE 2 101)







Yes, you know him.

Overall one of the most recognizable faces on television ever.  But also the operator of one of the most subtle and effective Christian ministries ever.  It all was predicated on this passage:

The second is this: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no commandment greater than these."
Mark 12:31

And Fred said.

"Won't you be my neighbor?"

Yes.  Yes, I will.

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Images

She flashes across my screen
An Instagram taken on a dare
Or in a fit of pride
Uploaded to the ether
To be shared
Like a baseball card
No uniform
No wrapping of any kind
Just what she has
And what she has added
Minus what life and gravity
Took away
Alluring?
Yes and no.
Like a plane crash
I can't turn away
From the Instagram
Of her dream.

Monday, April 22, 2013

Embraced (Blogophilia 9.6)

Ideas
Flying
Into the ether

Only thing
Left is
A hard shell

Time stands
still as
I wonder

Can it
Bring me
to life now

Slippers
Of Glass
Siding off

Her feet
As we
Lie embraced


 

Sunday, April 21, 2013

Grandfather Mountain





Moon drifts over Cranberry Gap

Disappearing into the valley mist

Blanketing whispers of cicadas and frogs

Gossip of Ceilidh sound impossible to miss

At the top of the mountain.



Pipers marching across the field

As the athletes open the games

To toss caber and hammer

To test the shepherd dogs

Celebrating the gathering

Clans one more time.



Thistle and Laurel grow thick and rich

And a bit of the fragrance clings to the hand

That gives the flowers to the victors.

Reels and jigs to the harps

And whistles of the band.



And as soon as it has started

It runs away back into the valley mist

On the far side of Cranberry Gap.

Living in the dreams of the Scots at heart

Until we meet again.   

(c) Christopher Mitchell 2009, 2011, 2013

Saturday, April 20, 2013

Buttons (Thrusday Bloghop)










The question this week is, which button would you push on your life?

Rewind?  Go back and relive something?  Or maybe fix it?  Why?  Those are the experiences that made you who you are. Would I go back and marry the other girl?  No. I wouldn't have gotten my two sons. 

Pause?  Every now and then this would be nice.  But that button is broken, too.  It just doesn't work to stay still.

Fast Forward.  Now, I have to admit THIS has uses.  Especially when dealing with unpleasant situations.  But you have to go through those anyway.  So you might as well keep goin.

What about that Eject button?  Since that stops the whole process, nobody would know how the story supposed to end.

So, the Play stays pushed.  And I keep going along. 

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Ted. (Blogophilia 8.6)

 



It's Tuesday morning at 5:45 AM and I am blue.

I am not blue because of the Boston Marathon situation, but that certainly would do it.

No, I am waiting for funeral arrangements for a friend of mine.

Ted Blaschke was an engineer and a Renaissance man. His specialty was rapid transit cars and their propulsion systems.  He began at the MTA in Boston and the job took him around the world. Very few places did he not have a friend to look up.  He was a highland dancer  who never understood the value of 10,000 pokes. But he could play a mean game of Minesweeper.  But he was a connoisseur of Low British Comedy and good beer.  

But after 81 years of running, he has run out of time.

Oh, we will have a bearded, kilted piper for his Celidh.  






Monday, April 15, 2013

Harry's Greatest Hit (Bloghop Thursday)

Hey, heidy and howdy.  It's your randy, dandy DJ, Harry Handy here on WOFT-Old Farts radio.  Lately it has come to my attention that there are YOUNGER people that like the music here on the Fart.  Well, let me be the kindly uncle to those whippersnappers who want to know what real music is.  And SOME of them want to know what Ol' Harry's greatest hits were.

Well, back in the bad old days, Harry liked to party.  And he lived in one of the better party towns of the 1970's, HOTlanta, Georgia.


Harry himself got to see Big George and the gang at the Omni.  And then we would hit Underground Atlanta for a beer at the old.

We'd get home at sunrise and sleep a bit and go out to do it again.

One day, I was invited to a party.  I mentioned it to my Program Director, Nightfly Sourpuss, and he told me



He knew the people hosting the party and only sorrow would come of it.  Well, I never was one to listen, so I went.  There was the usual beer and liquor and some fine Acapulco Gold.  I was having a pretty good time of it until this dude came up with a joint and asked me to take a hit off of it.  Stupidly, I did...


When I came to, several hours later, I stumbled into work.  And for some reason, I was thinking of my old girlfriend, so I played the song that is the bane of DJ's everywhere.


The moral for you youngsters is listen to those elders around you.  We've fucked up much more than you and we are only telling this for your own good.  And for God's sake, turn off that damn Justin Bieber crap. 

Friday, April 12, 2013

What we long for. (GBE2 99)


Hmmm... Longing.

The wanting of something that seems out of reach.

Our longings change.  When we are children, it is a toy we saw or a maybe a chocolate cake.

As teenagers it was that mysterious one of the opposite sex.  And for those who actually caught the prize, not knowing at all what to do with it.

As adults we long for wealth and power, even though we know deep inside it really isn't good for us.

And now as a older type person, longing for the success of our children and the love of the grandkids that may or may not have come.

Along the way we trade important things for our longings, only to find out we were better off if we hadn't.

But it doesn't matter.

In the end, when we find the ultimate freedom, we all are at the same place..

Monday, April 8, 2013

Hero (Blogophilia 7.6)

He looks like a hero
Standing behind me
Crack in the mirror hides
Fangs drawing innocence.

A twist of fate brought him
Saying he'll comfort and console
In his strong arms

An affair of unequals
Exchanges of power
And affection
But never love.

Vanished now into the mist
Caged with his demons
Leaving me cracked
In the mirror image.

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Dreamcatcher (Blogophilia 6.6)



Dream catcher
From a hula hoop
A parting gift
She left

Splinters in my
Mind’s eye.
Takes me back
To the field

Thin form shining
Against flaxen ground
Hurrying to share
Before the dark

Daylight is precious
To us youngins
Take and make
Hay before the dusk

Exchanging kisses
As she is leaving
Leaving me grateful
For loving her.