Monday, January 27, 2014

Meanwhile, Inside An Old House (Blogophilia 49.6)





Alien: You know Predator, we should have thought of this a long time ago. 

Predator: What?

Alien: Settling our differences over a nice game of chess, rather than wreaking havoc and destruction over the earth. 

Predator: It IS warmer in here, certainly.  And those puny humans certainly appreciate the effort. Which reminds me, did Godzilla ever get that snow blower working?

Alien: Yes, he did. He is now burying the Great Lakes as we speak. Hard for those pesky Do-gooders to cause us trouble if they are frozen in their homes.  

Predator: Hahahaha…That is true. ‘Zilla is such a good boy, once you understand him. That Japanese-English translator worked wonders. He now follows orders better than any dog I ever had. More wine?

Alien: Yes, Please.Mmmm….That fire is warming my cold, cold, blood.  I could go for some…excitement.

Predator: Really? And just what do you have in mind?

Alien: Well, you know that lovers can be enemies, right?

Predator: And you think that enemies can be lovers.  Just as long as you remember, we can never be friends.  

Alien: Mmmmm…. Oh Pred. I love the way that makes me feel.  

Predator: Turn out the lights.

Sunday, January 26, 2014

Holy Innocents



Young one
Full of Promise
Of life.
Where will you go?
Will you make us proud?
Will you find love?
These are the prayers
We have for thee.


I spent this afternoon at my Church, Holy Innocents Episcopal, Atlanta.  The occasion was a special requiem mass for children who had died from violence in the past year n the state of Georgia. Now, if you look at the normal church calendar, the feast day for the Holy Innocents is December 26. An afterthought in the revelry over the birth of the Christ Child. And so easy to forget all those who Herod slew in the futile attempt to suppress his possible competition. But rules and dates are made to be broken, so the decision was made to hold the Requiem thirty days later. So, we may not forget.

Over the last twenty four hours, 464 names were said. In the four years the service has been held, more than 2400 bells tolled. For some, it is the only remembrance of their short time.  In others, families still hold memories dear to their hearts, wondering how this could happen? Couldn't there have been a way to intervene? Did they have to cross paths with robbers? Where were the CPS workers? Was there a Judge who misread a situation? Couldn't it have been stopped?

All those are good questions. But all the answers start, like most things, with each of us looking in the mirror. Are we treating those around us with kindness and respect?  Or is it with wrath and hate and competition?  We can go to another and say you are doing this and that wrong, and have it just thrown totally back in our face. Such is the way of judgement. No one likes a hypocrite.

But we must try.  Each of these lives is a gift from God. We can do no less.


Wheelbarrow. (Blogging Lounge #2)



The dust flew up Kari maneuvered the ancient bus down the road. It had been so long since she had been to the farm, not since her Grandmother passed away.  One of her cousins ran it now, she couldn't remember which one.  All she remembered from her few trips out when she was a kid is nothing happened and it was very, very green, like the pot Charlie Cramps used to bring to the bar.

A strange feeling came over her as she came closer to the old gate. A joint would help calm me down, she thought. She wasn't sure why she had been summoned out here.  Something about distributing the estate of her father.  The farm belonged to that side of the family.  The family her mother so often tried to hide from.  The only thing she had from any of them was the silver brush with the Cherokee Rose inlaid into the head. The silver had burnished to mach her own color, almost as if it had chosen her for its steward.

Indeed, the brush was an object with its own spirit.  One that had sustained her many times in her life.  Those times when Mama was drunk and she was high and the clashes and recrimination flew the the tiny railroad shack. Each woman laying the blame for their shortcomings on the other. Over time, Kari realized that was futile. In her bar tending days, she would avoid the conflict by crashing at various friends' houses, sometimes for exchange of sex or house cleaning. It didn't matter to her.

As she drove , she noticed the old wheelbarrow.  The one Grandpa had built in the workshop. Someone said he could build anything. He had died when she was so little,she didn't have an image in her memory.  Only of Grandma.  They had never approved of Mama. They had been from different worlds.  Mama never knew hard work and sneered at those who performed it. Whereas Grandma was always about the farm and work. It didn't matter in the end. Daddy took off and left with nothing but the unending hatred of Mama. But none of that mattered. 

Someone had filled the old thing with a hydrangea big enough to almost cover it. Like Daddy's family, covering the splits and faults built up over time.  Kari pulled into the last space on the drive. 

Maybe now she could get some answers.

And some peace of mind.

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

After It Is Over (Blogophilia 48.6)

The words said
Crowd disbands
To their cars.

Sun breaking
Through the tears
Warming hearts

Battle long
Relief short
Everyone leaves

Empty house
Time on her
Hands, standing

Rosemary thyme
Potato
dish on shelf.

Memories
In quiet
Desperation

Who will stop
The rain, she
Cries out loud

Sitting in
His large chair
Life leaves her.. 

Sunday, January 12, 2014

8 mm (Blogophilia 47.6)








Seafoam eyes
Boring into my soul
From the 8mm screen
 
A fantasy in
Silky soft  
Lingerie
Stretching barely
Over her assets.

Small Fox
Chased by hounds

Following impulses 
They can't control.


Your mother
Wants you
To return
Her broken world

Can you smell
The Gingerbread
In the oven?
 
Can you see
The tree house
Where imagination
Took flight?

Or do you only see
Needles
 And slaps
When there wasn't 
Enough business?

Where are you
Mystery.
Fantasy.
Let us bring you
Home.





Friday, January 10, 2014

I'm running late (Blogophilia 46.6)

I've been having fun this week trying to figure this set of prompts out.  I started with some bad poetry:


Wisps of steam obscuring the view
Of a snow covered walk
We look like something the cat drug in
Disentangling arms
Sweat soaked hair
Tender skin
We love like lions
Fifty times a day.
You are Zachariah
Level higher than others.
Burning brightly
Over all.


And while everything is in there (the odd fact is Lions can mate up to 50 times a day in season), there was something unsatisfying about it.

So, I tried again, using a story about how my cat drug in an owl (or the owl chased him in). And that way, I could mention how owls have three eyelids, one for blinking, one for sleeping and another for keeping their eyes clean.  And I could mention how awesome (again on the level of Zachariah) it was to have the thing staring at me.  But, then people would say: "Pics or it didn't happen".  He was so surprising, I grabbed a beach towel (to toss over his head) instead of the camera.

Finally, though, time ran out.  So here it is and enjoy.  I've got to get some sleep. 



Thursday, January 9, 2014

So, who am I-For the Blogging Lounge #1

I get this question from time to time.  Who IS Another Government Employee.  Well, I answered this one time:  Who am I?.

But that changed over time.  So, I did an update;  Meet and Greet

While that helps, it doesn't really capture the essence.

I developed the AG.E. persona so I could sign on to the Neal Boortz website and heckle him.  The tag line that used to grace every entry :"Sixth House on Right, Off 9-27, PDK Atlanta" really does describe the location of my house.  Boortz is a pilot and used to keep his airplanes at the airport up the street.  Most of my posts were just making fun of him and his bombastic views.  He would never respond, though.

As a writer, I'm all over the board.  I tend towards shorter pieces and free verse.  Rigid forms are too confining to me.  So, you will see very few sonnets.  Only exception is haiku.  They are fun.

I do characters as well.  Some have been around for a long time.  Others just a bit.

So, welcome to my bar.  It's open 24 hours a day.  And it is completely free.