Monday, February 29, 2016

Midwinter (Blogophilia 2.9)

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
 earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
In the traditional hymn setting by Gustav Holst, Christina Rosseti imagines Christ's birth as being in the midwinter and everyone is in the barn or kitchen huddling for warmth against both the actual cold of the winter and the figurative cold of the authorities. Another hero beginning his journey against the travails of the world. A journey that echoes well unto today.

How many of us are in an emotional bleak midwinter? Staying dormant and wishing for spring? The world has turned scary once again with modern versions of Herod and Augustus plotting to take each others lands and flocks. And each Ruler, Pharisee and Saducee says they are the righteous one. History has always proven them wrong. That they are as craven, corrupt and violent as all the powerful before them. Quick to abuse their privilege at the expense of everyone. 

We can imagine ourselves as rebels. We want to rise up and tell these fools Kemosabe, kiss my ass, I'm going out to sea!  We might have even marched and held signs. A few of us may well have been beaten and arrested for our trouble. Then real life sets in. We find a girl...or a guy..or whoever...

And we drift on down the river of life, having kids and working dead end jobs for the powerful, waiting for the day we DO go out to sea and join our ancestors at the mouth of the river. Life has always been this way. The main comfort is those same powerful ones meet the same fate. 

At the end of Rossetti's hymn, a question is asked: "What do I give him, poor as I am?" What can we really provide as proof of our revolt against the power.

We give him, and each other, our hearts. It is all we have. 


Topic-Dave Raider

Lyle Lovett Lyric: Kemosabe, kiss my ass- is from "I've Got a Boat"

Pic-Nina Nixon

Pic guesses: Black swan, Firefly,

Wednesday, February 24, 2016

Using This One Weird Trick

I am going to see if I can game my stats.

First off: I'm going to link to a couple of good blogs.

Eric Brooks

A Good D J Myke poem

Now, I'll add some random key words




Naked Girls

Death Defying

Now we'll see if I am a newly minted SEO dynamo.....

Endings (Blogophilia 1.9)

Moments like these stop the heart
Cause the world to take their part
In the memories of those past
Keeping them close and fast

Another death, another wake
Another casserole delivered for courtesy’s sake
Only time some of these socialize
Is to see who is left to size

Maybe now I’ll be seen as fit.
That’s my story, I’m sticking to it.

Photo-”Baldwin Angel” (c) 2016-Don Teuton, Savannah, GA USA. #bonaventuredon
This was a fun challenge.
I know I’m not suppose to guess, but Moments Like These was probably Deborah Truitt
Pic guesses: La Dolce Vita, Under The Tuscan Sun, Viva Zapata, Mediterranean Holiday, Zorba the Greek, The Villa,

Sunday, February 21, 2016

Little Redheaded Girl

Whatever happened

To the cute redheaded girl?
The crush of Charlie's life?
Did she grow up
To be Betty Suarez?
Hidden behind horn rims 
And shyness?
Porcelain skin
With few wrinkles,
Dimplish smile
She still waits 
For Chuck to ask.

Sunday, February 14, 2016

When I Think of You. (Blogophilia 52.8)

Ah, so we are at the end of a full season and it happens to be Valentines Day, or in Twitterspeak VD. I have come to the conclusion that is Social Media’s role is to reduce all Human interaction to a Social Disease.
When the DiVinyl’s put out their song about touching, we all played along. We imagined being with our significant other, or maybe with another person because we were angry. Or sometimes, we just didn’t have a person with us and we have to just improvise.
When I think of you as readers, I wonder what are your preferences. Do you like risqué material? Dark and foreboding worlds where broken people hope for (and sometimes achieve) redemption? A literal take on the subject?
When you give me stellar feedback, I sometimes wonder if your glasses are dirty. When I read the text back, the words always seem empty and inadequate. Internal and external vampires work like butterflies in the mist to seal my lips and silence my voice sometimes. Yet, I continue to fight against them. Deep down, I know the words will never be enough. But they are enough for me.
And I hope, you as well.

Pic guesses: sealed lips (in blog), silenced, enemy, vampires (in blog), zipper, organization man, empty threat.
Special thanks to Beth Stachowiak for inspiration this week. Keep flipping off the vampires.

Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Seaside Thoughts (Blogophilia 51.8)

It was one of the older beach shacks, a weathered gray stack of sticks sitting squat on the bluff near the inlet, four rooms and a screed porch overlooking the ocean. The white Adirondack contrasted with the dark green paint of the screened in porch. A man, the picture of moral desolation, sat in the chair looking over the churning water. Seaside sounds quieted his rage and focused his thoughts. It was gracious of Jack to let him stay at the beach house. They had their differences over the years; the respect for the man was always there. Guilt and shame have a way to loosen these kinds of favors. It wasn’t every day your daughter twists the knife into her ex and made you pay for it. 
Atlanta to Kiawah had passed through his mind in a blur of tears. A case of Wild Turkey had been liberated from the reception, another case of a friend looking the other way. Somehow, he kept it between the lines and the State Patrol was none the wiser. A case and a half was left, wounds could be assuaged for a very long time. 
Gun metal gray clouds laced with off-white tentacles gathered on the Northeast horizon. A big storm was stirring and coming this way. Salty breeze was already fresh ahead of the onslaught. The white caps were late, though. That was how you could tell how bad it would be. Uncle Archie had told him that on the boat so many years ago. This one would be nasty. He hoped the roof would hold. 
The old jelly glass was brought half way up without losing a drop Wasn’t there an old George Jones song like this? Thank God for bourbon, seriously. If it wasn’t for the half a bottle slammed down before the wedding, he wouldn’t have stayed quiet in corner. She really was a piece of work, inviting your cuckolded ex-husband to your next wedding? And why did he even agree? Yeah, he loved being the butt of a joke. Bad enough he caught the Savage in full stroke in his bed, now she wanted to rub his nose in it. Winning another round in the sado-masochistic game they had played since high school. 
The procession was a truck wreck in slow motion. They were bad for each other and everyone knew it. Savage looked entirely out of place, smirking in his ill fitting tux looking out at the shocked crowd. Jack looking like he had been shot him as he escorted her down the aisle. He almost felt sorry for him. Almost. The running bet in back of the sanctuary whether labor would start as the vows were said. Father Terry could ignore a lot, given the rumored large donation to the building fund. He had slipped in the side door as soon as the music started and he was left alone until she caught sight of him. Shouting and fingers pointing his direction, and he left the same way he came in, but not without leaving his gift.
The box only contained one item: A black rose, a symbol for the death of their marriage. The divorce had not been finalized. Everyone in attendance had known it and no one, even him, had said anything. 
It didn’t matter. Not anymore. There was a special gift in Savage’s trunk. 
The rain had picked up and began to slant in through the screen, briefly sobering him up. Standing, he brushed droplets off his slacks and grabbed his glass. Ambling inside, he noticed the table clock said 10:59. Almost without thinking, he picked up the remote control and turned on the TV.
“Good evening and welcome to the WSOC Nightbeat. We open with breaking news out of Georiga. A car has wrecked on I-75 southbound about ten miles south of Macon after some sort of an explosion. Two people are confirmed dead…”
Punching the off button, he drained his glass and smiled.
He’d won.
Pic Guesses-Black rose, Death (in blog), Cheat, Faded Beauty, Ugliness, Sadness, Funeral, Ending, Thorns.

Special Thanks to Writer’s Write for the prompt “Write about a wedding you don’t want to attend.”

Wednesday, February 3, 2016

Fine Mess (Blogophilia 50.8)

A hand made valentine
For an imaginary friend
Whose sense of reality
Is what a concept
She is never the critics choice
Only the finest mess there is.