A.G.E's Joint

 It finally happened.  The Disco Kroger Has Closed Atlanta's most notorious grocery store finally succumbed to high-rise development.  It was a good life, as far as stores go. A 24 hour pickup bar for years. The most convenient place to get munchies for when the dancing was done and other liberties began.  It got its name from The Limelight and continued its reputation through Ruperts and the Buckhead Saloon.  Some people like the dreams of the future better than the history of the past , though. It makes them more money. 

Dancing slowly around the counter Sinatra on the oldies station What music they make. Apron swaying To a Parisian dream. Teaspoon off the rack Spices sprinkled in flour.     Beads as liquid joins.   Dough ball forms slowly.   Familiar thrill begins   Love rises, falls.      Hands quickly knead Searching the dragon’s face When love is not madness, It is not love. Spirit attracted To the scent. To her   She is the bread   Intertwined loaves in the oven Only in the next life, She knows.    Topic- Kim Herndon Pic- Christine Wichman Pic Guesses-Dragon (in blog), Sauron, Godzilla, Long Journey, Middle Earth, Knights of old, Tequila dreams, 4 and 20 years ago,

 Everytime we say goodbye  I die a little Every time we say goodbye  I wonder why a little  Why the gods above me  Who must be in the know  Think so little of me  They allow you to go  Tuesday night was always light, a small crowd wanting slow music and good drinks. On the half-filled floor, the mismatched couple drifted contently in each others’ arms to Tony Bennet’s voice. Shag cut platinum wig reflected red and green stars under a floppy blossom covered bonnet. The sunflower dress cinched her frail body at the waist in such away that it appeared she had a stunning figure. He dressed in his best suit with a little cologne.  It had been a long day at the hospital, with tests and a session. Some news was promising and other things that were concerning. But there were no false illusions. They needed a diversion from the darkness. Out of the blue, she said she wanted to go dancing. Exhaustion and exhil...

                    Approach the pit Rhythmic heart beats Vacuumed into a pulsing mass Red blood cell in a sea of white Floating upwards and outwards Early fires of morning Lapping human trees Arms flailing to an invisible wind You want it all And all of it is yours Granted without strings For I am the night ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Topic- Tyler Myrth * Lyric-”You want it all, and all of it is yours.”-”Get A Room” Pic- Liam McKormic Pic guesses-Human Trees (in blog), flailing (in blog), Invisible wind (in blog), planted child,

The book was on the table, almost even with his eyes. It had an old, cracked binding and no front cover.  Parchment leaves shaded from beige to sienna exposed like he was.   It seemed to shimmer and float, like a magic scroll or talisman. A meaning of a dream, maybe? Dream? Yes. Had to be. Mark tried reach for it, but his arm was pinned under her ribs.  Morning sunilluminated the room, showing their naked forms tossed amongst the sheets. Arms and legs gave like sacks of flour against whatever surface they touched, whether the mattress or each others legs. Not a pretty sight, but who was he to talk? He leaned over and kissed the top of the pale shoulder, drinking in the mix of sweat and Chanel.  It had been so long...  Red and green neon had always taunted as he walked to home from work Blinking "chicken" in light displays in front of him.  He finally gave in and stepped in the bar.  Inside, it looked like a clubroom. Red leather bar, wi...

I want to dance with you Bringing the sun up And puting it to bed With my arms entwined with yours I want to raise children And grandchildren And have them scattered With my arms entwined with yours And when we leave this plane I want to rise with the sun Set with the sun With my arms entwined with yours. So pour the glass Take my hand And let us drink With our arms entwined with each other. 

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

  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.