yenta...yenta...yenta

"If you really want to hear about it".....ask Donnetta.  My God that lady has more dirt hidden under her mind than God removed from the Grand Canyon.  She knows everything about everybody.  Why it was just yesterday that she was telling me about Harry and Martha.  Seems like Harry's wife and Martha's husband are the only ones in town that do not know what Harry and Martha have been up to.  And speaking of that, did you know the Jenny's daughter Harrietta is with child?  Dam sure I'm right. I heard it from Millie when I was getting my hair done.  No, it wasn't that ugly little Smith boy.  It was Julie's boy Stephen. The real truth is that he spiked her punch and violated her when she passed out.  At least that's the story that Jenny is telling but I happen to know the real real truth..........

swapping places

My oh my, being able to swap with someone has a lot of mystical thoughts and ideas attached. But one must beware of a trip fraught with perils. One day when I was a much youger man and full of lust I swapped a pretty young thing for one with a more buxom bust.  I thought my pleasures would grow with the size of her bust but her mouth was more than capable of dampening my lust.  So listen to me before you make the swap.  What you already have and what you already are may just be one hell of a lot better than wishing on a star.

perfect until further notice

surely you jest when you say
"nobody's perfect"
there has to be
a man...a woman
a person maybe two
who fill that slot

I was sure I would find
the one who said that I'm not
somewhere over a hill
but that was not to be

those that say
I'm not perfect
have disappeared
or maybe they're behind a tree

so I will always be perfect
Until they show
and prove to me

that I'm not
the perfect person
I profess to be

birth

There are many different types of births.  Last night I witnessed a different type of birth.  It was the birth or maybe the rebirth of people both young and old that had not been able to complete their high school education.  I witnessed the graduation ceremony of extended education students.  People from their early 20's to their mid 6o's graduating from high school.  For me it was an awesome experience to see these people being "reborn" to a new life by getting their high school degrees.  They have a new chance at life and the desire to better themselves.  Good for them.  I hope they all go on to get their college degrees.  It takes guts to go back and start over.  My hearty congratulations to all 1000 of them.

memory & ads

The prompt for S.S. last week was a poem about getting old and gray.  Of course I posted some wiseacre comment about not being a hero and then proceded to other posts to read what they came up with  and then comment.  There are two reasons for reading and commenting on other posts.  One is that I am truly interested on how others interpret the prompt.  The second and maybe the most important is that I hope that others will read and comment on what I have to say.  Some do and some do not.  I undertand tht it takes a lot of time to read and comment so I am very happy if just a few respond.  I do not always have the time to respond to those that stop by my blog.

But commenting is not what I want to talk about.  It is the verification and waiting for the writer to allow the comment to be viewed.  That is where the old and gray comes in.  I can not remeber if I have commented so sometimes I comment 2 or 3 times which can be a little embarrasing.

My next problem is the ads.  I know all the blogs have some type of ad in hopes of making some money.  I have ads on my blog.  The ads that make me mad are the ones that come up when you are trying to post some nice words.  I just went to one blog and had to watch a short video before I could comment.  I shouldn't have waited to comment but I did. Then I was going to say something nasty, but I didn't.  However, that will be the last time I will wait to respond.  I will just put the site on my "not worth it list".

I really do like to read and respond to what has been written but like I said, that takes time and I do not think you are being fair if I have to wait for ads to load add long songs to load before I can read your blog.  I am only interested in your words.

Is there anyone else out there with the same issues?  Chime in and let me know.  Am I the only nay-sayer?

PS - is there anyone out there that would be interested in having constructive crital responses as a good thing.  I would like for once to have someone tell me I could improve if.....or just maybe diagree with what I have to say.

Little Timmy Rhobuch

I was seven or eight or maybe nine, I really can’t remember, it’s been such a long time. Timmy’s gone I heard them say. We can’t find him anywhere.

The neighbors searched as neighbors do and the police came as they always do but Timmy was gone and we were scared.

My dad found Timmy, blue and quiet, among the tangled weeds of the water ditch. Everyone was sorry and cried for Little Timmy Rhobuch and Timmy’s dad and mom wept tears that troubled my mind.

I went to see his tiny body in his tiny coffin in his house next to mine. I saw his sweet chubby face that could not smile and his curly blond hair that could not move and I had to touch and I had to feel.

So, I laid my hand upon his face and did not find a child of two, only a face of stone.

I was seven or eight or maybe nine when little Timmy Rhobuch's chubby face of stone startled my hand and etched my mind.

gsbatty

Follow the story of 'Himshee', the mind taker

why's everybody picking on me?

"When you are old and grey
and full of sleep”
is what he said
to blog upon. 
I said. "why pick on me?

Even though the furnace is
growing old
and getting cold
the embers still glow
with plenty of show
and even if
 I do sleep a lot

I still have plenty of words

hidden somewhere

under my cot

carry on tuesday

my hero

when the time requires

that a super person be near

I always wiggle and squirm

and recoil in fear

I know I am not the man

that they will want to call

because the world needs

real heros to save the day

and I just do not have the nerve

or the will

so if it's a hero you want

call someone else

and send me the bill

why poetry

poetry

is

the words of another

expressing

the feelings we live

but uable

to express ourselves

                         gsbatty

an old wooden fence

I sat on an old wooden fence and got a sliver or two but I was never sure from where they came. Maybe it was when I fell to the left or maybe it was when I fell to the right.  Or maybe it was when I climbed back on that the slivers jabbed me in the behind.

I tried to stay upon the fence but a voice from the right and a voice from the left with words that were filled with cherry pies and promises and lies would knock me off again.

I fell again and got back on that old wooded fence wondering where their honesty had gone.  And then a thought came over me.  They are only after my vote with their lies and cherry pies. 

I needed to climb back upon that old wooden fence again.

butterfly message

When I was six or seven or maybe eight I was with my dad on the patio and we had just ate when an orange and gold and black butterfly came gliding by.  He sat his wings and tiny feet upon my knee as if he were there just to visit me.

I started to shoo him off but dad held my hand and said, "don't".  "He is a messenger sent from God."  "A messenger from God." I replied?  "Why would God send a messenger to me?"

"Maybe he needs your help," my dad replied.

"How can I help God," I asked?

"I do not know, that is between you and God," my dad replied.  "The next time you talk to him, just ask"

I never asked.

I wonder what God wanted?