words rebel

 

 

once I wrote

some words hoping
 they would not die

 

I sent them across the prairies

on the wings of an eagle
but they came limping back to me

 

I nursed them back to health

repairing a verb and a noun and a funny participle

hoping they would fly

 

once again

they came home to me

all bitter and angry and begging to be free

 

send us back to where we're from

no one will accept us

we will be happier from whence we come

 

so I took the vowels

and sent them home

and sold the consonants to funny old gnome

 

he took those naked letters

and created a crier

that he sold it to the world as a word verifier

 

                                                                                          gs batty/march 2013

                                                                                       written for fun

 

 



Seasoned

 

Seasoned, you asked...yes

I believe that's me

seasoned like a stack of well aged hay

 

piled in the field of life

enjoying the sun

withstanding the wind and the rain

 

the weather has not bothered me

but only helped me grow

and contribute to the world

 

the horses, the cows and the sheep

will take from me

so I can earn my way

 

I give freely because I believe

there are better things in life

than to become moldy and waste away

 

                                                                                       gs batty/march 2013

 

                                                                                          for Sunday Scribblings

 



dang me - hang me

A cold wind blew down from the canyon causing the fire to flicker and jump. Every so often the pine that we were burning would explode like a small fire cracker and sparks from the fire would attacked anyone on the down wind side.

My dad had put some hot coals under our chairs and I was bundled up nice and cozy in a blanket sipping my tin cup filled with hot chocolate.

My granddad sat across the fire from me and was receiving the brunt of the wind and the sparks from the fire.  He was also trying roll a Bull Durham cigarette and not having much luck. He finally gave up and threw the makings in the fire and took a big swallow of his homemade moonshine and passed the jug to my dad.

When granddad finish his slug of nectar, as he called it, he let a big belch and said, "Now there,s a drink that old Roy Bean would have loved."

"Who's Roy Bean," I questioned

"He's the son of bitch that tried to hang me, that who Roy Bean is or now was.  The dumb bastard drank himself to death. Now if he had some of this stuff he would still be alive."

"Really, he really tried to hang you."

"Sure as I'm sittin by this fire.  Tried to hang for stealing my own horse and he used my horse to do it."

"Really, what happened? Why didn't he hang you?" I leaned forward in my chair and almost spilled my chocolate.

"Well boy, it was like this. I got in to a poker game and bet my horse and lost. Now a cowboy can't be without a horse so when I went out to show the card slick, cheatin bastard the horse, I just jumped on it and took off. But the card shark was also a good shot with a pistol and he shot me in the arm and knocked me off the horse.

Now Old Judge Roy Bean held my trial right there on the street with me bleeding.

"Does any man here believe that this lying, no good thief is not guilty of stealing his own horse. No?Then my boy, your are guilty and I sentence you to be hung with your own rope and your own horse."

They put my rope around my neck and made me climb on my own horse. Then they tied the rope to a big tree and while I was sitten there ready to meet my maker that old judge brought me a slug of cheap whiskey and took out his bible.

He said, "I know you don't cotton  much to what is said in this here book or you wouldn't be drinking, whoring and gambling so I am not going to send you to your maker with any of these good words. I'll just say that "times will pass, seasons will come and go" and you won't be here to see any of them."

Then he slapped the ass of that old horse and I knew I was a goner but they didn't tie that rope good enough to the tree and I went sailing out of town with that rope tied around my neck and dragging behind me. I just kept on riding and never went back.

"Taught me a lesson that I never forgot. I ain't never played cards again and you know sumthin, that sly old goat never hung anyone. They left that rope untied on purpose."

I said "Granddad, I bet you're fibbin me"

He smiled, rubbed a scar on his neck and took another sip of his "nectar".

written for Carry on Tuesday

Uncle Joe and Joe Btfsplk

Do you remember that name. I mean Joe Btffplk. Everyone knows an Uncle Joe or has an Uncle Joe.

Joe Btfsplk was the funny looking little man with the black cloud that  always hovered above his head in Al Capp's "Lil Abner" comic strip. I grew up reading Lil Abner and always pronounced the name "Bitsefpolk" and never bothered to really wonder how it was pronounced.  Now with "Google" I can almost interview Al Capp himself and find out how Btfsplk really is pronounced and so I did.

"Al, I have aways wondered how you pronounced the guy with black cloud's name?"

"Well, Old Grizz, "Btfsplk" is a rude sound that resembles a 'raspberry or Bronx cheeer'".
Capp closed his lips, stuck out his tongue and then blew air, creating a sound we call a "raspberry or Bronx Cheer and in the process spit all over me.

Whenever  Joe Btfsplk arrived something bad happened to someone, but not him.  As a young boy I was sure that my Uncle Joe had Joe Btfsplk sitting on his shoulder wherever he went.

Uncle Joe was just a poor man trying to raise a family but somewhere along the line someone or something attached a cord from Uncle Joe to Joe Btfplk and that bad luck bad cloud.

The first time the bad luck cloud of  Joe Btfsplk rained down on Uncle Joe was during the depression when a coal mine caved in on him. The mine was just a small two-man operation the he and my dad owned.  They dug the coal to trade for food.  Luckily they were able to dig him out and he only had a broken leg.

The second round of bad luck came when his wife, Delsa, left him and ran off with a traveling salesman.  She also left him with two boys and one girl to raise by hisself.

The third round of bad lick arrived when a huge saw blade at the lumber mill broke free and cut right up through his left arm leaving him only partial use that arm for the rest of his life.

After the saw blade incident and thirty something operations, Joe took his crippled arm and learned how to weld. He opened a welding shop in the small town where he lived and eked out a meager living for him and his kids.

Uncle Joe loved to deer hunt and wasn't always respectful of the tagging law. He believed the deer were there to kill and eat. When he needed meat, he shot himself a deer. My dad would go hunting with him every deer season and when I got old enough I went with them.

One year, Uncle Joe shot a nice big buck with a nice big trophy rack. He and my dad dressed it out and had it hanging in a tree when the local game warden came around. He went over to the buck, grabbed the antlers and tilted it's head and and the following conversation went something like...

Game Warden, "Nice buck...nice rack...who shot it"?

Uncle Joe, "I did."

Warden, "Where's the tag?"

Uncle Joe, "Don't have one."

Warden, "I'll have to confiscate the deer and issue you a ticket."

Uncle Joe, "Touch that deer and I'll blow your goddamn head off and you can take your ticket and shove it up your *%#*(>."

They locked eyes, the warden shrugged, got back into his truck and drove away.

Uncle Joe said some pretty bad words about the warden as a man. It went something like, "Chicken *#$#  S O B ain't got the balls to do anything about it. Then he took out his pint of "Everclear" 190 proof corn liquer from his back pocket and toasted his victory. I couldn't prove it, but I'm sure that old Joe Btfsplk drank right along with him. By then, they were friends and the black cloud was no longer raining on Uncle Joe.

 

                                                                                                   gs batty march/2013

work today...nah..nope...nada

 

energy to work

is inversely proportional

to the heat of the day

 

when the rays

of the sun

turn the cold of the moon

 

into a warm

sunny morning

and a hot afternoon

 

I don't have the energy

to do any work

but I do have the energy to play

 

                                                                                    gs batty for Sunday Scribblings

here, there, everywhere

Naturally, with my confused mind, I immediately thought of"Old MacDonald's farm".
..."Here a chick, there a moo, everywhere a quack, baa..."...or something like that...

so now...

I must apologize to my wife, to Keith, the Beatles and all of England because  I thought of a farm first and the love of a woman later. I wondered if it was because I'm getting older or to old and the poetry of love or the need of love is sinking (or has already gone kerplunk) into the sunset.

But, that;s not true. No matter how old we get we still need that special someone to be here, there and everywhere as so poetically written by Paul McCartney and sung by the Beattles.

I am lucky because I have that special someone who has always been here, there and everywhere for me as I have for her. I do not buy lottery tickets because I used up all of my luck when the lovely "Mrs Grizz", (notice I didn't say Mrs. 'Old' Grizz), agreed to become my wife.

I love you babe...and I will feed the chickens...later

                                                          written for Carry on Tuesdays by gs batty

did we - do they

"In youth we learn; in age we understand"

I am not so sure that this quote by Baroness Marie von Ebner-Eschenbach still holds water. I am of the belief that the world I live in is really a leaky old boat with the bilge pumps not working and the bailing buckets long thrown overboard because they were taking up lounge chair space.


The bilge pump (invented sometime just before or just after Columbus "sailed the ocean blue in 1492") was at first a simple suction pump (worked by manual labor) that developed into a vital piece of machinery needed to explore the vast oceans and the bowels of the earth.


Today they are sophisticated pieces of machinery that replace a mans need to do any physical labor unless (of course) they break down.  At that point we either bail out the waters using bailing bucket or the water does what it damn well pleases and at that point it is not planning on giving you a warm shower.


Because we have developed machinery suck as the bilge pump to do all the work for us, kids today just grow up basking in the luxury of laziness.  They do not have to think or learn. A 1931 survey found that "high school students were more likely to attribute their failing performance to laziness, while teachers ranked "lack of ability" as the major cause, with laziness coming in second."


Although I do not have any empirical evidence available, I believe in 2013 the rate of laziness has increased the same rate as the increase in modern technology has. I own a business and it is difficult to hire a young person that wants to "work", knows how to "work" and understands how to "work".


No Marie, the quote today should be, "In youth we take, in age we wonder what the hell happened"
and then we hold out our hand to government and say "it's not my fault".  Who knows?  Maybe it's not but that still doesn't get you out of the bread line.


                                                                            gs batty for Mr. kmeith and Carry on Tuesday

are they real

It's out there...right over there...look again..come here...see it? No,no,no...a little to the left..you have have to be blind. I can see it. There it is again...Oh, now it's gone.
It was too there.  I know I saw it.  Yes they do exist.  Come on, you weren't even looking in the right direction.

I'm not crazy...you're blind.  It was right there. Come on I'll show you. It was right over there by that rock.  Tracks? I don't know.  Maybe they don't leave tracks.

I have not been sipping on the wine to long and I am not drunk.

Yes, they are real. I've heard that if you don't believe, you will never see one. So, you will never see one. But I see them, because I believe.

Leprechauns are out there but only for the believers. Do you believe? If you truly believe, just look out your window, because, today is the day that they are out and about.

However, even if you do not believe. I offer you an Irish blessing...
May your days be as beautiful as this...

Some beautiful countryside.......some beautiful music......some beautiful thoughts.   Erin Go Bragh!! 

I Raise you

a man was catching some rays
when a girl caught his gaze
he said with a sigh
on my oh my
how I wish she would stand there for days.

a man was asking for a raise
but his boss had noted the glaze of his gaze
and said with a  smirk
I've not seen any work
from you for days

written for Mad Kanes "Limerick-Offs"

Pi day

 

Pi day today

but what does that mean

I'm not a mathematician
 

nor a Greek god

I'm only a man

pondering a word

that never ends
maybe that tiny word
really is eternity

is the secret
to everlasting life
tied up

in two little letters
a p and an i
coming together

agreeing to unite
and become
only one

maybe the
red and the blue
should listen to the Greeks

and come together
to better represent us
so we can become a country of one

                                                                                          gs batty/3.14/pi day/2013

 



the twig and I..and...

 

avoiding a fight 

 

a twig

a simple little innocuous twig

not in a tree or laying on the ground

but on my kitchen counter

waiting to be found

or was it lurking

waiting to attack someone

the first one to come around

and was that someone me

should I be so naive and stupid

to think it was only part of a tree

wait now you say

how dangerous can one little twig be

surely that little thing is no danger

to either you or me

maybe no danger to you

but lets think about me

were I to pick it up

and throw it away

would I be in trouble

with whoever put it there

or even worse

were I not to pick it up

and throw it away

would my ears be scolded

for letting it remain free

so I sit and ponder

that tiny little twig

wondering what to do with it
I guess the best solution
just between you and me
is to leave it alone
and pretend that
the poor little twig
was a trap I never saw
I'll just walk away
and drink my coffee
sometime later today

                                                           gs batty/march 2013

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



the green green sky of home

 

 

We stood together

on the edge of the abyss of damnation
I...hesitant, he...calling me

 

I was naked

before the world

for everyone to see

 

but really there

was only the two of us

just God and me

 

I reached out my hand

hoping to find

someone honest someone kind kind

 

a sea of green

somewhere to to dance and just be free

 was opened just for me
 

The sea seemed only a mist

 strange things and faces were seen down below

I could hear them calling soft and low

don't be afraid
said a voice from above
just step on out and you'll soar like a dove

I stepped onto that sea of green
and soared above the abyss
for all those faces to see

I danced with the clouds
walked on a rainbow
and rode a lightning bolt across the sky

for upon that Irish green sea
there were only the two of us
just God and I

                                                                                        gs batty/march 2013

written for....Theme Thursday

 

 



swirling

 

 

I opened a book

of beautiful poems
 to read

 

the morning was crisp but warm

the patio alive
with humming birds

flitting here and there

 

a Bewick Wren sang a duet

with a trickling stream

they filled
the sky blue air

with their morning serenade

 

swirls of cream

spun like an eddy

and painted my coffee

with ripples of sand

that led to
 an ocean of life

 

a sharp tangy aroma

from the depth of the cup

aroused the senses of my being
as I swirled my nectar
and watched it spin

the warmth of its life

caressed the souls of my fingers

 

I tried to read my life

and where it began

and where it was going

and where it would end

I heard the chirping of the wrens

the trickling of the stream

but any news from the nectar
was only to be a dream

 



gs batty/march 2013         



 

 

 

 

 



instinct

 

Instinct led me to the alley behind Smitty's Garage. I don't really know why, but for some reason I knew I had to go there. Like I said, I chalk it up to instinct. I didn't even know what I should should be looking for. I just had that strange feeling that something or someone back in that alley needed me.

 

When I rounded the corner I could see what appeared to be to people standing in the shadows at the end of the alley. I stopped, hesitant to go forward. I am not a big man nor am I trained in any of the self defense arts. My greatest claim to fame is when I beat Charley Johnson in a fist fight when we were in the eight grade.

 

But, this was way after the eighth grade and I hadn't fought anyone sense. Oh, I did do four years in the Air Force but they didn't waste any time teaching me to fight. I was sent to the air intelligence squadron which would be the first to be evacuated in case of a fight. That's was just fine with me, I always said if I were ever tortured I would probably talk my damned head off.  In my mind, I hoped that wouldn't true. Luckily, I was never tested.

 

To this day, I still couldn't couldn't tell you what made me go forward. but I did. I moved slowly towards the two shadows and then said in a very loud and strong voice, "What are you doing back there?" Again it was instinct that told me to sound loud and sure of myself. I could not make out either person except that they were real people and appeared to be men.

 

I mustered more courage and said in louder voice, "Get the hell out of here."

 

I could feel there stares, there inability to determine who I was and what threat  I was to them. I can only assume that my loud and strong voice convinced them it was better to leave than test me out. The alley had another exit just off to the right of them. I saw the shadows disappear in that direction.

 

When I got to where they had been standing I found a young man all bloody and out cold lying in the trash next to a trash can. I peeked around the corner of the alley where the two shadows had disappeared and they were gone.

 

I went back to the street and phoned the police from Sally's Cafe. He was taken to the local hospital whre it was determined he would be okay. He was a homeless man and when he approached the two man and ask for money they had just began beating on him.

 

Instint told me to go to the alley.  Instinct told me to sound loud and brave, and maybe instinct saved the boy's life. I hjave no idea if the two shadows were ever caught.

 

 

 

 



the road I chose

 

 

one led me to heaven

the other to hell

I chose hell

 

one led me to water

the other to dust

I chose dust

 

one led to a meadow

the other a cliff

I chose the cliff

 

from the canon below

the crossroads of my past

beckoned me

 

my voice my soul

echoed across the void

and pled for help

 

my pleas

hurtled across an empty sky

they did not return

 

gs batty/march 2013

 

written for Carry on Tuesday ...thanks Keith

 

 

 

 



I cannot deny it

 

 

it is there

I cannot deny it

but if I should try

 

I am

reminded by the stormy sea

it's angry waves reaching out to absorb me

 

It is there

I cannot deny it

but if I should try

 

I am

reminded by the blinding sun

it's scorching heat reaching down to absorb me

 

oh no

I cry

I am still a boy stomping in puddles

 

but is there

I cannot deny it

but if I should try

 

I am

reminded by the blowing wind

it's awesome power threatening to absorb me

 

oh no

I cry

I am still sixteen and on a date

 

but it is there

I cannot deny it

but if I should try

 

I am

reminded by the rain

it's silvery touch wanting to absord me

 

oh no

I cry

I am young and have a wife

 

but it is there

I cannot deny it

but if I try

 

I am

reminded by my aging body

it's aches and pains trying to absorb me

 

oh no

I cry

I am still needed by those that love me

 

but it is there

I cannot deny it

 

gs batty/march 2013

 

 

 

 



I welcome the souls that touch me

I stand among them

the wind the clouds the rain

wondering who they are

not lightning nor thunder

for they have no substance

only sound and light

 

but the others

the wind the clouds and the rain

are the souls of those that came before

 

could the wind

blowing in my face

have kissed  the face of Rumi

 

could the rain

that washes my soul

have washed the soul of Frost

 

could the clouds

that paint the sky

be painting the words of Poe

 

If I caress

the rain upon my face

will I touch the words of Whitman

 

does the wind

that blows my hair

carry the words of Thomas

 

could the shapes

that float across the sky

have influenced Carroll

 

all those souls

and all their words

are wisping through the air

 

all those souls

and all those words

are misting in my face

 

all those souls

and all those words

are singing from the clouds

 

I welcome them

the wind the clouds the rain

they are the essence of who I long to be

 

                                                     gs batty/march 2013

 

 

we are one

 

 

the sun  was burying itself in the ocean

 paths from different places

beckoned them

they met under a Banyon

and watched the sun say it final goodbye

 

 a soft breeze kissed their cheeks

their fingers touched

a marmalade sky warmed their hearts

his hand touched hers, hers returned the warmth
their souls touched a wispy cloud

 

they drew closer
each to steal a kiss
seeking to fill a need
droplets of moonlight
bound their hearts as one

each held the other
snuggled in the warmth
of their love
they did not feel the cool breeze
nor hear the call of the gulls

They saw the white clouds turn dark
felt the breeze become a wind
that tugged at their strength
lightning began to split the sky
sounds of thunder shook the ground

the wind grew stronger
attempting to separate their love
lightning thunder wind
gnawed at them
clawed at them

they stood as one
in each others arms
refusing to be destroyed
they faced the
wind thunder lightning rain

heads held high
rain wind lightning thunder lashed at them
they looked to the sky
hair clothing fighting against the storm
souls refusing to part

they turned from the storm
refusing to let
the wind the rain the lightning the thunder
shape them
they weathered the storm as one






 

 



there's a fight on tonight

 

 

a fellow was planning his flight

to begin in the middle of the night

but his wife caught wind

of the stewardess he was in

and now there's a hell of a fight

 

 

written for Mad Kanes "Limerick-Offs"

 

 

 

 

 

Dean Koontz

Yesterday I was privileged to hear Dean Koontz speak. To be truthful, I've never read one of his books. Even though I've heard a lot of people rave about his work I have never cared for spooky stories. The reason I went was to support one of the local city's library fund raising efforts.

I had no idea what to expect but I was presently surprised by a very nice man and a pretty good speaker.  He was funny and I thoroughly enjoyed every moment of his speech. I even broke a long standing rule of mine and bought a book and then stood in line to have him sign it.

His is the first autograph I have asked for since I was rejected by by the Great Goose Tatum of the Harlem Globetrotters when I was twelve years of age. I had snuck into the basketball pavilion where the Trotters were playing one of their many one night stands via a heating tunnel that ran over 300 yards from the college's heating plant into the field house. I was waiting by the door of their dressing room and when they came out I asked him for an autograph.

I had purchased a brand new Voit basketball and was even ready with a pen. I remember being in total awe of of his height and stature. He was one of my heroes. I ventured to call him by what I thought was his first name,

I stood beneath him, a white boy staring into the eyes of a black iconic hero, holding a pen in one hand and a ball in the other, his eyes hard and flinty, my eye brown and begging, "Goose, would you autograph my ball for me?"

His words still ring in my ears, "It's bad luck boy, don't bother me."

I didn't go into the arena and watch him play. I went home, sad dejected, vowing to never ask for another autograph, no matter who it was and I have kept that vow until I heard Mr. Koontz speak.

But, I paid for a book and stood in line. However, even as much as I admire Mr. Koontz I would never seek him out and ask for an autograph. Yet, Mr. Dean Koontz was worth every minute of my time and every dime the lunch and book cost me.

The things that surprised me the most were first, he had body guards. I don't know why but, that surprised me. Second, the fact that he writes 6 days a week from 7 AM until 5 PM and does not eat lunch also surprised me.. Oh yes, there was one more thing that surprised me. He says he writes slowly and that he will rewrite one page as much as thirty times before he goes on to the next.

The book that I chose  was "Odd Apocalypse" in the hard back issue. I was immediately hooked when I open the first page and began reading. The book begins with a blond girl riding a black Friesian stallion. The girl and the horse are both ghost images and Koontz's hero, Odd Thomas, is the only one that can seen them. But, that mattered not to me. It was the Friesian stallion that caught my attention.

I am not a horse person so I had never heard of Friesian horses until a U-Tube video about them was sent to me by a friend only two days previous.  It is impossible to watch that video and not fall in love with that breed of horses and I did. No, I am not going to buy one but I found it intriguing that I had just learned about them and there one was in "Odd Apocalypse".

The second thing that drew me closer to this book was that it is about ghosts that have trouble moving to the other side. For one reason or another they cannot make the transition from the world of the living to the world of the dead.

I am trying to publish a story I call "My Huckleberry Friend".  It is about how our souls move from this world into the next world and why some of them do not make it.

Because I have never read one of Koontz's books I found that similarity and the fact that I have been writing in the same genre somewhat eerie. I guess I had better read more of it.

When I finish the book I will write a  review on it.

Summer of '38 review

Review and Critique "SUMMER OF '38" by Colm Toibin as published in "The New Yorker", March 4, 2013.

 Toibin story takes us to a town in Spain where an old woman is living out the last of her life. The woman is contacted by a writer that is researching a story about WWII and the occupation of her village by Franco's soldiers.

The writer had been in touch with an ex-officer in Franco's army who is comingto come to the town in hope of having lunch with the old woman and the writer.  The officer has requested that the woman be present and have lunc with them.

The story takes us into the mind of the woman as she relives her life in those perilous years and her relationship with the ex-officer. What was their relationship?  Will she meet with him? They are only two of the many questions and possibilities that float through your mind as you read the story.

Toibin does a masterful job of keeping the reader interested and wanting to know what happened and what is going to happen. The way he writes dialogue pulls you into the story and you feel as if you're in the room eavesdropping on the characters in the story.

What were they to the town, the war effort, to each other? Is she guilty of collaborating with the enemy? Is the writer really hunting for war criminals. Is the quiet old lady really a WWII war criminal?

The story is a good read and goes well with your morning coffee or your afternoon tea.

Highly recommended...