sometimes I listen

sometimes I listen


the breeze
the swoosh of the clouds
the rustle of the trees
the splash of the ocean
the quake of the earth

but I realize
they are not
talking to me

they will be there
even if I'm not

it is not enough to listen

because because because because because because because 

as the 
breezes caress me
clouds enthrall me
leaves excite me
oceans bathe me
earths soil me

they become part of me

it is not enough to listen

I must move my soul into their world
I cannot stand outside and only observe
in order to know them
I must be them

if not...some day
they will just go away

every day is an earth day...lets all do our share...  

                                                                                         gs batty  /  April 2013


an old shoe tree

on a lonely road
stands a lonely tree
all gnarly and dead

it lived its life
by the side of the road
only to die

alone in the sun
there it stood
as a monument to death

wondering if ever a 
tear had been shed
by anyone passing by

someone that would remember
how it cooled them 
from the sun in the sky

but no
the old 
did not care

and the young
with no life in their souls
chose to shame the old tree

with dirty old shoes
that clung to its branches
leaving their stench

to hang in the air
leaving the gnarly old tree
in utter dispair


I am resistant
to learning words
like interrobang

what good are words like that
to a flibbertigibbet
in the world of writing?!

Scribbled for Sunday Scribblings

For a full dose of "Flibbertigibbet" see the next chapter of my continuing story
"Fright of Frong".  This week ..."Frongly Accused - Intoxicated"

once upon a time

I lived my world in you
I felt your soft breath
whispering in my ear

I felt the beat of your heart
as my head
rested on your breasts

I reveled in the softnes 
of your fingers
as they entwined the curls of my hair

I felt the rise and fall
of your stomach
as your breathed the air of life

then you
were taken
from me

in my mind
you are still

in my mind
you will always be

the beat of your heart
the softness of your touch
the warmth of your breath
the rise and fall of your breasts

once upon a time
we were one
now you are gone
but only for a moment

a moment in
once upon a time

written for Carry on Tuesday

Should anyone want to torture their mind and continue to follow "Fright or Frong" you can pick up the next chapter of this "maniacal comical farce" at..

the deal


Maybe it was a dream, maybe not. Everyone told me I was nuts, that I had a nightmare, that I was sleepwalking or lying.  My only defense was the gigantic burn in palm of my left hand. I said it was proof that I had been visited by the devil.

He had been hounding my dreams since the day that I would make a deal with anyone, including the devil if I could get a date  with the pretty girl down the block.

Now I knew the deal had been made. I had the mark of the devil in the middle of my palm to prove it. I couldn't wait to set up the date so right after breakfast I hurried over to her house and knocked on the door.

She answered and I swooned just looking at her. I almost couldn't say the words but they finally mumbled from my lips. She smiled and agreed to go on a date with me. Our evening was awesome. We held hands and she even let me kiss her goodnight. I felt like I could just float all the home on a cloud.

I called her the day hoping to see her again. She said she was very sorry that she couldn't. Her parents were moving and they were leaving that afternoon.

I hung up, sad and dejected but then the palm of my hand started burning. A voice that I had heard before said I have a job for you. I knew who it was but tried to pretend I didn't.
"Who are you," I asked?

"The devil," the voice replied. "I have a job for you."

"But, but...," I stammered. "The girl is gone."

"We made a deal for one date and you got that date now you need to keep your end of the bargain or you know what will happen."

I knew.  I had made the deal.  I belonged to him for ever. I had to do as I was told.

Written for 

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life is good

Toenails growing
balls of my feet not sore
life is good

                                                             an old grizz proverb

apologize...I don't think so

William was a man that liked to read.  He kept up on politics and was always ready to share his latest knowledge with anyone handy.  He was proud of his intelligence and proud of how much smarter he was than "other people". And, he was successful. His business thrived. His family life was good. He drove the best of cars.  He walked with the pride of success.

One Sunday morning he read an article in a college study about apologizing. Naturally he only read enough to let people know that he knew everything about the subject. In this case, "apologizing".

"It's a sign of weakness", the article informed him.

Now isn't that interesting, he thought. I've never liked apologizing. So, if it's really a sign of weakness. I will never apologize again.

And, he didn't.

In his business if there was a mistake made or a product wasn't "acceptable", he said to his customers, "tough Shit, if you don't like it, go someplace else." Of course he was sure they wouldn't because his products were always the best.

He refused to apologize to friends for a "slip of the tongue". "Hey, I said it and I'm not sorry."

He became arrogant around his wife and children. "Live with it. learn not to be weak and grovel at the feet of others."

He felt proud and arrogant and strong until the day he had to beg for a quarter, "I'm sorry sir, can you spare some change. I'm hungry."

written for Sunday Scribblings
by Old "Arrogant" Grizz
or gs batty
or maybe today it was
sg beatty
you pick em..

the show must go on

The day was one of those lazy ones. One of those days when you have nothing to do. One of those days that bore the hell out of you when you're young. One of those days that you pray for when you get old but before you get to old to give a shit about any day at all.

P.T. was spending his share of the lazy day in the park. The sky was blue. The temperature was dancing in the mid seventies. A soft cool breeze barely moved the leaves on the old elm trees but cooled his skin just enough that he was glad he had brought his light jacket.

He had stopped at the bagel shop for his coffee and two bagels. One, toasted and smeared with cream cheese for him and one plain for the birds he invited to breakfast. He found his favorite bench. The one where the sun hit him at just the right angle to warm his skin but not shine directly in his eyes.

He sipped his coffee and laid his bagels out on the bench using the paper bag as a table cloth. He used his pocket knife to cut his bagel into eight pieces and the bird's bagel into crumbs. As he was preparing the bagels, a funny looking man in baggy clothing began setting up a small wooden platform just across from P.T.'s bench.

He nodded towards P.T. but didn't say anything. P.T. returned the nod and also politely introduced himself. The baggy man continued his project with no response.

P.T. didn't mind because that was the same reaction he always received when he talked to the birds. He could say anything he wanted to and not one bird questioned his words. He continued cutting the bagels, sipping his coffee and talking to the birds and the baggy man.

P.T. told them his name came from being a clown in a circus. The birds pecked at the crumbs. The baggy man continued his project. P.T. ate another piece of his bagel and sipped the coffee. He continued his life story. He talked about politics and religion. The birds pecked at the crumbs. The baggy man continued his project.

P.T. sipped his coffee, ate a piece of bagel and talked. The birds pecked at the crumbs. The baggy man completed his wooden platform and then used it as a stage to perform on. His performance was that of a mime.

A young couple walked by, but stopped a moment to observe and wonder. They watched the old man feeding the birds, telling them and the mine about his life as a circus clown, the mime doing his silent show, and the birds pecking at the crumbs.

They strolled on.

The man opined that the two men had to be "coo-coo".

The woman thought a moment and said, "Maybe, but you will never find another place where everyone and everything is happier. They are doing what makes them feel good."

"I wonder," the man replied. "If it is a confirmation of the old saying, 'The show must go on'."

written for Carry on Tuesday
by gs batty or "Old Grizz"
what ever floats your boat

P.S. -There ya go Mr. Whitesnake, politics again.

another day

tomorrow is another day
is what
most people say
gullible old me
sucked it right in
like pollen to a bee
but when I wake up
and look at the sun
it is today that has begun
Golly Gee
I say to myself
yesterday they lied to me
I don't understand
their dirty tricks
must have something to do with politics.
                                                                                     written for Carry on Tuesday
                                                                                         by my ghost writer
                                                                                           who ever that is
                                                                                              tomorrow is another day


alone in a city of rain

 hair wet
freckles reflecting in the window
rain in her face
her face
to the sky
 brown eyes
watching the moon
 clouds drifting by
we walked
my hand and hers
feeling our love
moved as one
skipping the cracks
echoing in the
shadows of the city
 other soles
were not on our minds
we were alone in a city of rain

a lonely old man

an old man sat
hunkered in the rain
on an old park bench
he was wet and cold
his bones
aching in pain
a young girl
skipped by
playing in the rain
but she didn't
go near him
afraid he may cause her harm
he thought
of his daughter
and wondered where she was
he remembered
her smile and her freckles
and a tear washed away some rain
oh how he wished
he could go back again
and make up for
the pain
that he knew
he had left her in
but now it was to late
life had skipped by
just like the girl in the rain
                                                                                            gs batty/April 2013
                                                                                            a lonely old man

tears in the rain

She was young
to young for me
they said
but she didn't think so
and who could question her big brown eyes
certainly not I
we walked the streets of Frisco
in the rain
holding hands and jumping puddles
we drank
a cup of hot chocolate
as she brushed her long brown hair
her Nubian breasts
dancing in the dim light
for me to share
and then a sip
of only a coke
from a champagne glass
 a touch
her nipples so firm
her body so warm
and then the kiss
a hug
and she held me so tight
a promise had been made
that we would not
make love on that night
we fell asleep
in each others arms
to wake to a promise that had not been broken

a morning breakfast
a shower
and then she wept
we walked the pathways of the park
in the rain
holding hands and jumping puddles
she boarded the train with tears in her eyes
a sharp pain entered my heart
were they tears for my gallantry
or was she crying because
I was not the man
she wanted me to be
                                                                                        gs batty/april 2012
                                                                                         learning about love