BY Davey H

06/01 Direct Link

June 1st and fearing the worst
For the upcoming tasks
That are moving in fast
4 Which I haven’t rehearsed!
Indeed, it’s all met with trepidation
So let me offer NO explanation!

And now for something incomplete
and not so different from the muck
I’ve been pumping out on a regular basis:
Incoherent, too – and that goes double
for THIS word-brew!

Today will be day 3 or so of an improvised
cleansing regimen, efforts entirely dependent
upon wherewithal and intestinal fortitude,
which is to say mostly the same thing.

Unsure of this illness’s origins,
I prepare to sweat it out.


06/02 Direct Link
Dayum, it already looks like
June the 2nd !
Oh yeah, time flies
That much I reckoned
I’m so damn surprised
Just give me a second
To thus comprise
Some keyboard peckin'
Under foggy skies
That are so dejectin’!
Now it’s 6 months in
And we  just have to grin
Because the beach has beckoned!

Chilly and damp
It could be worse
No time to camp
As I write this verse!
But we’re heading south
As I try not to curse
So shut down my mouth
And open up your purse
As we packed in the rain
No need to rehearse!
06/03 Direct Link

Told the boss-man I got sick
‘Twas two weeks’ misery;
It could’ve been the bite of a tick
That sapped my energy!
It raised the specter mighty quick:
Poor functionality!
This workin’ man’s bubble
It threatened to prick
And make a fool of me!

Eventually I returned to work
Which made the Boss-man happy
Duties imposed thus not to shirk
No matter I felt crappy!

Time and money it might have cost
For both boss-man & me
And I shall keep my fingers crossed
For returned vitality!

*Editor’s note: Hay, this farmboy sets his own
friggin’ hours!
06/04 Direct Link


Sorry, boss-man
That’s not all
This wasn’t planned
I dropped the ball!

I realize it decreased the yield
Of our detailed share-croppin’
I flounced the ball off of the field
Sorry for its droppin’!

A happening I couldn’t predict
With any accuracy
A crappin’ out
Me getting’ sick
Sorry to you from me!

I beget you no consternation
For my butt-ill transgression
I wasn’t on a snuck vacation
Not a pleasant session!

Although I didn’t vomit
My vitals damn near stopped
I promise I’ll get back on it
And pick up that ball I dropped!


06/05 Direct Link

Me Back In, Get Crackin’, Fill Sack In

Who reads 350-page owner’s manuals?


But some folks sure like to print them out;
the one-side printed results ending up
in the circular file to be summarily lugged to
a honkin' dumpster destined for points
unknown but presumed useless for the
purposes of reuse, recycling, reduce;
that much I deduce.

As the circular file emptier, I blanch at
how much paper gets wasted in this manner,
and can’t help recall a recent encounter with
a bustling logging crew which was busily
engrossed in stripping a nearby hillside
of all things tree-related.

06/06 Direct Link


“You’re a man of umpteen words”
I replied, “Just one of many;
My stuff’s unplanned
And so absurd;
Soon I won’t have ANY!”

“For it’s mostly silly,
Don’t you see?”
“A bunch of feel-good stuff;
Without the gift of HOT COFFEE
I’ll never write enough!”

Indeed, at times it clearly seems
Dull rhymes, and so absurd
But paper’s cheap
You can fill reams
And revel in each word!

So take this shilling if you’re willing
Right down to the bank
Paste your taste & lexicon trilling,
Ne’er worry about waste;
Got papers filling?
This one’s in the tank!
06/07 Direct Link


A road trip began this evening, the first dusting of mega-roadage
and big city views in a long time.

Relief soon set in as our scuffed-up silver wagon joined a diverse pastiche of wheeled warriors traversing I-91 south.

Oh, and that I-95 stretch that cuts UNDER not one, but THREE high-rise apartment complexes? When traversing this bizarre architectural oddity, you look up at ghastly deteriorating concrete, and wonder aloud how the whole shebang would look in an earthquake.

Zooming further across the venerable GW, concrete hulks line the concrete interstate as we’re swept along in a petro-addled whoosh.

06/08 Direct Link


T thought I’d be bored outta my gourd during this tranquil dip in South Jersey airs, but contrary was the case in these affairs!

We gorged on Italian and Mexican gnash, trolled Brigantine, ogling terns, ospreys, egrets, herons and willets across from hulking dens of iniquity (inequity!) embodied by Atlantic City casinos.

T’s lifelong friend S, now 56, graciously took us under her wing, proffering the 25¢ tour of her place of employment at fabulously refurbished Stockton College where a big spending new president has upped the ante, shifting the paradigm toward “running the college like a business.”

06/09 Direct Link

Along the long coastal evacuation route,
signs for some silly wine festival
prompted enthusiastic nose-thumbing
by this snarky teetotaler
as we tooled along, seemingly engulfed by
shiny SUV’s, which prompted the query:
Where’s this recession we’re ostensibly in?
Certainly not here, surrounded by affluence
and salt air, we surmised, as T noted
RT 561’s excellent qualities:
flat, straight & pothole-free;
oh, so great for racing with glee!

Meanwhile, fields of tiny corn plants in rows,
having survived the crows.
lined both sides of the road,
but alas, NOT 2-B knee-high by 4 July,
at least to this farm-boy’s eye.

06/10 Direct Link

Today with much glee
Was B-day of T!
At cusp of the beach-hoppin’ season
‘Twas T and me and sights to see
For no apparent reason!

Waves bashed on the shore
Roiled up, sand was shaking
Above in the skies, thunderous reprise
We feared our eardrums were breaking!

What was that roar above the shore
such a blistering countenance raking?
Apparently, ‘twas ‘toys’ of war
Zooming, sound-barrier quaking!

They flew, we knew all that, of course,
Not for insouciant enjoyment
But rather to exercise sinuous force
At this base-ic place of employment.

Pomona’s her name
She’s still in the game!

06/11 Direct Link


This was a day from the grind away,
and meant for play and connection!
Now I normally wouldn’t shill this foray
An occasion without cake confection!

Indeed, it’s kind of private for most folks,
unless it’s at least 2 decades in the works;
heck, Mom & Dad had a SERIOUS hullabaloo
on their 50th,
with bigass chocolate cake as centerpiece!

But us? We just ate grease,
bouncing from one restaurant to another,
it seemed, caroming past fields of
ripe blueberries, not purchasing any,
having trepidation at the sight of
plastered about the field entrances.

06/12 Direct Link

We dithered and ate and after a spate, headed home wearily, arriving quite late! The GW at night, such a terrible sight! And friggin’ expensive – brought wallet fright!

“Twelve bucks!” The driver winced and spat past dilapidated front incisors, backed up by semi-precious gold crowns posing as ‘normal’ molars; together, the combination of both ‘’permanent’ and manufactured dentition forming the basis for normal-sounding speech punctuated with colorful expletives.

Though no junk cars lined this incredibly crowded road, it reeked of snail-slow construction-caused atherosclerosis. Hulking workers hunched like ghouls in a sepulcher as powerful lights laid glow upon their toiling limbs.

06/13 Direct Link

The first day back was a bugger.

3 a.m. may be fine for a magazine
whose contributors have spent many
red-eye nights creating content for,
but it doesn’t make for keeping senses keen!

Irritability prevailed, uninvited. In 6” tall grass,
squirrels squabbled with half a dozen chipmunks
under the bird feeder that thankfully
they couldn’t get up in.

But that’s no cure for the intrusive industry
of pestiferous rodents: It would be only
a matter of time – very little time – until they found
their way into the chicken house,
and from that point teetering on the
bleak precipice of ineradicable.

06/14 Direct Link

Yes, banging along dreadfully pocked
excuses for roads through congested
asphalt/concrete rubric is merely a means
to an end, and can, however grudgingly
we’d care to admit, save time,
though leaving driver and passengers
thoroughly flummoxed and drained.

But we didn’t voluntarily become
country bumpkins anticipating a gravy lifestyle
in any regard, including the venue of
automotive travel!

Ensconced back home,
We joyously trilled these stanzas:

Arise and shine
Off your buttocks!
Today you’ll do fine
With these tools in your box!
Which of these rules?
You might ask this fella
The most vital of tools
Why, it’s your umbrella!

06/15 Direct Link

Walking through dark-ass home very late, say, 2 a.m., having arisen to fear of marauding bears out yonder, and realizing one has neglected to bring in the bird feeders, the reliable hum of a filled-to-the-gills fridge can be heard along with that of various boxes: two trusty erstwhile UNDER-DESK® units, proudly wearing an unoriginal moniker for ‘desktop’, pining for their perpetual updating needs, with unflinchingly reliable fans sluicing off waste heat.

Set alight by 110 VAC, their blue, red, green indicators blink telltale indications of unknown-to-us ‘hastily gobbled complexity, preparing to warm to their workhorse duties once hominids awaken them.

06/16 Direct Link

Today is the first day of the best of your strife.

And that rooster’s bray
On a normal day
Would cut your butt like a knife!

But alas, on this dewy Sunday morn,
With normally plucky avian forlorn,
Suffice to say
That his bawdy bray
Was lesser than the norm!

That was a red flag,
I’ll tell you,
More of a drag
Was his left eye near shut!
We were fixin’ to cuss
As his eye filled with pus,
and wondered if he’d been cut!

Lackluster indeed
In his feathery tweed
We wondered
What the cluck he would need!

06/17 Direct Link


Today’s numerals = Boston’s area code.

But that’s an entry in the logbook of diversion from deep sadness inherent on this 12th anniversary of our Dookie’s passing.

Yes, we tend not to think about it most years, but with an ill family member out back, and possibility of impending loss inherent therein, this dozen year-old amoebic blob of grief percolated surface-ward.

He was the ultimate lovable fur-ball: a beautiful fuzzy Chow mix that never licked your face without good reason; wouldn’t crotch-nose or jump on people.

Enshrined with us forever, oh dear resplendent orange-yellow angel boy!

06/18 Direct Link

Things indeed hectic
But head out that door
Into such an eclectic pastiche
As before.
For it’s once again Monday
One you can’t ignore!

Kitsch, bitch and cobble each thing
In well-worn frumpy places
Embark, enthused, out into Spring
To greet frowning faces
also dithering.

Aye, work is a good thing
That much should stand clear
I haven’t objected
Nor culled wretched fear
Neither defected
Dayum, look at that Deere!

Yup, John Deere’s the name
Quite a few around here
Green ‘skin’ in the game
In this good hayin’ year
As they roar down the lane
You’d better stand clear!

06/19 Direct Link

One of the dogs rolled In shit yesterday, and it’s lookin’ like I’ll get credit for allowing it to happen, and that’s no crappin’. The owner’s informative, mildly biting note said it all: innuendo proffered, aspersions mildly cast, borderline insinuations made as I read it, aghast.

Hell, at least no express accusations were hurled in this leash-tangler’s general direction, to which he’d need to raise an objection or spew misspelled expletives needing correction.

In the canine’s realm, however, such is the scintillating nature of woods excrement! Doggie sees, pees, delights in the scent! Never mind the stench of these: Repent!

06/20 Direct Link

June 20 spree, heat perspire me
With El Sol blazing so brilliantly!
How in blue blazes did I fare?
After all, it was the precursor
To the longest day of the year.

So swelter this: Much sweat, less piss!

I walked through hayfields
With bearded collie
Love, sweetness and zeal
Her name was Molly!

She’s pure joy, indeed the best
I’ll tell you, boy
Hay’s up to my chest!

We traversed that field
Owing to one factor:
Some hay was annealed
For mowing by tractor!

The walk was fun,
Shade, sun and then
A feeding of goldfish for Doctor N!

06/21 Direct Link

Some, er, Solstice!

It’s June 21, sun
So let’s not pass
On havin’ some fun
And kickin’ ass
We’ll chill when done
A la working class!

Okay, cut and paste
With a swank manic moniker
No matter, no waste.
Nature’s longest day tonic-er
And she knows,
With majestic skies so clear
Sun shows until 9 up here!

But naming the 6/21 phenom
Is superfluously adjectival
To working stiffs:
Simply put, we’ll just play longer riffs!

Out back, birches need water
Indoors, dog still needs food
Which I went and got ‘er.
Whew! I’m tellin’ ya, dude
t couldn’t be hotter!

06/22 Direct Link

Today is the first day
That’s just slightly shorter
Thus time for a bray
From this lazy reporter!
It’s one minute less, 2 B exact
I know, but don’t guess
A 1-minute fast fact.

For this farm-boy
A quasi-easy day
With little to get
Or get in the way
Of what could be construed
At least to this dude
To vaguely resemble ‘play’.
Yet I’ll pine for awhile
As the sun does beguile
By taking my daylight away!

But for now, time is made
In deep, dark spacious woods
To piss in the shade
As the dog drops her goods!



06/23 Direct Link


Here I go
Again to foray
And gather up my
Share of peanuts today.
Stuffing my jowls, ducking
Barred owls and hawkish
so cruel birds o’ prey.
Filling this stash
Beyond my needs
Flippin’ through trash
And pilfering bird seeds!
No, I’m not very big
But I am mighty
Damn furry
Just watch
Me dig and my
Foodstuffs I bury!
By my tunneling under
Soft ground, you may guess
Is the world’s 7th wonder
Of my earthly success!
And just one more
Thing, oh yes
As we speak
I’d profess
I guess
You’d best

06/24 Direct Link

Short-temperedness comes from bone-wrenchin’ fatigue, or vice-versa. Could anyone argue the point? Why, even a cursory examination of one’s owl’s hours holds no surprise that daytime performance would be held lacking. That said, such times present ripe opportunities for not only doing less – by default – but also observing Nature’s other members in the throes of carrying out their mundane daily duties. As for today’s example: Swallows took up residence, we presume, for the purpose of reproduction, in one of our bird boxes.

Do it they did, but whether the chicks were able to exit the box is not yet clear.

06/25 Direct Link

The ‘bird box’ referred to in the previous post was a beauty: fashioned from precisely cut & matched ¼” strips of red cedar and the swallows came, found & loved it!

Ironically, the box was screwed to a white cedar log lying in a pile on the south side, where the swallows didn’t take long to establish territory!

Now compared to quick-finishing robins, the swallows’ babes languished several weeks as the diligent mother circled and swooped against any and all threats in their defense. You could always tell it was her by the swift, agile movements, and her boomerang-like shape.

06/26 Direct Link

Drivin’ & Survivin’

Time was, because
You took offense
To buzz my bumper sticker;
Lookie here, cuz, at what it does:
It shortens the life of YOUR ticker!
Don’t like it? Then spike it,
Oh hale bumper-licker!

Another day and hence sensing road-rage sting steaming off various multifarious engine-ists*, I zip down Catamount hill in 5th gear, which provides just enough engine drag to slow 2-Ton Tessie down a piece, so as to better comply with the absurd 35 mph limit that kicks in at hill’s base, frequently accompanied by perpendicularly positioned police para-cruiser.

*It’s an ENGINE, NOT A motor!

06/27 Direct Link

‘Round the rotary perilous
And back to the bypass
I wax a little querulous
Whilst sitting on my ass.

Then, at 58 mph we advance,
Fair 2-Ton-Tessie and me
To save a drop of fuel perchance
Then, Yikes! A-scorch upon my pants
Dripped freshly brewed coffee!

But no matter, I abide
Amid the clatter highway-side.

Road well lined with verdant plants,
In brilliant sunshine shows
But what is whistling street romance?
Why, it’s these de-studded snows!

Shytt! Skunk smashed upon macadam!
Stink, stank, slashed,
No thanky you, madam!
Fur, guts, stench upon the road;
Drivers winced but none have slowed!

06/28 Direct Link

A soliloquy that includes old snows
As an integral part of our dear autos
Is bound to become
In errant sum
Entwined in my purple prose!

For once a tire
Always a tire
That, of course subject to change
Scratch or patch
or trash & retire
That process we need to arrange!

Each year take a hop
To the good tire shop
And see that good fellow Michael
He’ll mount and dismount
Spin, balance, recount
Old tires we recycle!

These old-ass tires nearly bald
Yet sturdy, sporting 4-ply walled
Ahoy! Again, the road has called
We’re off, once more enthralled!

06/29 Direct Link

When gettin’ another
Lifesux® bump
I fidget, mumble,
And have been stumped
On that now-dated Jumble,
Oh, yes, in a slump
The word so absurd
That stayed so unheard
Is ‘WINNUD’; Hah! Harrumph!

Doesn’t make a whole lot ‘o sense,
And deserves no recompense,
As the paper it’s printed on
Ergo, hence,
Is destined for wood stove,
Tossed ‘oer the fence
Or recycle bin in any events

Hey, it’s only one word,
Just one in a hundred,
2-B flicked like a turd
Thus off-page so sundered.

My bellicose blustering
Verbiage blather
Spills off this page,
In the end doesn’t matter!

06/30 Direct Link

“One Only Needs To Be Afraid
Of Any Mischief Not Well Made”

­ An Aboriginal quote
From the grate Davey H
Whose colloquial bloat
will give readers an ache!

Davey H is presently ensconced excessively indoors; fussing over dysfunctional HDD’s, the quirkiest of these if you friggin’ please has annoyances he abhors!

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, or more specifically, at the ranch’s back, meaning the ‘outback’, weeds, unwanted saplings and grass grow unabated, and his attention have awaited.

But to the grindstone
He keeps his nose
In hopes of annoying his un-disposed
Email recipients with magenta prose
unsolicited info-hosed!