BY Davey H

07/01 Direct Link

I awoke and not so spry
Hey, no joke: it turned July!
Another stunted month gone by
With searing heat, we must comply.
Gone down the pike, another June
Ephemeral as a Top Forty tune
Extract 1 minute sun per day
Earlier, the rooster’s bray
Get up early; gaily play
In garden lightly hewn!

Back to no-nonsense,
5th gear on the downhill,
logos, clever-as-all-get-out bumper stickers,
politically-charged pap and Big-Box shopping.

ESL teachers from Burma returned
I missed their party
Carolyn, spurned, was sick, not hearty!
So I had an excuse
RSVP, reduce.
But wait, I’m forgetting
Some friggin’ wedding!




07/02 Direct Link

Poor Old Man!

Indeed, the ‘poor’
We shall underscore
Though he’s doing
The most that he can;
Shriveled, restrained
To his roadside lair
Mounted, contained, and
Stuck in that wheelchair
And sure as a shame
As I spell out my name
He will still wave
At this motoring Dave
And all else who venture past there!

Time was, was aplenty
Years ago, more than twenty
The old man was in the high cotton;
But markets went shallow
The orchard’s now fallow
And good times thus past
Are forgotten.

Got an Apple? Then take a bite;
Remember the Old Man tonight!

07/03 Direct Link

Pray tell, what’s that hissin’
and ghastly roar?
Who’s that moanin’ and pissin’
And hollerin’ for more?
Hey, something’s amiss
‘Cause it wasn’t like this
only a mere week before!

Do you hear that OINK?
See that SUV porker?
Well, bust my boink
It’s a friggin’ New Yorker!

They’ll cut you up
Then cut your butt off
Speed limit – What?
At that they’ll scoff!

No place for manners
No need to save face
They’ll wave their rude banners
Like they OWN this place!

So we’re grudgingly grateful
For only one reason:
How soon ends this hateful
And dread tourist season!

07/04 Direct Link

Independence, My Tookie!

Seven and four
And time to object
To the explosive roar
Or our neighbor’s prefect!
The spark of the
Bursting in air
A cool redneck’s ‘bombs’
‘er his country-folk lair!
Whilst frittered in gloms
Well-gone we fare
For a trot back to Mom’s
Afar from the glare!|

Yeah, sure, it was fun
July 4, and when done
Night sky filled with smoke
As if from a gun
When last we spoke
I’m telling ya, hon
The dogs damn near choked
Petrified to a one!

after the cacophonous carnage
had abated,
a spectacularly beauteous sunset awaited.

07/05 Direct Link


July the 5th, 1985
Was the last day
Frank Garvey was 2-B alive.
A decade-old nickname
Was given him: ‘Tuck’
Indeed, for him
The moniker stuck.

A stalwart young lad
In the system he bucked
Had his life gone bad
Or just run amok?
On the 5th of July
Under hazy night sky
He officially ran out of luck.

As he lived in a rental
Stuck bleak in the sticks
Last house on the right
on south 896,
It was at that spot
The bad guys found
Tuck, who they shot
With a.22 round.

07/06 Direct Link

They are having a field day
Over and yonder
Culling dry hay
A phenom to ponder!
Or perhaps should I say
Not a moment to squander
The fields are in their HAY-DAY!?
Now with vigor and vim
They’re rakin’ it in
Before it goes totally gray!

Yes, bone-dry hay
At Brook road’s corner lot
Lying in windrows,
Sun-baked, raked and hot.
Although it lacks color
The Big G prefers,
It still provides fiber for
Horses of hers.

Hay lies, awaiting baling by
Big G-affiliated interests;
time is of essence, as rain,
being splendidly nonexistent ‘til now,
could arrive any time.

07/07 Direct Link

Oh, Seven-Seven
How we have forgotten thee!
Across 5000 miles of sea!

In the flag-wavin’
U.S. of A
We don’t give a flip
About London’s foray
Or at least for the most part
It still seems that way.

When two young lads
Hopped on subway car
With backpacks-a-brimmin'
And blew the blood-tar
Out of seats, men, and women
Before they went far
Did those lads wonder aloud
‘oer what we would make
of their evils so proud
and the lives they did take
whilst the smoke drew a crowd
and cold blood formed a lake?

07/08 Direct Link

At night farm-boy sleeps
And so does his box
But he’s playin’ 4 keeps
You can bet your *Bleeps*
He’d best get up off of his ‘tocks!

Last evening he worked
Until damn near 9
Just-a-getting’ caught up
Hay, the pleasure’s all mine!

Indeed, the fine steed
Old Glossie® the tractor
She’s the best of her breed
Despite the rust factor
Moved 5 yards of soil
And a half-yard of stone
For her, minor toil
Farm-boy sore to the bone!

When he laid his bones down
He was next day stove-up
Then he quaffed java down
From his favorite cup!

07/09 Direct Link
The sun starts to scream
As I mix flapjack batter
That’s COFFEE, no cream
On no damn silver platter!
Whilst outside parched green
Does NOT friggin’ matter!

Got full-time work
In a life with no drugs
My chores I don’t shirk
But I HATE friggin’ bugs!

They buzz ‘round my head
An annoyance factor
They’ll bite ‘til I’m dead
whilst I ride on the tractor!

The loader slick sled
As I gather hot stone
And solitaire sweat
Hey, I’m in this alone!

Dragged-ass out of the bed
Then at night I returned
No worries, no dread
And a slumber well-earned!
07/10 Direct Link

July 10th, and just past the 9th
Feeling spent & 5 days behind!

Energy: zero, I sit on my ass
No longer a hero
I won’t cut the grass!
For cutting it now
Y’all can see how
It gets crispy and tinted like brass!

Indeed, neat-niks who hoped
for a kempt and tidy tract
And/or folks who are roped
into a contract
have no fun!
The poor grass is sheared
Then bakes in the sun,
Bleached out, as they feared
But by then it’s DONE.

Hey, even for non-followers
of Martha Stewart®,
brown-assed grass is not appealing to look at.


07/11 Direct Link

A 7-11? Well, have no fear:
We do NOT have any
of them ‘round here.
Thank Maw & Paw Kettle
And McCuskers for that
They bested the mettle
Of corpora-bloat fiat.

Heading out the door by 10
Finished with chores
But remembering when
7-11 was daily news
A loathed stopping spot
For bustling tree crews.

Not today, José
For this boy named ‘me’
I brew at home
my own strong cups ‘o tea!

Got a whole bunch of drivin’
To where we’ll soon be
To thus be arrivin’
Just them, wheels, and me.
On this 11th of July
7-11 free!

07/12 Direct Link

More sunny days’ forays
Gone by
Whilst the farmer hays
Under sapphire sky
And the sun blares down
As summer wears on
Don’t YOU wear a frown
Over your brownish lawn
Or muddle around
Relax, you clown
From dusk ‘til dawn
For horseflies will soon be gone!

Annoying? You bet.
But no sense toying;
Forgive and forget!
You should be enjoying
The great outdoors
As you trot on all fours
Just slap on your trusty head-net!

Paw prints in the bone-dry dust
Lunchtime sated pizza lust
The 4th long-gone
No stars did spangle
I trundle on in a 5-leash tangle!

07/13 Direct Link

This is hands-down
the stupidest thing I have done
in a long time,
and it is a fact NOT to in any way be debated:

Opening the freezer this a.m.
Lo! What awaited?
Pure iced mayhem!
Yukk! It was feathery ooze
A frozen bottle of ginger brews
Which I had loaded
The night before
Had since exploded
Right next to the door!

What a dumb-ass move
Thought I’d get it cold quick
And promptly remove
Feel its cool sweat so slick
But alas I forgot
And it stayed in all night
In that freezer ‘twas fraught
With a terrible plight!

07/14 Direct Link

Got time to kill?
Or a gut to fill?
Well, partake if you will
of some sugar-soaked swill!

Dark java, I quaffed her
Keyed up, and then after
It pickled my gizzard
It’s home to the wizard
Then after the fun
Once again, in the sun!

I tell tall July tales,
As the sun blazes bright
We drive ‘round like snails
With conditions just right
For trolling TAG SALES
with inexorable delight!

Then I saw the sign
What a BIG tag sale find!
Thus, right turn made
I parked in the shade
Inspecting the table
As I surely was able!

07/15 Direct Link

As I was saying
In yesterday’s post
For tag sales we’re braying
We love them the most!

In the shade of a spruce
We luckily parked
And could deduce
The dog sat and barked!

Tag sale, indeed
How good it looks!
I sated my greed
With 25¢ books!

But best of all
This PHATT tag sale
Saved a trip to the mall
It was quite a good flail!

Voila - Good luck!
For it did render
‘Twas only a buck
for a spankin’-new blender!
Slick, shiny and white
It will fit just right
And soon it will
Flapjack mix render!

07/16 Direct Link

Is our imperiled globe
With enough to sicken
Our quivering droves
The pace seems to quicken
Fairly frikkin’ implode
Seems dire to this hick in
His oak and spruce grove!

Wildfires here
Broke-assed glacier there
Drought, guns, much fear
And SHIT Everywhere!
Pundits still sneer
And sling barbs so unfair
At those pols whose career
And tax forms are laid bare.

Are we over here?
And ‘they’ over there?
It’s an election year
And hey, we don’t care!
Perhaps they could leer
At my bald derriere!

Feel deep sadness
or those you miss
Revel in gladness
Friends in bliss!

07/17 Direct Link

The annual Green River festival wrapped up
last night, as waning strains of feel-good music
wafted over these humidity-hugged hills,
to the tune of just another banal evening tusslin’
final chore installments before tumbling
oh, so gratefully into the waiting sack.

This morning saw a whole lot of drag-ass
after weekend did pass,
but that could soon clear up
I have maple syrup!
Grade B, but not second class!

“The elixir of life,” I explain to my wife,
assuring the sugar won’t hurt;
For grade B it may be,
with great flavor, you see,
with much glee into pancakes insert!

07/18 Direct Link


Ahoy! Great news byte of the day
Sees the hoi polloi @ the FDA
Corrupted, defining
And stark data mining
All obstacles in their way!

So let’s pause for a sec
And we’ll surely see
their obstacle? Heck, it’s HONESTY!

Hah! To those of us observers
who follow this contemptible agency
in its blatant, draconian attacks on
all things natural,
commensurate with its cozy crony
relationship with – and protection of,
the pharmaceutical racket,
the timing couldn’t be better!

Here’s sincerely hoping FDA’s
scurrilous spies will be prosecuted
to the full extent of the law’s letter!

07/19 Direct Link

Along flanking guardrail
Of one society school,
Burdock bursts with prickly blooms,
A hirsute facade, oh prickly flail
Behind, hereinafter looms
Horses in stalls
Well-bred girls in their rooms
And when the day calls
Each awaits their grooms!

Also behind the burdock cropping
Is a giant pile that horses are dropping!
Take a whiff & crack a smile
In a tiff, go shopping!

When mixed with wood chips
And bone-dry hay
The farmers will happily haul it away!

The moral of the story is:
Dust off that silver platter
Let your high horse take a whiz
We’re ALL organic matter!

07/20 Direct Link

More corruption we heard
Of this HSBC
Deduction absurd, and so flagrantly!
Yet is anyone surprised?
Are their money-minds wandering?
Aye, profits so prized
Which comprised money laundering?

There exists no such thing
As ‘early detection’
Which has such a ring
Say, with cancer infection!

But straight from the gut
Of the brash underworld
Had flowed a cash glut
Yes, a streaming unfurled
From the Big-ass Bank’s butt
Came bills no longer curled!

Yes, lucre washed clean
By the biggest of banks
Quite the lucrative scene
But they couldn’t say “thanks”
Or turn down that green
From the underworld ranks!

07/21 Direct Link

Seven & Twenty
Suffering: Plenty!
And in this marvelous day and age
Our vast majority glides so gently
Controlling their disgruntled rage.
But at Batman’s flick, in walks a dick
Strafes a carnivore-shooting rampage!

I’ll never forget the time we shoehorned ourselves into a packed theater to see the exceptionally violent Arnold Schwarzenegger ‘thriller’ appropriately entitled “Terminator Part 2”. Not one seat lay empty, mind you! It spoke volumes that this jury of our insatiable peers, having voted with their dollars for the first edge-of-the-seat grisly bloodbath, had now, with aplomb, returned en-masse for more gore with stunning special effects.

07/22 Direct Link

Citrus smoothie
Starts the day
Sure is groovy, I must say!
But strange facts jump in the way
Ever worthy to convey:
Grapefruit in Florida
Or in Mass
Is the same friggin’ price!
How did THAT come to pass?

To this farm-boy, well, aw, shucks
It costs a whole bunch
To haul ‘em in trucks
Which roll the highway
Day and night
If you see it my way:
Grapefruits ain’t light!

They are HEAVY
Can’t you see?
They haul a bevy to you and me
We’re grateful, sure
In store they’ll be
We’ll rip & roar
And grind a smoothie!

07/23 Direct Link

Homes lost, fires burning
High cost, globe keeps turning.
Bone dry, so parched
In over half our states;
The number marched to 28!

How minor MY foibles!
Hope THEIRS abates
And on the double, before it’s too late!

Bloodshed wretched in Damascus
The latest mantra in the news
Get involved, they are sure to ask us
Unsolved! Is it turmoil we can use?
It won’t be legislated away
How’s THAT as a mantra for today?

Meanwhile, clack at the stanch, a slick-topped, rapidly graying bouffant graces a Blueblood former governor’s pate as he slings audacious barbs at the great orator.

07/24 Direct Link

Let’s say “Hooray!”
With nagging persistence
These canines are worthy
Of pampered existence!

Whilst a wordsmith quipped,

“Those in search of strength
and patience
welcome the company of trees,”

We appreciate these
And prefer trees to logs!
Moreover, assert
It surely won’t hurt
Those seeking senses
Or better defenses
Will welcome the company of dogs!

Dogs, yes, by far
And without them you are
In a depressing, empty car!

Yet today, somewhere
In said car I’ll be found
Amid flying dog hair
And I’ll spin around
Damn! I could swear
A feeling profound
In the backseat there - a hound!

07/25 Direct Link

Cobble together a breakfast so lean
Hustle this butt out the door
‘Fore I scream!
Coffee AND tea, please:
Of course hold the cream.

Then off to work
For some new skill to glean
Ooze out of the murk
And onto the green
No Boss (So no Jerk)
To holler so mean
No trouble to lurk
Or egos to preen
A pittance for perk
Is the best that I’ve seen
Just me with my quirk
Like it always has been
It could drive me berserk
Now in year seventeen
So wipe off that smirk
From your smug mug so green!

07/26 Direct Link

Davey H departs from the usual reams of silliness to report longtime friend Bob C. is passing from cancer, as Nature slowly and mercilessly reclaims his wasting frame.

A gentle a.m. drizzle completed its brief pattering, the rooster brays boisterously and morning coffee’s aroma mulls this humble abode.

Bob is remarkable in many respects, receiving Dhamma in 1991 and progressing rapidly. Appointed assistant teacher in ’97, he was conducting a course on 9/11, then immediately dashed to NY as a first responder.

He didn’t seem surprised at his 2012 lung cancer diagnosis, speaking matter-of-factly in great pain about the mundane.

07/27 Direct Link

What about Bob? No, not the clownish Bob portrayed by Bill Murray in the B movie of the same name. No, let’s address the courageous Bob who forthrightly refused the Cancer Industry’s poisonous, profitable palliatives outright.

Allow enormous respect to usher forth through tensions which have arisen due to Bob’s deeply private nature, a characteristic which kept him aloof 3 of 4 seasons.

In saluting this guy I never knew but liked – and connected with, however briefly – let’s always remember good times, such as his soft-spoken recitation of much-needed angst-cooling verses uttered at the perfect time during an intense meeting.

07/28 Direct Link

That meeting was memorable: a collection of diverse minds encased in fallible flesh, sitting in plastic chairs arranged concentrically under the giant courtyard sugar maple which surely would outlive us.

How ironic that on a mild, mellow spring day human tensions would arise, simmer and pass away!

It was Bob who rose to the occasion, his soft-spoken tone indirectly instructive and wholly disarming, ladling fresh water on hot coals of an ego or two. Moreover, his attendance was optional!

This was one in a slew of Bob’s gentle, notable donations toward positivism, before again retreating to privacy.

Somebody took pictures.

07/29 Direct Link

Bob maintained hard to penetrate aloofness, yet always managed to materialize in time of need. A vast pond of remarkableness simmered beneath that calm facade, and to be frank, I was damn jealous of him; after all, he had lived the worker’s dream, and then some!

Joining the IBEW at 18, he enjoyed excellent pay, benefits and stimulating gigs rigging up sets for seminars at Jacob Javits Center, sailing the ranks toward master electrician.

At 53, he could have stayed and mopped gravy for many more years, but chose retirement, as he quipped. “35 years is long enough, isn’t it?

07/30 Direct Link

In the meditation tradition we both took very seriously, I sat perhaps a half-dozen courses under Bob, and again, initially, jealousy had arisen when pitting my own pathetic life accomplishments against his. So now here he was, scarcely 2 years older – as MY freekin’ teacher!

In the mundane work-a-sphere, Bob had offered guidance with much-needed electrical upgrades at our modest abode, though he lacked a ‘Mass ticket’, and so could not perform the actual work. I would have happily bartered tree trimming in bust-ass fashion, but alas, like so many other back-burner-capable venues in this busy-bee existence, it never materialized.

07/31 Direct Link

The years wore on as they tend to, our aging pates waxed grayer, unwanted wrinkles etched their equally unwelcome tales on our cheeks and Dhamma brother Bob found solace for 6 or 8 weeks in serious practice over East, spending most of each winter in Burma.

Then, when spring broke back in these hills, Bob repaired to northern California before most local snowbirds returned.

Now, looking back, grateful our paths crossed and all that happy horseshit, I feebly squelch indescribable visceral queasiness as this withered wisp of the grand gent known as BOB gurgled what may be his last breaths.