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BY Davey H

08/01 Direct Link

August 1st, another burst
However, it was not gaudy
July’s end found us immersed:
On it was borne a BODY.
A dead one is a dread, accursed
Its sight makes one feel shoddy!

Bob’s gaunt frame
was the first cadaver I had seen
since Ed’s at City Hospital morgue
in Boston March 1989.

The chill runs deep.
And for days at a time
You do not sleep
Stuck deep in your mind
As you mind your breath
Is FEAR you can find
Of your OWN looming death
Not far behind.

Bob had left home and left it to the Trust.

08/02 Direct Link

The summer now is nearly behind us
Thus back to the grind
Is where you will find us!

With tourist season in full swing
The tourists don’t care
About a damn thing!
They mull and wander
Ponder and mingle
With dollars to squander
In groups or just single
Cameras-a-clickin’
Snapping some pictures
Soon they will frikkin’
Cause traffic strictures!

Back to that grind
And by induction
What they will find
Is lots of construction!

Now is the time for all good rollers,
graders, bulldozers, excavators
and ancillary controllers
still toiling like gators
amongst hairy procrastinators
to soon be gone.

Later!

08/03 Direct Link

Boo-hoo! I find
So much to do
And falling behind
Of work I’ve a slew!
So back to the grind
I just informed you!

Radio OFF as I head up the hill
At Olympic$ I scoff
Such commercial SWILL!
Rounding off corners
Relentlessly close
‘Oer green painted bridges
My auto to host
Oh, fair sunny day
I say, “Make the most.”
Thus, out in the fray
To stay so engrossed!

This a.m. I popped the elderly 2100CD
in the hatch for a toss to Ben’s place,
where the wheelchair-bound repair maven
performs small engine wizardry most days;
just not today.

08/04 Direct Link

When thieves come to roost
Out in rural home dens
Sweet solace reduced
Upon which life depends
As this boy deduced
It alienates friends
Unwillingly juiced
Their intrusion portends
That we get a boost
When their wretched reign ends!

While bowling, Dan got hit for 4 hundred last month, as we pegged someone who knew him, his abode, his comings & goings, and plumbed the mother lode, which, for a petty thief, was a damn good haul, being fungible assets, and that’s not all: The cretin got away, didn’t take a fall, whilst his hapless quarry was having a ball.

08/05 Direct Link

Bleach-white
Shrink-wrapped marshmallows
Next to glittering, upright
Verdant cornrows
Brag the best hay year
Out of the last seven, and
Rendered here
Stacked damn near to heaven
Sure as a shucked ear
From that dozen, eleven
In pendulous purple prose!

Why not crank up the heat some more?
Free sauna – a treat
With sweat galore!
The poor man’s sauna
As they say
But I won’t gripe
And will repay
What Mother Nature just took away!

Just when I had started
It commenced to rain
And needlessly thwarted
This day’s stellar gain
But we have tomorrow
to go at it again.

08/06 Direct Link

Al’s oaks had sizable leaves in predictably dense quantities: Large, obovate, healthy dark green, chock full of water weight.

We noted how oaks do incredibly well here, flourishing while nearly every other tree species suffers one or more maladies, awaiting pestiferous invasions that could spell doom.

Today’s gig: Continue roping out the oak hanging precipitously over Al’s gazebo, and from which looming lightning had sent this grunting sloth rappelling earthward yesterday, exasperated & not even ⅜ completed the arduous, challenging task.

It was rain that intruded
When we didn’t ask
Could it not have transuded
this whole parched July past?

08/07 Direct Link

A local musician named O’Hare
Passed away, oh yesterday
Not well they say he’d fare.

At 55, his life was done
In a wisp of time
His time had come!

This good fellow’s life curtailment
Precipitated by a
‘Longtime heart ailment’
will surely not go unsung!

While my own heart goes out to him
And his family
I puzzle my own heart’s survival @ 56.
It has not been treated handily.

These thoughts abated
I went about the day’s biz
As work was slated
Not subrogated
Besides, I had to whiz.

Everything else went fine
Until I hit the porcupine.

08/08 Direct Link

The bloodied-nose of porcupine
Begets this prose
That’s not sublime.
He was nailed with right front fender
So assailed, sure death to render.

Thinking back
I should have slowed
Yet did his track
Bisect the road!

Though it bore no yellow line
Dead-center waddled porcupine
Who moved snail slow
As if in mud
I’d sooner forego that awful THUD!

I rolled ahead
Then turned around
He wasn’t dead
That much I found.

I fetched a rope
From the backseat
Hoping to lasso Porky’s feet
And drag him off the cool asphalt
To side of street
It was NOT my fault!

 

08/09 Direct Link

Just had to look at yesterday’s slate
Indeed to ensure it wasn’t too late!
50 is nifty but 60 is better;
Acupuncture at 11
Me a needle go-getter!

Thus with that healing
My belt tucked under
The workday’s congealing
Not reeling with blunder!

TCM’s not the only creed
But attractively close
To all that I need
At least in terms of all things medical
In other words, read:
I’m damn near heretical!

Shame on me, then
Thinking outside the box
Of medicine
That’s ‘orthodox’.

In closing I have a score to settle
Excuse me while I push on this pedal!

08/10 Direct Link

Morning broke
So better get walking
Neither joke
Nor engage in talking.
Rain has lain
Oh, pitter-patter
Nothing gained, too late to matter
Even though Jim said today
They culled 1900 bales of hay
Tomatoes green, and it looks a lot
Like they’ve all been set to rot!

My, oh my you’re so irascible!
Your voice-mail, guy, is so erasable!
Yikes! Biting scorpion temper tasted,
To get me gone, no time is wasted!

A horrible way, indeed if you will
To start the day, such a bitter pill!
But it’s preferable by far
To political swill
So there you are!

08/11 Direct Link

Split the ash
Hey, that was easy!
Won’t need to crash
And like that cheesy
Slogan pasted to our dear Staples®
Ash spits easier than those maples!

Had you driven by
On southward fare
You’d see me spry
In my underwear!

Splitting ash logs in the drizzle
Swinging maul in double-dare
Before day’s fervor began to fizzle
I NEEDED to be out there!

Before you chide me, Goldilocks
Or deride me, insult or swear;
I ardently think outside the box
And handily escape this lair!

08/12 Direct Link

A Delaware friend
So hale and hearty
Bid “Davey please attend
a grand First State Party!”

Most probably for and by said friend
Who in the first place
The invite did send!

It came wrapped in a Facebook page
He’s still making music
At his ripe old age!

So was this chap bemused
that I declined?
I would not be enthused
For 350 mile grind!

“So sorry,” I winced
“Don’t mean to be crass!”
He seemed unconvinced
I was way up in Mass!

Say I left right now
From the chilly Bay State
No seein’ how
I wouldn’t be late!

08/13 Direct Link

Gran rarely sent us
A ‘Nana-gram’
To show just how small we were;
Grandildy, however,
Vastly outdid her|
His purple prose did proffer.

He encouraged young nerds
To stretch their expressions
With many mellifluous words;
So adjectival were his penciled lessons
At times so verbose, ‘twas absurd!

And ‘Grandildy’, yes,
Was his real-life nickname
And he’d readily confess
He had NOT won the game.
For in the Depression
He had lost home and wealth
A deemed likely regression
Of his mental health!

But he soon retired
And hugged the pool hall
While his letters inspired
The likes of us: small.

08/14 Direct Link

Close to noon and pretty soon
I’ll relate what was on this date.
Another hot and humid swoon
is champing at the slate.

A headline crossing my line of vision
Bespoke a fine and local rescission:
Area residents wind power debate!

Hells bells, we already have that;
it’s called TALK RADIO – and none more
bellicose than in an election year,
especially THIS one!
Aye, if only that forcefully puffed Co2
could be harnessed for useful purposes!

Meanwhile, on one of the few decent roads
leading into town, Dena’s dead maple spar
is being actively carved
by an accomplished chainsaw artist.

08/15 Direct Link

ON this day in 1963,
Our Ed-Z was born
For a time he lived free.

I’ll never forget the hours he played
With big brother Tom
Who was close to his age
They spun, jumped and rumbled
Bikes, balls, BB guns
Our eardrums were humbled
‘Cause Ed-Z played drums!

This decidedly vigorous
Boyhood was had
For Ed-Z
The bike riding, drum playing lad!

His first band, ‘The ‘Nicators’
Lasted quite awhile
And since they were FOUR
Their name made us smile!

Then came ‘The Maytags’
Man, those dudes kicked some butt
While booking some venues
Which had quite a glut!

08/16 Direct Link

Summer hangs on
Like a dangling leech
But I wish it bygone
Like a plucked ripe peach!

Hummingbirds flit
But the gnats still nibble
And I give not a shit
For political quibble
Or tax forms of Mitt
And related drivel
So ball that all up
Roll it into a lump
And hasten to truck
The mess straight to the dump!

What about me?
I respond at insistence:
Just chugging along
With stubborn persistence!

Politics nags; I bid it no flattery
As energy flags
Quite like a dead battery!

Rustie’s right front tire needs air
Lusty, she won’t expire, won’t care.


08/17 Direct Link

On this day in ‘56
Davey H joined the fray
With his infantile leg-kicks
He popped out on that day!

Though it could be said
He was not full of mirth
As doc tugged his head
Yikes! Forceps-pulled birth!

So 56 then begat 56 now
What a crazed ride it’s been
Of late, then, and how!

Riding the camel
Of boredom, depression
A brain ergo trammelled
with pliant aggression.

Drinking, not thinking
Smoking and joking
The devil was winking
Much fun he was poking!

Living in ‘burbs
Much fuss was made
Reading those blurbs
Hell, at least he had shade!

08/18 Direct Link

Silvie the 20",
ostensibly 4
horsepower
Not so gussied-up
But rather frumpy, lumpy
Grass munchin' machine
Has been our baby
For years of
thirteen!

We picked her up
Off a Lawrenceville curb
Schlepped her up north
And for what all it's worth
Included her in
this fine blurb!

As small engines go, Silvie's has received comparatively royal treatment, with frequent oil changes, a new air filter around the 4-year mark, and one of those newfangled overpriced spark plugs just today! On the downside, to her detriment, she was run hard mowing the south side, two hours without her air filter!

 

08/19 Direct Link
Pity Silvie, the scuffed-up free-cycled picked up curbside grass slaying phenom!

She handily sucked untold quantities of Augustine grass detritus through her buck-naked carburetor plenum!

During that late evening mowing marathon, with me benumbed to her plight, I waxed ecstatic at getting her runnin’, and forgot to replace so tight - her elegantly simple yet so important air filter – not bright!

Wiping ear protector cups and final brow-bead clean of sweat, ‘twas time to put the tools to bed. Were we tired? You bet, and there was the air filter – stuck in the shed.

Silvie’s dysfunction: slack kill switch cable.
08/20 Direct Link

On this fine day,
A remarkable lady turns 93,
Immersed in the fray
And not with glee!

For as the late Betty White once quipped:
“Old age ain’t no place for sissies.”
But the quote was originally attributed to
also late Henry Louis Mencken, who could
crankily wear this Yiddish moniker: “Mensch”.

Anyway, here in the Western world,
as Donald Fagen sang, reality isn’t
as the song portrayed.

Old age permeates this place,
saturates the atmosphere with bitter sadness
and ruthlessly carves quarries
in my elder’s sallow textured face.

A slightly hardened brown trail mars carpet twixt bath and bed.

 

08/21 Direct Link

With Sunshine State wonks in attendance
On the first visitation day,
Spirits of jovial ascendance 
In dining room chowtime play!
With the notable exception of birthday girl 
Who wore that perpetual scowling swirl
typical of her lineage, it would seem:
The churlish demeanor makes you scream!

Ambling into the cavernous dining room,
vocal chatter rose,
trilled, merrily filled
the capacious space
as inquisitive stares beckoned. 
Meanwhile, rack at the branch,
spouse languished, I reckoned.

Late nights meant reasonable speed
WIFI-enabled surfing, courtesy of
PAQ
PAQ
PAQ COMPAQ!
Our 2004 low-end laptop is still
cranking out stellar performances
year after year!



    
08/22 Direct Link

Summer is hanging on, by golly,
and this weather is truly exceptional, if a bit dry,
hence fine by us.
The Indian hoteliers are sweet beyond measure,
obviously quite experienced - read: naturals.
They seem to intuitively grasp the
‘hands off’ approach required by residents
who so temporarily inhabit this
place of purveyance and are gone in a wink.
In other words, this hotel management team
leaves you alone - just think!

Of course, ever-ubiquitous cameras
Are in evidence – EVERYWHERE,
So with that in mind:
Mischief-makers beware!

If you choose surveillance to ignore
They’ll have an archive of your mug for sure!
08/23 Direct Link

Opinionated cacophony forcibly foisted via CRT-borne electromagnetic waves upon us relaxing zombies providing its peremptorily pompous, politically parsed pap-piffle perilously prompted per perched, persnickety, primped, pitching pipers.

This would not ordinarily have been a mammoth impediment to peace of mind given the fact that we are not consistently in a position, couch-mounted or otherwise, 2-B glued to any given Cyclops Ad-box, hence this televised eye-burn was a startlingly relaxing, unexpectedly informative break from banal routine; ergo, such was the nature of evenings spent in front of the stupor-inducing machine.
We were not swayed by opinion-belching talking heads’ Net of Views.
08/24 Direct Link

We found lots of WAYS
To do things,
Some as taught
Some at times for naught 
And proudly at times some days
We thought
“We’re OWNERS, queens and kings!”

After the Denver Columbus Day parade in 1992 was prevented in a rousing, consciousness-raising protest, I heard the most passionate, rousing speech regarding its blockage.

Indeed, I had
Found the MEANS!
 
And now Russell Means
is far easier to find online
than 2 years ago,
when an Internet search would only turn up:
‘For The World To Live, Columbus Must Die!’

Now this indigenous energetic gentleman
has significant presence:
Facebook & RussellMeansFreedom.com
08/25 Direct Link

To everything, turn, turn
Thus the ancients’ wisdom said
And I oh, so quickly learn
At least so I hope before I’m dead
That I make a pitiful multi-tasker
And loathe attempting
Or preempting
Trying to work any faster.
For example:
Why, whenever I try and write 
Someone starts flapping their overbite?

Of course multi-tusking is okay
Yakking whilst shucking corn
Prepping for the best meal of the day
Starting in late morn!

But when it comes time
To attempt some awareness
And slam out a rhyme
Please, in all fairness
Just give me this time
For some textual preparedness!
08/26 Direct Link

Family visitation week went surprisingly well considering the fact that we’re Americans – a breed not given to continuing habitation of close quarters past minimal time periods, despite the fact that our species has proliferated to the 7 billion mark via cooperation as opposed to competition, though the latter has been a thread running through our noxious history.

So dissension sets in after a couple of days and the need to shout at the hard of hearing to penetrate their thick-assed skulls becomes itself a source of burning irritation.
Thankfully absent were rug-rats replete with higher energy demands, save for pictures.
08/27 Direct Link

Back to the farm, where 7 years ago
we planted two Dawn Redwoods,
which, in keeping with DNA and destiny,
will try and become huge.
Both these and the Ginkgo are THRIVING
in the chilly north; drought summers
have not stunted their velocity one iota.

I posit this: Such ancient specimens
will stave off oxygen deprivation
as CO2 increasingly chugs into the atmosphere
and we handily accelerate stripping flora
to make paper towels and cheap furniture.

When Armageddon has singed every human hair
on the planet and all else is imperiled,
Metasequoia Glyptostroboides and
Ginkgo Biloba will be left standing!

08/28 Direct Link

Ugliness, dissension as standard fare
When you turn your attention
Damn near anywhere!
And should you wish to hear or care
I’ll have no part of it, I SWEAR!
So permit me a bit of snide derision
We’re gladly unglued from television!

55 was still alive
In sound health we got our kicks
And the speed at which we’ll drive
56, played pick-up sticks
Winter’s kindling to derive.

Now living life as country hicks
Handily, surely we’ll survive
Assiduously avoiding politics
Bro and sis, I do not jive!

So forgive my use of slang
As I slam out this harangue!

08/29 Direct Link

Unruly Isaac was hurricane Irene’s
uncanny 1-year sequel,
slamming the ever-vulnerable Big Easy.
But who bats an eye anymore
when Mother Nature bashes ashore?

Irene deluged Vermont and Massachusetts rivers,
leaving a muddy trail of soupy carnage in her wake.

On August 29, 2011 I stared aghast
at the roiling brown Deerfield in spittin’ drizzle,
watching whole trees, propane tanks, boats,
canoes, and probably some kitchen sinks
buoyed atop angry whitecaps.

A wigged friend, still reeling from radiation
and chemo, ambled toward the waterfront
with what little remained of her strength,
and we chatted lightly, sharing fear and uncertainty.

08/30 Direct Link

With an energetic start
To a whirlwind day
And reasonable ramparts
Over which to lay
Brick, block and mortar
Whilst giving no quarter;
The ensuing edifice
Of this gadget hoarder
shall not hereby be delayed.

Things were certainly looking great
For this country boy
After a 20-year wait
In which he’d hoped
That with any luck it
Would be a New Holland
With both forks and bucket!

Indeed, that career
Had just come alive
With this rugged skid steer –a 985!

She didn’t look as beat up as some units
listed at auction sites,
and price comparisons were befuddling bites.

08/31 Direct Link

Waiting to procure the machine was agonizing on this arid day, though things went more smoothly than expected, with no need to be dejected.

The friendly bank teller brushed off bank vs. cashier’s checks comparison/contrast queries, noting firm recipient liquidity guarantee in either instance.

As to mundane machinations, the tow truck, not to be confused with two truck, was put off ‘til morning as an affable tanned yard mechanic laid claim to ‘only turning wrenches’, ergo shinnying off the buyer inquiry hot seat whilst giving a highly informative walk-through, including a scintillating overview of the unit’s highly inaccessible battery compartment.