BY Davey H

09/01 Direct Link

I parsed reluctance to delve into repairs
of such a behemoth of industrial apparatus,
expounding exasperatedly this maxim:

“You will empty your bag of tricks
When stuff goes wrong
That you just can’t fix.”

Nevertheless, after the roll-off,
I whipped out the checkbook,
squinting in blaring sun, fixin’ to get
a bad case of writer’s cramp,
struggling to decipher check numbers,
when Ben the driver –
not to be confused with
Ben the ACE driver –
suddenly spat this unwanted admonition:
“Oh, we don’t take checks!”

Whoa, wait a cotton-pickin’ minute!

A quick cell call took care of that.

They trust me.

09/02 Direct Link

Oh, the recklessness of it all!
Being overwhelmed
Or maybe just ‘whelmed’
Here on the cusp of fall.

On September 2nd
Many chores beckoned
None would enthrall
That much could be reckoned.

Out we have turned
And not for the worse
Yet what have we learned
Not already rehearsed?
Should we go and get burned
Work with lips tightly pursed?

Damn well better pass by
All those portly tag sales
We have too much clutter
That’s what it entails.

With summer near gone
And when we look back it’s
The same farm – pale and wan
With some mean yellow jackets!

09/03 Direct Link

Our burgeoning family
Has seen many an addition
Not without foibles
Or fiscal demolition!
But a dear long-lived member
Stayed 9 years this September
Would soon be lost to attrition.

So speak fondly of Rustie
Who turns 22
A road hog so lusty
She had plenty to do
On back roads so dusty
Some trouble would brew!

In her day, she’d go ninety
Like when late to airport
Sprint the thruway so sprightly
A bright snappy sport!

Oh, sure, she still runs
And we love her so much
She could still have some fun
All she needs is a clutch!


09/04 Direct Link

Oh gangly vibrant heliotrope!
A glorious scene to see!
One needs neither glasses
Nor a field-scope
That flower is cleome!

It stands in our garden
Salutes passerby
Bone-dry soil hardened
Oh, so stinkin’ dry!
Surrounded perchance
By lots more thirsty plants
Fair cleome stays pretty spry!

We were spared Nature’s scorn
And actually ate corn
From venerable local fields;
No losses to mourn
As stalks were shorn
In this year of reasonable yields!

Much grieving, we guessed
For arid Midwest
As summer to fall congeals;
They gave their best
Whilst put to the test
Though getting the rawest of deals!

09/05 Direct Link

One of the multifarious downsides in these progressively more protracted summers is the profound prevalence of pests, more than a few of which wear stingers or proboscis at the ready, primed to add injury to insult in keeping with already unwelcome wretchedness so hastily visited upon pink Yankee flesh.

Whilst mowing, I hit the first yellow jacket nest, and then discovered nest #2 after running over it with the skid steer, resulting in yet another angry, swirling vortex oh, so non-dear. This has resulted in prevalent fear; imminent stinger-danger seems always near, and of many areas one must stand clear.

09/06 Direct Link

When creativity lags behind
As it all too frequently will
Just paste in a screed
Of whatever you find
Unconfined; it’s grist for the mill!

Just fathom that mush
‘twixt your radar-like ears
And pluck words oh, so lush
Some fine text then appears!

Thus for those snippets
You won’t need to forage
Just dust off the tip, it’s
Your iceberg of storage!

For it has been said
Of our brains heaven sent
We don’t get out the lead
But just use two percent!

2 percent?
Sure, though it sounds so absurd
When 1 percent more
Means the 100th word!

09/07 Direct Link

Nobody, but NOBODY
Has it MADE!
Look around and you’ll see
But some folks will bluster
From in their shade
They’ve got it knocked, you see?

Thus boneheaded moves
On day’s beginning
Could be construed
As a contest I’m ‘winning’
At least so I think
In a wink thus far
Some coffee to drink
And grab chocolate bar.
Put bar of chocolate
In right-hand pants pocket
Sprint to the car
And commence to unlock it
With temperature rising
Inside the car
Hah! Unsurprising:
An EX-chocolate bar!

With losses thus made
Little time to recoup
That chocolate bar = chocolate soup!

09/08 Direct Link


Utilizing connections of various speeds, the overzealous would-be writer zinged dielectrically didactic diatribes to his editor who at times resembled a dirigible, and who had, much to the aspiring scrivener’s chagrin, just called him a FRUITCAKE. But that was okay: As the submissive submitter later learned, the hack editor was on antidepressants.

Nevertheless, these hard-won words had, with great ardor, spilled out of the scrivener’s battered brain during times of duress and toppled onto the page in HTML format, only to be given the scissor-hands going-over by the audacious editor, eventually finding their glorious dispatch in CURRANTS magazine.

09/09 Direct Link

8:08 in San Fran means 11:08 here.
Not that it means anything, my dear.
Thus today we drift away
No plan; no nervous fear.
For as George Harrison said
Though he’s now dead:
“It’s just another day.”

That said, no dread, and in keeping with T’s nurturing nature, we set out hot on the trail of high octane cat food procurement for a cat with tongue cancer – not easy.
Some foods just won’t work, and waste is a given; with complexity this situation is riven. Such is felinity’s nature even under the best circumstances. Just think of those poor fish.

09/10 Direct Link

With that feline inappetence challenge in its second day, I pondered this appellation away. Yes, that mouthful is in some veterinarian-approved dictionary.

Harking back exactly a year, give or take a few minutes, Suzanne the multitalented singer/songwriter died after a ten-year tenure battling the Big ‘C’, it having ravaged her bowels first, then spreading as it tends to, especially when aided and abetted by toxic chemo “therapy” non-cure palliatives – a fact that had not gone unnoticed by her after 5 years of being poked, sliced, prodded, injected, sutured and dejected by the Cancer Industry.
Hers was a death with dignity.

09/11 Direct Link

Eleventh remembrance
Though not with rage;
September 11th
Should get a whole page!

As politicians bluster,
This much stands clear:
They’ve all lost their luster
Thus from them we veer.
They’re feigning compassion,
Yet sound insincere
But bluster’s in fashion
In each pol’s career!

9/11 falls during this hotly contested campaign for the world’s Superpower hot seat whilst contenders temporarily deposit their shoddy, pugilistic backbiting campaign pap-ads at the door.

Thinking back to that ALSO sunny Tuesday 11 years ago, I nearly lost faith in an entire species, and repaired to the nearest boob-tube, gazing aghast at the blistering carnage.

09/12 Direct Link

Lacking functional boob-tube reception on the home front, still curious over the macabre gruesomeness of exploding 767’s, and with spouse not in attendance, I hastened contact with cronies and a former moonlighting employer, immediately making preparations to dispatch to the previous home state for a round of reasonably lucrative work gigs and perhaps more importantly, reconnection.

That’s a 56-word sentence, by the way.

Our illustrious former next-door neighbors welcomed my shaky pink carcass and we shared many a shit-shootin’ session in their kitchen, perched over the uniquely drab black & white tile as the wall-mounted CRT boob-tube blared new findings.

09/13 Direct Link

The now-late Jim was livid. He had flown over 150 missions in Vietnam as a highly educated flyboy – though not proud of it – but he loved his country.

Upon seeing footage of turbaned Afghanis pointing bazookas at the newsmen’s camera and making threats against the U.S., Jim reddened with rage and railed accordingly:

“You mean to tell me this freak in a circus costume is over there telling ME I’d better watch out?”

Jim paused, seeming nearly ready to spit fire, quickly launching into a Taliban-ripping riposte: “I think they need to go over there and f---ing ERADICATE it!”

09/14 Direct Link

The 9/11 boob-tube coverage was interesting to follow as the tone slowly turned from "America Under Attack" to
"America Will Damn Sure Get Even!!"

Somebody didn’t like the ‘under’ part.

Meanwhile, Jim & spouse K still needed to work, as did I, and we parted company after sumptuous repasts to our respective places of purveyance. Mine was in the trees working for the illustrious Polomials, the man I had admired from the git-go, and considered the pinnacle of a big brother surrogate.

No, he didn’t do the climbing; that was my hard-won trade, and we got along splendidly, especially NOW.

09/15 Direct Link

With the smoldering ruins of NYC towers still primetime preoccupation, we carried on our workaday existences, chins up, spirits down, noses to the grindstone, concentrating as best we could under the cudgel of violence-begotten uncertainty and thoughts of burnt flesh.

Dispatching from Jim & K’s warm kitchen each day, I’d pile gear into the trusty rusty Toyotee pickup, trundle to Polomials and head for the Jersey woods. But THIS night, after pizza, Polomials’ eyes filled with wonder as he calmly intoned: “I’ve got something to show you,” popping what appeared to be a fun-time family vacation tape into the VCR.

09/16 Direct Link

But this was no ordinary video. It began with a mundane feel-good scene: women and kids babbling on the Maine beach as chilly surfed lapped sand behind them.
“Look at those clouds, tell me what you see.” Mike urged.
Holy SHYTT! I couldn’t believe my parched retinas! At the juncture of cirrus clouds – which took on the eerie shape of wings -- was a FACE! A tan, very human face, to be sure, looking much like a stately middle-aged Nepali or Indian gent who hadn’t quite gone gray yet.

I blinked and questioned these eyes, but the camera never lies!

09/17 Direct Link

Flash out of the past
And back here today
Still quite aghast
At what was at play
Let’s forgive, not forget, okay?:
So anyway:

A bright silver pickup truck
Greets me each day;
Her candy-apple gleam shines
As if to say:
“Hey, sucker! Buy me!
We’ll go out and play!”
Yeah, sure, she looks nice
But forget the price
That’s why she’s not gone away.

News veer – media pap:
Politicians quibble and sneer
Tattle, prattle, useless crap
Nothing hitherto we want to hear
I swing a paddle, dog in lap
Canine companion free & clear
Now let’s take a nap!

09/18 Direct Link

Catching hell from various close and semi-close acquaintances seems to be increasingly on the roster for this boy as of late, and he feels strongly that a serious case could be made for pleading firmly but politely with all serving parties thereof for a thorough and immediate respite from such clearly unnecessary onslaughts, perhaps with promised future binding curtailment contingencies as well, despite the fact that resultant deep and adverse mental and emotional side effects due ostensibly to these outwardly slung barbs is indicative of his own shortcomings and/or intolerance plus overtly keen reception of their otherwise oblique negative energies.

09/19 Direct Link

The teachers had ended
Their perilous strike
And as it portended
‘Twas something to like!

No more agitation
For indeed they completed
Negotiation so sorely needed.

I think of them now
After raising their voices
then seeing how
They exerted some choices.

With jurisprudence
No need to pander
What's good for the students
Is good for the gander!

I slither through town’s intersections,
also making choices:
Here, a left, there, a right,
A tad of common sense directions
And hence, a bit ‘o fright
But with strident predilections
Waiting for each light
Destinations and connections
Why put up a fight?

09/20 Direct Link

Suddenly remembering where the exhaust flange clamp had been left in a flustered bit ‘o airheaded pique, it was useless to ponder the arduous, knuckle-busting repair its recovery entailed – over the obnoxious din of a wide open tailpipe shouting out strident petro-addled 4-banger explosions just north of the muffler.

Meanwhile, stack at the branch, a white pine limb-up job awaited the tree sloth’s attentions, and a pencil had gone dull, necessitating honing, but squeezing 100 words out of this typical morning mental cloud turned out to be an exercise in futility.

Ergo, as the exhaust bellows its odious primal roar…

09/21 Direct Link

Happy 88th birthday to Pops
And yesterday Anne!
Kudos to them, they are tops
All across this fair land!
But today in tree tops
That’s a part of the plan.

Just got finished white pine
Above power line
And commenced
With the brushy-poo cleanup;
The project went fine,
The pleasure was mine
‘Oer the fence
The pine tree can now green up!

Whilst thus finished today
Okay white pine ropin’
Then set out on the way
Just like I was hopin’

The days are much shorter
With time we have fought;
We’re stuck like set mortar
In darkness we’re fraught!

09/22 Direct Link
Just think: for an additional mere $12,000 plus shipping – and if one was unfortunate enough not to skate out of it – a pesky 6 ¼ % sales tax, a really nice beefy backhoe could be had to snap on the front of one’s Skid steer. Speaking of which, some day – probably soon – most English dictionaries will recognize ‘Skidsteer’ as ONE word, not two.

For it is in this context the machine earns its rightful moniker; hop in the cab, fir ‘er up and get workin’, then see if you DON’T skid while steering!

Trust me – you won’t steer without skidding!

09/23 Direct Link

So what’s delaying our garrulous species from continuing the scintillating pursuit of plucking fresh, innovative and most of all, FUNCTIONAL words from common usage venues and plopping them perspicuously into the venerable Merriam Webster dictionary?

After all, inane terms like ‘locavore’ and ‘frenemy’ were recently added; the former referring to endomorphs who stuff their face with local nosh, the latter a quizzically oxymoronic label for friend/enemy.

The rule of thumb – if you can wrap a thumb around the shovel handle of our already turgid lexicon – seems to be continued and/or habitual usage of the word in question, perhaps ad nauseam.

09/24 Direct Link

On 24 September many years ago, a 24 year old boy became US Government property – in a cascading series of events ending in some Philadelphia hotel, where he wound up in a gaggle of similarly afflicted new recruits after inexplicable bumbling by authorities who lost our attendant paperwork, necessitating temporarily housing a half-dozen of us conscripts in what would, in the context of what was to come, be the utmost luxurious accommodations.

Later, midway through boot camp induction proceedings, files were again misplaced, resulting in redundant vaccinations being doled out to a motley assemblage of recruits on the meat hook.

09/25 Direct Link

Lots of cops upon the road
Just now I’ve seen about six;
Some sit by shops then lock & load
To get their radar kicks!

Now as insouciant word-spewing host
I commence to coast
To give it the most
Harking back to yesterday’s post!

One whereupon the foibles of an armed forces recruit were chronicled in the utmost air headed fashion.

No surprise here.

In that era, the 24 year-old conscript learned to consume ethanol-based adult beverages with aplomb.  What a mistake!
Lots of repercussions ensued, some borderline disastrous; the whole shebang culminating with BLACKOUTS, the crowning glory of realization.

09/26 Direct Link

Did you know my course
is one month away?
I’ll shout until hoarse
With something to say:

Ahhh, yes, another 10 days well spent!
Permit me forays 2 B reticent
Fatigue and malaise
Of this middle-aged gent
Are far better raised
In a cabin or tent!

So although it seems crazed
Let us not circumvent
May the practice be praised
As if heaven sent!

Looking forward to spending
This time as a keeper
With no need for lending
A plush Perfect Sleeper®

So let’s get rehabbin’
I’m sure you will see
That musty old cabin
Is the place for me!


09/27 Direct Link

Now if I work late
And a hard time was had
That night means a date
With a hot heating pad!
It seems that both thumbs
Well, they hurt just a tad
So that radiant heat
Makes a country boy glad!

Outside in the late baking dew
The foliage will be lurking for you
Imminent insipid foliar prime time
the tour buses soon will be
Making beeline
Thus traffic and all
Will slow to a crawl,
But we locals will be doing fine!

Back to the grindstone
With very full days
In autumn’s drab tone
Thus seen through the haze.

09/28 Direct Link


The mid-autumn leaves
And some crisp wind to zoom us
Nobody bereaves
Whilst said leaves turn to humus!

The humus with fungi
Commence thus to flirt
Me? Sated, this one guy
Ends up with black dirt!

Black dirt will not harden
When mixed up with sand
Slap it on the garden
Oh, savor this land!

Black dirt, sand and sun
But don’t ever forget
That it’s often not fun
But rewarding?
You bet!

But now, oh, green thumbs
With those fingers you’ve fed
So plop in these mums
Put the garden to bed!

-The Garden committee

09/29 Direct Link

Coming up to the drizzly mire
Of ‘30 days hath September’
So let’s conspire
Make it one to remember!

Wretched rain, several days running,
has been great for the ducks,
Who haven’t been sunning
But rather found flopping
As they’re somewhat fond
Of quacking and slopping
on an algae-slicked pond.

Cool, clammy rain also hasn’t
dampened the flow of cars or trucks
on various local thoroughfares
Aw, shucks – who cares?

Dank, bleary skies
Over which sun is groping
A miasma despised
That it dries, we are hoping!

Not letting the dogs
Go off half-crazed
Whilst peeping frogs
Serenade orchard razed.

09/30 Direct Link

Yet another damp-assed morning, perfect for mums, mold and ducks.
It’s dreary out, and our perpetually reclusive neighbors are IN. One can almost imagine the aroma of fresh brewed java streaming into each parlor amid the din of a blaring television.

Up yonder at an actual family farm – rare in these times – cows of many interesting color combinations troll a hillside for those late stiff-bristle greens. No need to rummage in the barn just yet. Black Angus. A Holstein mix, and some tan ones that probably have a name but maybe not; perhaps bovines can just as easily be ‘mutts’.