BY Davey H

10/01 Direct Link

October the first
Not fearing the worst
As those best laid plans fizzle;

I haven’t rehearsed
And quite roundly cursed
This damned incessant drizzle!

It’s October first
And my lips are pursed
I’m immersed but running late;

Time’s forward flow
Surely hasn’t reversed
With no time left to wait!

It is past time for exterior painting
or under-body oiling, I’d say,
so those pastimes wait for a better day.

Yes, I pass the time
Just frittered away!

And the winner is – PROCRASTINATION!
MY fault, due to Web fascination.

Had all summer to get-r done
Now it’s soaked – sans sun!

10/02 Direct Link

Another morning, scuzzy and dirty
stayed up late – around two-thirty
Accepting this, life is still purty
Slurping coffee and getting sturdy!

We’ll have another fling with dogs
They’ll bounce and bark, not balk
They’re anything but demagogues
To the PARK for a simple walk!

We tangle leashes rain or shine
Around the country ‘block’
And if you please the pleasure’s mine
I’d rather bark than talk!

Today, of course, the weather sucked
The pack was not elated
Nothing dry, straight outta luck
Our walk was thus truncated!

Towels, please, get back in the truck
To evade this weather we hated!

10/03 Direct Link

An otherwise entirely too leisurely start to this day was punctured by a razzing kitchen flub-up, luckily discovered, though not in time to avoid the ensuing spill if you will, as the freezer door had regrettably and inexplicably been cocked open for who knows how long – possibly all day and night, and this being a bottom-freezer model, the defrosting consumables had long since begun returning to their previous unfrozen state and at the very least perhaps pondered disgorging their resultant liquid components logically following the principles of gravity upon our half-assed ceramic tile floor in direct accordance with Murphy’s Law.

10/04 Direct Link

The low-bush blueberries are undoubtedly the most nutritious item in the freezer. They hadn’t fully thawed, luckily enough, and an all-out nasty mess was avoided.

Everything, including those dark blue little orbs, would become turgid again, racked in suspended animation; the whole paradigm of frozen crispy critters occupying this easily neglected space lending itself to thoughtful reflection on how we live and waste food.
F’rinstance, how many times have we needed to do a freezer cleanout?

And those elders – some gone, rest their souls – who had freezers packed so tightly you couldn’t slip a toothpick ‘twixt blocks of forgotten victuals?

10/05 Direct Link

More yellows as foliage mellows
Wowing us when it is able
But reds and pinks
Are what methinks
Best plinks upon those maples!

For the bussed – in tourists
Or foliage purists
They’ll be the judge
And we’ll be the jurists
But the weather so far
Has not been on par
To autumnal color assure us!

Now here’s a tidbit of binomial nomenclature
pegged to one in a multitude of difficulties
faced by color-producing varieties
of the genus ACER,
specifically leaf diseases
which could directly affect
ocular input gratification:
Rhytisma acerinum, a fungal pathogen
which prompts ‘tar spot’ – butt ugly!

10/06 Direct Link

Carrying around your penciled-in words on little slips of paper means you misplace or lose them altogether. In fact, they’re as easy to lose as a good mood.

The aforementioned paper fragments can contain such puerile verbiage as the following simile, which, when found after kicking around a dusty shelf or other paper storage facility for several years, can wow the finder with wonder as to how he had written such gibberish:

Oh, bag of bones
You have no clones!
Your existence is so unjust;
Hearing your groans
We won’t bust your stones
You are merely a sack of LUST!

10/07 Direct Link

A word like ‘bucolic’ doesn’t denote what it sounds like – or should we say doesn’t sound like what it entails: rural scenes, rolling pastures, sheep’s curly-assed tails.

But ‘pastoral’ doesn’t do the country bumpkin justice, either, as it sounds descriptive of a man ‘o the cloth, not hills.

So in keeping with terms that would ring closer to their meaning, an embryonic linguistic paradigm will emerge from the rubble of our significantly garbled syntax, and come to be known as ‘Phunctional Phonetics’

What the hell? Twitter, texting, poetry slams, hip-hop and rap have already creatively enlivened our lexicon, haven’t they?

10/08 Direct Link

Apparently, tomorrow – in the words of legendary American Indian activist Russell Means – is the day we ‘celebrate’ the world’s first trans-Atlantic slave trader, circa 1492.

I noted that in a phone message left to a librarian we know who most definitely had the day off, along with teachers, bank employees, postal workers, and by inference, all ancillary parties attending to or doting over the holidaying aforementioned.

We are all here; yes, that is true.
That much should be clear
And felt through and through.
On this land so dear
Please don’t misconstrue
Though it may appear
To belong to you!

10/09 Direct Link

October 9th, and I won’t harp
On this non-holiday
Where we don’t friggin’ work,
but play
NOT covered by a TARP.

What would Russell Means now say
A tussle on Columbus Day?

Hark! At last, the sun has lent
Some rays to blast the 99%!
This working class
Much time has spent
Moving fast, not reticent
Am I of the last 47%?
Sullen, aghast, I need to VENT!

So where do I FIT in
This vast sea of stiffs
Of the working persuasion
like lemmings to cliffs?
On many occasions
Blue-collared, not miffed
Would dread aberration
To work graveyard shift!

10/10 Direct Link

The first appointment of the day
I picked up Eric on the way
Ambling up to the renter’s door
I had some business to do before
So ducked behind the garden shed
Trying not to turn too red
Fluid dynamics prompted this:
I had to take a wicked piss!

Meanwhile, hack at the branch;
no curious quasi-rural bumpkins
peered out the overarching domicile’s
second story window to inspect,
suspect, reject or inject opinions as to my
furtive behind-the-shed drainage activities.

We chattered merrily during the ride
Over fallen leaves we’d slide
Heading to a familiar haunt
Up to swanky Charlemont!

10/11 Direct Link

Brief chronicle of the day’s events:
Grief, not comical recompense
Stoked the stove
And quaffed some water
To the job site drove
Where I had a spotter!
Down past the cove
Those meds they bought her
Cat in grove
I went and got her!

Winding, careening, fairly leaning
‘Oer curves past a creek;
South on Rt. 8a, eyes gleaning
The color looks pretty bleak!
That wouldn’t be a stretch so seeming
It might be past its peak!

Camera bugs? Yup, we’ve got ‘em
With the hilltops on display;
Full well you know
It is extant autumn
- And just another day.

10/12 Direct Link

A friend’s lively and might I say quite unexpected post regarding his proud accomplishment of having achieved 23 years of sobriety prompted me to dig into the skeletal remains of my own checkered past and exhume tainted, puffed, festering pustules contained therein, lay them out in the sun for all to see, and sit back, prepared to dredge through resultant opinionated commentary commensurately.

And aside from crafting 63-word sentences, my story went like this:

Alcohol sucked, especially when coming in contact with my gizzard. But it happened. When the chips fell, absolutely zero redeeming features were culled from this interaction.

10/13 Direct Link

That feeling of heat behind the ears when my buddies told me what I'd done - and had been screaming the night before - is to this day singed into memory. Though I was sure they were bullshittin' - and ready to tell them so - my body was telling me they weren't lyin'!

Along came that moment of surrender, again red-faced, accepting medicine from an authority figure that suddenly didn't seem so stodgy.

Gratitude to AA’s smoke-choked meetings abounds for cementing the desire to kick.

I chugged that last beer with aplomb - on or about Sept 21, 1982.

10/14 Direct Link

Out of the service in a year and a half,
footloose and ethanol free,
though a nasty cigarette habit still clung like a leech.
The tale didn’t end
I hooked up with a friend
And bought the first car within reach!

She was a beauteous boat – a 1965 Ford Custom,
289 under the hood,
1-barrel carburetor – power not good.

My family letter boasted:
“Landed a car, a stereo and a girlfriend
in two weeks!”

But the mandatory stereo had come first– a handy way to trim that rapidly dwindling stack of Andrew Jack$ons, then the cool gal in Arden.

10/15 Direct Link

Oh, I could have railed on
‘Bout that cool gal in Arden
But now need to move on
Before still spirits harden.

In retrospect, I wish another anatomical protuberance had hardened a bit more effectively many moons ago. And so:

Flash back to the present,
which is always a bit clearer and dearer:

The coffee is gone
Now well before noon
Got work to get on
And not too damn soon!

Nature continues
Her watery deeds
Slip-sloshing venues
For growing the weeds
And if it continues
We’ll have lots of seeds
For those floundering fescues
– just what this yard needs!

10/16 Direct Link

The tar sands exploitation may commence as planned, its extractive intentions far from shit-canned. Thus spoke talking heads who mentioned it yesterday morning.

Cataclysmic energy depletion apocalypse-avoiding paradigm shift hopefuls conclude unequivocally that thoughtful reflection on fossil fuel extraction, commensurate with ancillary environmental obliteration inherent in and prerequisite for endemic voracious consumption is in order.

Musing thus, one need only glance at any given procession of cars, trucks, buses, heavy construction machinery, motorcycles, and even mopeds to wonder how much longer our collective global petro-sucking charade can continue.

Suddenly the pensive near-silent reverie is shattered by an aircraft roaring overhead.

10/17 Direct Link

Here’s to two contenders who slung point-scoring barbs at each other, jostling for the upper hand so as to not only win hearts and minds of the struggling and the posh, but ultimately – through arduous efforts, inflammatory, facile attack ads, hard-hitting, infuriatingly intrusive robo-calls and millions of campaign dollars spent – achieve kingship atop the glorious throne of the world’s largest Corporatocracy, and competently oversee the next four years of expansionist policies and continued empire building in keeping with the devices and desires of said Corporatocracy.

This is not to be taken lightly, though many grains of salt wouldn’t hurt.

10/18 Direct Link

Not so sure of what happened today
But pretty damn sure ‘twas not great;
A whole lot of time
Was just frittered away
With sour memories of that debate!

Not mesmerized by any given politician,
regardless of stripe,
the working stiff gathers hand tools
and enabling victuals and WORKS,
not to be sunken by hype.

For in the end – not an end run, that is,
the doer of honest work bristles
at the very thought
of those who vote themselves pay raises
while crafting laws that funnel
hard-earned dollars to unworthy causes
and shamelessly grant tax breaks
to the undeserving.

10/19 Direct Link

A $14.00 wristwatch tells
what could be assumed to be correct time,
And to further admit
As I pen this rhyme
Such baffling mystery:
What’s today’s date?
– left the calendar home
And now it’s too late!

Cheap-ass watch tells time
Without complaining
With a ticking sublime
Whilst the battery’s draining
And we can presume,
In your pocket there’s room
For watch refuge while it is raining!

Funny, or perhaps not,
this dime-store knockoff
provides the same service
as a $10,000 Rolex –
a factoid which too often goes unnoticed,
as nobody that moves
in normal circles gives it a second hand.

10/20 Direct Link

Another wet day
‘Why bother?’ I say
Now tickle me down to my boots;
‘Make a fire!’ Oh, hey!
And thus to foray
With dry warmth
We will be in cahoots!

Later, fact-checking this predictably unreliable
internal software betwixt the ears,
An hour was spent
With a tech reticent
Who quelled almost all of my fears!

So that worked out splendidly;
our Mac was acquired,
as I slide a toe in the door to get mired
in another system – albeit left-handed.

Truth be told, the price, not nice
had scared me off: so misbranded!
They ENTICE; don't scoff
Nor leave empty-handed!

10/21 Direct Link

Here we go & here I sit
Not much I know
How mind does flit!
Overwhelmed and underpaid
Still at the helm
Of this wreck we’ve made!

Rustie’s still here as if you cared
Her biggest fear
Of the crusher spared!

She’ll celebrate another day
Before we grieve
And send her away!

But no matter what
We get out of this
Machinery glut
In a rusting abyss
We’ll always have pictures
Of Rustie so dear
Our tear ducts have strictures
What a kick in the rear!

Poor Rustie, you bet
That we’ll never forget
We’ll always love you, you hear?

10/22 Direct Link


Yes, sweet baby James
Did in fact croon its praises,
But I’m here to tell ya
This grunt worked in phases!

What little joy!
‘Twas like traipsing through a maze
Though this thin Yankee boy
Remained not quite unfazed.
And while working off a ladder
This mind ne’er ceased its chatter
But hey, why should that matter
When it’s crazed?

A longtime contractor buddy came up with the idea of applying ‘FSB’ to a badly cracked chimney, to which client Charlie H. agreed with few reservations, citing the positives of bolstering structural integrity and ‘buying time’.

10/23 Direct Link

As Connecticut and New York traffic whizzed by, we three workers did watch the time fly, and with shorter days had a need to comply; yet worked unfazed, no need for a sigh!

Upon the roof precariously slated
A chimney with stucco
So handily elated!
No as to the view, I’m telling you
It has started just now to mellow;
Blanched auburn-brown
against sky so blue
With tinges of pink and green-yellow!

So onward we toiled
By the north wind not foiled
Till the wind-chilled day was through;
Whilst damp dusk threatened
We quickly recoiled
Ah, tomorrow! We’ll firstly renew!

10/24 Direct Link

Finally, the wood stackin’ is nearly complete
– at least the front pile mess by the street.
And each day
Whilst driving away
I guess I get a treat.

Because, you see, a bright local farmhouse resident undertook a curious project some months back in which a large round tank first appeared by the barn.

Next, a circular insert was attached precariously in the middle as the young fellow doted over the proceedings with his welding torch set up nearby.

Come the rain,
He set a tent
With boards and lucent plastic
Not in vain to circumvent
That damp-assed weather spastic!

10/25 Direct Link

OY, no joy and I just can’t wait
For political ploy to please ABATE!
Counting the days
Through campaign-pap haze
The seventh won’t be one minute late!

But for now,
this minute, hour, day, week, month, year,
I need to plow
into what we have here.

In other words,
we have wood to cut,
and logs to unload,
let’s make a rut upon this damn road!

With fields to mow,
mold under the eaves;
please rake and blow
these damp mounds of leaves!

With some minutes left over
We’ll sit on our asses
No four-leaf clover
For these toiling masses!

10/26 Direct Link

The sweet sonorous sawing of violins can be heard oh, so mercifully
Over the din
of quibbling, palpably pusillanimous political pap most days, as we querulously sidestep
brash fund drive claptrap
to partake of fine sound
through the haze.

We listen for kicks,
But refuse to debate;
So fault me or vault me
Out here in the sticks
– Or simply commiserate!

Trying not to get overwhelmed depletes entirely too much energy and effort, so a planned strategy could be:
Start the decidedly disorganized days with wood stackin’.

Speaking of which, we’ve got quite a bit before we get back in.

10/27 Direct Link

The Hoolie tree gig went well
And was fun,
So hey,what the hell?
We three got ‘er done!

Made a midstream request
For him to take pix
To which he complied
Phone plucked from his chest,
Atoned, and not just for kicks.

Of course the pixilation was gawd-awful
once the snaps were slung,
and only so much doctoring and tweaking
could be done; thus:

On a walnut tree
I swung with glee
Casting occasional glances;
Over the hot tub
And driveway, you see
No stupid moves done carelessly
Whilst hoping & roping so diligently
And lowering quite a few branches!

10/28 Direct Link

Oh, Sandy we await your pounce!
Your size so great
To obliterate
A bunch of friggin’ real estate
Okay, you didn’t watch your weight
Fat fury, ounce for ounce!

This paean to the latest, ostensibly greatest
storm to paste the Atlantic region in 24 years
is posted here with little fear,
hastily culled from betwixt my ears.

This storm was well-hyped in advance,
largely a thinly-masked non-subliminal
consumerist directive to boost sales.
We can fairly hear the weather and news anchors’ collective hue and cry seem to scream:

“This one’s HUGE
With any luck it
Will deluge your Homer Bucket®!

10/29 Direct Link

Sandy, oh, babe!
The Boss sang about her;
of course didn’t flout her
in his 1970's rave.

Now, as Nature’s oft-harsh, cruel irony
overtakes our thoughts,
we sit poised to get pounced upon
by another of Her furious storms,
perhaps as per norms – exactly 3 years after
that notorious early blizzard
shut down
many a town
before the leaves
had even turned brown!

I set out around noon yesterday, battening down all the hatches that needed battening, skipping dinner, bending knees and back to great painful avail.

Upon re-entry of this marvelous modest abode
and a clock-ward glance: 1:30 a.m.

10/30 Direct Link

Russ recently and dutifully posted his scientifically scented prognostications on Sandy’s predicted path of carnage and presumably sent it to all his multifarious address book contacts – a detail we might verily assume, citing our salutation as ‘Undisclosed Recipients’ – weaving incisive snippets of analysis interspersed with actual up-to-the-minute meteorological data into one detail-laden bulky paragraph, stringing along the silky, slick thread of thought to the nth degree forthrightly with a bluster few who are not of his salubrious ilk could lay claim to.

But he didn’t craft 81-word sentences in so doing, though it would have been splendid rain day fun.

10/31 Direct Link

Now is the time for all able-bodied rescuers to repair to where they’re needed. Now is NOT the time for more intelligence-insulting small-minded mudslinging so characteristic of would-be so-called leaders.

Nor, we hereby posit, is it apposite to dismantle our many bird feeders.

Hoboken, New Jersey is on our radar screen; a place that we have seldom been, and in less than a month we’ll make the scene, from her resources much to glean. Here’s hoping that by then it’s clean, that eastern Hudson shore so green, where we will chow so veggie lean and take a bow for Sandy mean!