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Oh, well, so much for the January thaw,
delayed by several weeks.
on that note, bloke, you hem and haw;
where is the warmth thou seeks?
Well, said warmth is not in your lair;
it is neither here nor is it there,
‘tis cold to stay, safe to say fair;
enjoy this here warm spell rare!
[the foregoing riposte is not to be construed as a paean to global warming enthusiasts]
“That’s a great view of Monadnock over yonder,” Pat sighed, gesturing to the wood’s edge where trees were ostensibly blocking said view.
But cutting them down? What says you?
Too much dickin’ ‘round
on the internet would mean you found
burned up retinas, you bet!
And a blasphemous user
of Word Perfect®, no less!
Which brings up a very good point
at this joint: Word®, it is heard,
is so good, it’s absurd,
but let us not be too litigious;
for users of Word®
make a case they can gird,
said use can at times be religious.
Now this admonition: creative flow,
you know, comes in spurts;
and dark-assed chocolate seldom hurts.
Thus from absurd petty words
you can glean
‘tis good for those birds
who abstain from caffeine!
The drizzle sets in,
and the boy with a dark green car gets in.
He’s slightly depressed
as you may well have guessed
and as his hopes fizzle
with the infernal drizzle
that splattered and messed
with his scratched up windshield,
though he finds it boring
it’s well worth ignoring
as he heads on out to the field.
In fifth gear this time of year,
stewing, the green car boy muses:
Oh, what the heck?
A reality check:
spring drizzle has so many uses!
Of which not the least
Voila! Windshield de-greased
and that’s not a drag in the least!.
Note to shelf: Dust off thy self!
Why, thy nigh spry oh trusty old shelf?!
From your so sorry looks,
and those dust covered books,
one hastens to become aghast;
at those old dog-eared pages
and decay in stages,
of memories present and past.
Well, the dust mites are feeding:
ahh, so much for reading!
The cacophony of cars whizzing past the door
is less of a “whoosh” and more like a ROAR.
With nothing of value that we could be using,
the roar by the door is much less than amusing.
But this rural feller is glad beyond measure!
So when everything’s stale
and your socks are worn out,
don’t weep or wail;
that’s not what it’s about.
Just dig in your heels
and go for a spin;
oh, how good it feels
to let fresh air back in!
Match snatch batch patch latch.
One more down the hatch.
Hatch: [n, verb] a dual meaning word,
one that would present a serious hurdle to an ESL student. Indeed, it is but one more facet in a very long line of quirky perturbations contained in the English language that would make further study not only a necessity but wholly prudent.
Bright sun today, and that is okay;
outside the air is so clean,
but with dismay,
we start out the day
by feeding a damn fax machine.
And then WHAM! A damn paper jam
the process so swiftly precluded;
but that was fine,
we cut the phone line
and out in the mail ‘twas included.
“To hell with that!” Davey spat,
his temper soon to mangle;
that paper sheaf thumbed leaf by leaf
to send to a bureaucracy’s tangle.
Off to the places of nameless faces
and silly-assed requests;
for it made no sense the government’s apparatchiks at their desks!
NATURE, DOGS, PISS, AND SOME O’ THIS
A paean to the dog
we were told not to walk
ahh, so much for a walk was wishin’;
but needless to say that she didn’t balk
to be in that un-walked position.
With a wag o’ the tail
we then fetched the mail
and languished in non-walking bliss;
then the canine so bold
as this story is told
commenced to just go take a piss.
The drying trend whose end we seek
does not portend until next week.
Thus with a wry view of Mother Nature
we proffer this bone dry nomenclature.
‘Twas around six years ago when Davey H bought a ‘Speeco® 22 ton log splitter.
Speeco? One might ask, “who ever heard of that?”
Well, nobody that we knew of until very recently.
So Davey took a chance
on this no-name or ‘off brand’ of splitter.
It paid off. Well, sort of.
It so happened that the machine was a return to the store – brought back by an ostensibly dissatisfied customer who had split all his wood then brought the splitter back. Upon hearing of this lame story, said dude was pegged by Davey H as being “full of sh**”.
“Yeah, riiiight!” Davey H exclaimed loudly but silently to himself. What a crock of sh** that supposedly disgruntled customer had cooked up. And so blatant!
Though, despite the non-satisfaction-with-the-logsplitter line of b.s.’s being so unconvincing, the store had to sit still for it.
So this being a used but essentially new machine meant that they had to knock SOMETHING off the price, should another buyer walk through the door and want to purchase it.
Enter Davey H.
Upon approaching the mechanic then the clerk,
Davey H tried not to be a jerk.
Would they drop the price more than $100.00?
Nope. A hundred bucks was all they could take off. Thus when it was all said and not quite done,
the chips were down and
‘twas time to have fun,
Davey did frown, but the gig had begun.
“Okay”, Davey H sighed as he complied. He would take his chances and trundle the off-brand machine home, intent on making a go of it.
First order of business: change the oil a bunch of times – which he did – approximately 15 times in the first month of operation.
Davey was paranoid about how much wear the other bozo had put on it.
Intent upon grooming this new backyard appliance to have squeaky-clean engine innards, Davey H bought a half gallon on non-detergent SAE 30 weight oil, not knowing that it was not the optimal blend for such hard working small engine applications. Apparently, the detergent was a good idea, particularly in this, what would appear to still be a break-in period for the machine’s little 6.75cc powerhouse.
Funny, his ‘95 Gravely took SAE 30.
Nevertheless, he commenced to bustin’ up some serious hardwood, letting the machine run for a few wheelbarrow loads, dumping the oil, refilling, lather, rinse, repeat. Sounds pretty neat!
“Jeeminy friggin’ hosed-up fumble-brained prayin’ friggin’ manti!” Davey H exclaimed multiple times, inciting concern in noone else in particular. Hell, nobody was within earshot anyway.
“I’m still gettin’ g**damn metal shavings in the dumped oil!”
Well, perhaps that was due to the accursed former bozo’s inattentiveness and lack of maintenance, now clearly in evidence, but was being dealt with in this inaugural series of rigorous oil changes.
Or maybe the existence of metal shavings was just a normal feature in the course of break-in operation. After all, the oil ring on the cylinder was aluminum. Or so he thought.
As you will see with reverie,
the machine did pay off eventually!
It split wood when hot
and also when cold
for splinter then knot,
the machine waxed so bold.
The ram pushes quick
first out then back in;
it busts wood that’s thick
and stuff that’s thin.
It works its ass off
so pretty it ain’t;
oh, please don’t scoff
at that scuffed-up paint!
It splits wood ‘round here
but also goes far;
yes, have no fear
when it’s hitched to the car!
Davey couldn’t resist
this logsplitter paean
and he must insist
to split wood while he can!
If one only writes when one feels good, one may rarely write.
“We have followed too much the devices and desires of our own hearts.” Thus proclaimed the passage from our Book of Common Prayer.
And none of us could question
the why, when, or where.
Whilst throughout the congregation
was such dutiful recitation,
to this young boy’s observation, if you please:
he was standing in a row of tall ‘trees’.
Don’t recall what that old prayer’s results
had on us, the heirs of tall adults,
but we surely did know this:
when church let out it was pure bliss!
Discouraging word: NOPE.
‘Nope, you dope; you’d best give up hope.’
This would be a mechanic’s admonition
to any poor schmuck
that would change the spark plugs
on Davey’s old truck.
Truth be told,
as said truck was old
and filled with mold so musty;
the fouled spark plugs
like corroded lugs
were by nature rusty.
As this tale is told
of the truck that’s so old,
they would have to pull the exhaust manifold!
Aw, shucks! Old trucks!
Okay, so he gets it: see how many words you can crank out regardless of whether you say anything of consequence.
You will need to call Rolene and reschedule, as today will be the only one of the next three where we can see a way to do the tree.
And what a tree it was: a tall oak with six inch thick dead limbs that were slated for removal.
Though Davey H had assured the customer that said limbs did not pose any immediate threat, they still bristled with growing paranoia.
Not all of it was unwarranted. In fact, one limb was perched precariously over said customer’s 220 volt service line.
“But it’s oak,” Davey assured. “It won’t just break.”
On that note, Davey H hoped to live long enough not to eat those arboricultural words.
Next, this disorganized stream of thought arose: Off to the road on hilly terrain,
with a pretty light load,
still, a bit of a pain.
The pace was slowed
and then a gain,
sprang from the node
of a nice flat plain. [or was it a ‘plane’?]
On that note, the scribbler slowed
these rhymes that were his bane,
and his pen was stowed
no need to goad
as he entered the nice slow lane!
Enough postulations already!
Let’s get on with insouciant scribbling!
Caffeine by the wayside; upstairs office off limits. Fob turned in 3 years ago.
Yes, sad to say, the ever-reliable maintenance fella named Davey H was replaced.
But at least the premises was not defaced.
It was a pretty good ride, 5+ years long, and Davey stayed on just because ‘twas the best bet and as good as he could get.
He was ready, the work was steady,
so his danglin’ toes got wet.
Though the boss was good,
Davey still cut wood,
although ‘twas on the side;
as he did fine with a 1099
each March, he must confide.
With tenure short, he then did abort,
but not with bitter tears;
after stayin’ alive for a blissful five
prolonged productive years.
When it came to an end,
boss-man still was his friend;
“life’s now boring.” Davey said with a yawn;
though to be fair,
it was good to be there,
but alas, it was time to move on.
At times with remorse
at his leaving, of course,
Davey H has a slight pang of angst;
but now under his belt
he waxes quite svelte
and the former boss now he thanks!
Thus ends the Davey H former employment saga.
Then came more car woes and observations:
Wheel bearings scream in their casing,
rattle and growl,
their sinister howl
just means they’ll soon need replacing.
Meanwhile, Ron, the ASE certified master mechanic assured that his guys can capably handle the job. Fair enough. And $300.00 would be fair, too.
But chances are
it would exceed that by far;
so is that excessive for this aging car?
Ron indicated that rear wheel bearings are “way worse” than the front. Yet the fronts require special tools, including but not limited to, a shop press, as they’re pressed in and out.
So to Davey H’s way of thinkin’, even though the rears may be a bunch of knuckle-bustin’ aggravation, maybe they could be sweated out by a shade tree semi-mechanic country-assed tool-wieldin’ farm-boy such as himself.
After all – and for that matter – before all, he had extracted parts from wrecks in the past, and this particular make and model of automobiles, at least according to such reliable sources as Ron, is “easy to work on.”
First order of business: exhume said wreck of said same model from which to extract the still-functional wheel bearings.
Easier dead than sun, that’s for sure.
Yes, ‘tis easier said than done,
but best in the shade and out of the sun.
For Davey H, would the battle be won?
That remains to be seen, and likely NOT fun
So rather than sit around a fret about it – having procrastinated extensively for a year and a half and counting – at least the process could now be started and at leased a difficulty assessment promulgated.
Not having an assessor or promulgator on staff,
Davey will have to deal with this chaff;
pausing at times to chuckle or laugh
and hoping to cut the work time in half.
So you’ve hate in your heart:
“Fight crime – shoot back!”
Having pulled that gun from the shelf;
you hope against hope
you’re on the right track
as you deign to defend yourself.
Davey H doesn’t mean to be an elf
when he queries:
can you protect yourself from yourself?
Oh, Aleppo! We won’t go.
Do you care? NO!
They beat us over the head
with Aleppos’s dead.
Did you hear what they said?
No, oh, Aleppo.
Corruption and murderous schemes.
Which of your players are honest and pure? They say ‘that’s all in you dreams’.
The unlucky must, well, endure.
No, we haven’t heard those “mega-dittoes”,
no, fur sure, not lately;
for purveyors, surveyors,
and right-wing soothsayers
may have all offended us greatly.
Much talk of guns is a pain in the buns
and it is this banter that common sense shuns.
But off the hook? Nope, they won’t letcha:
Para a la extrema derecha.
Now this: it’s off to Tommy M’s suburban hacienda with decked-out roof.
With 39 panels set on said roof,
fair Tommy M has no reason to be aloof.
Because sun is fun and also you see,
his house could be run damn near with PV.
Meanwhile, cheap plastic crap,
yeah, that’s what it takes;
so soon you hear *SNAP!*
But hey, that’s the breaks.
So that is the rap:
not much real, lots of fakes.
Next distraction: the next morning,
Davey H, just for kicks,
went out into a wintry mix.
Don’t pout, just wait,
of course it’s not great;
let’s just see how much of it sticks.
Brown sand, grit salt.
Truck stopped in the road,
white ice pebbles, slathered sheets,
Natures’s latest load.
No, not great, but does glyphosate
make its way to earth?
Aye, it DOES precipitate
across this great globe’s girth!
If first you have good
then things turn bad,
what’s the worst, if you would,
to lament what you had?
Bowling, not trolling, extolling as much;
we hasten to just keep on rolling and such.
Readers and doers: oh, please understand:
this world’s full of things
you can’t do with one hand.
Mulling carnage without match;
cat food culled from rank ‘bycatch’.
Fins, guts, entrails, you know that’s
the garbage that we feed our cats.
Yes, this unpleasant little snippet, an inconvenient truth (apologies, Al Gore), falls into the category of “stuff we know but would rather not think about”.
And of course it’s easier NOT to think, much less DO anything about, it. Where could one start? Try and make their cat vegetarian?
That, friends, is a non-starter. Having a well-fed cat is convenient, and hell, as long as the oceans are overfished ANYWAY, “we” might as well utilize the products of that senseless slaughter. And yes, pesky word processing program: ‘overfished’ IS a word. ESPECIALLY now.
Whoa, Johnnie! It came to pass,
he never drove as if someone was on his ass.
But the slush was slick
and he had to pick
a pace that used less gas.
SPRY POCKET SPY
You left! You just left, so bereft;
oh, that door – did you lock it?
And here’s one thing more
of you I implore:
did you know there’s a SPY in your pocket?
Yes, it might know
when and where you do go
in a group or maybe alone;
this poker and pry-er
with you none the slyer
and you thought it was only a PHONE!
Work, yes, work, again and again;
no need to shirk because of the rain.
Dark will soon come and daylight will pass;
now that you've begun, go get out and kick ass!
On the outskirts of this tiny town
workers wear green shirts
near forests still brown.
But the buds will be poppin’
and rabbits soon hoppin’
as soon as this spring will be found.
She said “we need a range.” A range of time, that is. In other words, less than 100, to be sure, the ETA could be any of three possibilities: early, middling or late.
‘A little on the late side,’ as they say.
Outside, it’s soaking wet you bet,
but he won’t give up hope;
for working alone, he’s dry as a bone,
in his mod rubber envelope.
Yes, a bit like a full-body or full-trunk condom, the rubber rain suit keeps the necessary but unwanted products of Mother Nature off his skin. Normally, small quantities of such moistness would be acceptable, but today, okay, he has a foray, out in the slush with some tree brush to splay.
Hey, you didn’t fulfill your writing quota today! Shame the hell on you! But on the upside, it is 9:35 pm and technically the day isn’t yet over.
You have until midnight.
That being said, for a source of inspiration, Davey H oozes with veneration for old time writing.
Davey marveled out loud at the way writing was done at the turn of the last century.
It needs no mention that those writers of yore did not have all these fancy electronic gizmos.
Texts were mellifluous and expressive; sentences lengthy.
Just out of curiosity, Davey H pasted a few of what he thought to be extensive sentences into his favorite word processing program, or, AHEM, excuse-the-hell-outta-him, his fave “app”.
It clocked in at 34 words. A skillful deployment of commas was in evidence – buttressed also with a smattering of well-placed horizontal bars or em dashes – all to great effect.
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