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Davey was in a quixotic space, not necessarily averse to being so, and whilst ensconced therein, felt compelled to mentally recite this stanza:
‘Synergy and polyglot;
glory be! They tied the knot!
And when said knot was set and dressed,
none of us were too impressed.’
So put THAT slice of tripe
in your pipe
and stoke it!
Later that misty evening as Davey prepared to place head on pillow, he paused while closing the window. It was only open a crack, say, an inch or so. The normally bustling Interstate had mysteriously calmed down, settling into a dull roar.
The eerie whine of tractor trailer tires on pavement blared the status quo of 24/7/365 commerce and freight movement, so it was highly unusual to hear a blip of any significance in this hubbub, especially given that this was not a holiday. Likely it was lane closures due to accidents or perpetual road construction.
Davey tuned his ears occasionally to hear the buzz of tires hitting the roadside rumble strips, sometimes counting them rather than sheep en route to falling asleep.
Thank goodness for rumble strips; it’s a wonder more disasters don’t happen as drivers fight sleep behind the wheel.
Then it was back to the task at hand,
ignoring the trucks traversing the land;
Davey had to work as planned,
meditating as much as he could stand
with all manner of distractions banned.
Davey’s friend Dil, in the next room over, had a single use injection tubule of ‘Humira®, one of Pharma’s profiteering ventures into the ‘franchise’ of Crohn’s and rheumatoid arthritis. So much for Dil’s independence and seeking of natural alternatives.
Davey would not push the point. But Dil was young, bright, and appeared fit. So why did he need Humira® when a possible side effect was lymphoma?
So cabinet maker Bill
had a life that he enjoyed;
while, if you will,
he was gainfully shelf-employed.
At the apogee of said cabinetry,
life carried on quite blissfully.
But he came unhinged
with a bit of remorse
when said life was tinged
by a top shelf divorce!
Whew! Being scatterbrained is indeed most exhausting. Davey H is feeling the drain.
So it was at this point in these directionless meanderings that Davey paused, switching back to pencil from pen. Then...
not that this effect would be seen
by anyone staring
at a screen.
As an aside – one of many such diversions and tangents – Davey makes it clear that he hesitates to divulge the content or context of recent dreams, pegging them as post-REM phenomena.
“Doesn’t seem like real sleep,” Dave moans, though not complaining. “At least they’re not nightmares.”
Combine the eerie whine of truck tires through the chilled night air juxtaposed with building noises and creaks, the hum and whoosh of largely unnecessary air conditioning units, the invisible radio frequency needling of WIFI radiation that management insists on increasing – all collaborated with those vivid dreams to make for some serious daytime fatigue.
After all, when one’s mind is churning, burning the proverbial midnight oil, sleep is given mere lip service. Moreover, the unidentified co-conspirators in the wireless so-called ‘revolution’ at this facility were not to be seen. Not to downplay their influence; surely they delight in the wonders of wireless when they are on the grounds and pay zero attention to the sleep-disrupting effects thereof.
In his proposed WIFI retort,
Davey H planned to prepare a report.
Yet, realizing all too late
that his word erudition was not so great,
Davey set out to make a spate
with concise verbiage to create.
Lately, however, the focus of some colleagues had been on EAB, or Emerald Ash Borer – or Agrilus planipennis to the uninitiated. An aggressive opportunist, the EAB is the single largest recent threat to a specific genus, namely ‘fraxinus’ or ash in common parlance, and by inference, all species within the fraxinus genus. One particularly susceptible species is Fraxinus pennsylvanica or ‘green ash’.
In historical context, on its present trajectory, EAB is set to outpace Dutch elm disease and chestnut blight.
In closing this stream of semi-conscious psychobabble, therefore, Davey H concurs with and defers to the experts on the issue.
Then, after a spate of not feeling so great,
‘twas no debate: don’t stay up late!
Dang! At a quarter to eight
and the sweetheart is late,
as in so many times before;
but that’s okay, Davey’s cleaning his slate
and soon will be right out the door.
Hark! This was the day our dear Dookie died
and you could rightly assert that both of us cried.
Yet even the passage of those 18 years
is barely enough, though, to dry all the tears.
His leaving us was terribly hard
now his mem’ries and bones are dug in the backyard.
But the Buddha’s teachings exhort us to not dissolve into tears even though we’re distraught, but rather, despite any grief-stricken trauma,
be loose and aware and absorb all the Dhamma.
A summer scorcher lies ahead,
and such a torture is laden with dread!
Sure, summer may be a bummer,
but Oh, the birds!
They go beyond words!
Dear winged ones: we HEAR all of you
and hear you all!
And with your song thus do enthrall.
Oer hill and dale, a joyful coat
of trilling, chirping – every note!
Somehow, in the rush to get caught up with this absurd word churning rat race Davey H has imposed on himself, an entry was duplicated. It was September 9th and 10th. Not that any 100Words.com reader would give a flying flip; of course; to the contrary, anyone posting here could throw down repeated blathering verse and not be held to any kind of standard whatsoever.
After realizing his prosaic mistake,
some corrective actions Davey did take.
So as not to be clumsy and errors make,
he’d pour hot chocolate and let it slake.
Tomorrow, with sorrow,
news wouldn’t be fake.
On this day, many of us undoubtedly will craft commemorative posts in deference to those whose lives were lost 17 years ago at the World Trade Center. The surviving families deserve answers and many are still waiting for at least an honest explanation as to WHAT REALLY HAPPENED.
Richard Gage, AIA, of Architects and Engineers For 9/11 Truth once stated: “whoever did this got away with it.”
Later that terrible Tuesday, building # 7 collapsed neatly into its own footprint as a few slips by mainstream news outlets inadvertently noted its near-perfect demolition.
That whole 9/11 thing stunk to high heaven.
Next, Davey’s Scratchbook
somehow got misplaced,
but it doesn’t appear anything was erased.
This did play well in his nursery rhyme,
one worry to ponder and not enough time.
This evening at suppertime, carcinogens did not arise as a topic for discussion;
after all, that was only right
at tacqueria tonight
as we gnoshed with delight
and with all of our might.
As was only right,
we relished each bite.
Salsa picanté and walnut sauce
with ‘burn ya twice’ peppers
to show you who’s boss.
Bring salsa & chips to the table
to burn our lips as soon as you’re able.
Now this: with an ‘ism’ or an ‘itis’, nay,
or a syndrome with someone’s name;
these afflictions will all fight us; in a way
they are all the same.
So muddle through in your flesh sack,
as you need to pay your ‘fees’;
hell yes, in lieu of looking back
from this thing we call DISEASE.
Now how’s THAT for positivity?
Feel-good-ism? Apologies to the feint of heart for that.
*Advertisement* Here, Davey H inserts yet another plug for Pentel’s TwistErase lll® mechanical pencils – this time for the excellent retractable erasers mounted thereon. Thus ends his urge to commercialize this text.
Note from shelf amid all things unread:
keep on pushin’ yourself before you are dead! That cushion should not be
a source of such dread.
Then, when staying at an old 19th century farmhouse, during the so-called solstice,
Davey H took a glance
whilst wearing some pants
and then thought perchance
he could witness the dance.
On a wall, up high where no one could reach, were some memorabilia from ‘back when’.
Yes, the good old days. Of course it goes without saying that those good old days may not have been so fortuitous for those who slogged through them.
Earlier, as Davey’s wandering eyeballs caught a former foe’s image, chagrin arose. For that was the cretin who sucker punched Davey at a graduation party 40+ years ago.
The cretin may have hoped for a ‘cold-conk’ with that punch, but it merely spun Davey around 180̊, where he remained upright and engaged the cretin by pushing him on his ass where he had the good fortune of contacting a coffee table with his head.
Davey subsequently invited cretin outside, rasslin’ him to the ground.
When Davey saw that face, what could he say? That dude lacked grace and sported gray.
So to forgive and thus forget
had not been a decision yet,
but rather to go back to the night
and pick up where they left that fight.
Oh, the fright!
Next up: a controversial topic. [Ugggh.]
So go sip from that cup and let’s not be myopic.
Now Autism Speaks,
but does it listen?
If it had what it seeks,
it would see what was missin’.
And in the big picture,
the view’s not so great;
as autism will stricture 1 in 68.
Contrast that with 1 in 5000 in the 1970s, and 1 in 10,000 in the ‘60's.
Whoops! Davey H should perhaps
and refrain from broaching
such a hot button topic.
Then, whilst tooling
through uncharted territory,
Davey did bless
the old GPS
and that’s his side of the story.
Down the road he was driven,
as the car went putt putt;
yeah, this was a given
as he sat on his butt.
When Nature calls,
what fate befalls
that big old aged tree?
its life now spent,
no thanks to EAB.
Thus the arborist puzzles
as he hems and haws;
removing the muzzles
from sharpened chainsaws.
Hmmm – that reminds the old codger...
Pondering this next foray,
while wandering on yet another sultry day,
and sweet tooth fought:
“oy-vay, we’ve hell to pay!”
As a point of reference, just last night,
Davey has a tale to tell;
with no deference and much fright,
another night in a cheap motel.
And he sure can tell you this:
that these things are hit and miss,
but at least he had a place to piss
and therefore that was swell!
He drove there with his sweetie,
she was the best of them;
together they played
and up they stayed ‘til well past 2 am.
Next morning, amid the blaring racket produced by whooshing traffic on nearby route 27, the two ate breakfast near a smelly dumpster behind a Chinese restaurant. “Ahh, yes – nothing like the smell of rotting flesh,” Davey said, trying not to gag.
After that trip, it was time to attend Elija and Lisa’s wedding. In preparation for the nuptials, that indefatigable chef Chao Lin was lassoed into early food prep, beginning a whopping 3 days prior to the shindig.
If you asked Chao Lin
if she thought this was a pain,
she’d reply without spin
“I’m a body without a brain!”
But then you could tell
by the look on her face
she was happy to dwell
at that swell wedding place.
Things weren’t always this busy for Chao Lin; however, once word circulated regarding her exceptional cooking skills, it was no wonder she got snagged into serving up alimentary delights to the anticipated crowd of 250.
The kitchen heat sure was-a-risin’.
Thus, as bus-bound tourists ride on their asses, wearing a bevy of plastic sunglasses,
few thing in life
could be better lookin’
than Chao Lin’s sharp knife
and phenomenal cookin’.
And damn, would that food
ever be good lookin’!
Then Davey noted as his valise was doted,
“no wonder contacts think me rotten;
my stinkin’ cell phone is eas’ly forgotten.”
So after not making or receiving a call,
he accomplished little after all.
But that was fine; he knew right then
he’d toe the line, pick up a pen,
then, remaining calm, not vexed,
he’d craft some strong insouciant text.
Said text was such a daily caper,
but what came next flew off the paper.
Although he was a paper hog,
100words isn’t analog.
Thus to conclude how time was spent,
from paper to laptop text would be sent!
Piles of dirt, chips and gravel
gracethe Hagley brothers’ parking lot.
Davey thought they don’t deserve
all the breaks they got.
But at least the townfolk shot down the proposed slaughterhouse.
Then ‘twas another day
and time to not stay
so we left the small ‘hood,
headed out in the wood
as fast as we could
but it wasn’t for good;
only the first half of the day.
The wedding was nice, oh the nachos and spice! And this made for a grandiose foray.
Downsides: do chipmunks’ lives matter? No signs on lawn for those pesky striped bad boys.
More Dead Chipmunk Verses
Quite the contrary. Around these parts,
they’re considered a pest;
when the season starts
you’ll be put to the test,
stuffing their jowls
so nothing is wasted;
just ask the owls how good chipmunks tasted!
Dead as a doornail, smashed flat in the road; crushed under wheels
as if flushed down commode.
Not too car savvy like owls and skunks;
such is the fate of those luckless chipmunks!
Now this: Davey exhorts with much exultation
that greatest of sports: wildlife relocation
of groundhogs and rats or mice and skunks;
the easiest to trap are infernal chipmunks.
But you better transfer them far away,
or they’ll be back at your place in a day.
Davey bid them farewell and
when he was done,
went back toward his dwelling,
en route having fun.
He chortled “Damn! Well bust my spine!
Don’t mean to be rude
I just saw a dude blow past that stop sign!
Ha! The pleasure’s all mine!”
Later, as his mind wandered,
this sugary verse he verily pondered:
Candy dropping from the sky
may be the apple of thine eye.
Yet if you take that so sweet bait
the health effects might not be great.
Yes, in that preceding riposte, the grate Davey H saw fit to blow hot gas parroting the claims of anti-sugar zealots.
and if only we’d glean a life hack;
get the hell out the door?
just as you did before
yes, as soon as you rise out ‘o the sack.
Morning fair warning: it may come to pass
when you got up, you know,
with your energy low
there’s a good chance you’ll be draggin’ ass.
Heat is a bummer
and when all’s dead and sun,
excess heat in the summer
is not so much fun.
But let’s not forget to get out and sweat,
‘cause detox is smarter, not dumber.
Which brings up the following set ‘o lines:
ODE TO A TORRID DAY
Oh, he thought himself tough
and also quite strong
but alas, AHEM! By 11 am,
the day had gotten too long.
But yes, time will pass
with so much of it lost;
Ahhh, the smell of cut grass
and rank tractor exhaust!
Catbirds and wrens exhort their trilled queries;
ten dollars a quart for those fresh raspberries!
The worker swallows
his vitamin pills
as haze drapes the hollows
of yonder green hills.
Not feeling patriotic this past Independence Day, Davey and kin shunned all firecrackers, instead opting to hole up and hunker down.
He cut honeysuckle, pulled up jewelweed and assembled 303 hydraulic fluid for Glossie the 50 year-old tractor instead.
Next, with tire patch freshly fixed, he went on the highway, got up to 60.
Goin’ up the road
and hardly stopping,
except the large load
obtained whilst out shopping.
On this day 33 years ago, Frank Gormley was gunned down. He and colleague Bart Stange were running for their cars as cowardly scumbag gunmen pursued and shot both men dead.
And thus that sad tale said,
at that point
from Frank’s joint,
the shooting cowards fled.
Now Frank and Bart were in such place remote,
‘twas the perfect space for cowards to smote.
In a wooded ravine by the state’s south line
meant easy, convenient flat getaway time.
By the time the neighbors called it in,
the cowards had flown out of town;
surely not pausing to ponder their sin,
but they will never live it down.
Since then, Davey H had frequently paused and pondered the fate of the affable, soft-spoken Gormley.
He would like to see justice served.
Davey topped off anti freeze
in his old trusty rusty today,
noting with a *Jeez!*how low it was, okay?
Yes, you can guess
that he may have feared
the fact that a quart not in jest
But it was just another day,
which meant at home he couldn’t stay.
‘Twas work to do
and things to learn
so he stayed true
watching tires turn.
Later, but not too much later, whilst ensconced back at the so-called ‘ranch’, Davey set about ousting some nasty hornets from the lean-to where they had set up shop.
Not a minute too soon.
The unmistakable busy-ness of yellow-striped little bodies in and out of the ramshackle structure was cause for concern – and better yet, immediate action.
These were the smaller version of what in common parlance went by the name ‘yellow jackets’, and they hung their meticulously crafted pear-shaped paper nests from available rafters, preferably in neglected buildings, which Davey was no stranger to, having knocked together a few in his time. [Dayum! That was a 45 word sentence!]
With no human presence in early spring,
said hornets could misery bring.
Yes, they could do that very well
and bring a sting from hell!
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