Wednesday, June 1, 2016
Saving the Peach Tree - Saving my Kitchen Floor - Poem: Late Night with Jupiter - Poem: Mango Wheat Beer
Scott saw the squirrels' teethmarks in some of em, testing to see if they were ripe enough to eat. You should hear the invectives Scott yells about these rodents.
See the wheelbarrow? My job was to remove all the branches with baby peaches on them and dispose of them in the lil woods behind our houses, w/o falling down the little cliff.
Free Will is made in Perkasie, PA. Hey, they're open till 9 tonite. Guess who's gonna like it on FB.
I told Ed I have some writing to do tonite, so instead of sipping on tea, I'll sip on this fruity, mango-infused beer. See poem at blog's end, which I just posted on FB.
LATE NIGHT WITH JUPITER
Listening to the classical station
as I dug into my scrambled eggs, her
mystical voice captured my attention
Often I care not what she has to
say, she could be praising Jesus or
talking about Whoppers at the Burger
King, but this time I heeded her call
So it was that shortly before midnight
Scott pulled out his white telescope
set it up on the sidewalk, a convoluted
thing that looks like hanging vines
in the south
He bent down, his white goatee shining
under the starry sky and took a gander
at what Galileo's telescope had in
store for the two of us
There they are! Jupiter and its moons.
Though there are over 60 of them, revolving
at different speeds around their gaseous
beloved, he saw six or eight, then guided
my eye to the view
I assumed the position of a Sumo wrestler
tried first with my left eye, then with
Yes. Yes. Yes.
When next he looked they were gone. The earth
rotates, he said.
I was stunned. And felt like an ancient mariner
lying on a tossing deck of a world-weary
ship, longing for home.
Gonna listen to the news. Obama speaks in Elkhart, Indiana, where the economy is good, despite Obama, said the governor. Capital of recreational vehicles.
Mine's in a paper cup, a
coffee cup actually, with
a big head, a foaming head,
that settles slowly before
I take my first sip
A fruity taste, good for
picnics down at Lake Galena
sitting at a picnic bench
with friends and watching
sailboats flutter by
I'll drink to that!
And the rushing waters of
the rapids of the Delaware
that flooded into the wooden
caskets that brewed my beer
The taste lingers in the back
of my throat, like my first kiss
in high school. David said to
me, I like your muscular legs
Had he seen me back in Sumeria
in my leather sandals as my
husband, the captain, toasted
his latest victory over