Wednesday, November 8, 2017

Poem: The Chase is On - The Last KitKat (photo) - The Odyssey of the Geranium

Talked to a friend of mine late last night. He was squabbling with his wife. It reminded me of a short story I wrote - true - about Eddie Van Noys. I kept his phone no. in my Rolodex, but removed it after he took his own life.

Read the story here. He Died in the River. The publisher, Ray's Road Review, has also died. They loved my work.

Now it's 11:15 pm on Tuesday night. I've got 45 mins to submit a 'play' to Bella Online.

The play I submitted was called Daddypops: A One Act Play.

I hadn't known you can only submit one play, so I'll have to figger out what to do with it.

Quite good.
Image result for daddypops hatboro pa    Here's Daddypops! Ken Smith, the founder, was featured in a couple of YouTube videos. Enter "Daddypops."


I had just completed a
thank-you email - Thanks
for the magnificent
presentation on Fitness
at our meeting last night -
when the mailman
disappeared from sight.

I knew where he was.
Up the high hill.
I was freezing,
unprepared, but I
thought about
Admiral Byrd
freezing his
fingertips in

"You made me climb
to the top," I said
to Dante, giving him
a postcard of Ai Wei Wei
and Chinese surveillance

Relaxed, I jogged down
the hill, and noticed
the lovely autumn
leaves waiting to be
sucked up.

What's this? A football
shaped leaf. Looking up
I saw the source:
a beech tree.

Just ate three Kitkats.

I photographed this atop my cigar box from Burdick's. I had a dozen mini-bars left over from Halloween, which I carefully husbanded.

Brought in the geranium from outside on November 8, 2017.

We'll see how she does.

Will write a quick poem now. Hold on while I turn on some music.


Visiting Mom and Ellen today
I told them I would put my
hardy geranium in the house.
Must succor it before it
freezes like the bog men
in Denmark.

But where? We knew my
living room windowsill
hadn't a space to spare:
Dead Winnie's philodendron
plus my late brother's
ceramic bird house,
a tea service from Marf
and a lovely two-toned rock
(all poets have rocks
in their homes)

Carrying it indoors,
its vines trailing like
long Rapunzel hair,
I was led into my kitchen,
cleared away a space
and there it sits
the lovely red geranium
and sweet-smelling leaves.

All is calm with her neighbors
an electric steamer, pots n pans
hanging from S-hooks, dainty
cups n saucers I bought from
Mr Jim's in Hatboro.

I fear when I go up to bed
and am out of sight,
fisticuffs will ensue,
potting soil will spill
all over the floor
and red blossoms
torn to pieces.

If you see my light on
in the middle of the
night, c'est moi
playing referee. 

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