Saturday, January 30, 2016

Writers' Group Meets at B's Condo - My new poems: Surrealistic Pillow and Hillary for President

Beatriz is doing very well. She started her new cancer tx in December, 2015. She's been on the new drug for 8 weeks. Her doc called her with the results. She's doing great and continues to have more energy. She even made us coffee.... Maxwell House.

She mentioned that bald eagles are nesting again at Pennypack Trust.


Many folks in our group have difficulty eating certain foods. My friend Freda Samuels highly recommends Dr Charles Parker, whose website is here.

We drank outa beautiful bird cups.

Were so happy to see our Carly who can only come upon occasion due to her managerial duties at Gloria Dei Farms.

Her handsome son Eric dropped her off.

Her story MOVIES was so clever. At the Farms they have Monday Movie Night so she put lyrics from the films - Gonna Wash That Man Right Outa my Hair - into her very entertaining story.

The main characters were named Mr and Mrs.

In one voice, we loved what she'd written.

ALLAN read from his novella The Village of Blood and Stone. Gnomes have a nasty habit of dispensing of enemies with hatchets. Lots of bloodletting which Allan does very well.

What can I say about Marf's short story THE SCOTTISH MUG? The woman has an uncanny ability - from on high, she believes and who can quarrel with her? - to find cups that directly relate to her Scottish heritage.

She found a Miss Pen Pal who is a MacDonald, as is she. She writes in her story about Dumbarton, Scotland, a company town with cobblestone streets, a dye factory, and home ownership as long as you work - some might say are enslaved - by the company.

Find the town here.  Doesn't the River Clyde sound lovely?

She believes her MacDonald dad, born in 1908, is guiding her from the other side.

Image result for dumbarton scotland

Cost of the mug?  Seventy-five cents.

Her story reminded me of When Calls The Heart that I'm enjoying on Netflix. 

Linda Barrett brought us THE LAST ROSE, a science fiction story about the final effect of our misuse of the earth.

A scrawny 7-yo girl is dying. She's drying up bc there's no more water left.

What a mind she has. She also emailed us a poem about her mum.

Speaking of great minds, Rem read us Chapter Two of his book, most amusing!

You could do a lot worse, he writes, than live in a world where it was eternally 1976. Of course, you'd have to put up with smiley faces and pet rocks and a whole lot of cheesy disco.
Excuse me while I get up and dance.

To cap it off, the Pittsburgh Pirate capped Rem read one of his poems


Frank, he objects, shifting in his desk chair,
that's it, I've had enough of your stream of
O'Hara, he told us, met his death at age 40 at Fire Island, run over by a dune buggy.

Beatriz found a famous O'Hara poem online called Lana Turner Has Collapsed.

Carla mentioned that her dad met Lana. He had a cleaning establishment which cleaned a women's apparel company where lovely Lana was trying on clothes.

I think she's best known for the film The Postman Always Rings Twice with John Garfield

Image result for lana turner postman always rings twice

and her daughter Cheryl stabbing one of Lana's lovers to death.

Good, Cheryl is still alive, born in 1943.

C'est moi.

Here's my Maxwell House Coffee set atop B's coffee table. It flanks one of the best desserts I've ever had. Allan pretended to smoke one of these chocolate wafers. What a riot he is!

BTW, the moment I got home from B's, I rode to nowhere for 20 minutes on my stationery bike.

Sugar level is normal.... 97.

Carly does her own nails. She bought this ring somewhere in Peddler's Village, half price. $25.

She and a friend were driving down where she began seeing spots before her eyes and had a terrible headache.

What was it?

Ocular migraine, which a few of us, including me, have had.

It's not serious. But definitely frightening!

Image result for ocular migraine Amazing, all the things that can go wrong with our bodies.

I'm 70. Who knows what awaits me?

I presented the true short story Me and The Old Man about my relationship with a deceased neighbor.

Also wrote two poems I've gotta fix, but want to hurry to go see Scott.

More photos after my poems. 


The year I put in the tulips
not that long ago I entertained
myself with the entire
remastered CD of Surrealistic
Pillow, which boomed
over Cowbell, as I sat in
the dirt gloriously happy
and stoned.
On music.

Now Paul Kantner, 74,
has passed. Organ
failure from a heart
attack. What were
his final thoughts
as his life slipped
past, quick as
the draining of
his IV.

At Scott’s, I let
myself in. Music
booms. Surrealistic
Pillow. I stare from
the plastic-covered
couch from Gramma Yetta
at his smooth face, the
hairs on his goatee like
budding crocus
in spring, he looks
beautiful to me.

I lie myself down and
swivel my ears toward
the stereo, where the
Jefferson Airplane take
the stage in his vinyl

Eyes on his white ceiling
with not a cobweb in
sight, I find myself in
the Fillmore West
accepting a toke,
small and brown and
fragrant - the Vietnam
Vets smoked them too -
my hands upraised
in joy and ecstasy
as black-haired
Grace Slick
falls down her rabbit
hole, unaware of
future discontents,
alcoholism, rehab,
death of Paul Kanter, 
father of their child China.

All this on invisible
Side B of the vinyl
Who mourns for
the Starship now?

Not I. Snug in my
jeans I await
the coming of
planting time.


The Times has endorsed her.
Hardly a surprise. My friend
Ellen will move to Ireland if
hairswept Trump wins. The
vets last night were shocked
when he tried to embrace
them. Didn’t know how,
poor inept master of wealth.
Did his blond bangs
rub the angular faces of
the vets, taut with

The Times likes her
preparations. You’ve heard
of folks who know a little
about everything. The Hill
knows fathoms about
everything: the wars we wage,
how to make friends and influence
leaders, how to sit like a
lady in those pant suits
she prefers.

Women’s rights? She’ll
fight for us. Like me,
she’s a grandma to
little Charlotte
“Hey Char! Come to
your lovin’ Grammy!”

Safe driving, Hillary,
and no more falls with
concussions. America
is counting on you to
save us from the
beasts roaring all
around us. Be our
Saint George killing
all the dragons.
B's friend Lorraine took this photo of a Russian Orthodox church when she visited Russia.

Beatriz is stumped by Van Gogh's Starry Night jigsaw puzzle. All those blues!

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