Saturday, November 30, 2019

Poem about the Sun

Rising Sun by AndrVlad | VideoHive

I have never seen a sun like this
a huge yellow blur
stuck in the trees
behind Charley's house
Moving it will take time
Lots of it.

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I have been stood up.
My luncheon date
canceled, saying
she must attend the bar mitzvah
of someone close to her
mother's best friend.

My turkey soup and stuffin
are heating up in the most imperfect
crockpot there ever was

And all night long I tried to sleep.
Yes I read my Jim Mattis book, getting that
two-thirds done I was aiming for.



Catholic, never married, no children. His fiancee cancelled the wedding as she felt it best that he concentrate on his wars.

And wondering wondering wondering
about mes memoirs
French for memory.

Friday, November 29, 2019

No wonder People Like Trump - A Poem About Myself - New Goal

Although many of us do not support the President, his cronies are involved in a program to defraud the American people.

Listen to WHYY.org here.

I am making Turkey Soup now.

Into the crockpot goes the remaining turkey meat I brought home last night, plus mushrooms, onions, turmeric, garlic, stuffing and more.

Am hoping it will be ready for dinner with my Beloved, Ruth Z Deming.

How will YOU spend the rest of the day?

The phone just rang.

Here is part of the code I must plug in to get the message. The call was from The Becker Insurance Company.

A pox on you!

Phony message to get a rebate check.

215-657-9805

Pin no. 2142 pound

Okay, deep breathing, Ruthie. Do not get excited.

A POEM ABOUT MYSELF

Aretha Franklin I am not
but I do like to sing
Sam Cooke's A Change is Gonna Come
was recorded for me many years ago by
one of my darlings, Daniel Paul Deming.

I've lived in many places
Austin, Texas
Houston
Huntingdon Valley
and Cowbell Road.

Have I stopped my wandering?
Only time and my cowboy boots
will tell.

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Remember I said I wanted to be a trombone player like granddaughter Grace?

NOW  I wanna dance the MARI MUSIC

Let's do it!

Thursday, November 28, 2019

Notable Deaths in 2019 from CBS

Click  here.

Included are Gloria Vanderbilt,
Leon Redbone, Dr J,
Tony Horwitz, Civil War buff
Bill Buchner, all star batting champ.
Michael J Pollard from Bonny and Clyde and many more.

Sorry to see you go.

Happy Thanksgiving November 28, 2019 - Farewell Lillian Moss


 Too boozey, they thought of my rum cake. would it be safe for Dan to drive me home?
Max is eating a big fat waffle. Looked delicious. Later I think he had mac n cheese.

 What a great traditional meal we had. Dan got me  Yuengling Lager, which I loved.
 Max was a wee bit sick.

So when we played later in the den, I had to sit away from him.
 Nicole made a new dish - Brussels Sprouts with balsamic vinegar. Scrumptious.
 Grace is learning to play the slide trombone.

What a beautiful instrument it is. Dyou think I could learn at the nearby Settlement Music School?




Her mom thinks it's an instrument for adults to play.



THANKSGIVING

Blue car picks me up
And I am whisked away
To Argyle Road
Where our clan will gather
Around 4 pm
We have the freedom to talk about anything we please
We can discuss the film The Irishman with Robert de Niro
Or the gawky president of the United States
We can make up our own words if we choose
And eat the best food in the world
Will we get drunk on Bubby’s dessert?
Gather around, my loves, and tell us
What you’re thankful for,
My answer is always the same: my family
And those who have gone before.
The young never believe they will get old
And the old can’t believe that aging happened
So fast.
Hold up our cups and drink to the nonsense,
The chaos, the boldness
Of the living world.   

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We played Musical Chairs while Grace played the trombone.

We never knew when she'd stop and one chair was removed. 

Max was despondent when he lost.

As always.

His dad tried to cheer him up.

On the way home, Dan and I had a amazing conversation.

What is real and what is not?


Gimme a week or two and I'll look em up.

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I looked em up now. So hard to understand, so if you want, look em up on Wiki, And remind me to send them a check

When I got home and checked my messages I saw that Ada's mother had died today, Thanksgiving Day, 2019. November 28. 

She was 110 years old. 

Ada was pleased with the care she got at Brandywine. Everyone will really miss her.

Each person/s death, I'm guessing, affects 200 other people.

And the beat goes on.

Wednesday, November 27, 2019

Wending me way to the Warminster Library



Everything was taken care of.
I had food in my belly so I wouldn't go low.
I had four copies of my new short story HOSPICE.
I had two sets of direx - one to Hatboro - thother to Norristown Road, where you wait for all the cars to pass and then make a left.

The library is on Emma Lane.

Go right or go left.

I went left and knew I'd gone the wrong way, so then I turned right and found the library. Had plenty of time to back in, and figured I'd wait for the teacher Eva R Priestly.

Left home very early praps 10 30, after sending out my postcards, including one to the woman featured in HOSPICE.

They wouldn't open the doors to our room until right on the button.

So I read a fairly interesting book by Michael Palin of Monty Python about traveling to North Korea.

 It may have been made into a documentary.

Only the teacher plus Joyce were there.

They liked my story HOSPICE and Joyce read PREDATOR. What an imagination she has.WHO was the predator? Was it Bill whose wife had died or was it the trespassing cat.

Then a man named Art comes in at the end. He produces a list of the titles of possible short stories and the teacher orders him to begin one of them.

Eva spent an hour reading the end of one of her short stories. I fell blissfully asleep. I drank no coffee today.

Then I followed Joyce onto York Road.

Decided to stop at the Hatboro Deli to buy some Asian food. The Asians who work there speak perfect English and also Korean.

Cognitive dissonance.

Bought a meat ball calzone and a carton of large eggs.

Asked the owner to heat it up for me in the microwave.

You don't have a microwave, he asked bewildered.

Not everybody has a microwave.

Before you rip that open, he said.

I don't want it, I said, and left it on the counter

Or the eggs either.

Grrrrrrrrrrr!


Tuesday, November 26, 2019

ARTS FEST - We all enjoyed the poetry of Rem Murphy - Nocturne 3 The Visitation - Autumn Poem


                           Nocturne 3
                       (The Visitation)

On the night of April 15th,
As everybody knows, that taxing time,

After an especially grueling day at work,
I dreamt I was in a hotel room,

Flat on my back,
Yet oddly, drifting off to sleep

With the lights off, and the air conditioner
Purring hypnotically,

When I heard what sounded like
My late wife, softly calling my name.

Fully awake now
In my dream, eyes wide open,

I saw a luminous mist
Drift in slowly through the curtains,

Coalescing into a smoky pillar
At the foot of my bed,

Becoming by degrees
The beautiful woman I loved, then lost,

Even more beautiful now,
The weight of the world

No longer on her shoulders,
Smiling like I never saw her smile,

Wearing a shimmering seafoam
Long spectral gown.

She didn’t slip beneath the covers,
Which she would’ve done

If still in the flesh.
Instead, she sat down on the bed

And all that night of the dream,
Pleasant, comforting visitation,

I felt a palpable physical touch
As she held my hand.

We used to vacation in Las Vegas,
And many a morning I’d wake up early,

And while she slept
Breathing placidly,

I’d wander into the lavish bathroom,
Take my constitutional,

And then I’d slip into the bathtub,
Enjoying a nice long soak,

While I did a little light reading,
Plato’s “Republic,”

Boccaccio’s “The Decameron,”
Or maybe even the Book of Revelation.

I‘ve never been what you could call
A connoisseur of darkness,

And though I’ve always admired
Wordsworth’s thrilling pre-dawn

Ascent of Mount Snowden
In the climax of his famous Prelude,

I’m not Romantic.
Just give me a little light

And let me wake up happy.
Dear God, in the words

Of that old Kristofferson song,
Help me make it through the night.
                          

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                          Autumn Poem

It’s November now, that time of your life
When it’s customary to reflect.

If you’re anything like me,
You didn’t do anything right,

Yet somehow, all that suffering
Incredibly beside the point,

Everything seemed to turn out right.
You didn’t get the girl,

Or so you thought at the time,
But then you ended up with the girl

And lived happily ever after,
Until that fateful morning

When she collapsed, clutching her chest,
Alone in the bedroom.

You thought it was all over,
That your life, now that it was autumn,

Would be like the trees outside your window,
Totally drained of color.

But please, take notice,
When the sun sinks lower in the heaven

And the leaves do their natural thing,
What they’ve been designed to do,

Houses and buildings reemerge.
I can see my car in the cinder parking lot

On the other side of the woods,
And the brook, which I’ve heard

On stormy afternoons, raging all summer long,
Reappears in its ceaseless shimmering,

Gently purling along.
Yes, it was all worth it,

And yes, you can see that clearly now.
Life may be different these days,

But the water keeps flowing,
And it’s still the same old stream,

Whether you can see where it’s going,
Or not.




Monday, November 25, 2019

Raise your hand if you love to bake!

 Whose cat is this?

He sat there for nearly half an hour, then quickly scampered off toward Scott's house.

A tasty mouse or scraps I put in the compost heap?
 Malt Scotch Liquor I brought home from Mom's house.
Bought baking sheets at Giant.

First I made the base which was delicious.

Canola Oil and flour, covered with finely chopped peanuts and pecans.

Loads of butter and brown sugar. I used only half the amount called for.

Then I added the rum glaze.

Lots of improvising. I did not have a yellow cake mix but I did add the instant pudding mix.

I needed to thicken the sauce and remembered - add flour.

The entire house smells fantastic.

Earlier today I had to race after Mailman Dante as I remembered it was a friend of mine's belated birthday.

I ended up on Lookout Lane and Red Barn Ave.

He was dressed in warm clothes.

We're keeping up the vigil on Ada's mother.

Sent out postcards with the new Coral Reef stamps.

I was in bed napping when I heard the thud of the mailbox.

Good sleep is imperative to help prevent memory loss.

It's 6 pm and dark outside.

PBS News is on.

Guess I'll watch and  get a few Zzzzs.



Judy Woodruff, born in 1946, we have confidence in you.


Shelly Quigley - comedienne - why not try out for The Late Show

Presenting Shelly Quigley once again


To the Tune:  “Me and Julio Down By the Schoolyard”

Made a call to the Ukraine and asked without hesitation
We’ll give you aid but we’re afraid we’ll need some information

It was against the law, it was against the law
What I asked you for , It was against the law

I said if you will help us out you’ll get your appropriation
No quid quo pro of course you know
What a perfect conversation

Chorus:
Well, I’m on my way, you know just where I’m going
I’m on my way.   Did the crime, now doin’ the time
Hello, Rudy, King of Corruption
Yes, me and Rudy down at the jail yard

Look into Biden and his son and you’ll get your compensation
So I suggest avoid a mess and start an investigation

Repeat chorus

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To the tune:  “Sounds of Silence”
Hello Rudy your dear friends
Are going to prison once again
For a mission that was so sneaky
Oh, those guys are so creepy

The decision to reach out to Ukraine
Was insane  --   an act of sheer defiance

There’s not a trick you wouldn’t try
You smeared a very honest guy
“Cause there’s no way to win otherwise
So all those lies you tried to publicize

And you joined up with Lev Parnas and Igor Fruman
They’re barely human       A very strange alliance

I wonder how much you all spent
To help protect our president
And why you travel round so often
And why you sleep in a coffin

And derision you earn it every day  Please fly away

You and your creepy clients


Sunday, November 24, 2019

Arts Festival November 24, 2019 - Part I - As talented as they get! - Poems by Rem, Linda, Imani


The name "Imani" means faithful in Swahili.

She baked two cakes for her church. And where can we find this church?
Shelly Quigley - I took several photos of you and your geetar as you strummed about Putin, and Trump, with your devilish lyrics. It was SO GOOD TO SEE YOU and daughter Brandy, who wrote about the fish in her aquarium, wishing humans were as nice to one another as her fish.

Dyou know the band Phish?






Personally, I'm a phan of the Pentatonix.





They're an A Capella band. Take a listen on YouTube.

This is a huge photo of a sculpture by Bob Scott, Imani's dad.

Made of plastic.
Bob was attracted by the rhythmic sound of wood and made many wooden sculptures.

He began tho with a simple pencil. Here are some of his pencil drawings. Talk about talent!
Bob Scott. He has a fascinating middle name that I didn't catch.
Below is one of my many paintings. Took a class at Abington Senior High where I learned some basics of acrylic painting. The advantage is it dries quickly.

Imani wrote an incredibly honest poem about the travails of bipolar disorder.

Skip way down...



Ruth, how many times dyou need your picture on here?  Three?
And where the heck are Ada and Rich?

We discussed Ada's mother... 110 yrs old.

Rem and Linda, please send me your poems about Lillian Moss.




Here's Jane. Jane Fonda? Jane Goodall?

Don't be silly. It's Jane Barrett, Linda's mom. 

We’ll Always Have Vegas
                                    @2019 Linda Barrett

                                    We’ll Always Have Vegas:
                                                You and I traveling together
                                                By Greyhound bus
                                                To get married there
                                    We’ll Always Have Vegas:
                                                It was a memorable journey:
                                                In the aftermath of 9/11
                                                As a  test of our love
                                    We’ll Always Have Vegas:
                                                You the kite
                                                Me the string
                                                That kept you down to reality
                                    We’ll Always Have Vegas:
                                                Me the New England Patriot’s fan
                                                You the Philadelphia Eagle’s
                                                Liberty Belle cheerleader
                                    We’ll Always Have Vegas:
                                                You the one
                                                Who introduced me
                                                To the Prince of Peace
                                                And the Lord of Love
                                    We’ll Always Have Vegas:
                                                Even without you,
                                                I still know that the Fun city
                                                Brings me happy memories
                                                Of our marriage years.

What a Wonderful Day
                                     @2014 Linda Barrett

                                    White hot sun ignites
                                     July’s second to last day
                                     I travel the Huntingdon Valley roads
                                     Like the back of my hand
                                     Still get lost three times
                                     Rich stands outside
                                     On the corner of Corn Crib and Milkweed
                                      Too good natured to be exasperated
                                      By my constant phone calls
                                      For the right directions
                                      Finally, I arrive to the house
                                      A bright, floral haven
                                      In the middle of former farmland.
                                      The Pool’s tranquil blueness
                                      Greets me
                                      A deep many faceted aquamarine
                                      Gemstone in its tiled setting
                                       Rituals of applying sun screen
                                       Donning of hats
                                       Trying to ward off the sunburn demons
                                       Occur around me
                                       Ed on his guitar and harmonica
                                       Shelly accompanies him with her singing
                                       Play serene music for swimmers
                                       Under umbrellas,
                                       We tell tales to each other
                                       While eating our lunches
                                        And Ada serves desserts
                                        She darts around.
                                        Politely whispering if anyone
                                        Would like a drink
                                         Or some more water
                                         In the pool,
                                         I try floating on my back
                                         A far off church chime
                 wafts through the trees
                                         Reminding me
                                         Of He who made this day
                                         For our enjoyment

                                      Cynthia’s Cinquain

                             @2019 Linda Barrett
                             From Detroit
                             Nice episcopal girl
                             Inherited her father’s reserved nature
                             Her mother’s vivacious one, too
                             Talkative and sociable progressive
                             mother.


Rem’s Prayer
                     @2017 Linda Barrett

                     Dear God,
                     The Bedbugs
                     And my accident
                     Outside the bank
                     Are too much for
                     Me to handle.
                     Could you please
                     Send them
                     To Donald Trump?

                     Thank You.
                             



 Missing in action is REM MURPHY.



Here he is at our writing group with Beatriz. Rem send me some of your poems and I'll publish them in Part II. 

Imani is a beautiful young woman, who enjoys her chosen career of teaching young children. Remember her dad was also a teacher for some 33 years.
Parking lot of Giant. There were NO SPACES. 
Thanks Bob for this framed drawing of talking about those who serve others, serve ourselves too.

Wednesday, November 20, 2019

Do I have a story for YOU!

THE OLD FRONT PORCH is one of those short stories that 'wrote itself.'

It was influenced by folks in our group plus others - Imani's dad, Bob, who became Major Robert O Scott - Rem, who listened to far-away radio stations when he drove me to New Directions - Cousin Mark who while stretching a canvas cut off the tip of his finger, which was reattached at the hospital in Cleveland.

AND late last night I'd read a couple of chapters of Winesburg, Ohio, with very odd people, lonely people, so we had one lonely old lady who was the daughter of a slave.

Why was I running late to the Warminster Library? I was stuffing myself with food so I wouldn't get low.

Wove thru the town of Hatboro, then found NORRISTOWN ROAD and made that crazy left, but I took the wrong turn down Emma Lane. You can go left or right.

Ended up in a development called Five Ponds. Rapped on some doors with mezuzahs on them. No one knew where the library was until I found one older woman. Wrote down her directions.

Ended up at Lancers Diner near the Horsham Navy Yard and just kept driving driving driving homeward bound.

How my heart pounded doing all this driving. Stayed in my lane while everyone passed me.

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Watched a terrific film on YouTube called something like The Story of Tartuf, master spy. Very suspenseful. Starring Robert Donat with his pencil-thin moustache, Glynnis Johns, and a gorgeous woman whose name I will learn later.