Hurricane Irma - Many Poems: The Enormous Walk - The Little Green Piece of Paper - Lie Back and Relax (Dr George) - Sightseeing on the Way to the Grocery Store - Fireflies

           Irma rages on. All sorts of people are dying who have nuffin to do with the hurricane.

65 degrees here in my house. Up for good after awakening to Miranda. I start my back-hurting morning by sitting for five mins or so at the computer.

Scott and I took a super-long walk yesterday which I documented with a poem.

OUR ENORMOUS WALK

(Used this title bc of ee cummings' the enormous room - his 1922 autobiog)

Was upstairs in my composing room
when Scott arrived for a walk.
Go downstairs and entertain yourself
I said while frantically submitting
poetry and a short story to Halcyon,
deadline today.

Why so frazzled? My new Microsoft Word
program sucks! If I could I'd send it
reeling into a disaster area.

There! You horrid thing.

Twilight slid in slowly as we
walked the path in the back yard.
A huge clump of poop lay on the trail.
Human? Dog? Whose? And Why?

Our twin sneakers avoided it as
we stopped at the railroad tracks
to make sure the sucker wouldn't
round the bend and smash us
to pieces, Reese.

A steep hill filled with houses
greeted us. We heard yelling.
A huge shiny home on wheels
stood silent in the drive. And
in the garage the rump of an
old car from the 30s.

We moved to the high school
where heavy construction was
in the works. We sidled past
seats in the stadium. I waved
to a teammate on the other side.
No game or baton twirlers tonight.

In the pocket of my shorts, yes,
I was chilly, my glucose tabs
clinked together like ice in
champagne.

Astroturf, said Scott. I bent
down to feel its perfect stubby
blades that barely move.

Players say it hurts their knees. Worse, if you've
run on it for years, many get cancer
and die. A link?
Sorry, relief pitcher Tug McGraw.

We took Terwood Road home.
The auto shop blazed with
sunflowers, tall as basketball
players, preening like the jealous
queen in Snow White.

Off the side of the road
an Audi TT 2001, was for sale.
As usual, I went into overdrive
imagining how I could buy it.
Both me and the sports car are
low to the ground, deliciously
shiny, as least my earrings are.

Was that Patrick who drove by and
honked? Where were they coming from?
Certainly not the Dairy Queen,
which will be open another
90 minutes.

We walked up Ball. Here's where Marie
Higgins lives, I said to Scott. Each house
stood atop a bright green hill.

I checked my sugar when I got home.
Low, so I chugged down a Chobani
Blueberry, with pretzels stuck inside,
and poured a riotous bowl of trail mix.

Not dead yet. And we'll keep it that way.
Unless, when I watch Bullitt with Scott,
Bill Hickman runs me over.
***
  Bill's very serious. Drives with leather gloves. The Bad Plus wrote a song about him.

Great meeting of our Writers Group. Worked all morning on The Smell of Cookies for Halcyon. Glad you enjoyed it Marcy! Hope Monique does.

She and Lisa O'Shea have an elaborate set of rules we must follow. I did not, so I had to do all my poems over again. They must relate to Fall. All her seasonal issues are due on the 10th of the month.

HAIKU FOR FALL

Mist spreads across pond

Bullfrogs emerge to find mate

Hello beauty queen!  

LIE BACK AND RELAX

You might think I'm on the massage table
covered by a white sheet with the sound
of Chopin playing in the distance

But, no. I am at the eye doctor's, the
gentle Doctor George. My pink toenails
peek from my sandals, as the doctor
dims the light and says, Put your
chin here.

A delightful indentention fits my chin
just so. Look straight ahead, he says,
and don't blink, as Stacey records his findings.

I just like being in his presence.
I stall, thinking of ways not to leave,
not to go back to the waiting room
with its smell of Folger's coffee
and the gulping frog-like sound of the water cooler.

Doctor George, I say, as the light
goes on, gradually as the morning
sun through my drapes at home.

Tell me some new findings in the
world of ophthalmology. This may be
the first time I've ever pronounced
that tongue-twister rubber baby buggy

bumpes of a word.

They're doing a lot of research in
the field of macular degeneration,
he says. Getting closer to understanding
it and finding a cure.

I smile. My aunt is 99 and has the disease.
Instead of reading, she listens to audio
books, I say.

Good thing we have them, he says, handing
me my backpack and walking me to the door.

In the car, I turn on Gary Paulsen's
"Hatchet" about a young boy lost in
the wilderness and swatting mosquitos.

Am I practicing what to do if I go
blind from glaucoma? I am a suspect
as he calls it.

Certainly not. The maple leaves
flutter down, gently as cob webs,

as I drive triumphant
down my street.

***

FIREFLIES

So you think homo sapiens
are complicated? We, with our
Dostoyevsky's, our Vladimir
Putins with the soft blue eyes,
and The Grateful Dead Hour
on XPN, long after Jerry has
been churned into ice cream.

They've come out of hiding,
the urge to mate is so strong.
Don't look now but they were
hiding under the backyard deck,
beneath the bark of the sycamore,
inside the BBQ grill in every
American's home.

I hail and salute them!
Bonne nuit, says I, as I
goes out on me front porch,
What a splendid night.
Not a single firefly out.

Would you make love in
the rain? Be patient,
little men. Your little
gals await. And
babes aplenty.

Blink on, blink off, blink on, blink off. 

Oh, hello Joan Effel. We exchange postcards. Her new German Shepherd foundling is Remi.

Beatriz showed me how to take closeups.

THE LITTLE GREEN PIECE OF PAPER

It arrives every Fall.
Thin as a cucumber slice,
Wiggly as a worm after the rain.
I carry it like a status symbol
from the township building

I have paid my taxes!

This is why you won't find
me buying new purses at
Marshall's, throw rugs
at Best Buy, or
dangling earrings,
my favorite, at
Clare's at the mall.

Besides, I rationalize,
who needs more things!

Now I can relax in this
glorious house I bought.
Pouring a bowl of peanuts,
pretzels, and raisins,
I sit outside on the
front porch, shut my
eyes and gaze toward the sun.

The ground near me quivers.
Opening my eyes, I see a
fat groundhog, stopping
to examine his host,
then scampers
post haste toward
his home under the deck.

How fine it is to be
Appreciated by a
Wild creature who grazes
Like a moo-cow on the grass.

***

SIGHTSEEING ON THE WAY
TO THE GROCERY STORE

What marvelous sights
I viewed. Remember what
Howard Carter said
at the mouth of
Tutankamen's Tomb?

"Yes, I see wonderful things."

A flash of white caught my eye.
Bright white like the flash of
a camera. It was a bare-chested
man in shorts jogging
down the sidewalk, then
looking both ways, crossing
the street and disappearing
into the trees like a deer.

In front of me the sheen of a
BMW almost blinded me. Its back
window read "Promotional Car."
A phone number was listed,
all done with the artistry of a
Japanese calligrapher.

What did I have to offer
the celebrants of this fine
Fall Day? A silver-haired
woman of an age incalcuable
wearing huge purple sunglasses
with diamonds on the corners.

A smile. A huge smile
as wide as the sun.

***


Breakfast anyone?

While I'm chomping on my eggs, I shall be watching Game of Thrones. Season One.

   Peter Dinklage.

Goodbye Game of Thrones. 

Postcard from Mom - Poems: What a Family - Reflections on Mother Goose

Postcard left over from The Store, which, of course means The Now and Then Shop. Met my husband there. His b'day was on Sept. 6. Dead, you know.

Thank you for helping me turn 95. It was a terrific get-to-gether. Here is to many more. How lucky can I be? Stay well and HAPPY.  Love always, Mom

***

Perfect opportunity to buy this fab creation at the DQ as my sugar was low.

First, tho, I returned two items at the Giant - too-spicy pasta sauce made by Bruno Bros AND a jar of Krazy Richards pnut butter.

I deviated from my septum, I mean my regular pB, and this one was way too oily.

They take everything back.

I rode my bike for about 40 mins to lower my blood sugar.

Oh! Listen to this! Couldn't find my driving glasses so I was fairly blind - guided only by blinking lights - when I drove to Giant, Library, and then DQ.

I can never find DQ but finally did. Got a takeout, copying the woman in front of me.

We both agreed we wanted DQ before it closed for the season, some time before Halloween.

***

WHAT A FAMILY!

Each one is worse than the next
Harvey came first
bursting onto the scene
dumping oceans of water
into the once beautiful city
of high buildings and the
abandoned Astrodome

Hot on his heels comes Irma
green with envy as she
stomps all over town
filling every crevice
with mud

Little brother Jose
must keep up with
his siblings
and does. See
the people floating
in rafts? Pets, too.

And it's not even
Hurricane Season!




***

Gotta write today's poem for FB.

Hold on.

REFLECTIONS ON MOTHER GOOSE
which I'm listening to on an audio book
in the kitchen

Fee fi fo fum, I smell the blood
of an Englishman.

The stupid boy sold the family's
moo cow for a handful of
beans.

Went to bed and woke up in
the darkness. A huge beanstalk
was blocking his way.

The lad climbed up to the top
and requested breakfast from
the Giant's wife.

There's a tree in my front yard
a favorite stopping place
for the squirrel and woodpecker

Is it my imagination or do I
see a young girl named Ruthie
climbing to the top, disappearing
among the leaves

then climbing down, wiping her
face with a pink cloth napkin
and saying to no one in
particular

Poached eggs on English muffin.
Rivals Johann Sebastian Bach! 

Hello Donna and Ellen - Poem: School Days

  Photos of Hurricane Harvey in Houston.

Here comes the sun shining on our street! About time.

Donna and Ellen just left. Going shopping!

Donna is a savvy shopper. 

They liked my new solar lights I bought at Home Depot.

A couple of em didn't work so I asked Scott to fix em, which he did.

Can you believe I have a boyfriend? I said.

Well, said Donna, the good thing is you both get along.

Last night I went over and watched the last THIRTEEN minutes of Day of the Jackal. Now, where was the assassin hiding in order to kill DeGaulle?

Very clever!

        Here he is, a wounded veteran with only one leg.

It's a must-see movie.

Edward Fox played the man who had killed thousands, When he was hired, he really impressed them with his resume.

I, too, have a resume. I have never killed anyone except in my short stories.


He was an ace with guns. Here's Cyril Cusack who sold him this fine instrument.

Was pleased Donna wanted to borrow Cynthia's poetry book.

Sent her a card this morning that said

HAIKU FOR CYNTHIA

In dreams, in shadows 
she contacts the high heavens
they applaud our Cyn! 

***

Vanity they name is Ruth Deming. These are my new pants from The Dress Barn. On sale. Very comfy.

I haven't modeled them yet to the outside world.

Drove Donna to Wayne's Automotive to be sure her car's in good condition for her trip to our homeland - Cleveland, Ohio.

It's her high school reunion.

I am so excited that I figured out how to write haiku.

Sunday is the deadline to submit my work to Monique Barry. When you go on her website, it tells you all the people who are on there at the moment.

Surveillance. I don't like that!

A friend of mine on FB mentioned she is depressed.

I opined that you oughtn't do dat. FB, it was recently noted in The New York Review of Books, is the larges surveillance industry on our planet!

Well, you can be sure my sisters and I had a lively disagreement about dat.

***

Today's FB poem

SCHOOL DAYS

The little ones
gather at the corner
under the acorn tree

New sneakers, new backpacks
maybe new friendships.

Did he cry inside when
he said goodbye to Mom?

Did she help pack the
peanut butter and jelly sandwich?

A new season, a new year
the cycle of life continues,
as long as you're not
friends with Irma.



***

They asked me why I post poems on FB. Many reasons, but mostly b/c it keeps my mind a-thinking.

Wanna end with a photo.

Hold on.

Poem about Kim Jong-Un's newest missile launch - Go Kim Go!

Couldn't resist writing a poem about Kim Jong-Un's latest missile launch.

Thing is, the blog goes crazy when I post a picture.

Lemme try again.



WALTER BECKER AND THE LAUNCHING OF KIM JONG-UNs
BEST MISSILE EVER

One half of Steely Dan died today
of unknown causes, said the obit.

Better get out of here, he may
have thought, before I'm torn in pieces
by the maniac in North Korea.

Maniac? Did you see the glee on his face
as he was surrounded by pat-them-on-the
back, Good ole Ri Hong Sop and Hong Sung Mu.

They call him a despot. C'mon now!
Who's our Supreme Leader, these men
are equals, for sure.

Kim's far saner. Goal-directed,
unwavering, while dining in style
with gentle Ri Sol-ju. With
diamond-studded chopsticks
they savor their Rice Porridge with
abalone, rice, pine nuts and tender mushrooms.

Come take a peek in the War Room, he says
taking her hand and showing her the latest
missile.

So tiny, she says, inspecting her
five foot-two husband.

Now we'll play basketball with the
Big Boys, he said.

If anyone can do it, she said,
pinching his cheek, it's you.

And Walter Becker can sleep
in peace for all eternity,
having lost Rikki's number. 

***



We know that Kim Jong-Un (I've forced myself to remember his name) is no angel, but, honestly, the way they refer to him and his country on the Internet.

 Rogue nation.
Secretive state.

***

Yours faithfully, Ruth Z Deming, cowering on the red couch.

Kids! House Tour - So long, half of Steely Dan

Grace, 7, and Max, 4, haven't been to my house in about a year.

Dan came over to fix my Canon printer. Actually I needed him to connect my downstairs laptop, which I'm typing on now, to the upstairs printer, so I can print out things from downstairs.

 I gave Grace some cherries with pits. She had never had them before but really liked em.

You've gotta figger out how to eat em and avoid the pits.

Reader, pretend you're eating cherries now. Use your imagination! Max doesn't eat fruit except for apples, said Grace, who knows everything about her little brother.

So, in the past, there were certain areas I had to protect, like....

The window sill area.

They were also rough with my pets, Pal and Richard Parker.

They ran all over the house, looking in each and every room.

I often find things in the parking lot at the Giant. Here's a penny I found. Now it belongs to Max.

They asked permission to go in the basement.

Sure, I said, as I led them first into the laundry room.

Do YOU have a washing machine? I asked.

Yes, said Grace, it's in the mud room.

Well, here's mine, I said, and Grace peeked into the full machine which was waiting to be turned on.

Can I see, asked Max.

He was too small to look inside. So I picked him up. Very heavy. He was wearing PJs with feet and he was quite excited to see all the dark water.

Then we went out onto the back porch where I was making a mobile for both kids. Next door neighbor, Zeke, 7, was helping me.

Somehow Zeke got red paint on the bottom of his sandals.

Grace wanted to turn on the light to the basement. I noticed for the first time that it had 'contact paper' wrapped around it.

Here are the red footprints in the Nancy Drew mystery. They lead down the street to the Lytle family.

 Grace and Max loved the screened-in back porch and my art supplies. The wicker table is from Judy Diaz who moved to Colorado.

They felt the paint on the styrofoam mobiles-to-be.

Is it dry yet? they wanted to know.

Yes, I said, but please don't touch it.

Max squeezed the bottles trying to get some paint out, but they're pretty much used up.

Max picked up everything in the box and started trickling em through his fingers.

He likes to do that, said Grace.

Here's a - what? - a piece that I made long ago when I had manic-depression. I used newspaper clippings, cardboard, and old CDs, and painted everything with acrylic paint which dries quickly.

Grace said she wanted to see how I make cards that I send people.

Ready, says Ruthie, who has to arise from red couch and lug her fat ass into the kitchen.

Shall I have another cuppa tea? Why not.

Ooh! Steely Dan is playing on WXPN. I own a couple of their CDs, lost in the rubble.

Holy cow! No wonder they played Steely Dan. Walter Becker just died! Here's an obit from Rolling Stone I found. Better info here. Of course, it's WIKI.

From the kitchen window, here's my remaining maple tree. I was arrested by the little design among the backyard foliage. Where dyou think it leads? We could certainly write a poem or story about it.

I keep these in a box in the kitchen.

Anything with hard cardboard can be used as the back of the card, on which you can paste on the person's address.

Grace also asked about other 'props' I use, like an orange netting I have.

What dyou spose the netting is used for, I asked.

A bag of onions or lemons, I said.

Then I said, "Artists like me are always collecting things. We may not know where we'll them but we have em for when we need em."

You can't imagine the GREAT TIME I had with my grandkids.

Happy Labor Day!

Writers Group - Poem: Reading Books in Odd Places - Reflections on a Rainy Day

READING BOOKS IN ODD PLACES

The New York Times makes
reading suggestions. We
their devoted readers,
decide Shall I follow along or not?

Do people still read Saul Bellow's
Herzog? I don't mean
Herzegovina, though Bellow
had a taste for the Eastern Bloc.

I read parts of Herzog in the
empty stadium at Upper Moreland
High School, where my boy went.

I liked the view, the huge green
grassy fields, where no one but
a dog walker or two disturbed
my solitude.

So long ago.
Another world.
Now I read in many places.
Lying on the red couch
door open to the wide world
so the winds of the
neighborhood may enter
and bring me peace.

 On Saturday we had our Writers Group. Rem keeps his work in a Ziploc bag. Another radio interview with Randy.

In a black garbage bag, Rem kept his props. He loves his Diet Coke.

 Beatriz suggested we have a party at her house. B/c of her weakness she can't get around except for doctor's appts. Everyone would bring a favorite dish.

Years ago when I'd go to my Lambertville N J writers group, a holiday was coming up, perhaps the Fourth of July.

I drove over to Elaine Restifo's house to celebrate with her and a couple of her friends. Sadly, they've all died. Here's her obit.

She used to make delicious chili.

What is it about chili that makes it so good?

Here's my chili, enhanced with a can of sweet potato and a can of corn.

Beatriz, I asked. Can you fix my camera so the flash doesn't go off alla time?

She set it on automatic and suggested I go outside and see if the flash worked, which fortunately it did not.

A name came into Martha's head. She insisted on writing a story about it and so she did. She did it all in one gulp, last night, I believe, and it was about a cooking show. Minnie's Cooking Show which was finally successful and aired world wide, after some underhanded dealings.

That's right, Ruthie, stick out your belly as if you're....but look at this lovely blouse I found in the bottom of my drawer?

 Linda always lights up when she takes a photograph. Look at her fashionable necklace with all then keys on it. Careful you don't go near a magnet, Linda, or you'll be stuck fast. Gee, I think I gave her an idea for another story.

That woman is amazing. She wrote an amazing short story, the evening before our group,  called something like Darlene in the Garden.

Twas one of her sci-fi-horror-time travel works.

That very morning she found her mom sitting and trembling. She called 9 1 1 - they were there in a split second, she said - and her mom was transported to Abington hospital.

Excuse me....Abington Jefferson.

Nothing wrong with her except low blood pressure and she hadn't eaten breakfast. She's fine now. I wrote our group to tell them the good news.

Did I tell you I'm listening to author interviews on YT ?

Oh, the story I read was a five-pager called Balancing Act. One of the very worst things I've ever wrin. Am still getting used to my terrible new Canon printer.

AND STOP YELLING AT ME! I'm not stupid. It IS much harder to use than the old one.

Am drinking Yogi Egyptian Tea from this old cup of sister Donna's.

Gotta write my poem of the day for FB

Scuse me while I pour myself another spot of tea.

Was just in my kitchen, quite bright, despite the drizzle of rain and looked upon the backyard maple. When I moved in, there were three of em, now there's only one left.

REFLECTIONS ON A RAINY DAY

A sentient being?
Of course I am.
The gentle rain
caresses my
outer layer
the way yon
mother doe
nuzzles her spotted
Bambi's

The rain trails
up my inner heart
delicious as
pinot noir on a
sailing ship
clinking glasses
as each one
contemplates
throwing the other
overboard

And my green leaves
teetering
tottering
growing old
so old
they'll lose
their balance
and fall - plop! plop! -
onto the rain-
soaked ground below.

In the Middle of the Night - Poem: Ode to Meredith - A Movie Followed by Fine Dining at The Beer Garden

 The other night, I chanced upon a group of male ballet dancers from the UK called "Balletboyz."







Watch them here.

The comments are quite interesting.

The Internet tells me there are dozens of all male ballet companies.

This particular ballet was about regaining one's humanity after the terrible carnage of World War I...trench war.

Earlier tonite, I went on YT to find a good movie to watch.

The Seven Ups - 1973 - was about an 'elite' New York City police force who were trying to destroy the mob.



It was horribly violent but I couldn't turn it off.

The young Roy Scheider starred in it. A tough guy. Macho. Wearing a leather jacket.

I called Scott and told him to watch it.

He knew about it and said it's one of his favorite movies. In fact, he's got it on tape.

If you like car chases, this is for you, Jim Rockford, we miss you so! 

Spent many hours submitting 10 items to Loch Raven Review. Tremendously hard submission process.

If I did it correctly, here's what you put at the beginning of every submission:

Subject Line:     LRR submission from your name.
     1.     First and Last Name.
     2.     City, State (or Province, etc.), and Country.
     3.     Email address.
     4.     Very brief description of submitted Work(s) - poetry, short fiction, articles.
     5.     Age statement: "I am 16 years of age or older."
            (Do not submit if you are younger than 16.)
     6.     A brief biographical sketch.

 
Okay, back upstairs to read The Holocaust or Willa Cather's The Professor's House.

ODE TO MEREDITH

Very few are named Meredith
She, my dental hygienist,
worked me over for the
deep clean while the
clock ticked on

Our deal: Keep talking,
my lady, so as to distract
me from whats-going-on

At the end I asked her
to write down Les Importantes

On a purple post-it
she wrote: Water-pik
(front, vertically) -
can you believe I'd
been doing it all wrong?

Close mouth gently to
access back tooth surfaces
Sonicare electric toothbrush

Cozy Shack pudding at
the Giant.
Oh, yes, they do, she said,
knowingly.

Her boss, the Venneri Gang,
is from a proud line of
dentists I've had since
I was a little girl
seeing Dr Benjamin Bell
back in Cleveland

I'd choose the little ships
as a prize, which sailed
me right up to modern day,
today, in fact, as I ride,
bumpety bump bump
to the free movie
just up the road.

***

A MOVIE FOLLOWED BY FINE DINING
AT THE BEER GARDEN

My invisible partner and I
sat in the last row at the
theatre. Wearing my driving
glasses, I kept pinching
myself, saying, These
things really happened, in
A Street Cat Named Bob.

Oh, the kitty was adorable
a big fat cuddlesome nougat
of a cat, here kitty kitty
Look, she's jumped up on
my lap right now and
almost spilt my water!

I rushed from the theatre,
a malodorous farting man
came in at the end, just
like last week. Scott had
told me this is what the
homeless smell like
on the trains.

I drive to the Giant
and ask for a table
for two. The lobster bisque
is superb, I say to the
maitre dee, as are the
three slices of lean
corned beef, dipped in
a little packet of moutarde.

My palate is charmed, delighted,
but not quite satisfied. What shall
I have for dessert, I ask Deej
as the dessert bar.

The chocolate croissant looks
fab, but what about that
"turnover" she calls it.
"Yes, I say, Yes!" and of course
I'll need a cuppa java
to go with it.

Now I'm cooking on all
four burners. The pastry
is divine - filled with
raspberry jam - this is
Weinrich's Bakery we're
talking about - and
my life at that moment
is in harmony with
the universe.

Driving home, I sip on
the coffee, waiting to
return to my book
on The Holocaust.