“On my honor I will do my bestTo do my duty to God and my country and to obey the Scout Law;To help other people at all times;To keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight.” – “Scout Oath” The Boy Scout Handbook, 11th Edition, Third Printing Sometimes,Being an imposter is less of a—choose-to,And …
Continue reading “From my years in The Boy Scouts of America #1”
Poets can only see motion,dynamics, though they’re suckers for glacial.What I’m getting at is stop standing still,they can still see you. I sing along with the radio as I mow,and it’s unprofessional,when I get off my tractor to shoo teen golfers from driving on the tees,but I love the sunlight, and the music,and care for …
I know we don’t know each other that well,not at all even,but believe me when I say I know that blood-curdle-cry you’ve been smearing yourself with. I know a thing or two about self-hate.I know that when every criticism I had sprung up and with southern drawl lashed out,“don’t it just suck, don’t it just …
Watterson’s Calvin and Hobbes held my hand,before I understood the understanding of philosophy,before I learned to not piss my bed. Anthony’s Xanth was my first introduction to the “adult” world,when teachers read us Charlettes Web (beautiful) and Sounder (depressing)when I’d never escaped into a world before. The Eddings’ Pawns of Prophecy is still read to …
Years back, years ‘n years back,–we watched thunder storms on the porch, sky green Kansas plains thunderstorms, freight-train winds ‘n billowin’ wall clouds grand-parent tales of the great flood of ’51, water risin’.–mist blowin’ through the screens, smell, the smell of rain.water risin’. writh-wrigglin’ through a chained up fence,pushin’ up on the other side of …
I knew a guy,he called ‘em “fist-i-cuffs”,walkin’ around shadow-boxin’ dynamite.It’s a special kind of someone,that walks to an edge,and tries to fight it. Hell, what do I know about fights anyway,the one I was in, kid gave me a black eye,and a bunch of older kids held him down so I could punch back–I walked …
you?you’ve got slave-fingers,tip-tappin’ away,just a voice,you say,just a voice behind a keyboard. sometimes you read to me,poetry read aloud, breathless and sloppy.you keep the beat to your footsteps,goin’ on ‘n on ’bout your misteps. I got rage,‘n I got fire,but you, you’ve got this dehydrated desire. distractions?distractions are pop-guns ‘n fire crackers,you?you’ve got atom bombs …
I want to write beautiful words about this,so that everyone knows about this,but maybe I ain’t skilled enough for this,or maybe there’s nothin’ beautiful about this. either way, I ain’t stoppin’ with this. ‘n maybe my words ain’t right for this,but it don’t mean we can’t talk about this,dear god, talk about this,don’t forget this.
there is nothing like the pre-dawn quiet, when you can hear the approaching winter. and the pictures I finally looked at,but another’s muse holds no sway,‘n that’s not to say that my muse will stay,from day to dream-drunk day.Today, …
Continue reading “Fancy a dance in these fancy pants with little to no resale value?”
I’m gettin’ this rage-thumpin’ beatin’ in my fingertips, my heart’s doin’ it’s best to beat down the walls of me.tread real careful, and you might hear the thunder. this ain’t a warnin’ ‘cause you won’t take it. rain-drops splatterin’, lightnin’ …
