Aug 182014
 

This little piece is for a children’s book.


I would tell you a story if I knew how.
If I knew how, I would.
I would tell you about so many things
if I thought I really could.

I would tell you about the things I like
.… like acrobats and butterflies
and riding on my bike
and forts and frogs
and fishing poles
and chimpanzees
and swimming holes

… or maybe even silly words
that make me laugh a lot,
like bifflebat
and wallywog
and himmeldimmeldot!

I really would if I thought I could.
If I thought I could, I would!

There are lots of things I’d tell about
… like blimps
and blocks and building things,
ghoulish ghosts and dogs that sing,
beaches, balls, and castles in the sand
and rolling down a hill just because I can!

Games and planes
and weathervanes
kites and knights in silly tights,
Halloween and hula hoops
and slimy squeezy goop!

Ladybugs and lollipops
and pretty spinning tops,
funny clowns in silly gowns
running all around.

Yep. I would tell you about lots of things
if I really thought I could.
If I thought I could I would,
if I wasn’t just a kid.
But wait …
I think that I just did!


Note: Imagine the pages with illustrations of knights in silly tights running around fllying kites and all the other fun stuff. Now all I need is a really good illustrator. Know one? Don’t be shy, let me know if you do.

 August 18, 2014
Aug 162014
 

Please look at me.
My hand is up!
Can’t you see?

Please look at me.
Oh boy! Oh WOW!
I HAVE TO PEE!

 August 16, 2014
Jun 112012
 

I’ve got to get out of these clothes—fast. It's freezing out here! The quicker I get these stinky clothes off and get my fresh ones on, the sooner Sally will let me into the nice warm kitchen. I can smell the dinner cooking and I can't wait to eat it. It smells like meatloaf. I love her meatloaf! Man, it's cold! I'm shaking all over! The thermometer in the chicken house said 10 degrees. Okay, gotta concentrate: shoes and pants are off, two more buttons and the shirt's off. Come on fingers, stop shaking, just two more buttons. That's it. Now put the clean pants and shirt on and go in! I left all the smelly clothes on the back porch and went into the kitchen.

I did that bone-chilling exercise during my Junior year in high school many years ago. And believe it or not—the freezing change-of-clothes experience not withstanding—I have very warm memories of that year. I was living with my sister Sally, her husband Mark, and my sweet little niece, Suzie, in a small country town in Maryland. Mark raised six thousand broiler chickens and sold them when they were ready for market. Then a new brood came in—thousands of little chicks—and it started all over again. I went to the chicken house, which was four big rooms, every day after school to water and feed them. Sometimes I had to carry 50 pound sacks of feed up to the second floor rooms. Then there were different mixes of feed depending on the age of the chickens and I had to mix in some special medicines now and then so we didn't get an epidemic of some kind of chicken disease. So I was careful to do everything right.

But before I could do much of anything, each new brood of little chicks had to get to know and trust me first because they frightened easily and wouldn't let just anyone take care of them. One of the tricks Mark taught me was to whistle every time I entered one of the rooms—not just any whistle but a soft, low, soothing kind of sound. If they heard someone coming and didn't know who it was they all ran, frantically, to a corner and bunched up together, which was not good because some of them could have been smothered to death, especially when they were still small chicks. So as I approached each room I began my soft little whistle to let them know not to worry, that it was me. It worked like a charm. In fact it worked so well that when I walked into the room they didn't even throw me a sideways glance, let alone a “Hi Bobby, it's nice to see you.”

Now about those remarkably stinky clothes that I had to change really fast before I froze to death. Like I said, Mark sold the chickens when they were ready for market, which, if everything went right, was in about ten weeks. At that time, a few big trucks would arrive to get the chickens. Well, after the trucks left Mark and I had the job of cleaning the chicken house to get ready for the next arrivals and that, I can tell you without hesitation, was not anyone's favorite kind of work. Ten weeks of droppings from six thousand chickens left an eight inch thick layer of some of the most acrid of smelly stuff ever imagined on the floors of all four rooms. That's a helluva lot of chicken shit! Within minutes of shoveling into it, our hair, nostrils, skin, and clothes, it seemed, would not, could not, ever be redeemed. It was quite impressive, actually.

So Sally made a rule—no, more like a law. On those clean-out-the-chicken-house-days, when we came home we had to take off our unwelcome, amazingly pungent clothes on the outside, unheated back porch and change into a fresh set before we were allowed to enter the house. And there they would remain until she had a chance to wash them—however many times it took—and until they passed her particular smell test at which time they may or may not be wearable in her house once more. Who could blame her and, anyway, she was doing us all a favor.

Interestingly, all these years later as I write this little story, for some reason I cannot recapture that special smell. All the other memories are alive and well but that odor just may be lost to me forever and that is just fine.


Note: This was written for a writing competition. The rules required that the story begins with this sentence: "I’ve got to get out of these clothes—fast." and that it should be about 750 words in length. It is a true story.

 June 11, 2012
Apr 152012
 

Frog was lazily sitting at the edge of the pond reflecting on the good life he had. Truth be told, he was relishing his favorite spot on land. I say on land because he had many favorite spots and some of them were in the pond itself. But this spot was just right for a warm spring day because it was carpeted with the softest moss he had ever found. It was so soft and cushiony that along with the deliciously warm spring sun he felt so contented that he was falling asleep. And why not, for a welcome change, he was actually completely alone; there were no pesky kids in sight or, thank goodness, snakes. He had been looking forward to this moment for days. But just when his eyes were about half closed and he was beginning to drift off, he heard a small squeaky voice say, “I’m a jumper.”

It was Rabbit.

Now if Rabbit’s voice had been louder and stronger, Frog might have been alarmed enough to have instantly jumped into the pond. That’s what frogs do when they are alarmed. But when he heard those words, “I’m a jumper,” spoken so lightly, for a second or two he thought he was dreaming. But then he heard some more words.

“Did you hear me, Frog? I said I’m a jumper.”

Well, he thought, “Whoever or whatever it is, it don’t sound threatenin” So he made a remarkably agile, athletic, quick turning jump to his left to see where the words were coming from and found himself looking into two small eyes set in a bundle of brown and white fur.

“Yer a rabbit ain’t ya?” he asked.

“Of course I am and I said I am a jumper.”

“Me too.” said Frog

“Yes I know” replied Rabbit “But, you see, I’m a jumper AND a thumper!”

“Well now you may be a jumper and a thumper, but you AIN’T no croaker, wich-a-course I am,” said Frog proudly.

“Oh, I make noises alright,” said Rabbit.

“Noises! You call them dainty little squeaks noises? Why I can’t even think that quiet,” said Frog with a great deal of emphasis.

“At least I don’t keep the whole neighborhood up all night when everyone is trying to get some sleep. Why those croaks of yours are a menace to one’s health and well being.” declared Rabbit.

“Let me tell ya, Rabbit, there’s times I pend on them croaks for my health and well bein’. Matter a fac, I make some of the sweetest croaks on the pond. Jes ask the lady frogs, they’ll sure nuff vouch fer it. Course you wouldn’t know nothin bout that cuz you’re jes too dainty fer that kinda frog stuff. Darned if I can figur out how you and Mrs Rabbit get on wit things. One of them great puzzlin mistries of life, I spect.”

“Well now, you do talk on a ways, don’t you?” asked Rabbit with more of a statement than a question. “Anyway, I should also point out that I am soft and cuddly, unlike you of course. Oh yes, and Mrs Rabbit likes me very much this way.”

“Well ain’t this jest gettin as cute an perty as one a them little flies on the tip of my tongue. Course I don’t get a real good look at them nervous little critters cause they’s in my belly for I know what I done.”

“That’s disgusting, Frog. Primitive’s more like it. Why there’s another thing I can put on my list of attributes. I’m evolved. I don’t eat other living creatures. I’m a Vegan!”

“A what?”

“A Vegan, Frog. Vegans eat only vegetarian things, things that don’t have thoughts and feelings like living animals do. My, you do have a lot to learn.”

“Well Rabbit, speakin bout thinkin’ an feelin’ and how veggie stuff don’t do none of it, I spose you mite jes lern a few things from that perty lily pad I was settin’ on and talkin wit tuther day. In fac, she bout push me rite off in ta du water; said I was hurtin her and she’s bout to yell out. But den I dun spose that’d work out none fer you cuz I dun reckon Rabbit cin talk wit lily pads like Frog can.”

Well, that was near the limit for Rabbit. It was almost more than he could process with any degree of equanimity. His nose began to twitch at a remarkably rapid rate even for a rabbit, and after he had thumped twenty or thirty times in rapid succession, he actually did a back flip and almost landed on Frog. Finally, with great effort and concentration and with his very best you-listen-to-me face, he locked his little eyes directly on Frog’s and said, “My dear Frog, your ignorance is exceeded only by your dishonesty. Any fool knows that lily pads don’t talk. And even though you are apparently quite ignorant, I suspect that even you know that.”

Frog just sat there with a kind of sleepy calm composure and asked, “That so?” But without waiting for an answer he said, “If I knowed that I’d a spent more time croaken than conversin with that lily pad that don’t talk. Been wastin my time, is that what yer tellin me, Rabbit? Course now I do have a serious problem. How you spose’ I should tell Lily she don’t talk without gettin’ her all upset?”

That did it! Rabbit’s nose looked like it was having some kind of a catastrophic breakdown. It was now twitching so fast one had to wonder if he could get control of it ever again! Then, his whole body began to shiver, quiver and shake. It was a truly worrisome site to behold. But finally he barely managed to say, “Frog, you are incorrigible! Of course you do not have a serious problem. And if you don’t know it then I cannot begin to tell you how pitiful and hopeless you are. Why would you worry about hurting Lily’s feelings? No. Wait! I didn’t mean to call her—I mean it—Lily! Now you have got me so upset I’m starting to sound like you. I meant to say, why would you worry about the feelings of some mindless plant? Plants do not talk! Lily pads do not talk! That is factual. That’s it! That’s all I’m going to say about it and I don’t want to hear anymore of your nonsense. And if anyone is wasting time, it’s me talking to the dumbest creature I have ever known. Now why don’t you just jump into the pond and go bother some one else with your silly Frog talk.”

Rabbit had really gotten himself worked up this time. It was worse than the last time if you can even imagine that. Every last part of him was in motion. All his parts were moving so rapidly that one had to seriously wonder if they wouldn’t fly apart in all directions at any moment. It was so worrisome that even Frog looked concerned. And after he mumbled something about ‘them humans say we can’t talk too,’ he said simply, “Spose I’ll take yer vice, Rabbit. Spose that’s the bes thing to do considerin yer condishun.”

At that, Frog reared back a little, then pushed off with his big strong rear legs and jumped into the pond leaving Rabbit shaking and quivering and twitching at the edge. Within seconds Frog emerged from the water and climbed up onto a pretty emerald green lily pad.

Now even though it appeared that Rabbit had decisively dismissed Frog, the odd thing was that he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off this audacious creature—the very one whose words and behavior he had allowed so quickly to frazzle every rational nerve in his soft and cuddly little body. For the life of him, he couldn’t look away or move away from Frog, which I think you will agree, would have been the wise thing to do at that point.

Instead, he just stayed fixed in that same spot in his sorry condition as he watched and heard Frog say, “Lily, if ya’d jes let me set here for a spell, I’d be most ‘bliged. I been conversin wit Rabbit an he tell me you don’t talk. So’s I’m a bit sturbed an need to rest a spell. What’s that ya say, Lily? He mus be purty dumb cuz yer talkin to me right now? Well now ain’t that the truth but the poor fella jes don’t wanta cept it. What’s that, Lily? Is he a Vegan? Well now, ain’t you the smart one! Thas zactly wut he told me! I ain’t hurtin ya none am I? Well, thank ya, Lily, you jes tell me if I do and I’ll jump right off.”

 April 15, 2012
Mar 012007
 

Hmm, at first I thought she must be kidding. Her tongue must be firmly planted in her cheek! This otherwise (apparently) self-sufficient woman—wife to one, mother of many, mistress of repartee and fearless actress, cannot possibly write such airy words of despair, sincerely! But then, there it was, another message of despondency and jealousy, and, yes, it’s true, YET ANOTHER! Well, what is a man of heartfelt sensitivity to do but write a simple—though inadequate—ode to this dear broken woman.

And so this man of heartfelt sensitivity wrote …

An Ode to This Dear Broken Woman

How sad! This poor life-weary soul lives not,
lest she lives with him in her life!
How delicate and tenuous is the thread of life
that binds her to his alleged strength and meaning,
to all things good and whole in which she seeks
comfort in her vacant days and sees her through
one more dark night. Despair, I ask now that you
neglect defense against this ardent wish that
somehow, some way, this dear soul will get a life!

Hmm again, for good measure. Yes, my tongue is firmly planted in my cheek.

 March 1, 2007
Dec 202005
 

John Offenbacher
played soccer
everyday he could
in his childhood.
Didn’t do much else at all
but kick a ball
until he met a girl
named Shirl.
That changed everything,
even made him sing.
He didn’t do it well
but he couldn’t tell
and Shirl didn’t care.
She liked his hair.
They got hitched
and now they’re rich
with a little boy Offenbacher
who plays soccer.

That’s all …

 December 20, 2005
Dec 192005
 

Have you ever heard hound dogs bark?
It sounds like they’re putting you on, or
their ancestors caught a cold on the Ark!

But they are quite serious, you know.
While doing their impressive nose-work,
they put on a pretty marvelous show.

 December 19, 2005
Dec 192005
 

It was a beautiful night in June
and the Angels were all in tune
when Willie went off the bridge
after leaving his wife and kids.
It’s not a new story, you’ve heard it before.
Still, let me tell you some more.

What drove him to commit such an act?
The answer is in the not uncommon facts.
Willie had tried very hard to succeed in life
yet his efforts seemed to bring only strife.
A good woman, his wife, of that he was sure
but there were things he could no longer see her endure.
So he left. What else could he do?
He hoped she could start life anew.

Willie had wanted to do at least one important thing right
but he failed so often he had lost all his fight.
Now, it seemed, it was the end of the line
and, at first, he sought solace in a bottle of wine.
But his hopes went down with each swig he drank
and he kept having visions of walking a plank!
His mood got worse and his suffering got deeper
til’ finally he decided it was time for the Reaper.

By now, there’s no doubt, his thoughts weren’t too clear
and the juice in the bottle had dispelled all his fear.
So, Willie decided it was time to let go
not understanding he was his own worst foe.
But, he thought, “How do I do it, it’s all new to me.
shouldn’t it be easy to set oneself free?”

Willie pondered on this for a good space of time.
How does one go about a Reaper to find?
What should I say when I finally meet him?
There must be some rules about how to greet him!
It troubled him greatly not to know these things.
Was this knowledge reserved for Princes and Kings?
Why have I not been taught all this stuff?
Is it because I am not important enough?
Ah well, he thought, “What can I do?
If I do it all wrong, who’s gonna sue?
I’ll play it by ear, I’ll learn as I go.
Anyway, other than Him, who’s gonna know?”

So, with firmness of mind, he concluded his pact;
he was determined to make it a first class act!
For once in his life he was going to succeed;
he would make this history’s best-ever last deed!

As he walked, he envisioned himself at the edge;
with courage and grace he’d make good his last pledge!
His last act on Earth would be perfect and bold,
a thing of great beauty, a thing to behold!

And, then … he was there, on the edge of the steel.
It was all quite exciting and so intensely real.
He felt more alive than ever before!
He felt like a God in mythical lore!
He paused for a moment to feel his new might.
At last he was going to do something right!
He savored the moment, gazed up at the stars
absent the notion that this was bizarre!

And then he was off—out into the air,
both subject and watcher–a selfish voyeur!
He spread his arms wide like an eagle in flight,
back arched, legs together—straight and tight.
His face was radiant with a smile of great joy,
his emotions surpassed even those as a boy!
My God, he thought, “I’ve never felt so alive!
Last long, last long, you beautiful dive!”

Of course gravity had it’s own thing in mind
and his fall was measured precisely in time.
Still, his style was perfect. His angle just right
and the splash from his entry was ever so slight.
The water felt good, he felt a rush in its grasp.
It was cool and refreshing, a perfect end to his task.
Because of his entry, so smooth and so sleek,
he slipped through the water, descending quite deep.
But his arch, so perfect, so tuned to the act,
soon turned him upward ‘til, alas …. he was back
at the surface, still smiling, alive and quite well,
thinking, “Dear God, do I have a story to tell!”

Well, life can be fickle and succeed he did not,
at least in the sense of his self-devised plot.
So what, you may ask, is the rest of this story?
Well, it’s all about Willie’s ultimate glory.
You see, Willie’s intentions were not as they seemed.
The pay-off he got wasn’t part of his scheme.
At least that’s what he thought in his desperate mind.
Yet, what he got was exactly what he set out to find.
You see, he got what he wanted so much in his heart;
he got a new Willie and he got a new start.

A new beginning was Willie so desperately seeking.
He really wasn’t ready for the Great Final Reaping
and in one powerful, beautiful, great single act
Willie was able to keep his own pact,
to do something big and to do it just right.
It was just what he needed; he was back in the fight!
He had never felt better and he had a new life!
So, with dignity and pride, he went back to his wife.

 December 19, 2005
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