Poem in burntdistrict

•February 26, 2015 • Leave a Comment

coffeegrounded:

I am so unaware of rules, but I’m very aware of what I enjoy. It’s always fun to be surprised by the juice-flow of the writer.

Enjoyed this.

Originally posted on Eric Weiskott:

A poem of mine appears in burntdistrict 2 (2013). Written in couplets of roughly eight-syllable lines, this poem began as a parody of the absurdly specific submission guidelines issued by some poetry journals. I felt that some of these guidelines had rather strange implications for the act of composing verse. Here is the poem:

Submit Seasonal Poems Two Months in Advance

I am writing autumn poems
in June, Doctor, my liver hurts,

I have started thinking in words
I don’t recognize, please help me

kill myself. I love the summer
and what the fall inherits,

trees, the clarity of nighttime,
it is fall during each season

separately, but especially
during summer, which sometimes begins

two months in advance, and sometimes
earlier, the chicks melt, sometimes

summer begins in other countries,
in advance, indiscernibly,

one day it is clear to people
through and through.

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Fresh Air

•February 26, 2015 • 6 Comments



Twisted and knarled, and yet so beautiful

Stone stepping thru melted snow



My wings are broken, my heart is not



I am so many things



Springing toward Spring



Best friend EVER



Falling out of winter; begging for the first kiss of spring



Alliterative meter after 1450

•February 23, 2015 • Leave a Comment

coffeegrounded:

I stand in awe. My education did not extend into more than a bit of Junior College, and even then, my studies were technical (computer). I read, memorized and recited Chauncer’s, Canterbury Tales, my Senior Year of high school. To see your depth and commitment to classic studies of the greats is impressive.

Originally posted on Eric Weiskott:

My essay, “Alliterative Meter after 1450: The Vision of William Banastre,” will appear in an edited volume devoted to early English poetics, edited by Lindy Brady and M. J. Toswell. This collection is currently under review at Medieval Institute Publications. My essay provides a first critical edition and verse-historical contextualization of a previously unremarked late fifteenth-century alliterative verse prophecy found uniquely in Oxford Bodleian Library MS Hatton 56 (Digital Index of Middle English Verse 3220). Here I reproduce brief selections from the edition and commentary:

New Index of Middle English Verse (NIMEV) 1967.8 is a verse prophecy extant in one fifteenth-century manuscript. The Vision of William Banastre, as I title it, has received no critical attention and has never been edited. The poem combines the tradition of vatic, anti-Saxon prophecy inherited from Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia regum Brittaniae (ca. 1138) with oblique references to early fourteenth- and mid fifteenth-century politics. The work offers…

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Cupid’s Arrow

•February 14, 2015 • 28 Comments

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Hannah

 

Thrust itself into the center of my universe.  It came barreling toward me at the mightiest of speeds, captured a dream and materialized it.

Somewhere in Oklahoma a little pup was born nine years ago.  And because none of us truly knows her birthdate, we estimated her age, at rescue, to be somewhere around  three months of age.  It was decided we would choose Valentines Day as her ‘given’ birthdate, knowing that we would always want to celebrate her birthday day, and we would need a date to mark her years for health and medical concerns.

Princess Hannah, full of Grace, Hoberg, was initially rescued by her folks.  They resided in a house right off campus (Oklahoma State University, Stillwater, OK), a few houses away from her owner.  Somehow they were uneasy about her living situation, and fearing that she was not in the best of hands, they took it upon themselves to ‘politely’ introduce themselves one day to the man who was her owner.  Evidently the guy offered them a visit into the home so they could pet the pup.  Amongst an array of filth and empty beer cans they inquired about how he had obtained her.  If my memory serves me correctly, it was from a box of puppies being given away up in the Wal-Mart parking lot. As the kids visited, the beer meister asked if they’d like to take the dog off his hands, evidently he labored and wasn’t around much to care for the little thing.  Bingo!  Mission accomplished.  He sent them on their way with a bag of Wal-Mart’s less-than-finest chow and the little pup.

Spring Break brought those two kiddos to the house, and with them came their gregarious, rambunctious little girl.  Somehow those two college kids failed to see the warning signs written all over me.  Let’s just blame it on the fact that they weren’t aware of MY history. I’d grown up in a home where many puppies came and went, all of them beautiful, all of them so ready to be loved by the greedy hands and hearts of the six children that resided with them.  There was just one problem.  Our father was a professional dog breeder and trainer in his spare time, every evening after work and mornings before going off to his job, he trained them, ran them and fed them.  His idea of our playtime with them existed as this:  cleaning their pens and being sure they had clean water.  We were not allowed to pet or play with them and we were taught to never make direct eye contact with them.  My father had a mission.

Living with AKC puppies for us kids was a somber chore.  Can you imagine German Shorthairs, Black Labradors and Weimaraner dogs of outstanding breedership being off-limits to the loving hearts and minds of those who lived among them?  No, probably not. So imagine two college kids arriving at my doorstep with a little yellow Lab.  Think of the sheer delight of seeing her romp thru a house, fancy-prancing her way right into my heart as two ignorant school kids are showing off their prize, their joy and telling the story of her rescue.  Was I slobbering, could they read the greed within my eyes?

Okay, I exaggerate, I’m sure.  Surely I did, I mean, after all the youngsters were dear to me.  One a daughter, the other would one day become my son (in-law).  I’m sure I behaved.

Spring turned to summer, and one thing led to another.  My daughter left for an internship in California, and her boyfriend headed to Egypt for three weeks.  They needed a pet sitter.  I don’t even think I raised my hand for duty.  The inflection in my voice surely cured any anxiety they had about leaving their sweet pup with me.

Time passes, boyfriend arrives back to the States and daughter is two thousand+miles away in California.  I have a little ‘sit-down’ with dad of puppy.  I conger up all sorts of excuses as to why I might keep the dog a bit longer, especially since he’ll only be returning to Oklahoma to finish up a six-week course before heading out to California to visit his family and my daughter.  My skills at motherhood WERE in excellent shape that particular day. Stellar, in fact!  That boy got in his truck and drove away believing things were all lined up to be ‘fine.’  And truly, they were.  I set my sights on exploration.  Hannah and I drove if we couldn’t walk.  We bought a boatload of toys, dog shampoo, a kiddy pool.  The two of us were in cahoots and no one was on to us.  Yet.

Dang!  Six weeks traveled faster than an Oklahoma twister.  Dad came back and had a plan for him and Hannah to journey off to California and join up with the troops.  It was time to spill the beans.  I don’t even remember how Hannah and I had a talk with him.  Maybe we didn’t?  Maybe he just looked around the house and realized Hannah had purchased the real estate?   Perhaps he read between the lines as I told stories of our adventures.  Explained the trip to the vet for a health check, vaccinations and the fact I had her spayed?  (Don’t go all Zombie on me.  The discussion had arisen that they planned on doing that as soon as their budget allowed.)

It’s nine years later.  The kids are married and living in Northern California.  They have a Goldendoodle, named Zulu.  All three of them are living the good life, hiking the mountains and venturing out back and down the trail to the lake.  Hannah?  She’s a regular at the park.  Neighbors ask about her before they ask about anyone else living in the house. Starbucks recognizes her moms voice and hands over a PuppyWhip when tea and coffee purchases are made.  CVS Drug store pharmacy drive thru offers her a cookie at prescription pickup time.  Three-Dog Bakery greets her with treats out of the pastry case. Everyone in there knows her by name, and heaven forbid if her owner arrives without her in tow.  You’d think a crime had been committed!  So where do I go from here?  How can I convey what the past nine years have meant to Hannah, to me, to all of our family?  What could I do to express the magnitude of joy she has brought, the love we have shared? Which part of the rescue belongs to whom?  I believe that Hannah is a gift beyond measure, priceless and precious to more than simply me.  She has touched lives and broadened horizons.  And, it began all by the grace of God with intuition by two who felt a life needed help.

Happy Birthday, Hannah!  You cannot measure our love and we cannot measure yours, but we know one thing:  you have gifted all of us.  We are blessed beyond measure.

 

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 Miss Zulu

Amidst a Concrete Jungle

•February 8, 2015 • 10 Comments

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Perched high within oak

Squawking loudly to approach

Of encroaching folk.

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I looked at my Lab

Saying, “We’ve invaded here.”

Sadly, we knew, “BAD!”

eyeBoogers: Lord Of The Soup

•January 28, 2015 • Leave a Comment

coffeegrounded:

Attention to anyone that is encountering (or has encountered) the following Android or Google issue(s). Is there a fix, a patch or a contact number that could help with this problem? If you know of one, would you please leave a note in my comment section ?

Thank you!

Originally posted on buffalotompeabody's Blog:

…you’ll see things you’ll wish you hadn’t…
Today’s eyeBooger. . .

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Jungle love!
THE PERSONAL TOUCH!
Sometimes, I even take off my shoes when I make soup!

Did you know Maureen O’Sullivan (Jane) is Mia Farrow’s mom? It’s true! So I guess that makes me Rosemary’s Baby!
Toodles!
Google app for Android update… Apparently Google doesn’t care that the January 12th, 2015 update does not support speech typing for blind people.
Removing ALL the updates to the Google app makes speech typing ‘sort of’ work by reverting to the old version of Google which does not integrate very well with other apps that are designed to work with the updated version of Google. This is a lousy mess for blind people using my version of Android.
Until Google fixes this I am forced to limit the number of posts I make. All of it is so annoying I just stay…

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The State of my Union

•January 20, 2015 • 15 Comments

 

by,

Gilbert Grape

 

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Mom found me in a shelter.  There wasn’t any thing special about me, except that my adoption fee was three times the normal price.  Evidently that didn’t bother my mom, but my new dad was very curious about why she would pay so much for a shelter cat.  Her explanation was simple:

“Look at him!  He resembles both Ace and Whippie-Nippy!”

I would later learn that both of those felines had also been Tuxedo cats, dear to Mom’s heart and to M1 and M2’s.

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Yes, I’m a long kitty-cat.

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Oh no!  She has that camera phone out again.  How many times do I have to remind her that I don’t enjoy photo shoots?  There’s only one thing to do.  She’s going to have to work for this.

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I’m trying to hide behind this C-PAP machine, but she’s got me cornered.

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“Mum, aren’t there phone calls, laundry or vacuuming waiting for you?”

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She’s not leaving, is she?

❤️

 
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