The Divine Invasion by Philip K. Dick
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
SLEEPERS AWAKE TO HYPER-REALITY
I listened to the Audio Version of this book.  Valis One was incredibly rich, full of literary nuggets.  The Divine Invasion,  the sequel,  is an interesting adventure.I like this book more than VALIS... but both works are needed to understand the full vision and exegesis of Philip K. Dick.   His exegesis of the Church is quit funny. for example the main narrator says "I am God's legal father."   I can see where Douglas Adams may have got his ideas for the great computer and the ultimate answer of Life The Universe and Everything: 42.
This type of book requires one to let the book evolve, and not attempt to confine it within an A-B=C plot line. The reader starts out in a simple pulpy reality of melodramatic science fiction.  The melodramatic scene begins to unravel, as one ascends.   The roller coaster takes you to a realm full of  chaotic characters and scenes as imagined in Disney's Haunted House.  We turn in the dark, and descend on a roller coaster built incredibly tall.   So the descent takes us into a totally paranoid alternate
reality. By the book’s end, there is nothing trustworthy left in the world.’ said Australian critic Bruce Gillespie.
  So, if you like your plot lines straight, and easy than Philip K. Dick may upset your settled reality. If however you understand that Phillip K. Dick will throw you for a loop, one  will enjoy the confusion.The book was a tremendous journey into the lines between reality and make believe.


View all my reviews

Men Naked in the Woods

Ken Dowling interviewed Chuck Palahniuk,  here is an excerpt.  You can find the interview on Chuck's Website.

"I think that young men are completely in the wayside right now. Everything has changed for them.  They are being given no resources.  It seems the only thing they can do is  lash out.  Young men are screwed at this point in history.  They are repeatedly demonized.  There's such a high rate of suicide.  It kills me."

The reason I reprinted it was to share the issue he brought up; an issue that I think the United States must address if it is to get healthy again: Note the original appeared in Hustler Magazine and may be a temptation that some of my brothers can not handle.  Not that I can, but I was not tempted (this time) by the Minions of Babylon.

Confucius once said that a bear could not fart at the North Pole without causing a big wind in Chicago. By this he meant that all events, therefore, all men are interconnected. In an unbreakable web. What one man does, no matter how seemingly insignificant vibrates through the strands and effects every man.

Philip Jose Farmer - Riders of the Purple Sage

Devil's Gate Haiku

We walk to Zion,
like the Mormons pushing carts
through bitter winters.

Haiku: Angel Wings?: or the Effect of Quietness on a Noisy Soul...

Stillness: Startled gasp,
quietness, two sparrows flap,
wings in unison.

Book Reviewed: Moby-Dick

Moby-Dick; or, The Whale by Herman Melville
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

A great book that is so much more than just a hunting of a whale.  Or an obsession towards an objective truth.   This book is truly one I would take with me on an Island and read and re-read again.   The power of the whale is worth the great white hunt?"  Its also worth all the background material on Whales.  For the background gives the amazing quality that whales held on Nantucket and New England at one time.  One can not get to the heart of Ahab's folly without the heart exposed of a great white whale.    "I watched last night, on Nova, Scientists attempting to find the Wolverine, an elusive animal, that dodges, darts and hides from man. I recalled Ahab's search for Moby-Dick. The scientists held the same type of fanaticism to find their wolverines."
The theme in this book are tremendous and can relate to a variety of themes, ranging from God's Providence, the role of Government, the need to be brutal in this world;  Or is it a search for that one thing that gives us independence of God's dealing and the perceived human shackled existence.

This book will be read again and again, and is part of my essential library.

I also enjoyed the "Big Book Project" from the lads across the Pond in Plymouth U.K..  Listening to this project really helps me comprehend the book and the romantic notes written by Melville.

Haiku Summary:
Caught in that line,  - Ahab battled demons by - casting overboard.

View all my reviews

Haiku: Traveling Late Again?

Running usually late:

Why, do I often think that 

  travel is instant?  

Haiku String to Kansas

I-70: flat-blues,

land stretching out between,

farm-field, farm, field, farm...

scare-crows welcome

you, across yellow grain fields,

"Will it ever end?"

Do we have enough -
gas?  till the next one ahead,

glad for triple A!

Or will we walk there,
like the Mormons pushing carts
through bitter winters.

Joyland Stephen King

Joyland
by Stephen King

Gregory Rothbard's review

Oct 04, 13  ·  edit

2 of 5 stars

bookshelves: read-2013, pulp-fiction, crime-novels, ghosts

Read from September 30 to October 03, 2013

Did Stephen King have a variety of extras from earlier released material and pasted them into this story? It seems that this book was mailed in to meet a publishing quota.   Still, King is the master of childhood, summer and joy land.  Even his worse writing is terrific in exposing the moment when fairy land gets blown down and exposed to the brutal adult world.   The book was good not great. The book is for anyone who enjoys Stephen King or Pulp Fiction from the 1950's; just don't expect to be blown away on a ferry wheel built for two.

Lakeland Florida Provides Readers a Dialog

Books Sandwiched In is a good investment in the community of Lakeland, Florida.   The monthly book gifts its members with the ability to see and appreciate the world from points of view foreign to our own, points of view that exceed our personal experiences.   The group is diverse; members include a former watermelon queen eighty years young, and a former teacher 39 years old.   We may not always enjoy the reads but the books engage us and kindle a willingness to participate.  Brenda Patterson keeps the groups focused on the humane similarities that keeps civilization upright so that our diversity does not fall into a left right paradigm grudge match.  The reading group is a worthy investment in the culture of Lakeland Florida, it is an oasis in a frantic world.

Texting at the Game

Dialogue between my wife and I during a Rays Game.  I was at the game and she was in transit and at home.  Here is the text dialogue:

                    1 to 0 Rays winning.  I cooked the mushroom caserole.

Sounds good.  Are you drunk yet.

                         Nope, let me ask roger, Nope.  (Only two bears and both lite ones). We need more fans here too many empty seats not like in Colorado... Lets go on a date to IKEA.  Good meatballs.

All for that!!!!!

                                               We are losing but still its fun....

At least the cards are in.

                                                The fat lady has not sung yet.

                                                 Its now 4 to 4.  11 more innings to go its now the eighth. 

? 11 more innings in the eighth?

                                               remember 19 innings (last week) so 8 from 19 is 11.

I think you've been hit with a ball.

                                             maybe we take the lead now. Nop 9th inning 4-4.
Nop?

                                             nope left two runners in scoring position.
                                              we  won

YAY!

Book Review: Neal Stephenson-Anathem

Neal Stephenson is a thinker and a philosopher, disguising himself as a fiction writer. He creates a wonderful world full of deep thinking and dangerous curves. He utilizes the creation of alien worlds in order to compare and discus from a safe distance the theological and philosophical issues of the day. The safe distance allows us to take a deep look at our own philosophy. We can then see how our philosophies might shape our outlook on current events.

In this world the people of the age are divided between the worshipers of math and reason, and those who would rather not think that deeply. Religion, as we know it, is outside the walls of the devout. 
"Language is a lens. so as long as there is a lens there is a distortion." Stephenson helps us clarify the deep lines that separate us into parts of a whole. As Isaac Asimov said, "Can you prove mathematics is valid." "Only to another mathematician." We see the danger and ineptitude of locking up the free flow of thought from one segment of a population to another. Stephenson shows us how we can link deep philosophy to the dialog of the common man. 

This book gets 4.5 Stars.  

Depeche Mode's New Album 12.5 /16

 The songs on Delta Machine work over all. because Depeche Mode knows what it does well.  The songs that work best are the ones that blend the blues with an electronic edge.  The tracks engaged me, and kept my distracted mind in trance.  So this album gets a 11.5/16 songs.  I stared eight, and seven were     halfway there to being stared. All in all for those who like Depeche Mode and want something that reminds them of the good old days then check out this album.  The tracks that stood out were: Angel, Heaven, Slow, Borken, Soft Touch/Raw Nerve, Should be Higher, ALone, Sooth my Soul, and Goodbye.   A number of these tracks will have you singing back to them.

The point system was borrowed from the Rock and Roll Geeks reviews of Records.

50 States of Reading: North Carolina

North Carolina is represented by Scott Frazier and his book Night Woods.  

Einstein's Dreams by Alan Lightman

Time is something for us to use so we can be productive. The guilt with time is our inability to control and be as productive as we feel we should be. Or we fear that we might lose time, as time runs out. 

One professor once said to a class in college, "The wristwatch was the key weapon in the decimation of the Native American."   

This is one book I wish I would have kept. 

A side note in History: Catch 18 was almost the title of Catch 22 by Joseph Heller. 

Book Notes

Are you looking for Summer Reads and Traveling in Florida?  
Check out these authors:

1. Tim Dorsey (Tampa Bay)Riptide Ultra-glide.
2. Carl Hiaasen (Miami)Bad Monkey 
3. Dave Barry (Miami) Insane City
4. Deborah Sharp (Central Florida)    Mama Gets Hitched

Poetry Circus Haiku

April 15, 2013

New York Mets vs. The Colorado Rockies

Spring training ends
from Port St. Lucie;
to fielding in Snow.

Poetry Circus: Haiku

Telephoned Cleveland-
heights golf course, a grey bob cat
is on the prowl.

Poetry Circus: My Route to Lakeland Florida 2006

I began

1893 miles from-

the start of the connect 

the dot puzzle,
(Start) Lakeland Florida
to Atlanta Georgia,
to Chattanooga Tennessee
to St. Louis, Missouri,
to Lawrence, Kansas,
to Denver, Colorado,
up to my home Longmont.
(End)  
29.5 hours trapped
behind the steering
wheel, and day dreaming
like a little train headed
across I-70 and down I-75.

I think I see a picture 

emerge, one that looks 

like a rabbit 

with an enormous 

carrot. Did you 

think I would 

be crass?

Or sick?
I ended.

Poetry Circus: Youthful Flavors

The witches face cackled
wrinkled like a popcorn ceiling,
an usher with a flashlight.  
The fridge would hum mm and talk to me
filling my head up with lies
snap- crackling- pop
like cracker jacks stuck on socks,
or dried up milk, spilled on corduroys.   
The pink hippos ate.  
And Spider Man appeared on the
Electric Company.
Doug was a guest of
Blinky the Clown.  
As I sat and watched the world descend in shadow.

Tales from Barba Roja (the Politically Incorrect Pirate)

This is a correspondence from Barba Roja the magnificient Pirate to his parents.  We found the letter bound up in a bunch of junk mail.   It was dated April 20, 1973.

Dear Mom and Dad,
Wow its been three months since last we spoke to each other.   I am sorry for the lack of communication, but as you will read the last three months have not been easy, at all.   Well are you sitting down.  Good.   On February 20th, I was going to get a half gallon of milk at the Jiffy Palace when I was impolitely shot.   I think some kids in the neighborhood were having fun shooting guns into the air.   Of course when it is your time to go its your time to go.   So I died.   Bummer.  

Wow, what an ordeal the semi-afterlife was.   I was semi-excited to see Jesus and thank him for the short life I had on earth.   But there was no St. Peter.  There was no gate.   There was only Vishnu,  and his blue hall.   If you didn't know, Vishnu is one of those great towel head gods, who sits on a the toilet all day, (but he calls the porcelain Goddess, his thrown).   He was sucking on a blow pop, beamed a bluish grin, and then stuck out his shockingly blue tongue at me.  "Good grief.", I thought.
Well Vishnu said, "You, Barbara Roja have been a bad monkey."
"Monkey," I thought,  "why not a flying squirrel, or even an armadillo? Monkey, A Monkey!"
 "Now I must reincarnate you as a frog.   Hopefully you will learn your lesson quickly, and then I can return you to the earth with only a minor set back."
"Ribbit" was the only word I could muster in protest, so many other words were in my head, but all I could say was "Ribbit."
Well, the rest of the story about being a frog is one to be told later.   But I really most be going to get my Pirate Gear in order, as the seven seas are calling my name.   And I hate to smell like I have been bathing in slime water, and  that Pod Thai smell from Veshnu's temple, is starting to give me a headache. Veshnu really loves Pod Thai and Curry.   I think I will not want Bombay Carry out for awhile.  
Mom and Dad lets get together soon.  And Dad I really want to play golf.  But, if you see a Frog don't show it to me, as my life as a frog was miserable.   And Vishnu kept staring at my legs.  
Love your unbelievable son (the Pirate),
Barba Roja.

Poetry Circus: Descent off Swing Set.

The dreams always
started the same way with me
on a swing set.
Swing set bolted,
firmly to the ground, I kicked
higher and higher, up.
Then I would fly
to my favorite cloud, only
to fall off,
I yearned to be free of the swing...
BUT
               down - down-down.
 Decending in Air
               down the White Rabbit's Lair:
I went, grabbing onto the air,
but my hands slipped.
I plunged into
the depths of ocean waves
drifting me away.

Poetry Circus: A Day in the Life V. 2.55

In Remembrance to a Poem by Frank O' Hara

A Day in the Life (V. 2.55)

It is 11:10 in Lakeland, a Tuesday,
two days after the World Series,
it is 2012 and I brush my teeth pearl white,
because I will get off the cozy couch in my abode
at 1:15 and then go straight to work,
and I don't know who will buy my chicken.

I walk up the freezing, tree lined, dead end street
and open the mailbox with my small golden key
a stack of unwanted bills and political ads
greet my blue oil pocked hands.

                                        I go on to my deli
and Miss. Calmwater (first name Bernice I once heard)
doesn't even tell me to cut the salami thinner.
And, I ponder O'Keefe.                        
                                   I exhibit the slice.
or did I re-imagine film-scenes  from the Artist,
that dog stole the show, and made me smile; or
was I thinking about which friends I would call,
the images were practically lulling me to sleep,
                                       salami on my slicer,
                                        a pound and a half
                                        customer wanted
                                                          a half ---oops..
                                     

And then I am asked to help Ms. Cherry
I tread on to the kitchen tamultously
but my feet slip, Chaplinesque, from the grease
spilled onto the floor.
                            I wake up from my dream,
of Central School's playground and the smell of
caged turkeys being processed.
I smile... and stab the dead chickens.


And Bernice is mad that the chickens are only
half cooked.
                  "Can't he do anything right?"

And I am sweating a lot, because it is time to go
home (my wife, a glass of wine, a nice wet dream),
and there is so much to clean;
Patsy Kline sings the lines to Crazy
written by Willie Nelson.
                               
                                   I push my broom faster,
                                   flattening the bristles.
                                   
I imagine my manager saying,
                   "Can't you do anything right?"

Poetry Circus: Start of the Day

The following haiku is an answer to Twlya Tharp's queston. "How do you start the Day?".  I am currently working through her book the Creative Habit Learn it and Use it for Life, the part of the book that is currently making me pause is the questions that create a creative Autobiography.

Vigor(less)  I start
my day meandering, browsing
the (slime-ternet). Why?

Then the cup of coffee!

Poetry Circus: Apprentice

Read Aloud To God

My open Torah
God's stylus points, magically
the words float up.
I the apprentice
learns to breath, render,  
"alephs" and "bets."
whispers bounce into
congregated honored heads
praying to Jesus.
-----
Grandma bends down
before the missionary Jesus
offering prayers.


Red
   Red
       READ
Red
   Red
       Head.

Poetry Circus: The Spice Road v. 3

One way flight to Egypt,
the ticket left in Portland.

One way safe and knowable, the other
way, is not, a place I know.
lost (ticket) left on a seat
    snow storm casts white
    blanketed airplane
    snow plow clears path.  And

     we will be above all day.

Tight.  Coffin, flight all day
and tomorrow we will land
in the Saffron market
and the towers calling the faithful,
                 forward
in the overcrowded streets filled with boiling Arabs,
           Going to Work, day
           by ordinary day, but we
are newly arrived, and smelling
musky Saffron Mullahs,
not Nudists from Kathmandu,
Orange streets in Egypt not Kathmandu.
where pots hold Saffron to be exchanged
for a dollar.  I worry, "How am I going to get back home
                               without a ticket."

Crowded.  We
smell like money newly crisped.
Rare birds,
squawk at us and kids throw fireworks.
Scents
of a place clings to your American Sunglasses,
YOU.
Like Pip in Melvelle's Whale Book
I CRY OUT LOUD.
THIS IS NOT HOME
Orange Monkey.
The color of rust and congress, praying
O' delayed.
Zeus take me-find my way back home.

No ticket home.
And the wind does not blow back to Rome, red-white-
and-orange-painted temples of Egyptian Gods.
1492, blue waves.
swallow Orange colored cups of tea.
Flies swarmed within the tent.
And Bedouins continue to run their daily lives,
like yesterday. And the
color orange is painted on the
ticket home,
Hell is hot! But
Stella does not quench my thirst.
White. Red. Blue: marks me.
I can't blend the colors to fade into the Saffron filled
market and left exposed fearing
                    Camus's Arab.

What key?  The
sense of Africa
where Saffron
is sold
in Coptic Jars.


Uzi filled Bus
took pilgrims out of Cairo
to Jerusalem.  
We crossed borders
from Egypt to the west
Israel a jewel.
There were trash cans
on this side of the border
a sunny London.
Fear imprisoned you;
Cloistered what did you see?
While I holy ran!

Poetry Circus: Jerusalem The Old City

A Question for "Jerusalem - The Old City" v.2 and v. 3

Uzi filled Bus
took pilgrims out of Cairo
to Jerusalem.  
We crossed borders
from Egypt to the west
Israel a jewel.
There were trash cans
on this side of the border
a sunny London.
Fear imprisoned you;
Cloistered what did you see?
While I holy ran!

Poetry Circus: Descent off Cliff Face

Decending Rabbit Hole
We went, grabbing onto taro roots
but our hands slipped.
We plunged into
the depths of ocean waves
drifting us away.

Poetry Circus: Sink Holes

Illinois Golfer
stood on yard marker which
sunk beneath his feet.

Poetry Circus Haiku

The Ice Age

An Ice Age Snow Cone,
my lips become numb from cold -
frost gathered near.

Poetry Circus

A Question for "Jerusalem - The Old City"

Fear imprisoned you;
Cloistered what did you see?
While I holy ran!

Poetry Circus

How do you like your Fried Egg? Version Three 

Inside porous egg
shell breaks open in-
to frying pan.  

Nevertheless, which way to go:
Hard Boiled for detectives on the go.

Scrambled like my head.

Poached for all of us imperials.*

Sunny side up 

running jollily around my plate

Egg yolk sits,

atop my broth.

Whisk 70,000 turtle eggs 
away from oil;
but right into my plate.**

Never-the-less, 

If the egg is cracked from the outside

death surely comes.

If the egg is cracked from the inside


then life renewed.

(A) Hen's egg  - 

cracks open.

Rooster shouts,

"Amazing!

Our Egg!"

Nevertheless 
Nevertheless, which way to go!

* Poached Egg made popular in India first - a jewel in the crown of England. Check out the Wiki Cook Book on Eggs 
** Found this Headline on the Tuesday the 5th 2013; Bathroom Reader Calender. 

Poetry Circus

Plant City Blues

Robots work the Strawberry
patch mechanically,
metal backs are bent,
and sweating under
the spinning gin that grinds juice;
served at the Strawberry
Festival.

Poetry Circus: How do you like your Fried Egg? V.2

Marilyn Monroe by De Kooning. 

How do you like your Fried Egg? Version Two

Inside porous egg
shell breaks open in-
to frying pan.  

Nevertheless, which way to go:
Hard Boiled for detectives on the go.

Scrambled like my head.

Poached for all of us imperials.*

Sunny side up 

running jollily around my plate

Egg yolk sits,

atop my broth.

Never-the-less, 

If the egg is cracked from the outside

death surely comes.

If the egg is cracked from the inside


then life renewed.

(A) Hen's egg  - 

cracks open.

Rooster shouts,

"Amazing!

Our Egg!"

Nevertheless 
Nevertheless, which way to go!

* Poached Egg made popular in India first - a jewel in the crown of England. Check out the Wiki Cook Book on Eggs 

Editor's Note

I think one should write, rewrite, and revise a poem for a period of at least 3 months.   Then one can leave it alone.   The poem is a construction of a big idea into a little nugget.   As I want to keep the original I will keep the original, but publish new versions as version two, three, four, five, etc.  

So it may seem awkward to the reader, but its an evolution of my idea from birth to full life.  A sanctification of the poem (so to speak).   Sanctification never leaves a poem dead to all sins. A poem is alive because it changes over time and becomes a purer idea, or an idea with a new path.  

Poetry Circus

Jenny Lind (Opera Singer)
Performs in New York
during U.S.A
tour 1849-1851

How do you like your Fried Egg?

Hard Boiled for detectives on the go.

Scrambled like my head.

Poached for all of us imperials.

Sunny side up 

running jollily around my plate

Egg yolk sits,

atop my broth.

Hen's egg  - 

cracked open.

Rooster shouts,

"Amazing!

Our Egg!"

Check out the Wiki Cook Book on Eggs

  

Poetry Circus

Which way are you cracked?

If the egg is cracked from the outside
by some weasel, death is surely come.
If the egg is cracked from the inside
then life is surely renewed.

Poetry Circus

Haiku to Later Days

 
In later days

Egg Shells will be cracked 

by mighty fingers.

Check Out the Legioneer Conference 

2013 Version

the Conference starts Thursday and runs till Saturday. 

36 Arguements for God by Rebecca Newbergerger Goldstein

36 Arguments was good enough to finish. It was an interesting approach to the debate between those of faith and those of no faith in God. Goldstein balanced the argument fairly and shed light on the issues generously. Goldstein will help you get you to look up from your ostrich like mind stuck in your philosophical sandbox; the book is sure to light your theological ire up and encourage you to join the conversation between atheists and believers. 

She also motivated me to read Spinoza's Philosophy. I am always looking for gurus(alive or dead) to motivate me to think beyond my boxed in existence. Spinoza will help shape my box made of Logos. 

36 Arguments became cumbersome in the narrative, it just did not flow, and seemed to be just another piece of writing about the college experience. (E.G. Brett Easton Ellis: Rules of Attraction.) 

I was convinced, after our book discussion, to re-read the narrative alone and see if my thoughts are the same. The kind ladies at the E Book Discussion are so good in motivating me to take another look, and for this I am thankful.  

Next Month. 

Thursday the 7th  of March, 

 The Discussion at the E will be:

Take One Candle Light a Room by Susan Straight

Voltaire on Religion: 

If one religion only were allowed in England, the Government would very
possibly become arbitrary; if there were but two, the people would cut
one another's throats; but as there are such a multitude, they all live
happy and in peace.

Spotify This: The Coup

Sometimes gunpowder smells good.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson


Sometimes Gunpowder Sounds Good:

Amoeba Records list of best for 2012, has introduced me to a number of artists.  One of the artists is the Coup.  The coup are from the Bay Area in California, and they have a blend of hip hop and Punk, reminiscent of Public Enemy and KRS One.    They made me smile like the Dead Kennedy's use to.   There sound is still entertaining and unlike Michael Frente not all preachy.  A better Fish Bone.  So this is my shout out to a band worth listening to.
BTW I wore a Public Enemy Shirt and listened to Old Ice T while mowing lawns in the summer in Longmont Colorado.   I would dance my way as I walked and cut the grass down.

Check there new album here.

Poetry Circus: The Odious Scent of the Spice Road

One way flight to Egypt,
the ticket left in Portland.

One way safe and knowable, the other
way, is not, a place I know.
lost (ticket) left on a seat
    snow storm casts white
    blanketed airplane
    snow plow clears path.  And

     we will be above all day.

Tight.  Coffin, flight all day
and tomorrow we will land
in the Saffron market
and the towers calling the faithful,
                 forward
in the overcrowded streets filled with boiling Arabs,
           Going to Work, day
           by ordinary day, but we
are newly arrived, and smelling
musky Saffron Mullahs,
not Nudists from Kathmandu,
Orange streets in Egypt not Kathmandu.
where pots hold Saffron to be exchanged
for a dollar.  I worry, "How am I going to get back home
                               without a ticket."

Crowded.  We
smell like money newly crisped.
Rare birds,
squawk at us and kids throw fireworks.
Scents
of a place clings to your American Sunglasses,
YOU.
Like Pip in Melvelle's Whale Book
I CRY OUT LOUD.
THIS IS NOT HOME
Orange Monkey.
The color of rust and congress, praying
O' delayed.
Zeus take me-find my way back home.

No ticket home.
And the wind does not blow back to Rome, red-white-
and-orange-painted temples of Egyptian Gods.
1492, blue waves.
swallow Orange colored cups of tea.
and Bedouins continue to run their daily lives,
like yesterday, and the
color orange is painted on the
ticket home,
Hell is hot! But
Stella does not quench my thirst.
White. Red. Blue: marks me.
I can't blend the colors to fade into the Saffron filled
market and left exposed fearing
                    Camus's Arab.

What key?  The
sense of Africa
where Saffron
is sold
in Coptic Jars.

Poetry Circus: Hail-storm 2005

Clouds swirled, danced
against red rocks
building into
a storm, set sail below.

I was out of breath
keeping pace with a lone doe
she would not stop.
I panted? Clouds swept

the sweat off my brow,
dripped into eddies,
sweat, dripped,
into eddies.

I laid down eyeing white
smelling the damp fetid air -
fluvial currants threatened
Boulder city below.

Clouds gained power
power gathered
into a Pow-Wow
Boulder Threatened
    echoing tom-tom strikes,

wind swirled force-
fully ready to punish sins unrepentant
tom-tom
beating into my Odyssey.

Returning to You

I return.   The reason I have been gone for so long is that my computer has been more difficult than a box full of kittens jacked up on mountain dew.   I hope to contribute to this blog daily as long as my computer is working.  Sorry for the inconvenience.   Your friend and author, Gregory D. Rothbard