Pick a line, any line...

The cruiseship intact
when found on the sea bed
just lonely and waiting
some windows seemed steamed

The log that had entered
her bow still protruding
would never be thought
to make her go down

Advertisements did claim
this was her maiden voyage
but the log did not care
as it forcefully did ram

As the hole was widened
and saltiness rushed in
the creaking and moaning
proved her floating was done

Now all that is left
is a shell of its past, she has sailed

her last trip, now an unneeded piece

of the puzzle called "fleet"

Can't hide

He tried to appear kempt
although a string hung
from his jacket sleeve
bearing the price he had paid

.
Attempting to impress like a fresco,
a mural on the most crisp,
white linen background, ninety nine
of one hundred percent pure

Buttonholes dilated from wear
made it obvious to all
that rather than champagne taste
he'd often swig wine vinegar

Countdown

A mere second more

is all that I really want

just to say "so long"

.

.

.
.
I never really knew
left was oh so few
blessed hours
time empowers
emotions now askew

Come fly with me

The
ancient
pyramids
got their shape
from varying pieces
of stone that were placed
side by side, on top of each
other to form a triangular image
that has lasted thousands of years
and could only have been accomplished
with complex plans and the greatest of care.
It's hard to imagine that such a feat was possible
outside of modern civilization with the only machinery
being the bones and muscle of man, yet there is no other
explanation except that perhaps some alien culture of beings
created marvelous forms which eventually became known as one
of the wonders of the ancient world where Pharoahs were laid to rest.

Murderess

Across the bare wood floor
hurriedly ran the roach
as it scurried from its dark
haven of clumped dust and hair
.

As it quickly neared
the center of the room,
distant from safety
there was not a single hesitation
.

Marissa leapt to her feet
with nothing to consider
and picked up her boys sneaker,
an immediate plan of attack
.

Whap, crack, the roach was dead
left lying among the other
carcasses of insects; kin.
No apology was needed or given

Dads Departure

I did not provoke
the punch to my heart
nor did I expect
the emptiness; the cleft
.

Like a T-Shirt snagged
on a roses thorn
when finally released
a gaping hole was left
.

Though you were hurting
and I knew you would go
I never did think
I'd feel such a loss
.

I try to remember
all that you went through
you thought I was burdened
yet were never my cross
.

Early that morning
I was wakened from sleep
and knew that the call
could be nothing but bad
.

In the short time it took
to jump out of bed
and run to the phone
I was already sad

.

They all say you're better
no longer in pain
I wish I could see it
as beautiful travel
.

The last memories I have
are of you in that bed
staring at nothing
my fear you'd unravel
.

I'm sure I should heed
the words that I spout
to those that I counsel
it just seems so rough
.

I know you are painless
that's great but I know
your last endless days
like sinew were tough
.

I guess it will take time
for the horror to subside
when memories turn nice
I knew that it would
.

I must remind myself
minute by minute
that although the pain has shifted
for you, "it's all good"

.

.

Thank you for all the love you've freely given to me, for all the times you've held me when I was in pain, for just being my father...I will miss you dad.

Searching

This prompt is compliments of Mad Kanes Humor Blog and asks for a Limerick and Haiku about a bad job or jobs you have had - here's what I came up with:

Haiku

Door to door salesmen

often have black and blue toes

and hate the word "NO"

Limerick

When first I met a conveyor belt
it gnawed my hands, left many a welt
I just wanted to quit
tell them all to "eat shit"
til I'd recall the rent where I dwelt

Get the picture?

This weeks WeekendWordsmith asked for a six word memoir. There are many of them but this is what I decided to submit:
.
.
.
.
Fallen arches in Wingtips; mirror image.
.
.
.
.

There was a crooked road

I once lazily did travel though life
unknowing, unexpectant of anything
foreign or thrown askew
as if my days were simply
answered arithmetic problems
upon a third grade board of slate
.

When out of the deepest azure,
to my chagrin the proverbial curve ball
was pitched into my line of sight
causing a bob and weave effect that forced
change to my effortless course; again.
Just one more tiresome, painful distraction
.

New plans are set, aiming at goals,
current avenues abandoned, wailing subsides
when it begins all over anew; the arcs of crap
Strolling is over, "life aint a picnic no more"
and it seems that each time I begin to know
where I'm headed, someone moves the ends.

Dreamgirl

We would meet several times a week
always under the cover of dark
usually in the same places
our rendesvous frightening at times
.

I never referred to her as my girlfriend
yet I know she'd be touted as such
if anyone ever caught on to our
secretive meetings and romps
.

All this time and I don't even know
her name or where she came from
but I certainly know where to meet
that slight frame of hers
.

If I didn't know better I'd swear that
I had merely imagined her
I suppose it's because of the womans
elusiveness, discretion and randomness
.

Tonight I hope to meet her again
same place, same time...unless
I fall asleep earlier than usual or
this evenings dreams take me elsewhere

Born a travelling man

Going away

Do you have your -

Valise? Don't need one no more
Tickets? Never even thought of 'em
Money? Can't buy nothin' where I'm headed
Passport? Nope, customs are over

Do you have my -

Love? It will never end
Respect? Only the greatest my friend
Honor? For you there's nothing else
Trust? There is a never ending supply

Do we have -

One another? Until your dieing day
Friendship? Yes, tight, tight, bonds
Forever? No, forever cannot stay
Memories? They'll never go away

Pea and the Princess

Writing Prompt 8 - Re-Write a fairy tale - below is my attempt at this last assignment - I had fun with it!


This isn't the first time "Queenie" has had some damsel lay on top of me all night and it's starting to grate on me; you know?

They tell the story that her son was trying to find a true Princess and every time he thought he had found her, or if she had proclaimed to be a princess he would later discover that there was something about her that proved that she was no princess at all. Like the one who had the bunion, or the one that had that little mole behind her left ear; to him they weren't good enough. I could almost swear that I heard cook telling someone that the Queen was no more than a peasant before she married the King but I guess today you have to start royal to be royal; and I imagine they think royal means perfection, who the heck knows.

I can remember when my only worry was whether or not the day was dreary outside and if cook would get a bug in her to make porridge. Yeah sure, drying out toughened you but just a few short minutes in boiling water makes you all mushy and pale; not really the way I envisioned going; get my drift? Anyway, back to their royal highnesses. When I was first selected by cook and given to the Queen I had no idea what was next; you know?

How the Queen came up with this idea of using me as her "detective" still eludes me but I have to tell you, when I first was laid on a down mattress and sandwiched there for the night I thought it was way cool; a lot better than being all squashed in that keg where the population seemed like in the thousands. Anyway, the written story isn't exactly how it went though, the way they tell it, they only used me once for this mattress thing but I know better. See, when the Prince was off for days looking for his Princess, his mother was constantly dragging in maidens to check for their princess qualities; yeah constantly, I'm talking almost daily.

I lost count of the number of nights I was smothered and crushed by some of those fat ones. I don't know how you feel, but why would she have even picked some of those lasses? Well, that's besides the point, aint gonna be my princess I always used to think. Anyway, after that last drippy one who supposedly got all black and blue from laying on top of me was proclaimed a true princess I couldn't have been happier...until it dawned on me...cauldron here I come!

When they decided to put me on that shelf in the big glass case I thought I had died and gone to pea heaven. Now all I have to worry about is when maid dusts. Most times it's okay but the time when I went rolling across the floor and almost wound up as the flattened occupant of the new Princess' shoe, that was a scary time indeed; good thing she's so petite or she would have surely crushed me that day. See, from that day on I knew I had served a real purpose, because I think I really found them a Princess cause she couldn't even squash a pea.

Wasn't this a lady of real delicacy?

MELINDA DOOLITTLE : MY FUNNY VALENTINE

This is dedicated to you, just you, my one true love............

Happy Valentines Day

Softly we met with a kiss
that I had longed to deliver to your plump, bowed lips

Before I knew you I dreamt
of what that moment would be like, I hoped, wished

You did not disappoint me,

you really never have, not even all these years later

You're my "it", you've made
me who I am, and take me to the highest planes

I now know that I shall not
go on without you, I can't imagine "booless" days

...please keep being you, for me

Your mother!

This haiku was inspired by the Monday Mural below; pretty cool pic isn't it?

Who'd a thought mother

nature was just some strung out

bitch in red spandex?

Award

Millions of Pennies just received its first award courtesy of my first blog buddy Med Student Wife from Another day in Paradise. Thank you very much MSW, as you yourself would say "this is kwel!"

Boldly Gone, Boldly Taken

Dotty was hot and she knew it. Behind her back, all the women in town called her a slut, a tramp, whore, but of course never to her face as they all knew she'd "kick the shit outta them" if she ever heard it directly from them. The men folk, now they was a different story. To them she was a "tasty slice a pie", "a bitch in heat" a "sweet lil thing". Dotty was one of them women who knew how to treat her man yet always had the upper hand; especially in bed.

Every Saturday night she would go down to Earls Bar wearing the tightest thing she could squeeze her body into; never a wrinkle, never a crease. The only time you saw anything that remotely resembled under things was when you could see her own folds of flesh. Like I said, she was hot and she knew it. When she would walk through those doors every head would turn her way and you could see the smiles on the guys, almost drools, and the scowls of the ladies; and every night when she walked out those doors she would have a different guy latched onto her; every one of em lookin' for a good time, looking forward to a night with Dotty. See Dotty did things to a man that no wife would do, no respectable lady would do. She had the male population of Reedsville eatin' outta her hand; an beggin' to.

The night she met up with Jesse, a new guy in town, she had no clue that her life was about to be turned upside down. Jesse had been schooled in the art of pleasin' a lady from the time he was a pup. His momma had run a bordello four counties over and she knew the importance of a well trained man; a pleaser. From a tender age right up until Jesse made the decision to move on, he saw, heard and very often slept with the hired help, mommas girls, and was taught what they liked and what they disliked; he was almost a pro.

Jesse had heard all about Dotty and wanted some for himself so their meeting wasn't just chance; he had sought her out. At the end of the night, sure enough, she led him out the door and they walked down the block towards her house, Dotty leading and Jesse seemingly in tow. She had big plans for tonight; she always enjoyed "unwrapping" someone new and couldn't wait to see if what she thought was hidden underneath the denim was what she hoped for.

In her bedroom he seemed coy; she liked that. She started her seduction and was anticipating his melting in her hands when the tables soon turned. Once out of his Levi's and boots all coyness disappeared and he began to work his magic. Dotty was the one who was doing the melting tonight; she didn't know it was possible! The entire night Jesse held the cards and Dotty felt for the first time in her life as if she was on her way to heaven.

The entire evening continued like this and before long she was like a wet rag, limp, with occasional electric shocks coursing through her body. If she had only known this was the way it could always be, things might have been different. That night, Dotty had boldly gone, been boldly taken, to a place that no man had ever taken her before and by morning knew that Jesse was the one. The only one she would ever want again; whether she could have him or not.

Fridge Space

Lately I have been a bit on the maudlin side due to the current happenings in my life - the prompt "fridge space", especially to a funeral director, might take on a different meaning than to most - so here is my attempt at:

Fridge Space
.
Chrome plated doors
of glinting steel
welcome the sleeping
who can no longer
repeal
.

Shelving with rollers
that spin with ease
No, not the place
where you'd store sliced
cheese
.

Labels and toe tags
varied in size
a red flag, an ID source
not once a
disguise
.

Freon and motors
working in place
offer purpling people their own
"fridge space"

Science, medicine, ethics

Centuries passed have proven that insight to disease

has grown in proportion like the enlarging catheter

bag of the infirmed on a good day; not always revealing

the true content until further scrutiny takes place

.

Medicines bag, constantly swelling from byproducts

that to many are considered golden miracles

are also determined just waste to a great majority

who see and feel the uselessness of the output

.

The specialist who says "What once would kill can now

be miraculously cured when instructions are followed"

often gives the impression of a snake oil salesman

peddling his latest, greatest discoveries to the masses

.

Prolonging the inevitable has become the fad of the day

compassion often secondary to attempts

of the latest procedure; there's always another way

that can be tried to save you from acceptance of the end

.

Who can determine the quality of your life, of mine;

doctors of Science, Medicine, Ethics, I think not

anyone but ourselves know if it's worth clinging on

to what little we sometimes have left, when it's time to go

.

The decision of enough being enough is undoutedly ours

but when advised by someone we trust of the vast hopes,

of the probable success, it's difficult to comprehend that

we may be just another of their laboratory rats

.

It's all a game of roulette to the man with the title,

a crap shoot, and as the betting man prefers high odds

over a low paying sure thing, one wonders if their license

should be to medicate, mediate, and play the horses

Science, medicine, ethics

A century gone has proven
that insights have grown in proportion
like the enlarging catheter bag
of the infirm on a good day
.

Constantly swelling from byproducts
that to many are considered just waste
however liquid gold to the
measurer of the output
.

What once would kill can now
be magically cured like the rump
of the swine swimming in its
pillow of crusty salt, so it's said
.

Prolonging the inevitable
has now become the way of the day
compassion often secondary
to attempts of the latest procedure
.

Who determines the quality of a life;
science, medicine, ethics or the lichen
like being that is tired of trying
to grasp onto the weather worn bark
.

The decision of enough being enough
is undoutedly yours but when told
of the vast hopes, of the possible success,
clinging to the vine looks sweeter
.

It's all a game of roulette, a crap shoot,
and as the betting man prefers odds
over surety one wonders if the license should
be to gamble, not medicate

Check Out

There was a time...
when daybreak meant nothing other than a new dawn
springing forth, emerging light
.

There was a time...
when happiness was simply taken for granted, not aided

by yourself, just deserved
.

There was a time...
when it was never going to end, life was easy and expected
to linger, forever more
.

There was a time...
when it started to change and splendid rays of sunshine
grew shorter, altering states
.

There was a time...
when days became months, months became rough years,
slipping by, a downward spiral
.

There was a time...
when you saw it had passed and knew you would never
could never, have time
.

...again

Foul, foul, foul

Fouled lungs,
Options given
Unkind decisions,
Late discovery

Fouled liver,
Options few,
Unwanted cells,
Looks bad

Fouled bowel,
Options chosen,
Unneeded biopsy,
Last rights

F is for Foul!

Foul. What a sweet word in comparison to the expletives I could use when it comes to the foulest stench I have ever encountered. As you could probably imagine, in the time I have been a funeral director I have come across some indescribable assaults on my nasal senses. I'm not going to list each of them for you because today we are looking for the foulest not just the foul. What a word.

Have any of you ever had the pleasure of waking up one day to the smell of a dead animal either in a wall, attic or crawlspace underneath your house? Perhaps a mouse that has gotten trapped somewhere and began decomposing before it was discovered? Well my friends, multiply that horrendous smell by a couple of hundred, maybe even one thousand and you might begin to get the gist of the aroma I am trying to describe.

When the human body decomposes, and I dont mean the beginning phases, I mean full blown decomposition; when that occurs and is left unchecked the ensuing smell can literally knock you over, heaving is not uncommon. It is an odor that remains with you for days. It gets into your clothes, in your hair, and seems to remain hovering in your nostrils no matter how hard you try to cover it. This is gross, it's not something I really care to discuss or even remember but for me, this fits the topic.

All attempts at masking this are worthless. I have discarded many clothing items because they have been soiled by this "foul" scent and no matter how they're cleaned it still somehow remains. Replacing soles on shoes won't work, even if the cobbler will accept them they've become trash. When I hear the words "discovered in the woods", "found at home after 10 days", "pulled from the river after rising to the surface" or other similar explanations I cringe imagining the newest assault I am about to encounter.

Frans Face

For many years, Frances had been saving her pennies for the operation that would when needed return her to the beautiful looking girl she had once been. She had become a vain person and felt in her heart that her looks had carried her through life, never considering that there might be more to her than just a pretty face. Although others recognized the goodness inside of her, the way she could captivate you with just her actions, without fail everyone would always comment on her stunning looks; even as she aged and her face began to show it.

As a child she had been one of those unfortunate little girls who had been traipsed all around the country to one beauty pageant after another and the importance of her looks had been pounded into her all during her childhood "career". You see, talent was important as well as poise and composure but the key element in winning had to begin with beauty; that was the foundation of it all. There were many times when she pleaded with her mother, not wanting to participate any longer but her mother knew best and Frances learned early on that it was easier to comply than to be herself; "you have to give them what they want, you've got it, use it" became the motto.

Her teenage and early adult life had been typical yet she was still atypically beautiful; she had been given a gift that she had to preserve. Her lifetime included marriages as well as divorces never wanting children who would ravage her body; never wanting to bear the brunt of even the image of her swollen belly. As she continued to age she knew that her beauty was beginning to fade. She cried the day she noticed the first line by her eye, the line that she felt was the first crack in her face and from that moment on began saving for the surgery.

By the time she was sixty she had undergone an eyelift, rhinoplasty, had liposuction, a tummy tuck and knew a complete face lift was on its way; Botox had become a staple for her. Each time she was fully recovered she would prance around her house draped in the tattered ribbons she had won as a child; she would never discard them! Poor Frances could never comprehend that no matter what she looked like on the outside, her true beauty was from within. Her life had been devoted to social work and although there was never any real money in it, it had taught her to love and care for others.

Frances was now what you would consider old, she was in her late seventies yet still looked perhaps like she was forty or so. She had again scheduled an appointment for a consultation with her favorite plastic surgeon and on her way to his office never even felt the onset of the stroke that took her life that day. As she wished she was laid to rest in a cherry red gown and next to her were her treasured childhood ribbons. Many people attended her funeral and despite all of the good she had done for others, everywhere you turned the topic of conversation was her beauty. As odd as it may seem, Frances' beauty never faded; not even in death. She would have been very pleased.