Flotsam

Sam, however, was not at home.

The Kal-Haven Trail

There should be mosquitos in this picture.

The sign said narrow bridge. What are they trying to tell me?

After the report card.


Pleas, I'm guessing.

Break Out The Canoes

The Salt River Review took "Tua Pulchra Puella" and "Däk-Bungalow" for its fall issue!

Where's My Ride?

For Jesus and Dane, but hopefully not Neil & Kristin. The notorious towing coming up Chicago way: The Lincoln Park Pirates.

600 pages to go...

TIPS Certification

Q. At any point while you were at (the bar), did you exhibit any signs of intoxication?
A. Yes.
Q. And what would those be?
A. Singing karaoke.

Windjammer

A million thanks to Mark, who accepted my submission of "Autoclave" to Windjammer!

In less exciting news, 1800 pages down, 1200 to go...

FGWC Picnic Postponed

Sorry, folks. I'm drowning in work. We're going to have to picnic another day. I was really looking forward to it, but it just isn't going to happen this week.

And What of the Moss

The couple you saw
lying deep inside themselves

their backs pressed into
that tall blue field

their hands touching

the grass and its sway.

There was a stolen bicycle chained
to a crucifix.

The Born Again don’t bleed

or pedal -- really.

I looked, once, into
those gray polished stones.

The woman's lips were moving.

The man was closing his eyes.

I See

Q. Okay. How did you fracture your ribs?
A. I was lifting a big bag of kitty litter out of my pickup truck and I was pressed against it and they just cracked.

Q. Did you ever have a discussion about installing moss at some point in the yard?
A. We both loved moss, she wanted it, I knew she wanted it, certain places where she wanted it. We tried to get it to grow. I knew she had a desire to have moss.

Q. You mentioned your teeth. Did you hit your mouth on anything?
A. I hit my head on a camel.

Celebrations

Q. Have you been involved in any programs where you celebrate the body in plaster?
A. Yes.
Q. Can you explain that?

The June Parade

Flight of the Conchords- Business Time

FGWC

Workshop - Wednesday, June 18th, 1:00 p.m., The Chicory Cafe.

Wives & Trees

Talia and I have poems up at elimae today!

Auction Day

I didn't need a chicken.

Or a bust.

Or more dogs.

Obviously.

Didn't need these either.

My old friend/drive-by flower planter/local historian Bus Kelver.

I did buy books.

I wanted these badly, but they went for $2,400.

The possibilities.

You can never go wrong spending $7 on a rocking chair.

Or $5 on a desk.

My Ghost House Dreams

For years I have had this recurring dream.

I own a large house that belonged to my grandparents. I don't live there, but I visit there and I never stay as long as I'd like to. The conditions vary, but there are habitable parts of the house and inhabitable parts of the house that are full of artificats from the past and ghosts. I always wake up before I can muster the courage to explore the inhabitable parts. But not last night. I dreamed I was sleeping (hah!) and could feel a ghost. I opened my eyes and I could see her, even the dark shadows of her bones underneath her skin. She wasn't the least bit frightening. She let me run my hands through her ghostly arms. We agreed to meet again.

Rosary

With honeysuckle.

Unidentified Working Class Folks

The Delinquency of Dreams

Sent away.

A Little Stanford

McQuiston's Tale

I went down the road to have supper with Shing. My feet were so pale and warm from the dust when I got there that I pumped water on them, I pumped water over myself, letting it run down over my bare chest and under the belt of my shorts. I stood in the ditch like a wheel. Wearing no drawers, the water went freely down my legs, and the evening wind crawled up under the loose fitting hand-me-down cut-down pants. I had just come from the Greek's tugboat, and the swarthy and enchanted music he played was still with me, and not even the low wind could make me listen to another thing.
"Did you hear that?" Shing asked me.
"What was it that you heard?"
"Those womens whispering in the kitchen."
"Where are you?"
"I'm in the tree with the cat. He chased the snake up here."
"I'll help you down; I came to eat with you."
"Yes, it's good that a young man today can remember an old man of yesterday. And how are your teeth? Don't let them go bad like mine. Your mouth is pretty and white, I suppose. You better watch that one dark tooth. Everything rots."
"Did I. . ."
"Did I get a letter?"
"Did I leave my book here? No, there wasn't anything up at the store."

(Frank Stanford, Conditions Uncertain & Likely to Pass Away, Lost Roads series No. 37, 1990.)

*

A little excerpt from the beginning of the book. I think there's this in between place for poet/fiction writers. Stanford is absolutely compelling to me. If I read nothing but Stanford all summer I would be greatly pleased and probably a much better writer after it was all over. No, you can't borrow this book. I need it. Go get your own.

Wading In

Big Fish

Little Fish


Skin Problems

Termite Tree

Yes, here is evidence. Trees do it in the woods.

Why else would they leave their clothes hanging around?

You can't really believe what you read.

Medium Fish.

Blue cap couldn't tell me where blue starred ball rolled off to.

Neither could blue beer box.

Who Knits?

For Rachel & Talia : Real Men.

Other Park Creatures

I hadn't seen the swan for awhile, so I wasn't particularly surprised to find him washing down stream. So much for the swoslings.

Blue starred ball out for a roll.

Sea monster trying (unsuccessfully) to hide behind skinny tree.


Blue starred ball again, not exactly making record time.
Doesn't really get the meaning of "let's roll."

Energy Crisis

If sexual energy could be converted to gasoline, we'd all be driving muscle cars right now.

I got propositioned at the park this morning by an old fisherman with no teeth. I was happily chatting to him about fishing when he grabbed my arm and asked me if I wanted to knit! He wasn't threatening, just extremely pitiful. I gave him one of my mom lectures, told him I'd get him thrown out of the park if he didn't behave.

When I got home I did report him to the park. I mean, Jojo and a host of other innocents walk down there, too. They're going to send maintenance out to fix the problem.

What makes me most aggravated is that I had been walking and writing. I almost had a poem composed in my brain!

Sunday Walk

After a week of busy I finally made it down to Baugo Creek this morning. I had fantasized that after school was over life would shake itself out and I would walk there every day. Hah!

It was a beautiful walk and the park was empty. Sunday morning and the heat, I guess, discouraged other walkers. There was a stranded carp in the shallows, though, under the foot bridge where I used to hunt crawdads. It was on its side, gills gasping for air. I waded in, picked it up and set it loose in deeper water. It must not have been stranded for too long, because it was able to swim away. The colors were just beautiful, gray and gold, and it was a very nice size, fingertip to elbow length I'd say.

Bayou'ed

Sometime in the last week, without my knowledge or permission, my house was moved to the bayou. I just woke up and found everything had shifted. South. I expect to see an alligator on the lawn at any moment. Maybe he'll eat some of the weeds, aerate the grass with his claws, smile at me.

The insurance company totalled the car. We bought a brand new Honda Civic, only the second new car in 23 years. Hopefully it will last a while, like long enough to get paid off, long enough to have Tom & Jo buy their own cars, long enough that the next car will get 100 mpg. The kids are banned from driving it until it has its first ding. Shouldn't be long.

On the good side of life, I got a rejection notice today. Seriously good. For a rejection notice I was very pleased. "Charmi, thanks very much for letting us read your work. We cannot use it in the next issue, but please send more work in the future. I particularly liked "Weather Permitting". Thanks!"

Hell, yeah. I mean, that helps, doesn't it? At least one poem out of five was good enough to not completely embarrass me out in the world! And it's an older one. It's always a challenge for me to come up with enough poems to send out that batch of three to five that everyone wants to see. Gentle rejection! Woo-hoo!

The Mrs. Thing

I almost called Diane Rehm today. It's no secret where my political allegiances reside, (this isn't about that) but I do have a small complaint on the other side of the fence. It pisses me off when Hillary Clinton is called Mrs. Clinton. Yes, we have to distinguish her from Mr. Bill and Ms. Chelsea, but she is Senator Clinton. Why do I hear Mrs. Clinton and Sentator Obama in the same sentence? And no, I never would have voted for her, but that's not the point. How are we, as in all of us, going to move forward if we keep clinging to the Mrs. thing? Grow up and get over it.

Swampy & FGWC

Swamped with work, swamped with weather, but we're still meeting again next week! Get off your duffs and write something! I plan on taking my own advice.

Workshop - Wednesday, June 11th, 7-ish, Scot Brig's house.

And yes, we had fun yesterday, talked about waxing our various body hairs. You should have been there.

FGWC

Wednesday, June 4th, 1:00 p.m., The Chicory Cafe.

Yep, it's finally time. No excuses. Get your writing sent out and get over there. We have lots to catch up on.