’19 A To Z Challenge – R

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AtoZ2019Letter R

 

 

Raven

My grandson asked, When is raven a verb? (With all due apologies to Edgar Allen Poe) When it’s pronounced (rah-ven),
verb (used without object)
to seek plunder or prey.
to eat or feed voraciously or greedily: to raven like an animal.
to seize as spoil or prey.
to devour voraciously.
Noun; rapine; robbery.
plunder or prey.

and it’s a homograph
noun; a word of the same written form as another but of different meaning and usually origin, whether pronounced the same way or not, as bear “to carry; support” and bear “animal” or lead “to conduct” and lead “metal.”

I will read the same book today, that I read last night.

The nurse wound the bandage around his wound.

I had to polish my Polish aunt’s end table.

I demanded that he produce the produce from his farm.

We should refuse to throw refuse out our car windows

He would not desert her, out here in the desert.

We did not present her present last night, so we have to do it today, in the present.

Don’t play your bass while you’re fishing for bass.

She finally had to bow to the inevitable, and buy her son a toy bow and arrow set.

When he dove into the lake, it startled the dove.

I would not object, if that ugly object were removed.

They had a big row over who had to row the boat.

His claim to be an invalid, was proven to be invalid.

Are you close enough to the front door to close it firmly?

After he would mow the lawn, he would mow into a big lunch.

All the deer who came to feed were does. Why does that matter?

The sewer managed to repair the shirt that he had ripped in the sewer.

The old sow had eaten all the seed wheat that he had planned to sow.

If the wind gusts any stronger, it will wind that flag right around the pole.

I just took a real buffet. Some guy almost body-checked me, on my way to the buffet.

If you tear down the sidewalk, you might fall and tear your pants. Then you’ll shed a tear.

I had to scuttle downstairs to add a scuttle of coal to the old furnace, because I didn’t want to scuttle the great party.

I can’t even write a short simple sentence for the word founder. As a noun, it might be a person who starts a town, or a business. Or, it may be a metal-worker who toils in a foundry. As a verb, it means to become wrecked, fail entirely, sink, or fall down.

You cannot subject the Queen’s subject to this kind of questioning.

The author was trying to intimate that the butler had been intimate with Her Ladyship.

I don’t think that most husbands want to converse with their wives during a hockey game. Rather, I believe the converse, that they just want quiet.

Why doesn’t Buick rhyme with quick? For that matter, why isn’t imply pronounced like limply? If a male sheep is called a ram, and a male donkey is called an ass, why is a ram-in-the-ass called a goose?

Somebody goosed me, so I’ll have another post ready in a couple of days. C U   😀

Flash Fiction # 209

Poetry

THE STRONG, SILENT TYPE

I really like you
I’m sure that I’ve shown.
And, also, I love you.
I thought that you’ve known

I have trouble with words
And what I should say
Is, “I want you! I need you!
That’s why you should stay.”

Some men speak with their voices,
But it’s a real art.
For a man who cannot,
You must hear with your heart.

The wife said, “You don’t tell me that you love me.”
I said, “I told you that I loved you before we got married. If that ever changes – I’ll let you know.”

Poetry

***

I’ve previously published the above poem as part of a post, but I don’t think that (m)any of the Flash Fiction group have seen it. I had it published in the Toronto Sun, as the poetry section of the Coffee Break page, which included the comics and crossword puzzle. It was in response to a poem from a woman who thought that she should dump her boyfriend, because he never told her he loved her.

***

Go to Rochelle’s Addicted to Purple site and use her Wednesday photo as a prompt to write a complete 100 word story.

friday-fictioneers-badge-web

’18 A To Z Challenge – M

Alarm Clock

By dark and dreary mundane passings, are clipped.  (Psst!  Wanna read some poetry?)

A travelling salesman approaches an old codger, sitting in a chair outside the flyspeck-town’s general store.
“Excuse me sir, do you know what time it is?”
“Oh, ‘bout Tuesday, ah reckon.”
“No sir, I need to know the correct time.  I have a train to catch.”
“Tuesday’s close enough.  Ain’t no train till Friday.”

Once, people toiled from sunup to sundown, not caring what time it was, and only vaguely knowing, when the church bells rang, to tell them that it was time to tithe.

As towns and cities grew, it became more important that most folks were doing things at the same time, so the Latin horas became English language hours.

Passing Time was chopped up into 1/60th pieces of the hours.  Compared to the ‘hours’, these little chunks were MINUTE (my-nyoot), and that’s what they were called.  The original meaning of, tiny, small, is still pronounced that way.  Centuries of mush-mouth slide have changed these chunks of time into MINUTES (minnits).

With the arrival of the Industrial Revolution, especially steam trains and their schedules, even smaller bits of time became necessary, and the MINUTES got carved into 60 smaller bits.  Since these were the SECOND smaller sections of the hour to be established, that was what they were called.

As modern technology relies more on computerized electronics, and even quantum services, time must be chopped up into finer and finer little portions.  The state-of-the-art technologists of even only a half century ago, would probably be astounded by the use of millisecond – thousandth, microsecond – millionth, nanosecond – billionth, and picosecond – trillionth.

It’s no wonder that Ethel GPS put me in Oregon, instead of Ohio.  She probably just needs new batteries in her watch.  I’ll watch to see if you stop by again soon.  😀

A Poem About My First Car

Poetry

SDC10575

There won’t be much poem
I had to tow the thing home

It was a dark British green
An ugly shade to be seen

It was never much fun
The damned thing wouldn’t run

It was a ’52 Morris
It wouldn’t start for us

I got it for free
The owner overcharged me

It came home from a farm
The chickens did it some harm

We towed it home with a rope
I never had any hope

I didn’t take time to love it
I just quickly said ‘Shove it’

Mr. Snake-Oil did offer
An older trade he did proffer

vauxhall

I can’t think of a rhyme for ‘learning experience.’  If you haven’t already, but would like to read about my early automotive adventures, click to go back to read about My First Cars.

(One-)Liner Notes

Tired

I like a good long cuddle with my girlfriend after sex…….
…….It’s the quickest way to deflate her.

Apparently someone in London gets stabbed every 52 seconds….
…..poor bastard

The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach….
….unless he’s a vegetarian, then you can get there through his vagina.

Why was the Pediatrician always losing his temper….
….he had little patients.

One time I forgot how to throw a boomerang….
….but then it came back to me.

What do you call a boring woman with athletes’ foot?….
….anti fun gal.

There’s a new sex position called ‘Delivery Man’….
….You stay in all day, and nobody comes.

How do Flat Earthers travel?….
….on a plane.

I have OCD, which seriously affects my sex life….
….every time a girl gets turned on, I turn them off again

This guy lost his entire left side….
….doctors say he’s alright now

I once got a hand-job from Albert Einstein….
….it was a stroke of genius

Vladimir Putin’s approval rating is 80%….
….the other 20% is missing

There are 10 different kinds of people in the world….
….those who understand binary humor, and those who don’t

How do you stay clean in space?….
….take a meteor shower

Of all my friends….
….I am the most competitive

My wife is always stealing my T-shirts and sweaters….
….but if I take one of her dresses, “We need to talk”

What’s positive about rape?….
….HIV

How did the captain survive the sinking of his ship?….
….He kept a log in his cabin.

What so you call a man with a shovel in his hand?….
….Doug

He digs, she digs, it digs, we dig, you dig, they dig….
….It may not be a beautiful poem, but it’s very deep.

Smitty’s Loose Change #6

Beer

Hey, Alcohol!
We had a deal where you made me smarter, funnier, and a better dancer.
I’ve seen the video.
We need to talk.

***

MOODY CONTEMPLATION

Between the eyes and ears there lie
The sounds of color
And the light of a sigh
With thoughts of within
To exclude the without
The ghost of a thought
Will exclude all doubt
And to name this thought
Is important to some
So they gave it a word
And the word is
OM’.

***
My boss told me to have a nice day….so I went home.

***

We suffered a home invasion recently. Fortunately, it was a stupid benign one.  After the son came home from his midnight shift, he stayed up a bit later than usual.  He always locks the front door as he comes in.  The wife got up a bit earlier than usual to take a shower, to go out.  Between the water running, and the two of them talking in the hall, I came awake.

Suddenly, I could hear the wife talking to someone else, and got out of bed to see what was going on. Halfway down the stairs in her nightie, suddenly she heard some woman’s voice shouting out, “Adeline!  Adeline, are you here?  I’ve come to visit.  Adeline, can you hear me?”

The wife shouted, “There’s no Adeline here! Get out!  Get Out!” and the son came roaring out of his bedroom.  Later, he bitched, “The one morning I forget to lock the door…!” The woman responded, “Isn’t this number 238?”  Does Adeline drive a new Kia Sorento with custom ‘ARCHON’ plates?  Does she live in a house with 6-inch brass numbers, 232, on the corner of the garage that you just passed?

I’d almost suspect an all-you-can-quickly-lift-and-walk out-with burglary buffet if she hadn’t been challenged. It’s difficult to imagine anyone that dumb, but then, the only infinite things are the Universe, and stupidity….and I’m not sure about the Universe.

***

America – a pre-existing condition in need of constant reassurance.
Belief – The idea that feelings equate to reality.  (See Truth)
God – Head of a US based Multinational Corporation which invests in social networking applications, web based communications technology, and merit based wish fulfillment.  (See Mark Zuckerberg).
Truth – Any knowledge, information, or ideas not yet deemed as “fake”.
Zuckerberg, Mark – Senior Pastor, First Church of Facebook (see God).

***

All writers have a little voice inside their head, one that doesn’t say, write a bestseller, or, sell lots of books.  It simply whispers to them to write every day.  If listened to, the voice will go silent.  If ignored, the urge will never relent.  Writing frees your soul, and allows your imagination to wander.

***

I took the daughter shopping the other day. We went to the refrigerated section of a major supermarket chain, looking for OJ and chocolate milk. As I walked past the big, chilled display of eggs, I realized that it was clucking at me. Apparently the store has hidden a speaker behind the display, and trip-switches on the glass doors has it burbling, “Bock-bock-bock-bock, bock-bock-bock.” I was afraid to go near the milk aisle. Moo, moo, moo???….or the ground pork.   🙄

 

Poetry In Motion

Poetry

I am a Philistine. I don’t know what great art is, but I know what I like.  The same applies to poetry.  I have been exposed to some of the ‘Great Poetry’, The Rime of The Ancient Mariner, The Twa Sisters O’ Binorrie, La Belle Dame sans Merci, William Blake’s, The Tyger, and many of Shakespeare’s sonnets.  I still like the poems that begin, “There was a young man from Kent.”

I express myself on this site though prose. When I check to ‘see what others are writing about,’ I find an interesting number of bloggers who express themselves in – poetry(?).  Some of the poems are actually quite good.  Others….are more a pretentious stream of unconsciousness.

Song lyrics, written out, should make sense. I feel the same should apply to poetry, even if it’s only published on WordPress.  Here’s an example.  See if you agree with me.  The first is how it would look/sound, if it were simply written as prose.

writing

The morning adrenaline in class essay exam detailing the ways to restore lost dynamic to man. Caffeine fumes, school bus, Drive, write your heart out!  With speed, with force, believe, you were born for this thrill of academics.

Speaking scholars and students inspired. This is my arena, my work, brain on display.  Bare, stuttering, but speaking again.  Grasping at straws, texts, engaging in every aspect.

The parkway was packed by 4:30 and given recent attacks, at night, plus rush hour fears from the kid who sped into my lane last year as evident by 3 bulging cervical discs. Thought it best, surely, safer to wait out traffic elsewhere.

***

The following is how it was actually published. Does it make any more sense?  Is it significant?  Artistic?

***

writing

The morning adrenaline
in class essay exam
detailing the ways
to restore lost dynamic to man.

Caffeine fumes, school bus,
Drive, write your heart out!
With speed, with force,
believe, you were born for this
thrill of academics.

Speaking scholars
and students inspired.
This is my arena, my work,
brain on display.
Bare, stuttering, but
speaking again.
Grasping at straws,
texts, engaging
in every aspect.

The parkway was packed by 4:30
and given recent attacks, at night,
plus rush hour fears
from the kid who sped into my lane
last year
as evident by 3 bulging cervical discs.

Thought it best, surely, safer
to wait
out
traffic elsewhere..

When ‘an artist’ throws paint-soaked sponges at a sheet of plywood, the resulting mess on the wood is not the Art.  The action, the process, is the art – performance art – like 12 clowns getting out of a tiny car at the circus.

I’m sure that many of these blog-poets are serious, and are struggling, as I do, to get their feelings out. When I come across something like the above, I just get the feeling that I’ve missed the real performance, and my only reaction is, “Huh!”  How about you?  😕