Mag 106, 2/26/12 A 50/50 Shot.

                                                                                photo credit: Bob Adelman, 1965

      Francesca wanted soup, she had quite a lot of faith and a
fair number of people showing up for the afternoon. It might be
warm enough for the garden party and it might not.
      Michael paused in his selections " Do I buy her
ten vegetable or ten tomato ?" He remembered the
round little cartoon faces in the advertisement
humming : Ummm-umm good-
      He felt certain all of a sudden that more people
would like the tomato; So- we will get that.

FF 55 2/24/12 Yesterday

Following a wailing freight train
twining with the grey and silver clouds
slicing under blue.

Landing for an hour to visit
a friend I feared derailed,
only to find cold fresh water and apples waiting.

Onto a dark chair of dental misery
then bursting skyward toward comfort
of a customers garden,

slowly unfurling toward spring.

Mag 105, 2/19/12 Over toward the river

                                                                                          image: epic mahoney
   Out on the Canton Mains, which is what the huge flats East of town were known as;
George was riding his cycle. Eighteen to twenty  miles on Sunday evening,
to steady his mind, body and nerves.
Somewhere to the West, between him and the lights of home was his brother
 Henry; who had stopped his race car, walked from the infield toward the stands
 to make this phone call..
   " Hey - just wanted to pass the message onto you- Sylvia is waiting for you
 out on her front porch.Parasol and all- apparently the fair has her wanting a
nice stroll down the midway. You had better attend, Maria says- she came by
so I would let you know."
   As George hung up he sighed, his peaceful Sunday evening was over.
He would have to go change out of his loose, dusty comfort; for slacks
and a nice shirt. Why oh why, did he let Love interrupt his ride?
he should never have let curiosity answer the phone...

FF55 2/17/12 Definitive Preferences

Not a tense peck on the cheek
Nor a vague wave with a nod from the couch,
Not some feather light hug
or hesitant scrub near the shoulder. 

No bored voice singing, two tone "Hi!"
as you walk in the door.
But a strong hand grabbing hold
a smile leading to real cuppa Jo-


   Yesterday two things occurred. I read  Mr Knowitall's Blog from Haiku Wednesday -
( and responded - see previous post) Much later, I read a short declaration on Family.
Paraphrased here:

'It is family and missing them, (when you cannot get together ;)
AND THEM MISSING YOU BECAUSE THEY LOVE YOU 
AND WANT YOU AROUND .'
       

2/15/12. Wednesday: Well I rarely Haiku-

And when I do I sometimes bend the rules-
Mr. Knowitall is to blame for this...

"Waiting somewhere be-
tween snowflakes and daffodils
is a cuppa Jo..."

Or two.
He said love and coffee most often says love to me!
especially when my Dad made me an extra strong,
yucky instant coffee first thing in the morning. Seven am.
I would dump in as much milk as the mug would allow
and enough sugar to take the edge off.
We would both sit down at the big dining room
table and let the steam rise- a bit.
Often he would be writing
with a number two pencil on a yellow legal pad
(- notes for a class, lecture, speech-).
As I woke up a little I would dare to ask some question
of him. I would love to think they had substance,
who knows. Now I look back on those half hours
as treasures. It brings tears up. I miss him.

Mag 104, 2/12/12 " If Human-

Whose limelight dream is this? 
Who froze the camera here ?
She will not remain on top long
She is likely to be consumed in another moment.
If you know anything about life - a brief phase of the moon this.

If you set the mass in motion, the daisy you have put here is gone.
Human or animal, nature will rise
in anger, hunger, passion
It will flare, roil and then subside.

There are many slices of evolution
even history to consider, not all proud or pretty
like wars,slavery-
if this is erotic art; I am choosing to move on.

FF55, 2/9/12, Real true peace.

Just down this windy road
lives a woman with some farm land.     
She hays the fields in summer .
Keeps some in a lovely big red barn,
to feed an old white horse.
Out in the middle of one pasture,
lies a good size Labyrinth.
It takes an hour to walk
with the horse as witness.

Mag 103,2/5/12 Opinions & Suggestions

                                                  a grave at the Novodevichy Cemetery, Moscow

 When beseeching, Martha had always spoken
with her hands.
"Like sign language-" Her youngest son nodded.
" When happy- after painting, gardening or clay."
Her second son stated.
" When she danced!" Her one daughter added.
  And so they had all commissioned a sculptress
after Martha's passing, to create a living and changeable
memorial for their Mother.
 " I will fill her hands with earth and Mossy protections
so seeds can grow up to flowers in warm weather!" Her second child smiled.
"I will bring some of her clay pieces, to rest between her hands in Fall!"
Her youngest promised.
"And I can twine a long beautiful scarf- like the ones she used in the Martha Graham retrospective!"Her daughter twirled happily.
 One Sunday they came to redress the site and found the ruby red wedge
with flowers spread below.
"A Puzzle? from modern art."
"Geometry, -of jewels?"
" An offering - from an unknown friend!"

FF55 2/3/12 Heard a blogger talking- Hair

As a young person: mine grew long and curly, Blondish.
I could sit on it for most of 13 years; per order of my Mother.
One day I got a Twiggy cut because of 'rats nest' tangles.
It's been highlighted a handful of times. 
Today I cut it twice a year whenever 'snarls' get thick!