See? We're Not Alone In Our Craziness

Check out the site - http://farmfolly.com/ - They too have had the same issues as we have, including the bees, the overgrown trash heaps, and Chickens! Perhaps there should be a support group for crazy people like us.

Rubble Watch 2010 - Update 3

Nothing new to report. The mounds of brick and cement rubble are still there, undisturbed. However, I have a new theory as to its presence:

Many times in movies or stories one hears about the search for treasure. In the mega-movie Avatar, humans were willing to destroy an entire culture for the search of Unobtainiam. In Akira Kurosawa's movie, The Hidden Fortress, the characters are searching for gold hidden inside sticks.

I propose that there may be some kind treasure hidden somewhere in the rubble of whatever building the debris came from. What is the legend behind this search? What do they hope to find?

I guess I could dig deep into this story and get to the bottom of the rubble, but the mystery is far more fun.

Rubble Watch 2010 - Update 2

Just in case those who are following the intriguing mystery of what my neighbors are doing with all the rubble in their yard, I thought I'd make a rough drawing. As you can see, relative to the house and the car, the piles are rather large. No, the car is not ON the pile, it's parked between the two piles lining the driveway.

The mystery continues. So far, no new rubble has been added to the piles, nor have the existing piles been moved.

More details whenever they become available.

Rubble Watch 2010

Down the street from where I live, there is a homestead that has me puzzled. This is the same neighbor that used to have a wrestling ring in their front yard. That was recently taken down.

In the wrestling ring's place now stands piles and piles of rubble. Rubble that they had trucked in from somewhere else--perhaps the old high school that was just demolished. Piles of broken bricks and pieces of cement line the long driveway on either side. Rubble is piled next to the house, where the wresting used to take place.

What is the purpose of this rubble? We wonder that every time we drive by. One guess is that they are going to build a bridge over the creek that runs behind their house.

For now, we are watching and wondering. If you have a guess, please leave it in the comments. I'll be reporting on this situation whenever something new happens.

Poem: Mom’s Pasta Spoon

She stood at the steaming stove
with the pasta spoon in her hand,
ready to sink its black teeth into the
spaghetti.

We were starving for her
to lift those cooked threads with the sleek tool
and serve us the supper we waited all day for:
The spaghetti, the sauce, the hunger –
gone.


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Poem for Mother's Day
and for
Thursday Poets Rally

Wishing for Sonnet’s Death

The poetic form of the old sonnet,
Seems so useless and very out of date
No more do girls wear a fancy bonnet
And such should be iambic poems fate.

This savage poem cuts the brain for meat,
It pierces with sharp rhymes o’r fire to fry.
And dances ‘round to words that fiercely beat,
Until the life has left the page to die.

So throw the worthless prose into the fire
Stoke the flames to make it glow bright and hot
Chant until you’re dizzy with desire
Stab its tiny heart so it will live not.

We wish for death upon restrictive lines,
and forcing fourteen phrases into rhymes.

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This is being posted for Thursday Poets Rally, Week 16

A Brief Moment By The Fire


There was a brief moment
by the fire
when the two women
considered the unthinkable:

They wondered what would happen
if they tore off their constricting
dresses, corsets, underthings,
and tossed them in.

They would find themselves
standing there naked,
free,
watching the warm light
glow with the fabric fuel,
and ashes of their former life
flit up on the rising heat,
only to be stopped
by the ceiling.


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This is my first work for the Poetry Prompt MEME. I hope to keep participating and keep writing poetry.

I have just decided to join the meme: Thursday Poets’ Rally. Thanks to Jingle, I've already received the following awards!

April Love, April Shower Award

Your Blog Rocks Award

You Are A Gem Award

Merry Wishes Award

Blessing YOU Award

Poem: Returning to the Scene of a Murdered Metaphor

by Amy the Black


Your lungs are what I saw first, displayed on the window, those disgusting balloons gasping at the stale air.

Then your liver, sitting at the bar, drinking another cheap beer—the brand I can’t stand.

Your stomach sat at the table, reading a digest and devouring a nauseous meal.

Your eyes were playing pool, chalking up their sticks and trying to sink the eight ball.

Your dick was on the floor, flopping desperately like a fish out of water.

Your heart was lounging by the radio, tapping a ventricle to the beat of a song I’d rather forget.

But what I hated most were your guts, strung up on the ceiling, and clinging to the chandelier, oozing excrement onto the floor.

You were in pieces, and I was the suspect, so I turned a cold shoulder and ran.