Aphorism

Things do not turn out all right in the end.

haiku

recess


blind

ernesto looks up
eyes blank hands reach mouth laughing
escalera, ladder climb slide


march

california deck
wild hill mutters remember
nasturtiums spill bright



silence in the park

laughing girl signs
push me, swing me higher, faster
hands open forwad, push

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Sea Rock and the Maiden

Saturday morning early.The rock black, hulking, utterly quiet.. Spray surges dissolving granite white salt sifts. The woman suddenly screams ecstasy, and the man shoots salty cum to form blood mix with archaic sea brine. Gulls circle and circle.The virgins sit at the bottom of the cliff, shivering, excited watching the sea surge granite and eating stolen peanut butter and white bread.

Sea Rock and the Maiden

slick, shiny lips parted
eyes wide
what do you want?
what do you want?
what do you say I want?

sea swell bashes the rock
spray shoots salt
the crag stands solid
in the perfect solvent

sea swells
beating
beating
what do you want from the rock
eating your sandwich on the sand?
the rock says nothing

granite white flecked- solitary
seared at the magma core
Love me?
Love me?
Love me


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Sunset and Spring

 

The tortilla factory, La Fortaleza, Manuel's dad owned and where Manuel, himself, was born is just outside this picture. Click to enlarge.

 

You can't hurt a turkey. Ann Benson
Hemingway once said something like. "Life breaks us all, but some of us heal stronger in the broken places." I have a hard time with Hemingway, but that thought is wonderful....more later. ladymabelgrex

George W Bush and Terror

 

Using nothing more threatening than a couple of box cutters, the 9/11 hijackers turned the United States into a proto fascist state. To my knowledge, that has not happened in any of the European countries or Israel, who are under constant terrorist threat. Without firing a shot, those few men forced us to deny and invalidate our own civil rights. In my view that is quite an accomplishment. Comments? I put this together some time ago and forgot about it. It’s a little strange, but if anyone has anything to say, feel free. Ladymabelgrex

Lunch Under the Willow

Mollie stood outside St Gregory's school looking as forlorn as she could manage in the bright afternoon sun. The sidewalk was full of happily free students running around in their blue jumpers and brown corduroy pants. Sister Evelyn stood talking to Terry Wright's mother. The nun and Terry's mother had been friends since childhood, and they stood there almost every day visiting. It was strange to watch them. Terry's mother said, "Fuck" or "Damn" or "Jesus" after almost every word, and sister Evelyn just stood there in the sunshine across the street from the little church, listening. Boys and girls both wore the same kind of white shirt with square collars and blue and white saddle shoes.. Jimmy was sitting in his huge, ancient car on the street, waiting for Grace to come out with Kathleen so he could drive them the three quarters of a mile home. Mollie hoped Grace or Jimmy would offer her a ride if she stood there looking sad enough. Grace and Kathleen emerged from the door with the statue of the Virgin Mary over it and into the street. As she and her daughter climbed into Jimmy's back seat, Grace said, "Hop in, Girlie," and Maggie gratefully hopped into the front seat. "Home, James," Grace said. Jimmie's right arm was gone from the elbow down, and he wore what Maggie thought looked like a sock over the stump sticking out of his short sleeved shirt. The Dodgers were on the radio, playing the World Series. Jimmie talked about how he lost his arm in the war while he listened to the game. When the Dodgers made a home run, there'd be lots of yelling on the radio, and Jimmie would poke her in the ribs with his stump in excitement. At first, Maggie had been horrifiied at being poked with a stump covered in a sock, but after a few rides, she got used to it. Jimmie was retired and volunteered at the church during the day. In the afternoon, he drove Grace and Kathleen home, and if Maggie was lucky, she got a ride the mile to her house, too. Mollie was in second grade, and Kathleen a grade behind her with Jo. Mollie and Jo walked to school together every morning past Kathleen's house. It was set back from Figueroa by a huge lawn with a weeping willow and a pepper tree shading Kathleen's little table with matching chairs. Grace and Kathleen met them every morning, and they all walked to school together. Kathleen did not have a father. Grace said he had been killed in the war. Grace lived with Kathleen in the house under the the pepper tree with her grandparents and her mother. All four of them were very quiet, unlike Maggie's family. Grace made all of Kathleen's dresses for Mass from pretty material with little flowers and two satin ribbons around the waist. Grace made dresses for herself exactly the same, but bigger.
Once, Grace invited Jo and Maggie to have lunch with Kathleen on Saturday, and for a miracle, Mother let them go. Usually, Mother called the mother of any child who invited Maggie for lunch and very politely refused the invitation. Maggie was always furious and depressed listening to her Mother say how she knew so and so's Mother was too busy to have Maggie for lunch. This time, though, maybe she didn't have the phone number or something, but she dressed Mollie and Jo in their best dresses, and the girls walked the same route to Kathleen's house they walked every morning. This time, though, they walked up the walk that went down the center of the lawn, which was in the front instead of the back like everybody else, to the front door and politely knocked. Kathleen's grandmother answered the door with Kathleen in her pretty dress with pink ribbons around the waist. She led the three girls to Kathleen's little table in the shade. Today, it had a little flowered tablecloth, small plates and cloth napkins. They sat in chairs that matched the table, and Grace served them tuna sandwiches on a pretty plate, cut in half with no crusts. She poured lemonade into small glasses with ice. Mollie was very impressed with the elegance of the lives of Kathleen, her mother, and her grandparents. They clearly lived a much nicer life than Mollie and her six brothers and sisters. There were always neighborhood children for lunch on Saturday after the library or the pool, depending on the time of year. They sat with the Sullivan children in the kitchen nook, lined up on benches with Maggie at the end so she could get up when more milk was necessary or it was time for Popsicles. They ate whatever horror Mother had stirred up with tomato sauce out of leftovers. The neighborhood kids seemed to like these lunches; Maggie hated them, but in Maggie's house, you came to meals and ate what you got if you valued you life. There were certainly no miniature, crustless sandwiches or lemonade in glasses that matched the dishes.