Oddments

In search of story


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Connections: October 31.17

My daughter-in-law, dear reader,

in her finest witch’s chic

 flexes imagination muscle

a certified Halloween geek.

Eye of toad and tail of newt

bedeck the living room

it’s the masque of Hallowed Eve

from tip of toe to broom.

Many the middle-aged ghouls

(you mustn’t be naive)

who don’t outgrow the Snickers

or love of make-believe.

I salute them and their spirit

their hatted, robed hilarity

infusing real life

with a little jocularity.

 

 

Special Halloween thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives for the header photo today —

and Happy Halloween, dear reader!

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Connections: September 9.17

Carousels, cupolas

hexagonal rooms

houses with frosting

universal heirlooms

fantasies, wishes

we want to hold on

to the horse and the magic

lest they one day be gone.

 

 

More thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives,

Fernandina Beach (Florida) Gallery.

When I started to write this, I was not thinking of Irma, Harvey, Jose, Katia.

Now I am.

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Connections: August 8.17

 My grandma’s tub had feet

and Olympic-pool-sized feeling

her toilet had a chain

that hung down from the ceiling.

More, the bathroom window

was tall and opened wide

so fresh air and scent of train

could cleanse the room inside.

Now I have this footless

peculiarity

someone mean invented

to taunt and bully me.

It can’t be cleaned without

risking tendinitis

when I fold to fit its contours

it gives me rigor mortis.

It’s called a garden tub

a pity and a shame

someone ought to sue

for slandering garden’s name.

The window can’t be opened

the toilet’s in a box

so I reach way back in memory

where my grandma’s bathroom rocks.

 

 

 

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Connections: July 11.17

When July comes out to play,

bouncing on trampoline leaf,

climbing monkey bar stems,

sliding down the smooth

shiny pepper,

cartwheeling,

hopscotching,

hide-and-seeking in

herb tunnels,

and no one knows

how green the world can be

until the hot light leap-frogs

over itself

and we wish we could snatch it

this limpid summer air

but

unpossessable

it mocks

catch me if you can!

like childhood,

then does the garden dapple

make us stop

to fetch a memory.

 

 

 

 

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