june bug buzzing to and fro and to
like he’s wandering crazy without a clue
of where he’s going or what to do
when he arrives
if he does keep his buzz
buzzing and that hum humming
as he circles and dives
risking the lives of himself and the others
his june bug brothers
bumbling and tumbling
in the humbling heat of southern july
the june bug dodges through wavering mirages
in a constant veer
a wild career
staying right side up out of the grass
and out ahead
of a lad or lass with nimble fingers
and a length of thread
“fly on the wall”
As I was having dinner tonight,
near the table where I sat
I saw an unsettling sight.
On the wall alit a house fly
wearing a cowboy hat.
The hat was brown fur felt and quite fine,
but the fly all in all was droll…
for it’s John B. Stetson when you go out to dine.
Any cowboy or fly worth a damn
wouldn’t be caught dead in a Resistol!
February 10, 2011 “Eight razors and a bad shave”
I have worn a beard since May of 1992…motorcycle crash had me down to just one good arm for about three months, so I just let the fertile field of my youthful face grow wild with soft, thick, luxurious whiskers. It wasn’t until 1996 that I cleared the field completely in order for my four year old daughter to see the true landscape of her father’s face for the first (and only) time in her life. Since then there has been a beard of one sort or another adorning my plump cheeks without interruption. I have, on two occasions, gone from a full face beard to the more streamlined and fashionable goatee version; the second of those two goatees was designed and implemented just last week. The only problem with the goatee is there is more face real estate to keep shaved smooth; less close trimming and edging, but overall, more shaving, and more area that wants to get scruffy and scratchy (not really a big problem considering I’m sans a significant someone that might actually be in a position to find it scruffy and scratchy), but nevertheless, one can’t just go around with a bunch of scrub growing beyond the verge now, can he? Therefore, I must shave all the extra expanse, and do it more often these days, to keep my face spiffy and smooth on the off chance that a particular someone might appear on the horizon and be inclined to brush her soft hand across my manicured mug…though I’m a damned good looking fellow, I think my chances are much better if all the face around my goatee doesn’t feel like a cat’s tongue.
Back at Christmas I received a brand new razor from a member of my family, and until today I’ve had no reason to use it; however, my normal beard trimming razor had gone dull, and as I had no replacement blades I had to change my standard operating procedure. The new razor was wrestled out of its ridiculously over-engineered plastic retail container and put into service, but not without a great deal reservation on my part and on the part of my face as well. This new tool is not from a manufacturer I’m familiar with, and certainly not from one of the major companies, but really, what do I know about such things. It wasn’t the name brand that gave me such pause, it was something much more sinister about the razor which gave me the heebie jeebies…it was the SIX! (yes I said 6) glistening, stainless steel blades that first got my attention as the bathroom lights glinted off their sharp, shimmering edges. And then there’s the way the razor looks…like some tiny, robotic, alien death machine, all chrome and black swirled together in sensuous elongated curves giving the eerie suggestion of a dangerous otherworldly insect…with six razor blades in place of a mouth! So, I think you can see the source of my trepidation…this thing is just plain scary when you think of letting it touch your face or glide across your neck. I mean, my god…the damned thing looks like it could go all Sweeney Todd at any moment, and shave just a little “close” if you know what I’m saying.
So, I’m shaving my tender cheeky cheeks with a six bladed alien demon of unknown origin, wondering what my head will look like as it takes a roll down Fleet Street if I’m not extremely careful. I gingerly guide the menacing razor over my tender face. I expect a shave at least three times closer than my twin blade…you know, 6 divided by 2, and all that. But there was a problem, this high-tech little monstrosity, which should be giving me the shave of my life is, instead of deftly slicing through the tiny whiskers of my beard, pulling them out one at a time by the root, or so it seems! It’s brand new! First use! And it SUCKS! Heck, this little six blade gift could just as easily suck the beard out as well as it’s cutting them…Dang!
Six sparkling new blades in a sexy, 21st century handle, and I have to resort to my used up, dull, twin blade model from the last century to get a shave that’s even passable! It goes to show you…the name brands get to be name brands for a reason, and using a no-name brand only adds up to…Eight Razors and a Bad Shave!
what’s a snowball’s chance in hell
not all that good I can tell
but I’ll take on those odds
and defy all the gods
and hope that this love turns out well
Great and Small
are undone all
by fickle love of
“Heart of Plenty?”
my heart is no cornucopia
it suffers a great myopia
though cornucopian it may seem
a sweet myopian dream
it has no foresight
it needs only more sight
(10, 10 letter words in 10 lines) a Sunday 160
along with the
my wintertime melancholy