A Day At The Beach

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



The Gulf of Mexico

 

 



but not yet. This wasn't it.

I have not aged in memory, although limitations have exceeded desires.  I no longer dwell on possibilities for they are not realistic; instead, I cast a mental line far out into a pool of thought and I wait.

When you see me, this is how I’ll be found – waiting.  I can attend to your conversation, but admittedly in part only, for I must remain sharp and ready at any moment for the slightest tug from a fresh idea.

Should I reel one in of sizeable import you may take my photograph with it –

here at the end of the pier.  

Season to Taste

 

 

Rosemary

Parsley

Bananas and mint -

 

A dash of aroma

a sprinkle of hint -

 

Whisk in some Bisquick

and add orange tint -

 

Bake at 420

for a seven week stint.

 

Cool in the driveway

but not in the sun -

 

Hold an umbrella 

if the rain has begun -

 

Cut into slices

with bangers and mash-

 

don't wash the dishes

just toss in the trash.

 

  

The Pub

A sip

and she would giggle some

 

A swig

and he had tales to tell

 

A bottle

left them somewhat numb

 

with just one more

their heads would swell

 

Together

they were quite a pair

 

 

and from their stools

they saw it all

 

Some was good

not always fair

 

They clung to life

up to last call.

 



A Fresh Start

 

In preparation of 2016

I have thoroughly cleaned my hard drive,

mouse, keyboard, monitor and of course

this blog.

 

I have - with 62 PSI

blown out all phone lines and peripheral cables -

removing any and all dust, partial sentences, idea fragments and random pixels.

 

 As soon as I figure out how to clean

the wireless portion I'll be done.

 

 

Have a great & prosperous New Year

 

ZC

 



A Bug's Life

The sun felt warm and good.  The breeze was slight and so the surface of the lake was calm.  Off in the distance she could hear the sound of a motorboat.  She had heard that noise before and so paid no attention.

The lily pad rolled a little as the water moved and it was gently rocking her to sleep.  Had she been fully awake she may have noticed the sound of the motorboat getting closer; and when it zoomed past the pier the wave flipped her like a pancake, the lily pad curled at the edge and she suddenly found herself submerged and clinging to the underside of the pad.

She was now wide awake, hanging on for dear life, all the while holding her breath.  She told herself not to panic but it was way too late.  Her little heart was thumping as she scrambled to get to the edge of the pad and get herself back on top.

She could tell the waves were not yet done as the next one rocked her up and down, back and forth along with the plant she clung to.  The sunlight was lighting the water around the edge of the lily pad so she knew she was almost back to safe territory.  Once she could pull herself over the edge she’d no longer have to worry about the fish below having her for a snack and she could take a big gulp of air.

                                                                 

Her tiny legs grasped the rounded edge of the leaf and as her face came up out of the water she took a quick breath.  It felt good but she was still in panic mode and scrambling to get all the way on top.  The next wave was not as forceful as the first had been and even though she was still mostly submerged she could breathe and just hung on as tight as she could.

Returning now to just a gentle rocking she climbed back up on the surface and quickly moved closer to the center of the lily pad.  She would be safer there and could now rest up from her sudden and unwanted adventure.  The warm sun felt great but something was not right.  She wasn’t sure what but she’d had this feeling before.  As she scooted around to get a different view she suddenly noticed the sticky pink frog tongue headed her way.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                        

The Plot Thickens...

 

 

Photograph by: Z. Corwin

 

 

 



Winter's Sleep



It was never intended to be...

 

a source of frustration.

 

 



Free Books

So there is this box in town with a sign that says, Free Books.  It is like a library but you don't need a library card, you can just take one or leave one. I dropped off one the other day and in it I left a note to whoever takes it.  My note didn’t really say anything except the address to this blog.  Now the person who finds the book and reads the blog address can look it up and see this note.

 

Hi,

I hope you liked the book.

 

Zobostic Corwin

 

 

 

 

 

Rockbottom

One day, not all that long ago, Scooter, while out shopping with his mom, noticed a very beautiful parked car.  Up until this point in his life Scooter had not paid any attention to cars at all.  For one thing he was just a little boy and driving a car had never occurred to him.  His entire world had been build from Lego's and most recently playing simple computer games on his sister’s computer.

This car, however, had captured his attention.  It was as if someone had parked it there just for him to see.  The color of it seemed deep, almost magical and its design oozed speed. In Scooter’s mind he could see it racing along the computerized road that he had seen on the computer screen and traveling 1000 miles per hour no doubt.

Scooter wanted it.  He was so dazzled in fact that he was unconsciously squeezing his Mother’s hand.  She stopped walking and looked down at him.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

Scooter looked up at his mom.  “We need to talk.”

They had lunch upstairs in the department store cafeteria.  Their conversation was serious and quite detailed as mom explained about growing up and getting an education so an employer would hire him.  Then she explained about having a job, saving and building good credit.  Scooter hung on every word.  By the time the waitress had delivered their apple pie Scooter was trying hard to figure how long all of that schooling and working and saving was going to take.

His mental calculations were getting jumbled as he had no real reference for any of it and his facial expression began to show despair.

“I thought this would be easier.” he said, and set his fork down, ignoring the rest of his pie.

Driving home from the mall his mother was going over their conversation in her mind.  She was feeling bad about being so realistic in responding to her son’s excitement over the sports car.

Occasionally she glanced over at Scooter.  He was just sitting quietly staring out the side window but she could tell he was very disappointed.  She was wishing she could turn the clock back, she wanted a do-over, she wanted to just share in his excitement and let him continue to think about all of the possibilities.

As she pulled into their driveway her daughter Samantha stood waiting for her.  She did not look happy.  Right when her Mother opened the car door Sam started in.  “You were supposed to take ME to the mall.  Why didn’t you wait for me, I told you I wanted to go. I want to buy some Riverbed Sneakers.  I showed you the ad.  The sale ends tomorrow.  Stupid Scooter didn’t need to go.”

Her mother didn’t respond, she was watching Scooter walk to the house and disappear inside.  She felt awful.  She turned and faced Sammy, who was still jabbering about buying shoes.  She wanted to be understanding and supportive.  She didn’t ever want to make the same mistake but Samantha was older and was being way too pushy for someone asking for a favor.

“I’m sorry dear, but how many pairs of shoes do you have in your closet?”

“But Mom…”

As she finished getting out of the car with all her packages, she handed one of them to Sam.  “Put these away for me will you please?”

Samantha reluctantly took the bag and on her way to the side door she opened it and peeked in.  The box on the inside said Manufactured by: Rockbottom.  Riverbed Sneakers Size 61/2

Sam let out a shriek and spun around to hug her mom.

A smile came to her mom’s face as she knew she had gotten at least one thing right today.

 

 

 

zc

 

I know... should be beef.

 

 

 



Multipal Choice

 

 

This is the doorknob to:


1.  A Psychiatrist office

2.  A Bakery       

3.  The IRS 

         

A Perfect Paragraph

I wish, as a writer I could create a paragraph that, like a well painted face, would follow you as you walked across the room.  Those eyes – locked upon your every step, so captivating that you can’t pull your gaze away; you would keep staring at my paragraph as it looked back at you.

I’ve tried, but so far my best work seems to lag far behind anyone so inclined to look at it as they walk.  If they think of it at all it is too late, they are already several steps ahead – if not already into the next room.

Of course the other thing I envy is the lack of punctuation that artists have to deal with.   They can go directly from an azure blue right into an emerald green without so much as a comma in between.  If there is one I've never seen it. 

Here… you try.

I’ll place a photograph here and you look at it.  Study it.  See if you can spot the punctuation.

                         

HEY! Watch it.

 

 

 



Taking a byte out of technology

We are in a river of technology.  We are ill at ease due to our fear of the unknown and in our realization that we are not crossing it but are headed up-stream.  The rushing technological changes push against our legs that are now  knee deep in the flowing current.

    The canoe we purchased for the adventure no longer suit’s the needs of the river with its flailing paddles and ineffective design, it quickly washes downstream and splinters into fragments upon the jagged edges of the riverbank.  The safety line strung between us as we make our way serves as both lifeline and as a remembrance of the simplistic technology of the path behind us.

    Our adventure reminds me of the village of creatures who lived along the bottom of the great crystal river in the book, Illusions, by Richard Bach.  Perhaps our fate is to keep purchasing the latest model canoe, feeding the very corporations who are forcing the bends in the river, or maybe we too should simply “Let go” and allow ourselves to be carried along, bouncing off of rocks, taking our lumps, until we finally learn to adjust to a life void of technology.

    Right there, that little mental jolt you just experienced when trying to imagine a world void of today’s technology - that was your first bump against the rocks.  It takes awhile but it gets easier.  Eventually those who survive the change will find true happiness and understanding.  They will float, relaxed and un-tethered to societies’ network.

    Their actions, however, will not be without consequence, for friends and neighbors shall shun them for their difference.  They shall be cast from the herd.  Their world will be a stillness that in time will prove a comfort, but the journey there will indeed test their spirit.

    I, of course, write this - just having purchased the latest river-going vessel.   It is a Hewlett-Packard with advanced processing paddles, Plug-N-Forge capabilities and turbo cushions.  We are not yet ready to unplug from society but should there be yet another bend in the river before 2020, we will indeed opt-out, unplug, and disconnect leaving only a grinning selfie behind.

  We take some comfort in knowing that our turbo cushions maybe used as flotation devices as we fall from the grid.

I say Potato...

 

but the can opener is broken...

 

You say Po-tah-to

 

OK, fine.



Hanging out with the Big Kids



The Sink Hole

 

with a view



Taken from a Bighorn Sheep

 

somewhere in Montana.

 

 

 

 

 



"A dangerous path is made much worse by darkness."

 

 



It just seems wrong

 

With water being such a vital part

of life

You'd think we'd extend the

amount of time between

faucet and drain

 

 

 



Life's Sessions

I first noticed your face when I was a small child

I didn’t pay much attention back then

 

Later of course I would see it constantly

All through school –

 

And during my working years

(especially during my working years)

 

No matter what was happening to me

Your face never changed expressions –

 

I couldn’t tell what you were thinking

 

Then, once I had become old

When I couldn’t even hear you anymore

I’d look up at you and I’d see it

 

and I knew

 

And of course you knew all along

 



 

 

Faces show age and 

Sessions end

 

 



There's Nothing to do...

 

 



Not Too Bright

 

The designer of this light fixture

didn't consider someone might have to

replace a bulb someday.

 



One Day At The Market

 

I just happened to notice a repurposed

sweet potato.

 

 



Old World German Chocolate Flat Cake

Recipe:

 1 idea - half baked

16 ceiling tiles (Unsweetened)

1 Antique-looking fixture (Light)

A dash of ingenuity

4 oz. of Skullduggery (Finely chopped)

Let cool (Approximately 20 minutes)

Rotate  180°

 

Serve with Blog

Notes:

Note to writer…

 

Fill pens with fresh thoughts.

 

Place old, worn-out thoughts at the curb on trash day.

 

Hide behind curtain and watch the trash men try to lift the heavier thoughts.

 

Chuckle, but hope they don’t hurt themselves.

Ha Ha Ha…

 

 

Note to Artist…

 

Add one or two droplets of Sunshine to yellow paint.

 

Swirl no more than three drops of mystery into blue.

 

Add less than one full drop of sinister into black.

 

Sprinkle a pinch of granulated life into green, and only if you feel like it – casually expose some Ho-hum into the grays and browns.

 

Hint:  Grind up some crackers to cleanse your palette.

 

 

What bugs me

It is immediate frustration at the entanglement of sheets.  Suddenly I am awake, kicking at untucked corners and pulling at slipping blankets.

I can’t even imagine becoming ensnared in a web, frantically pulling to get a foot free, unable to roll over without becoming more entwined.

 

 

Now I'll never get back to sleep.

 

  



Melancholy

 

 



Red Mug

 

 

A red mug, like a sprinkle of salt, accentuates

 the flavor of a Sunrise - adding a little spark to a new day.

 

 

 

 

                                                                                            

 

 

 



I'm guessing that right about here...



 

is where they ran out of money.

 

 

Does it make a sound?

 

If a phone rings in a purse

and nobody is around to hear it...



Don't Open it...

 

 

It could have simply been my

mind playing tricks on me

but it sure looked like someone

was just on the other side of

the window.

 

I'm sure YOU know what you mean...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Treatments

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



So Much for the Nick-of-Time...

 

 

 

Some people think they will be

hit by a bus when crossing the street one day.

 

Others simply hope they go peacefully

in their sleep.

 

Having more personal experience with

Murphy's Law than most,

I believe my time will run out

 mid-sente



The Garnish

 

 

Roses attend weddings

as they do funerals -

They are a celebration of beginnings

as well as endings -

appropriate with either champagne or embalming fluid

~ 

as if life itself requires a sprig of parsley.

 

 

 

 

 

 

zc

 



Incomplete

          I draw my conclusions from the vast expanse of darkness and stars.  I write them for others to see and comment upon.   Collectively our thoughts litter the universe; while I - in a shower of commas - continue on towards a finish line no one wishes to cross.

 

          Bogged down by a basic lack of knowing - resultant from an education of highlighted phrases, folded corners and scholastic missteps, I fall short of literary accomplishments and remain relegated to this blog.

 

           I have worked the iron pump handle but feel I have missed the experience of the rushing water.  This is why I scoff at the one who has written my destiny.  “It is you who have failed to complete your assignment.  You, in your haste to position the stars and arrange the molecules have left me here – incomplete”. 

 

          Though perhaps, in all of creation, unfinished is what I need to be.  Destined to strive towards completion.  Perhaps wired to mentally push myself to discovery.

 

Actual Post Starts Here:

 

          This week’s adventures found me squirming uneasily in the Dentists chair, peering up at a masked man who had his fingers in my wallet. 

 

 “This might sting a little.”

 

 

          Later adventures found me resting comfortably at my computer and enjoying a glass of fine Russian vodka with two olives peering back at me.  Life was good and it was great to be me.

 

          The following morning, in lieu of a hangover, I awoke to an attack of gout, perhaps an indication that I may be allergic to olives.  Life stinks.

         

          Prone to fits of sanity I’m not, but a recent encounter with our paperboy has caused me to take a long, hard look at crazy.  We called and reported that we did not get our newspaper on Saturday, and did not get our paper on Sunday. 

 

          In short order our paperboy, approximate age 50, delivered a Sunday paper to our front porch and apologized for the problem.  Then he got into his car and drove away.   I took the paper out of the protective plastic sleeve and quickly discovered that it was last weekend’s paper.

 

          Various thoughts…

 

A.  The paperboy keeps back issues just in case.

B.  He assumed we were requesting old news and expired coupons.

C.  There was something in the current paper he didn’t want us to see.

D. He is a laid-off executive working beyond his capacity. 

E.  You don’t have to leave the house to find crazy.

 

         

This was not multiple choice.  They all apply.

 

I have drawn these conclusions from the vast expanse of darkness and the stars.