There is a substantial insignificance to my blog. It is not hidden, it is bold and upon every page. It is woven into paragraphs and painted with punctuation. It has no musical accompaniment and zero followers.
Back away from your monitor and look at it from across the room. You'll see that it just lays here, flat, lifeless. No matter how hard I try I've not been able to breathe life into it and yet I continue to add to it.
It's as if I am pouring glasses of water into the ocean and expecting a rise in the tide. The unrealistic expectation is on me. It is of my own doing and has driven me to this realization.
Perhaps if I were a literary carpenter or a word pathologist I'd know how to fix it, but it is nothing that can be hammered or glued. It is not broken - it is simply lifeless.
OK, I'm going to try something that just occurred to me.
Stan back...
Give me some air,
CLEAR!
Thursday, March 28, 2019
Saturday, March 23, 2019
Shoe Polish and Sandles
I have lost the feel of middle age
and no longer have the patience to stand in lines.
I haven't a life-long barber -
it's important you know that
as our conversations remain superficial and void
of any common references.
This should explain both my attire and haircut.
I have never struggled
when choosing between what is right
and what is easy,
now, however, having passed beyond
the shadow of the sundial -
I choose easy.
With respect to attire
I believe time lived
makes the man.
Z. Corwin
and no longer have the patience to stand in lines.
I haven't a life-long barber -
it's important you know that
as our conversations remain superficial and void
of any common references.
This should explain both my attire and haircut.
I have never struggled
when choosing between what is right
and what is easy,
now, however, having passed beyond
the shadow of the sundial -
I choose easy.
With respect to attire
I believe time lived
makes the man.
Z. Corwin
Wednesday, March 20, 2019
Picture Perfect
Had I the grace of pelicans
or ease of flight beneath the sky -
with tattered wings still dripping
upon the sand I'd dry,
Had I the grace of pelicans
on land, in air and sea -
I'd pose for postcard pictures
a dollar each they'd be,
You'd mail me to your far-off friends
with pleasant thoughts of cheer
and end, of course, with having fun
sure wish that you were here.
zc
or ease of flight beneath the sky -
with tattered wings still dripping
upon the sand I'd dry,
Had I the grace of pelicans
on land, in air and sea -
I'd pose for postcard pictures
a dollar each they'd be,
You'd mail me to your far-off friends
with pleasant thoughts of cheer
and end, of course, with having fun
sure wish that you were here.
zc
The Varying Degrees of Art
Still laying there
the paint brush was stuck to the table.
Was it art?
Were they slobs?
Had lunch arrived?
Friday, March 15, 2019
Wacky Smoke
A mustache hair
was pointing up
and tickling my nose -
The squeaking rack
of postcards
up a decibel rose -
Wacky smoke was drifting
around my balcony,
I don't know
and I don't care
I'm second-hand happy.
Roadside Diner
I unfolded the map on the kitchen table. Each city looked like a place-setting and the intertwined roads were made by time lapse photography of arms passing the salt, the mashed potatoes and a little more wine.
Lakes here and there were simply vacancies along the massive table where once were platters of farm animals grazing along ceramic hillsides.
Lakes here and there were simply vacancies along the massive table where once were platters of farm animals grazing along ceramic hillsides.
Wednesday, March 13, 2019
The Flora Matt
Occasional rays of light will reflect fleeting bits of memory, like dust particles floating in someone else's thoughts. I'll flicker past and then again be gone.
When I turn the final page I'll lay my naked self upon the earth. I'll not consider broken twigs or tattered leaves, neither will I sort philosophies or religions. I shall simply sleep with mossy clumps and scurrying vermin.
No longer governed, questioned, judged or classified I'll lay quietly, neither blog worthy nor carved in stone.
Ships at the Bottom
Wives will sip their coffee
with storm predictions due
while sailors never once believe
their life and times are through,
Seabirds have their moment
and face the wind to sleep
fishermen will torment
when their craft is in the deep,
As I look upon the ocean
inspiration comes in waves
while fragments of annoyance
wash and tumble to their graves.
with storm predictions due
while sailors never once believe
their life and times are through,
Seabirds have their moment
and face the wind to sleep
fishermen will torment
when their craft is in the deep,
As I look upon the ocean
inspiration comes in waves
while fragments of annoyance
wash and tumble to their graves.
Wednesday, March 6, 2019
Mark of the Gypsy
There are, of course, thousands upon thousands of stories with each item you see in an antique shop; where did it come from, who owned it and what happened during it's life before it ended up here?
This particular story centers around a small table. Although the table itself was quite unique, hand made and elegant, the table is far less of a story than is the ring left by a mug. A cup of odd smelling tea that was casually sipped by a visiting gypsy is the actual story.
None of the residents knew at the time the woman in their midst was an honest to goodness gypsy. Initially it was assumed she was selling something door to door throughout the neighborhood.
Not very far into the conversation, however, did they begin to see, as well as feel the powers emanating from their guest. The tentacles of her conversation were touching upon emotional pressure points, not so much as to place people on the defensive but enough that not a single person left the room.
No one there found more pressing issues, no one required a bathroom break and not a single one of them moved to answer the phone when it rang. Something about this woman had them spellbound, for lack of a better word.
For weeks after she left various family members attempted to describe her, each one was positive their description was correct but each would have been wrong.
It was a good month after the event when the housekeeper called Mrs. Arlene into the room.
"Not only will this stain not come off, but look at it. No, look closer, get right up to it."
Mrs. Arlene bent down over the small table and studied the ring that had been left by the mug of tea.
"How old is this?" she asked and then clicked on the light next to her.
It was like reading tea leaves. She had heard about reading tea leaves but never had she seen or heard of anything like this. This seemed like nothing more than a stupid mishap that could have been avoided by use of a coaster. "How is this possible" she mumbled.
The more she closely looked at the stain the more she noticed the shapes and varying degrees of shading. She could see very clearly her own house, the trees in the yard and the walk leading up to the side yard. It is amazing, she couldn't believe the detail.
She could see what she believed to be timelines. There was a distinct difference between past and future. Following the curvature of the ring she tried hard to figure out what she might expect in the weeks to come.
She thought she could see the family car but it wasn't alone. There were several cars lined up and she could see the church at the end of town. Was this a funeral she was seeing? Was someone going to die? Immediately she began to think of family and friends. Who was sick? Who was in the hospital? She found herself getting all worked up just thinking about it.
She reached over and clicked off the light. "I can't do this, she snapped, just clean it up."
Over time, as various members of the family and close friends heard about the stain, they came to look at it, to see it for themselves. What each one saw was as different as their description of the gypsy.
Randy was sure he saw someone falling from a roller-coaster, while Linda, when looking at the stain left by the mug, got overwhelming jitters, so much so that she jumped back. It wasn't fear. As she described it, she just suddenly became very nervous, anxious - as if something was about to happen.
The events that happened that year were chronicled in the local paper. Although there was never a mention of the gypsy woman who had paid them a visit, each sad and unfortunate event with various family members became news.
Just prior to the estate sale the housekeeper was asked if there was anything from the house she wished to have. Although the family had always been very good to her and she missed them as if they were her own family, she made it quite clear there was nothing from the home she wanted. She went as far as to suggest the house had been cursed.
Most things sold over the three day sale, and some of the furniture changed hands over the year. The small table with the stain ended up at Fragments, an antique store. It was purchased in a bulk order and now sat quietly along the aisle with several odd lamps and ceramic vases.
The stain on the tabletop was now somewhat faded but was still visible. The price tag said it had been marked down from $350.00 to $210.00
The old woman running the antique shop seemed a little strange. She wore and old bandanna and a knit shawl even in summer. When I first saw her she was perched on a stool by the cash register. She was sipping an odd smelling tea. I'm not sure what it was.
The end
Zobostic Corwin
This particular story centers around a small table. Although the table itself was quite unique, hand made and elegant, the table is far less of a story than is the ring left by a mug. A cup of odd smelling tea that was casually sipped by a visiting gypsy is the actual story.
None of the residents knew at the time the woman in their midst was an honest to goodness gypsy. Initially it was assumed she was selling something door to door throughout the neighborhood.
Not very far into the conversation, however, did they begin to see, as well as feel the powers emanating from their guest. The tentacles of her conversation were touching upon emotional pressure points, not so much as to place people on the defensive but enough that not a single person left the room.
No one there found more pressing issues, no one required a bathroom break and not a single one of them moved to answer the phone when it rang. Something about this woman had them spellbound, for lack of a better word.
For weeks after she left various family members attempted to describe her, each one was positive their description was correct but each would have been wrong.
It was a good month after the event when the housekeeper called Mrs. Arlene into the room.
"Not only will this stain not come off, but look at it. No, look closer, get right up to it."
Mrs. Arlene bent down over the small table and studied the ring that had been left by the mug of tea.
"How old is this?" she asked and then clicked on the light next to her.
It was like reading tea leaves. She had heard about reading tea leaves but never had she seen or heard of anything like this. This seemed like nothing more than a stupid mishap that could have been avoided by use of a coaster. "How is this possible" she mumbled.
The more she closely looked at the stain the more she noticed the shapes and varying degrees of shading. She could see very clearly her own house, the trees in the yard and the walk leading up to the side yard. It is amazing, she couldn't believe the detail.
She could see what she believed to be timelines. There was a distinct difference between past and future. Following the curvature of the ring she tried hard to figure out what she might expect in the weeks to come.
She thought she could see the family car but it wasn't alone. There were several cars lined up and she could see the church at the end of town. Was this a funeral she was seeing? Was someone going to die? Immediately she began to think of family and friends. Who was sick? Who was in the hospital? She found herself getting all worked up just thinking about it.
She reached over and clicked off the light. "I can't do this, she snapped, just clean it up."
Over time, as various members of the family and close friends heard about the stain, they came to look at it, to see it for themselves. What each one saw was as different as their description of the gypsy.
Randy was sure he saw someone falling from a roller-coaster, while Linda, when looking at the stain left by the mug, got overwhelming jitters, so much so that she jumped back. It wasn't fear. As she described it, she just suddenly became very nervous, anxious - as if something was about to happen.
The events that happened that year were chronicled in the local paper. Although there was never a mention of the gypsy woman who had paid them a visit, each sad and unfortunate event with various family members became news.
Just prior to the estate sale the housekeeper was asked if there was anything from the house she wished to have. Although the family had always been very good to her and she missed them as if they were her own family, she made it quite clear there was nothing from the home she wanted. She went as far as to suggest the house had been cursed.
Most things sold over the three day sale, and some of the furniture changed hands over the year. The small table with the stain ended up at Fragments, an antique store. It was purchased in a bulk order and now sat quietly along the aisle with several odd lamps and ceramic vases.
The stain on the tabletop was now somewhat faded but was still visible. The price tag said it had been marked down from $350.00 to $210.00
The old woman running the antique shop seemed a little strange. She wore and old bandanna and a knit shawl even in summer. When I first saw her she was perched on a stool by the cash register. She was sipping an odd smelling tea. I'm not sure what it was.
The end
Zobostic Corwin
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