I cut myself shaving
and ended up dead,
an unfortunate slip
cut off my head.
No time to worry –
no need to be brave,
Who knew it would end,
as I stood there to shave.
At my funeral friends gathered
some giggled, I’m told –
“He had a good life,
he was already old.”
Closed coffin it was,
as some thought it weird –
that half of my face
still had a beard.
Things mechanical
boggles my mind,
which way to tighten,
which to unwind?
Is it all under pressure,
is everything tight?
Does it flow to the left -
does it light up at night?
Will it move if I push it,
when it's done will it beep?
If I breathe the exhaust
will it put me to sleep?
Are there colors to choose from
or is purple the one?
Is this thing a trigger,
like I'd find on a gun?
And what of this button?
be sure to stand clear,
should anything happen...
If this were the only item left of our civilization, what
could be said of people?
They made things of wood and glass.
They kept secrets, so they closed doors.
They were not always up-front about things, so they frosted
the glass.
They establish barriers and boundaries.
Every other day he would spend a
good half hour polishing his shoes. He
would brush them clean, wipe them with a clean, dry cloth, and then meticulously
apply the polish. They always looked
perfect when he was done, except for the heals.
He never did the backs of his shoes because he never saw them when he
looked down. It was just the way he was.
His shop on Main Street was the
same way. He paid a local company to
wash the storefront windows once a week.
He had an expensive front door installed when he first purchased the
place and paid a professional to paint the lettering on the entrance. He even handpicked a sparkling glass doorknob. He felt it gave an old-fashioned look to the
place, like it had been there for years.
You could see him out front in
the early hours, sweeping the sidewalk and checking for litter. Then he would stand out in the street and just
smile at his storefront. It was always
perfect, at least the part he saw.
Anyone who wasn’t lucky enough to get one of the few parking spots had
to park along the side streets and walk back to Main. That’s when the heal of his shoe became
visible. The back of his shop that he always left unattended.
I hate to shave
don't want a beard,
not very brave -
all quite weird,
blades - so sharp
could cut the night,
playing harp
if not done right
shave creams cold
water's hot,
whiskers evil -
kind of plot,
day to day
just the same,
scrape away
then down the drain,
with me in charge
be just one beard
a jolly man
eight reindeer,
snow for Christmas
would be my pick,
jolly Santa
the only Nick.
Welcome to Zobostic Left 2
Write. I just saw your country on the
travel channel. Wow! I had no idea it was so impressive over
there. Around here is nothing at all
like anything over there. We do not have
amazing buildings, grand fountains or any kind of public transportation.
Most of the things you see on the
news about us are true. There are nut
jobs with guns, insane politicians, terrible roads, boring cars and
over-priced tennis shoes, which they now call running shoes. On a personal note, I have never seen them
run. I even tried on a pair in the
store, tied them onto my feet and nothing happened. I just sort of stood there. What a scam.
Anyway, because I have watched a
great number of you clicking on my blog, I thought I should pop in and say, “Hi.”
Thanks for reading my gibberish. I hope you appreciate the absence of advertising. I am not a fan of having ads pop-up all the time. It’s just annoying and doesn’t convince me to buy anything, especially scammy shoes.
Feel free to write back or leave comments on the posts.
Zobostic Corwin
There was light in the center of
the room, but not from a lamp, candle or flashlight. There didn’t appear to be a source. It was simply emanating from thin air. Not from a window or skylight, but just
glowing from nothing. I didn’t understand
how it was possible.
I will add to this post as I
figure it out.
(If I figure it out)
Scarfing up the brittle winds
with mitten covered hands
Piling drifts of winter thoughts
north of sunbaked lands,
Another season blows in me
while ovens cook the meals
Peering through the frosted glass
knowing how it feels.
Time, it gets inside of me
grows silent in the snow
Just wrap me up in muffins
I’ll take a few to go.
Selling protection was a racket. The weak were subjected to their threats and
intimidation. Today, they are the greedy
rich. If you don’t want this constant
bombardment of advertising, you need to pay us more.
“But we already pay for this.”
Too bad, now we want more.
They’re still thugs.
He is someone you would have
enjoyed meeting. He is a good man. He is a husband, a father, an uncle and a
friend. He has worked hard and achieved much. He rakes his leaves, shovels his snow and is
always ready to help someone else. He
has always done the right thing. He is
both smart and wise, without being a show-off or know-it-all. He is one of those people who, after you’ve
met him, you are happier for knowing him.
Should you see him at the
hardware, or supermarket, say, “Hi.”
By the way, he doesn’t know I put him on my blog. He’ll wonder who
all these strangers are saying hi to him.
Someone’s knocking is the ring
tone I have set on my phone. When it
rings it is usually my neighbor across the street wanting to remind me to set
my trash out on trash day. Or it could
be my neighbor across the street letting me know that my garage door is open,
and did I know that?
I automatically know it isn’t a
friend calling. They don’t. It’s not a relative, they never do
either. Once in a while it is the doctor’s
office reminding me, I have an appointment and to press 1 to confirm, 2 to cancel.
I’m spending so much a month on
this phone and now I’m beginning to question why. I know when trash day is and if I have my
garage door open, it is for a reason.
Maybe life would be quiet and
peaceful without someone knocking. If I
didn’t have this phone – nothing would happen, except less money would be
coming out of my account each month. The
phone company wouldn’t miss me, they’d still have you paying them. My neighbor across the street could easily
walk over and say, “Do you know your garage door is open?” Although I’d feel bad if when crossing the
street he was hit by the trash truck.
Maybe I better keep it.
There were many of them flying overhead,
over rooftops and across the vacant lots.
Seemingly uncaring -
that I, here anchored in shoes
seeing the underside of their wings,
feeling the same breeze –
knowing at any moment they’ll be gone,
can only imagine flight.
I saw in a graveyard
carved of marble and stone,
Angels complete with
wings
they couldn't possibly fly.
Given what I know
of gravity
and the weight of death -
I wondered.
Iron fences
rusting gates,
I, laying here
in a tangle of roots.
Who has
come here before?
I saw in a graveyard
flowers left
widows and siblings.
So where are the angels
halos and wings
not of cement
but heavenly spirits
to carry me far
beyond the falling
acorns.
Then suddenly playtime was over
The alligator bit down on her
arm. The pain was excruciating and then
some. Just a moment before he dragged
her under the water, she took a big gulp of air. She thought if she could play dead long
enough, the thing would let go of her arm.
This was a lesson in how to build a spoiler-alert into the title of your story.
Side note: 1
Going down with the ship doesn’t make you a hero. It only makes you dead.
Side note: 2
Being the last to know simply means you’re not the friend you
thought you were.
Side note: 3
Whether or not you leave food on your plate has no effect on the starving children overseas.
Side note: 4
Taking one for the team.
The team doesn’t care, if they did, they wouldn’t have put you in that
position.
Side note: 5
Each and every time someone says, “Here, smell this, or here,
taste this.” Just go ahead and assume it’s
bad.
Side note: 6
The headlines on the internet are designed to make you click
on them. If the story was real, you
would have already heard about it.
Side note: 7
Stay out of the ocean and you won’t be attacked by a shark. To avoid earthquakes, volcanoes, hurricanes,
raging fires, floods and tornadoes, move someplace else.
And finally:
Never look to a blog for sound advice.
An old
mirror hangs at the end of a hallway.
Very few who walked past it ever pay much attention to it. There is nothing fancy about the frame and
the lighting in the hall is not that inviting, or flattering.
The ones that actually take notice of the mirror see instantly what it is and are either intrigued by it
or frightened. Reflections in the mirror are not in the present. Everyone
standing directly in front of it is reflected as they will look in the future.
It isn’t known exactly how far
into the future the reflections are, but if you do not appear in the
reflection, it is because you will no longer be around. The few aware of the mirror’s power do not
want to know if they’ll be dead, so they always avoid looking into it, or even
talking about it.
I heard about it from a
co-worker. She seemed to think it was
some trick the building manager has set up, so she treats it like it is a
joke. I don’t know one way or the other
but still wanted a picture of it for my blog, so I stood off to the side and
snapped this photograph. If it is, in
fact, some computer trick, it is a good one.
I see them in the early morning,
tugging their humans along on a leash.
Some happy to be once again outside, while others still in the throws of
waking up. The older ones walking
quietly, too early for socializing, the young ones barking hello to everyone
they see, almost dragging their humans to hurry.
I, with my coffee, inside, warm
and quiet, type this for you to read at this moment. I wonder what your view is. Do you have a window? Are you seeing life outside.
And what of trees? Have you a forest, alive with wild things,
sounds and perhaps mysteries? Should you
ever hunt for mysteries, you need but look to the shadows. They are there, trust me. Never obvious, they tend to lurk. They are without wings, but teeth for sure.
The humans feel mostly safe, tethered
to their walkers.
I can show you this much
only. Nothing in this picture is proprietary,
although I did have to sign a waiver stating I am not in competition with them
and am not associated with anyone or any company that is.
Here is the part you may find
hard to believe, I know I did, but then I saw it for myself. There are no fluids within the working
mechanism. The entire thing runs on
chocolate. Yes, a simple chocolate bar
can run this for an entire month. It
leaves no byproduct, no exhaust, fumes or identifying markers.
By looking at this section, you
might think the entire thing is quite simplistic. Truth is, if you were to see other parts of
this, you’d wonder what kind of brain power thought this up? Surely, not just one person, and yet – it was.
When fully operational, it works
to voice commands, and the spoken language makes no difference. Once this is released to the public, you’ll
understand why there is such tight security around it. Just try not to judge it by this
picture. It’s all I can get for now.
I suppose I could have been born a frog, destined to sit in a
swamp, eating bugs, knowing some day I was going to croak.
A couple first responders indicated they might risk making a beer run. (Reportedly friends of Larry)
It was a fairly nice morning, so
she carried the laundry basket out to the backyard. She liked hanging the clothes on the line instead of using the electric dryer. She
felt they dried with a certain freshness to them that the drier didn’t provide.
One by one she took a wooden clothespin
from the pocket of her apron, and with that familiar squeak, pressed them
onto the line, securing each garment in place.
The breeze would take care of the rest.
Having completed one row, she
turned to pull the laundry basket over a little closer to the next, that’s when
she noticed a rather large racoon standing next to the basket, his front feet
on the edge of the basket, as he leaned in to sniff the clothes.
She didn’t want to reach down to
pluck a skirt from the basket, as that might startle the thing, but she also
didn’t want it jumping in, on top of the clean, damp clothes. It didn’t appear dirty, but who knew what
creepy little bugs were on that thing?
As she tried to scare it away
with her words, the clothesline she had just loaded began to bounce. She looked at the clothes now bouncing up and
down and she followed the line with her eyes.
A second racoon was sitting on the top of the clothes pole and testing
the line to see if it would hold him.
“No!” she yelled, but the animal
didn’t even bother to look up at her.
For some odd reason, it felt it needed to walk across the clothesline. She couldn’t figure why these things were
suddenly so inquisitive about her laundry, and they sure weren’t bothered by
her being right there.
The movement of the basket
brushed against her leg. She looked back
down just as the third baby racoon was climbing into the clothes basket. Now, for sure, she knew she couldn’t snatch the basket up. The mother would
surely fight to protect her young ones.
Maybe it was the scent of the
detergent that had attracted them.
Nothing like this had happened before.
She knew for sure that now she would have to wash them all over again,
and that was not something she was looking forward to. Behind her she could hear a car coming down
the dirt road. All her neighbors knew to
drive slowly whenever they noticed laundry out on the line, in order to keep the
dust down.
Mrs. Gregory slowed to a stop and
stared at her neighbor surrounded by racoons.
Her mouth hung open. She couldn’t
believe what she was seeing. They were
in her laundry basket, climbing along the line and sitting on top of the
clothes pole. She rolled her window down
and yelled, “You really should get an electric drier, my dear.” then rolled her
window back up and drove off down the road.
