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Forgotten Chair

Once, when crossing my room

A twinge - of impending doom

In the dark I don’t see

What’s in front of me -

So I stop - then slowly resume.

 

Was that just a snore that I heard?

She claims that she don’t – that’s absurd

To my left is the door

Just a little bit more

But a chair got in the last word.

 

Oh what can you stub but a toe?

The pain such a long way to go

it zips up your leg

Goes around Winnipeg

And comes out of your mouth

as an OH!

 

zc
 



The Tractor Beam

To them it was a mighty ship.  With their young imaginations they quickly envisioned its many missions across the galaxy.  They pictured it once having massive battle guns mounted along its sides and winning battle after battle with them in charge.

As they took turns sitting in the Captain’s seat they would close their eyes and see the stars and planets whizzing past.  They were at light speed and could almost feel the mighty ship shake from the stress.

Of course there were dents and bruises here and there; battle scars from their many adventures, but their faith in the old ship was strong and she had never failed them.

Maybe one day they would fix her dents and replace her paint but that would have to have approval from Starfleet. 

 

  

 

 

and lately Starfleet had been in a mood.

Communication - Here & Hereafter

I have noticed long stretches of time when there are no squirrels, chipmunks or birds at my backyard feeders.  I always wonder what’s taking place at those times.  Is it something that’s communicated and agreed upon between the critters?  Is it weather related?  Perhaps they’re like my cat and are simply boycotting the fact that I bought food that was on sale.

I find it quite curious and it seems to highlight just how much I don’t know about nature.  We know that birds understand bird communication and bugs understand bug communication, but are there really hard and fast lines drawn between species when it comes to talking?

This whole thought process comes at a time when I have just immersed myself in the Catlin Doughty book, Smoke Gets in Your Eyes, and followed that up with the John Edward book, Crossing Over.

As of today I’m not 100% sold on the idea of being able to communicate with the hereafter.  I find it an enjoyable topic, I guess because it isn’t something I have experienced first-hand, although I have had a few experiences I cannot explain. 

It just seems that the communication line drawn between us and the dearly departed is not moveable or up for discussion.  It’s there and most of us don’t get to cross it. 

I’m not ruling out the possibility that those in the hereafter are getting fresher and tastier snacks and we’re not supposed to know it, much like the squirrels, chipmunks and birds eating the good stuff over in my neighbor's yard.

Maybe we, the living, are being fed the older bread that's been cast upon the water.

Ralph’s 3.18

 

 

 

 

 

I'm just asking...

Why isn’t this considered price fixing?

One week Coke is on sale - then the following week Pepsi is on sale.  They alternate every week throughout the year.

Why isn’t this considered price fixing?

Escaping The City

In a voice no louder than this

she listened in hopes of a clue –

                                                                                               

In the darkness a dangerous tryst                                                

she saw nothing and knew what to do.

 

Armed with forth-right intent

to the edge of the lake did she go –

 

Leaving prints of which way she went

so those who were looking would know.

 

Climbing into the boat that was docked

she quietly pushed from the shore –

 

Ever gently the boat and her rocked

as she paddled away with an oar.

 

To the top of the valley on foot –

she climbed with a stick and a cap,

 

Was there nothing with up she would put

exhausted, she took a short nap.

 

The night sky exploded with stars –

the silence was deafening too,

 

Except for the bugs not in jars –

and snorts from those passing through.

 

Far from the city she grinned

no neighbors, no problems abound –

 

Though the air was remarkably thin -

and not good for sleeping – the ground.

 

All cranky and soggy with dew –

at dawn when she finally arose,

 

Clothes wrinkled and hairdo askew –

freezing right down to her toes.

 

She longed for a latte to sip –

and a muffin with strawberry jam,

 

And knew from the city she slipped –

where I belong is not where I am.

 

 zc

 

 

 

 

 

 

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