The Answer was right there all along...

The jar upon the window ledge

whose lid was way too tight

securely held the mixture

and as well - let in the light

it rested on the note card

you could say, it held it down

for with the window open

the wind would blow it round

The message on the note card

was obstructed by the jar

so when you tried to read it

you didn't get too far

the message held a secret

in the secret was a clue

to why the mixture in the jar

was slowly turning blue.

Flora Mat

When I turn the final page I will lay my

naked self upon the Earth.

I'll not consider broken twigs nor

tattered leaves -

neither shall I sort philosophies or

religions.

I will simply sleep with mossy clumps

in Sun and shadow.

No longer will I be governed, judged,

questioned or classified -

I'll only sleep,

for it will truly be my final page.

Occasional rays of light may reflect

off fleeting bits of memory -

like dust particles floating in

someone else's thoughts.

I'll flicker past

and then again be gone

                                                     zobostic corwin

Backyard Observation

It is the breeze itself

that causes the tinkle of the wind chimes

and it is that same breeze

that carries the light sound across yards

and over fences -

only to then bounce around in my head.

Even should the chimes hang heavy

with dust from the field

the sound from them has been

washed clean by the summer breeze

and is completely spotless

upon my listening.

(None of this was particularly noteworthy except to mention that

after listening - Q-Tips are not required)

If ever there was a need for Paragraph Fencing

I regret that as you peruse my blog you need to furnish your own beverage.  I only mention it because most, if not all, should be read with one shirttail out and hair askew.  That is how it was written; a refreshing beverage resting upon a coaster, a small bowl of chips within reach, with only scattered bits of punctuation left from the grammar coyotes.

They came through again just moments ago.

Z. Corwin

The Biscuit Thief

 

A flock of shadows

under foot

gliding over rock and sand

 

Startled

when a sneak attack

snatched a biscuit from my hand

 

Then proud

this shadow took to sea

leaving crumbs of memories

 

 



Exhibit 5

The entire display consisted of nothing more than two brown chicken eggs and a pocket watch.  These items were sitting on a wooden stool with the area roped off to keep the general public and people like me from fussing with things.

Off to the left of the display and on our side of the rope was a wood tripod holding a sign that read - No Moving Parts. Artist: Angelia deGlazer

I stood there for some time just thinking about that.  What did it mean?  What was the artist saying?  Was she trying to say there were no longer little heart beats inside the eggs, and that even in the finest man-made items things eventually cease to function?  Did her artsy, esoteric display suggest that in nature as well as in Man, life stops?

Or was this a much simpler message, one so obvious as to allude the collective wit now standing before it?  Perhaps we were the ones now with no moving parts.  Maybe it was the intent of this exhibit to alter those viewing it.  Simply by placing something so obscure in front of a random group of on-lookers, the group dynamic would kick in and they would unwittingly become the exhibit.

No.  That couldn't possibly be it.  Maybe I was missing the bigger picture.  I took a few steps back.  I wanted to take in the entire display, wall to wall, top to bottom.  After a very few minutes the others who had been studying this setting gave up and wandered off to the next exhibit.

Now my view was completely unobstructed.  I could see the left-hand wall, the complete right side and everything displayed.  It didn't help.  The longer I looked at it the dumber I felt for not getting it.

A gallery worker came up from my left side.  He was wearing a tee shirt that said, STAFF, and he had a small two-way radio clipped to his belt.  As he stepped over the rope and into the display he unclipped the radio from his belt and spoke into it.

"You're right, Larry.  Exhibit five is not set up yet."  He then slipped the watch into his pocket, scooped up the two eggs and grabbed the stool with his left hand.  He then stepped back over the rope and walked down the hall.  "I'm going to take my lunch break.  Holler if you need me."






I glanced down at my watch, hoping it was time for Happy Hour.

Tid Bits

 

 

My icebox hums

as it does toil

it strains to fight

the wars of spoil.

 

 

- - - - -

 

An artist talent

I haven't that

I can't draw whiskers

on a cat

 

although I can

imagine that.

 

 

- - - - -

 

 

 

Insomnia comes

I'll write a sonnet

 

Oh where to start

perhaps sleep on it.