Punishment

I materialized in a brightly lit foyer. It was warm. I chose a hallway ahead of me and proceeded along its grey length. Closed doors were lined at regular intervals as my moccasined feet negotiated the smooth carpet. About four down on my right was an open door. I paused when I got to it. Two men dressed in white shirts and dark blue slacks sat at a long table and looked up at me. Their ties were the same blue as their slacks. I smiled. They smiled back.

I put a hand in my pocket and touched the crystal there for reassurance.

“You must be Heimlich,” said the man to my left.

I maneuvered into the room and stood, uncertain of how to proceed.

“No, I am just passing by.”

“Did Heimlich send you? We are supposed to have a meeting about the operating system.”

“You have an operating system?”

“Yes, of course. We are UNIX.”

I looked out the windows. Fog clung to everything.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have the appearance of eunuchs.”

The looked at each other with expressions somewhere between amused and alarmed. Just then, a man appeared in the doorway.

“Let’s get started,” he said briskly.

He looked at me with an aggressive question in his eyes.

“And you are…?”

“Gone,” I said and squeezed the crystal until I heard the familiar rush of time.

conference_web

timetravel

(from cosmosmagazine.com)

Posted in Consciousness, Satire, Science, Speculative Fantasy | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

How Bad it Isn’t

I touch despair
when everything I say
is trite or dark or transparent;
when everything I think
is a poster for stereotypes.

Yes, there are writing days
and there are reading days.
Even with deeply lowered expectations,
I shall escape through the magic
portal and allow my suspension
of disbelief its full reign.

Then it comes to me,
how bad it really isn’t,
how grateful I am,
how grateful I am
to contemplate having a day
doing something I truly love,
as if it were a punishment.

pages-into-birds

reading-book

Posted in Consciousness, Poem, Slice of Life, Writing | Tagged , , , | 4 Comments

The Rules

I have been told to never
open a story with weather and
I have always asked why.
Does it lead to cliché?
Sometimes my morning opens with
weather and I move through
the story of my day from that beginning.
Why can’t I use it to start
something I’m making up,
something I’m creating for my
own amusement and, if I’m fortunate,
somebody else’s amusement as well?

The answer, of course, is that
I can begin a story, poem, novel,
podcast, song, essay, rant, whatever,
with weather in any way I choose.
The only risk I run is that I
may be judged as an incompetent amateur
by those who love to judge,
who are affronted by my demonstrated
ignorance of The Rules.
“It was a dark and stormy night.”
“The soft damp ground was damp and soft.”
“The wave separated her bathing and birthday suits.”

Okay. I get it. Sort of.
To paraphrase Aldous Huxley,
The Rules are a frame of reference to
conform to or depart from.
I prefer to think of them as suggestions
that can help us navigate the tricky
currents that mask imagination.
The Rules are everywhere,
in writing, in music, in society,
even in our own iconoclastic hearts.
Yes, we all have our own Rules.
It takes courage to both follow and ignore.

breaking-rulesbreak2

(glasses from peakofmind.com; boy from takebetterphotosnow.com)

Posted in Conversation, memory, Morning, Poem, Writing | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

The Rest of the Way

(Note: this is a Lai poetry form. Like most of us, I’m stumbling along, trying to find my glasses.–jrs)

There comes a time to round the bend
and head for home to grudgingly contend
with chores undone and animals to feed.
Beneath that weight gratitude I send,
which covers the cost of the life I spend.
It is a call I gladly heed.
As I follow the rest of my path here I intend
to have my name be known as a friend,
whose help at trouble is guaranteed.

leaf-removal-feature

friendship-images-pictures

Posted in Friendship, Poem, Slice of Life | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

Excellence Looking for a Home

Felma Sashay moved about the plaza with her uncommon grace capturing every gaze she passed. He rich brown hair swept down from her smooth brown shoulders and barely whisked the tops of the milkshake cups strapped to her ample hips. The people she passed would smile knowingly and ask: “Vanilla? Chocolate? Pineapple?”

Felma would smile back. “Order one and find out,” she’d say in her husky contralto.

Invariably, they would march down to Ebig’s Cold and Frothy Stuff and order up a milkshake. Not just any milkshake, but one actually shaken with the motion of Felma’s famous hips as she pursued errands for Ebig and the folks at the shop. Regulars claimed that the shakes from Felma’s hips were frothier, thicker, and sweeter than those from the conventional machine.

Part of the deal, of course, was that you got to follow her around and watch your milkshake come to life. Sales to women were understandably slow, but Ebig didn’t care much about that. He was working on an idea that involved transducing the energy projected from a Giles Croonboom concert into the same shaking motion provided by Felma’s hips. He figured that would probably balance out his clientele.

Felma chocolate and strawberry milkshake

Posted in Absurd fantasy, Satire, Sex, Slice of Life, walking | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

Haiku–The Waiting Game

Awaiting the sun,
the one that presses warmly
against this winter.

patio snow

(from okcfox.com)

Posted in Uncategorized | 3 Comments

Haiku–Bow of the Lower-48 Ship

I live in a sog,
not a bog, clog, or blog, but
rain from Hawaii.

Landry_Robert_Hawaiian_Rain sea squall

(Hawiian rain painting from bbhgallery.com; squall from livescience.com)

Posted in Haiku, Oregon, Poem | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

I just distributed my music through TuneCore – available soon in stores!

I just distributed my music through TuneCore – available soon in stores!.

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The Writings of Ya Hu

(Note: and now for something completely different, in honor of Valentine’s Day.–jrs)

The fuzzy rub of hair against the soft skin of his buttocks excited him as he straddled her hips. Her interest grew as he grew, each millimeter of extension was reflected in her eyes as she watched. His fingers, with the tiniest tremor, smoothed the creases left in her skin along the line of ribcage that swelled to breast. The deflated cups of her brassiere, the mammary boa of western culture, lay limp at the silky sides of her exultance. He could hear them singing.

“Free at last, free at last, great godamighty, we’re free at last.”

He knew the tune and bent closer to add some harmony.

It came into his mouth like the wedding of a ripe strawberry and a most tender scallop, tasting of a jasmine sea. His tongue flashed while his thumb found the twin sister, who was craning eagerly from her round perch as if to watch. His tongue flashed again and the toes, long bored and cramped, woke up and curled, sending messages of surrender to the legs, which fell every so slightly apart.

dolphin-animal-beautiful-beauty-clouds-dolphin-dolphins-gloden-lovely-mammal-nature-ocean-peaceful-photography-pretty-rays-reflection-sea-silhouette-sky-splendor-sun-sunlight-su heart shadow

(dolphin from wallpaperisus.com; shadow from loveiseverywhereblog.com)

Posted in eroticism, Sex, Slice of Life | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

A Question for Cheryl

I should have knelt
in the street,
put my head in your lap,
and let you stroke my hair.
But we didn’t know.
We were ten.

Would you have grown
into a woman who found
a cure for what killed you?
Is that why it killed you?
Would we have become
best friends again and again?

If I had known
that a lifetime later
I would still feel what I feel,
I would have knelt in the street,
put my head in your lap,
and let you stroke my hair.

cabo sunrise1

Posted in Aging, Consciousness, end-of-life, family, memory, Poem, Slice of Death | Tagged , , , , , , , | 7 Comments