Sunday, May 24, 2015

So Sorry



The last time you held my magical thoughts...
In no mood for what you wanted me to hear.
You made one of those insipid
all encompassing statements you're famous for
With out a second thought, I said so

I am sorry for that

Now as I fidget with the medal, of your pride
A stain of angst sours in my gut, draining me,
pulling my energy from inside out.
There had to be a bit of envy, but now,
It's bronze dull, ribbon faded, meaning lost,

I am so sorry for that

With no more concern than a puppy,
you stood and performed, despite the concerns,
the rumors, the accusations.
We did not, kept our cool, dropped out.
You stood, a prideful grin, ignoring it all.

I am so sorry for that

Dust layers the memories of those times.
Most of the critical elements, forlorn
and with no more grudge than that young puppy
I extend my hand, to lay a dull medal
Where all can see that you stood strong

And I am so sorry

Saturday, February 28, 2015

Melodious Mew


I once knew a cat named Melodious Mew
Her coat she would clean till it shined just like new
Her day was spent sleeping, as much as she could
Yet, nothing would pass her constant review
Especially the dogs in the old neighborhood



Her nemesis the bloodhound was old and sprue
Famous was he for his wandering through,
Her Garden, where he'd deliver his calling card
And so she had named him, Copious Poo
And scorned such deposits in her pristine yard



Sweet little dignified Melodious Mew 
Would wait all day long for Copious Poo
To amble along all rumpled and droopy
A sniffing and drooling contented old fool
Her stealthy position, up high in the fruit tree



Then just as her target began his foul deed
She would drop on his back from where she was treed
And deliver a fright to Copious Poo
He'd dash from her garden with all of God's speed
And return to her nap, would Melodious Mew

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Butterfly Woman

Days passed on the wide prairie, the Sun pounded the tall grasses while overhead a lone cloud barely shaded a distant clutch of cottonwoods, presently the woman emerged from among the trees. She walked defiantly up the long incline, a wooden bucket handle in either hand. Water tossed by her steady movements, soaking either side of her long skirt, but gradually she made her way up the slope toward the solitary wagon. The resounding wind tugged at the canvas coverings and starlings cavorted in the tall switches of grass, bounding from one stiff blade to another, plucking the unsuspecting grass hoppers as they inched their way up the long green stems.
Reaching the wagon the woman rested against the wheel carefully avoiding the mass of brown grease at the wheels center. Her small foot raised to step up on the hub and just as directly her other foot held the hem and once up the height of such a high step her wet skirt stayed revealing her slender waist and hips to the young man beneath the wagon.
“Mercy” she exclaimed in alarm, and just that moment he looked to see those fine legs as the heavy wet skirt slide down to her ankles.
It's good... good! some help?” he asked, perceiving her discomfort.
“No , no, I don't!” she replied, stepping back down and reaching for the missing waistband. Immediately her feet tangled in the heavy cloth and she lost her balance, falling back into the tall grass.
“Josh help, help good.” the brave stated resolutely, rising and gripping her hand. He quickly lifted her to her feet. His strength was surprising to her and she landed in his arms, flustered and pleasuring at the chest muscles in her hands.
“Really, it's fine, I am good, you are good, um very fine. Yes, you are fine now?” She asked her patient. “You are much better today?” This seemed all to obvious and the morning sun blinded her eyes while she turned to cover her lower portions and pantaloons.
Injun Josh watched in confusion as she struggled to get her feet stead properly to lift and cover her embarrassment. She stepped back and turned modestly to fetch the waist hooks back into place only to find them ripped completely out and nothing to complete the clasp.
He stood confused and wondered at the discomfort of all this clothing, now he finally knew that white women had legs just like his kind. All this confused him, since his fever came upon him he had suffered in the hot days and nights in barely a loin cloth, and she suffered in these long hot hip blankets and blouses over corsets.
“Leave!” he said, pointing to the wrap. “So hot! You not need this.” a long pause passed between them as she gathered he might be right. He looked in her face and she knew he was right. Silently she went to the water bucket and washed her sweaty face, a slight discomfort passed as Injun Josh went about his business putting on his leggings, drinking from the cool water and stretching up tall to finally feel rested and alive after the fever, now searching the skyline for any cause of concern. When he turned back he caught Mrs Gillette staring at his bare back and she quickly looked to her grooming with a little blush.
“They come back now?” Josh asked in his awkward English. “It is time they be come here back?” But there was a long pause from her and he knew she was distressed at this question.
“No, Josh, not for some time now. Say, 'they will be back in three days'...” He repeated this and saw her distress. “Food is slight. I am much more hungry and you must be too.” She studied the direction of the wagon wheels and saw nothing that gave her comfort there. Immediately Josh took up his knife and turned to go.
“I am not asking you to leave, not go.” The small woman asked and went to Josh, her wet face hid a tear of her fearful state. She'd had some doubt as to what should be done for the young man, as it seemed his illness may have come on with some reason to believe he could have contracted it from her young girl at their first meeting. Scarlet fever was serious for most and worse for the natives. But once the men had left for supplies, she knew she had to remain at the wagon to try to keep the young Indian from passing on with fever. Now he was leaving her all alone in this huge flat grass land with no food or protection.
“You stay, I go...” He motioned with his hand toward his mouth, “get food” he finished. And turned to go, as a hand landed on his shoulder. He turned back to find Mrs Gillette fall into his arms, weeping and holding his arms in her cools wet hands.
“Oh, thank God!” she weep-ed at his ear and he could only hold her and patted her distressed head. There was weakness in her body and Josh knew she was suffering, weak probably from lack of food. Slowly he set her in the matted grass and she gripped his hand hesitantly. “You will return?” she asked passionately, a crack in her voice. “I shall simply die, if you fail to return to me.” In the long spells of his fever while he deliriously shivered and cried out, she bathed his dark shape in cool water and studied his good form. She had lain next to him as he shivered, his chill shook them both to the bone. Certain he was marked for death, her reservations had flown and with no medicine or anyone to see she had become enchanted with his handsome features. Now she was torn from fear of his loss and ashamed at having grown so close to the young man. 

Josh could not possibly understand what this woman was feeling, his confusion was growing with his own fascination for her cheerful voice and the box with strings she played so magically from her shoulder. He had been smitten by her early on but thought it better to make that silent in his heart.
Now he stood and lightly held her hand with both of his looking like rough dark paws. Quickly she wrapped her arms about his waist and hugged him from where she knelt, in a moment Josh took her arms from his hips and looked down into her light blue eyes, the tears shown wet in her gaze as he touched her pale cheek. She held his hand tight against her cheek, and felt his pulse pounding under his flesh. He was beginning to stroke her long curly hair as slowly a noticeable growth was swelling in his britches. She smiled and blushed with her impassioned thoughts. Tugging on his arm she pulled him onto the grassy thatch and they held tight to one another rolling into a full embrace in the throws of sighs and soft eyes holding a close gaze their minds became fixated in longing bliss.
A warm gust licked at the wet skin of their bare arms and picked and twisted at their clothes now slowly loosening and tiny buttons in fumbling fingers. His young desire was callow in her hands, gently she stroked his warm face, a butterfly landed on her bare shoulder opening and closing it's bright wings, it seemed to be curious and approving.
“You... this is your new name, what's called?”
“Butterfly?” She asked softly putting her finger near the visitor. It opened it's wings to draw in the sunshine and gently lifted to drift about their bright smiles.
“Butterfly Woman” Josh said clearly, and put a light kiss on the spot.
“Think you” She responded in her clean musical French accent, “Bootefly Wemin” her voice soft and lingering. She held his face close and gave him the longest kiss she had ever known. His hands were under her blouse holding her against his bare chest and she pulled back with a gasp. His face was full of curiosity and she knew that this was what she wanted so very badly and nothing would ever compare with what she had known with her husband. Here was a power of true passion and it gave her heart more fire than she had ever imagined possible. Slowly she slid off her shirt and unhooked the front of her bodice. The pale soft flesh of her ginger chest showed fine round breasts with small pink nipples. Josh was surprised to not see the dark brown orioles of his women, the firmness gave an inspired rise in him and tenderly his hands closed on both to find perfection in such as this touch. Her mind was spinning with anticipation as her hand caressed his back while pushing his long black hair off his face.
“The butterfly opens to the sun, I am a son...” He lowered his hand to touch her rump and indeed she opened to the son.
“Give me all your manly organ...I know it is ready for me.” As her hands explored his britches and she was not incorrect. She discovered the thing of her expectant joy and removed it for him with her gentle hands. Deliberately she made firm her grip and instantly Josh shirked with excitement and exploded into her hands. Momentarily she waited to see if what she thought, had just happened, and then she began to softly laugh to herself. He was so new to this, probably a virgin, she thought. But he looked pleased and soon he had risen back to his feet.

“Make soon food, wait you.” Josh said with a big smile and turned to go search for a good willow limb to make a rabbit snare. As he walked off disappearing into the tall grass she laughed aloud and dreamed of what she would do differently come dark.

Sunday, February 15, 2015

To see the Dark



Eyes like coal
Heart of stone
In the beginning
You think you're a god
That's what you can see
In the Dark

Till you learn
To fear not death
Mark the day
You walk the night
Stifle life and
Be the dark


Render the blood
Of the disbeliever
Teach to fear
The light,
To see
The dark

Hollow the heart
To be like a god
They who do not
Never shall dance
Till the rigor mortise 
Shall finally depart?


Tuesday, January 27, 2015

Winter Voices



Sweet,
Night's passions
Escape from the outside
Warm on the inside
Dreams for the soul.
Will hushed voices
Answer the prescient night?
Can hearts know minds,
And time become
Allied to the soul?

Bring your song to the window...
...and know the voice of the wind.

Tuesday, December 30, 2014

The Model (light erotica)




The Model

A hitchhiker stood slouching in the chilly mountain sun...his red bandanna kept the long hair from his eyes.
Distant sounds approached.......a dark green Land Rover appeared. It slowed, and stopped.
Beside the road, he waited as the passenger door slowly opened.
Knowing nothing about each other they stared at one another....a notion passed between them, he got in.
She looked over her dark glasses at him....the pause in time was broken by a slight smile which he sported with fine looking women. He took a sip of wine and offered her a taste.
Her frock was thin, a sun dress, odd attire for winter, but what was beneath was exquisite.
"I like the way the light plays with your crotch, the razor seems to be your friend?" He murmured.
"Mmmm" her pale pink lips did not part, she pulled ahead onto the road.
Walking across New Zealand he carried only a pack, and a bottle of cheap port, his mission was simple. When ever the the boundaries of the planet are erased, the image of intent is shared in many ways....as the veils of mystery descend, the valleys and mountains become all but touchable, unless we find ourselves vicariously in our own grip of touching friendship.
"I can take you down the hill..." she offered looking with the mirror, "after that, who knows?"
"That offers a glimpse of possibility." he returned, noting the outline of a firm breast glowing beneath the thin cloth, and lit by the morning sun..."it's fine."
"Sort of hehe. You like the play of light?" she flirted, sneaking a glimpse of his whiskered chin, and drinking in a little of his arm muscles as he rolled a sleeve back up, downing another swig.
"I like the play of touch, and how the one hand will caress the invisible," he returned in a slow hesitating voice, calm and melodic with assurance.
"You some sort of poet?" she quizzed, lifting her arm slightly, allowing his view a bit of side breast.
"Actually I am, among other things..." he returned and noticeable studied the pale flesh that revealed no under things..." and you are?"
"A life model, on my way to art class, so I dress light, does my attire suite you?"
"It does, very much....." his warm hand was into her back now and while he studied her flexing lips, she managed the road and still held eye contact with him in the mirror, their gaze hypnotic.
Softly he knew the length of her nails by simple impression her loose hand made on his fore arm, as he located the details of her spine his fingers hot with desire.
A small nipple peeked at his gaze knowing him through the gauzy shift, chilly with excitement, and the feel of anothers purview, it tingled at the knowledge of being touched by sight......as did the man who has been seen for the first time, his member being gathered from it's hiding place by a free hand, exalted at the very touch of a new friend.
"I crossed ten thousand miles searching for one good smile" The poet sighed.
"Mmmm. This feels like poetry to me...." Her eye lapsed from the road to observe an alert reaction. "A +, from this teacher. Ummmm." And rewarded herself with a ten thousand mile sigh..."beautiful!"
In one emotion she said a mouthful, and his sigh could be heard from a thousand miles away
One slight finger could know more in a moment than an entire book could relay in 500 pages...the slightest touch sent sensations down to her toes as he tweaked a nipple and found a slight fold that brought her backside off the seat for a minute as her hand dove into his privates for introduction.
"Hello, stranger...wanna give it a go?" his hand slid along her tingling thigh to mingle along the warm folds that wakened quickly with his curious touch.
"Oh you are good" she purred and clasped the tightly pulsing extension of his yearning groin.
Warm sun light shown brightly, all the reasons two people need to feel their long distance touch, it cast a shadow in all the right places...where only touch was required. Still gazing with each other through the rear view mirror, the breasts show nipples proud, the sun shown directly through fine fabric as one grateful breast winked to the other...you're next sister....
"I had hoped to meet the locals...." he sighed and lifted the hem to view a throbbing pink button, expecting his whetted finger tip but longing for a few miles more. Pressing long and drawing back sharply, the delay and then lifting held a controlled force inside his middle that shot forces into his senses like a delayed sensation of yearning and delight all brought to bear in tense powerful triumph.
"Um (blushing scarlet) I have...come to conclusion shall we say..." she gasped, one hand glued to the wheel, sighing back into the seat and noting a speed of great excess. Easing off the gas she strummed more quickly and just with a sideways glance got the results pulsing and flowing over Mr. Johnson's red swollen head and heard a long grateful gasp and a shudder in fingers that could be felt deep inside her. Tiny circles danced round her sweet pink delights, as the tip of his tongue found a salty reward from fine firm globes where sensations, bounded on soft touch, a twist, a hot breath and wet powerful sucking.
"This is where I pull in" she announced almost apologetically. She smiled as he gathered himself in buttons and wiping with his red bandanna, she slipped her shift back into place.
"Guess what?" he asked as casually as you please, "I got my Birthday wish"
"What's that, a ride from a stranger?" she smiled broadly and checked her hair in the mirror.
"No, I got to have a dress up birthday experience without going down under.... and some writing material. So when is yours?"
"Never mind mine, it is still your day!" She smiled back and as he closed the door she picked up enough frock to show him the pink icing on her cake. :-) 



Wednesday, December 10, 2014

Mutual Inhabitants






Winter bids its minor birds
To sing at my window

Their stilted song
Cuts through the pane

Grateful for my unruly
Thatch of vines

We turn against the cold
Braced in our solace

Mutual inhabitants of a
Poorly constructed life

Wednesday, November 26, 2014

Tribal Thunder


Travails outlast the frosty dawn
Infused with cold your heart beats on
Through retched ice and snow
On raged feet you feebly go

Hold true! Go fast! Look not back!
The spirits lift your eyes, down cast

Return a while, in stillness lay
You hold within your hearts convey
A store of wonder, knowledge true
Deny it not, somehow, you knew

Hold true! Go fast! Look not back!
The spirits lift your eyes, down cast

Your journey long, a past you shed
Far more in wonder looms ahead
Unleash your soul to wander on
Study not how things have gone

Arch high thy spirit to the sky
Shed mind and body, alight and fly
The beating chant, allures your soul
A tribal thunder your ears console

Pull back no more, go on, live pure
Ahead the sky breaks dawn azure
You can't imagine what will be
At peace to stride the grassy sea

Sunday, November 9, 2014

My Summer Breeze






courtesy photo; Salento's Light



You are my Summer breeze
Whispering down
Into my thoughts

Softly caressing my stoic face
Chasing my emotions,
My troubles my pains, away

Departing the brutal air
Flicking playfully with my shirt
Nudging me softly on

Tenderly lifting me
To dance away
Cooley, embracingly light

So slightly you breeze through
My Summer night
Leaving me calm and rested

Monday, October 20, 2014




She Wore a Big Pistola
and hardly shirked a chore
but once we tried her cooking
t'was none went back fer more

Her answers mean as horse whips,
when talk was loud and raucous,
and the bottle passing round...
No man she could not out cuss.

She Wore a Big Pistola,
her aim was always true.
No critter suffered by her,
it's head be shot clean through.

Her station to all was common,
rough as a curly haired mule.
But when we finally laid her deep,
seems Julius had been a Jewel.

Oooh my!

Friday, June 27, 2014

Take Me There!



Take Me There!


Are there cool mountain streams
That only you know?
Take me there!

Do the colors in your mind
Release the sensations of hot and cold together?
Take me there!

Is the road you seek
Full of pleasurable curves and bumps?
Take me there!

Will you lick the blade
Searching out all the juices?
Take me there!

Is there a point where your heat
Is almost scalding?
Take me there!

When reaching the summit
Is it about conquest?
Or, how you take me there too?



Inspired by the photographic work, here, and with the permission of  Jeff Dotson http://bit.ly/1poiJ7R


Wednesday, June 11, 2014

You of Golden Minds



Hasten down, all you of golden minds
Young or worldly, true and comely chaste
Brightly rise, swiftly step and hasten hence.

Prick up your spirits, leave your dullness behind
Out of the brightly lit, merry fete of Spring,
Cast off all that hinders your supplicant will.

Twirl and lively dance to sing and shout,
Mid wine inspired jubilation of festival.
Chirp the bird, cry the wolf and hoo the owl.

For upon the humbled visage of my soul,
Do invite all who wish to see and speak the voice,
For she is here, to hold our hearts and cheer thy soul.

Greet Summer's dawn and Winter's gone,
A hearty price was paid, anon call in the glade,
Now roar and sleep no more, till Winter's door,
We curse once more.


Monday, June 2, 2014

Laws of Attraction





Can the energy of a star
not have need of a moon?
Hold me in your orbit
So I can be your satellite.


Light me with your star shine
When the blackest coldest space
Would wreck my dreary course
Hold me in your laws of attraction.


Eclipse me in your heavenly face
Spin me round your distant body
Hold me in a planetary ballet
Twirling, dancing, shining, endlessly



Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Be, in my Heart


Be, the repetition of my heart
Beating like the pendulum of the universe
Deep and secretive
Wide with cool pond scents

Be, the repetition in my heart
To echo into all the emptiness
Like a sweet soft chiming bell
Deeply, clear softly ringing

Again, again and again....


Sunday, May 18, 2014

Never be my Sin



Never pine for my smile
It's there in your dreams

Never sing out my name
I hear it in your pulse

Never ask for my touch
You're holding me now

Never cry at my words
Till we breath them together

Never wait for my kiss
You've stolen it yesterday

Never wait by your door
I'm already there

Never ask for my heart
You own it right now

Never be my Sin

When you're my Salvation

Monday, May 12, 2014

A Gentle Rain




Can a single tear
the pain of which
A gentle rain define?

Will light and sound
refrain for those
who wait for sun to shine?

Once slowly spilled
of misty eye
and hearts as good as thine,

Come older days
when drops do fall
we'll shelter, yours and mine

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

the bashful breast






She sat in the window seat watching the luggage handlers prepare the storage compartments for take-off. The other seats were empty and I saw her big smile light up as I passed, headed for row 22 A , which was just beside her as I discovered, sliding into the middle chair so as to benefit my ability to check out her charming profile from across the aisle.

Her brown hair was tied in a ponytail and her slim fitting jeans revealed a trim figure in a knit shirt that showed a gently curving figure and fine featured face of a Caucasian in her mid twenties. Once more she glanced my way and smiled wide with a genuine sincerity that begged a reply. I touched my tweed hat with my finger and replied with a slight nod as would be expected of an English gentleman from the country.

Going to the states?” she quipped in a slightly Southern accent. Right away I noticed the small flight bag at her feet and concluded she had some affiliation with the airlines.

I am, business with a little pleasure mixed in.” I indicated the valise I had begun to open and just then a brochure flitted out from within. It landed on her flight bag and as she quickly bent to retrieve it, hesitating a moment to study the copy on the page, her top gaped open revealing a soft perfectly shaped breast and mellow pink nipple smiled back at me. I was so surprised and delighted at this event that as she straightened up she actually caught me looking and noted my delight, I was sure. A blush came over her and I instantly apologized for the inconvenience and she continued to smile handing the pamphlet back. The gesture was that of a very sprite young lady with good agility and I noted her long slender fingers were finely shaped and modestly manicured.

Oh sorry!” I stammered embarrassed at being caught, but she just smiled all the broader and seemed to linger in the moment of our hands on the paper. I now blushed and felt a chill of excitement course through me that tweaked down into my groin like I was a callow sixth grader again.

That's my Country Club.” She commented and leaned forward onto the armrest to tap her finger on the page. Once again I saw her bashful breast and this time it was long and full with obvious intentions. Now she had me and I was speechless at her generosity. Since my wife had passed last year I had been without the generosity of any woman and as I was nearly sixty then, felt most elated at her seeming interest in a gent such as I.

You really will enjoy the links there, if you play?” she asked with a coy emphasis on the 'play' aspect of her comment. “There is a steep fee for visitors, but I could let you through as a guest...if you like?”

I do like, very much” I returned, a little flirtatiously.
Well you will have to give me your hotel information and I will see if I can fit you in...” She answered back and knowingly straightened back up, a big smile showed on her face and she continued, “here we go!” as the plane engines responded to the pilot and the vibrations shivered through my shoes into my legs and produced a curious tingling sensation as the machine eased forward and we snapped our belts. My groin ached in delight as a protrusion there slowly diminished but not without her gentle glance and slight wink.

Once in the air she shared that she was employed with the airline as I had suspected and was returning from a side trip to England. This was a lightly filled plane and back where we sat there were no others to interfere and right away she invited me to share the seat beside her. We had a drink and tasted each others wine, her Chablis was much nicer than the white I had and that got us chatting about each other. Eventually she revealed that she had been in the UK to break her engagement to her long time boyfriend since her stewardess roommate had noticed him out on the town with several women. Her trip was unannounced and had caught him right in the sack with the “some little perv” so that was all she needed to toss his ring in his face and take to the country to sulk and find the strength to go on and not look back.

You are very independent for your age, I would not have expected such forthrightness from my generation.” I complimented, “my late wife would have grieved for years I expect.”
Oh, so you are widowed, I wondered about the ring...” She glanced at my hand and smiled her electric grin. “I just supposed you were extra frisky.” Then she looked out into the evening sky and her hand gently dropped onto mine. We sat that way a long while, quietly enjoying the fascinating possibilities that simmered in our minds.


Later as the darkness in-shadowed the back rows of the plane our touch became more curious with those unfamiliar areas of intimate touching and soft lips for quiet acquaintances. Her brown eyes were sleepy and the mood left us nodding and holding together as heads rested on shoulders and her soft palm held my arm as my hand gently cupped her bashful breast.

( a steamier version is available on request, sign up to be notified of subsequent additions to this tale)

Saturday, February 22, 2014

Garden of No Return




There was a time when sitting and whittling on a stick was just a way to pass time for small town America. For old Toby and me, we did just that, on a daily basis. I was only four years old and Toby was eighty-one years my senior. He had the curmudgeon thing in spades and in between long deep gasps for air, he let out irregular long guttural exhalations, intended to shock and scare off any who might have achieved even a minor level of comfort in his outdoor domain. It worked well on newcomers, the faint of heart and any unsuspecting crows that had recently landed in his garden. 

"Ah...whee...ah...whee...PHAAAAAW!" and then he'd spit, about seven yards, or right at your foot if he was of a mind. Toby was a mouth breather and his chin carried a good six-day growth. Tall and lean his frame supported him adequately with the aid of a hefty cane, which he enjoyed thumping, loudly, near his chair. Then he would go back to his morning coffee, examine the paper for suspicious doings while listening to the farm report coming from the old Bakelite radio perched above the tool rack in his musty old garage. The air was sweet with apple blossoms, the wind drifted through his collection of fishing lures that hung above his bench, waiting for paint or eyes or hooks as the case may be, and I was amazed. Amazed at the world of an old man who had out lived the horse and plow, but refused to stop being a farmer, even right in the middle of town. I was amazed that he had such a large garden and kept chickens too. 

We had just moved in next door, and filled the little house with my folks, two older sisters, an older brother, a younger sister, a new baby brother and one dog, Lady. She had been named for lady in 'Lady and the Tramp' a popular feature cartoon. My sisters identified with the main character for the name but our dog looked nothing like the one in the cartoon. Our Lady was a big Labrador Retriever. She had not turned out to be the hunting dog my dad had envisioned when he took her out to be 'trained'. What he found he had in her case was a gun coward. He pulled her out from under the car, drove her home and resigned her to family pet. Now while I waited for my siblings to return home from school, we spent the long days together, Lady and me and old Toby.

I had been well received at our old place by Pinky, the neighborhood street chap, and all around bad influence. As well gentle old Mrs. Prentice who, my dad confirmed to be, not a bad influence on me. Her love of pansies and gazing balls had him suspect as to what might be the result of that association, so now he was content for me to spend my long days with the codger in bib overalls and refined spitting techniques.

Each morning started with us seated below the shady apple tree, surveying the garden with it''s tall fence. The radio in the garage would sing out the latest market reports. Toby whittled and painted his fishing lures between occasional weeding. I retrieved the morning paper from where it arrived on the drive with a loud thump. Lady would roll in the dirt, nipping at flies while Mrs. Rubes brought tall glasses of lemonade from the kitchen. Life was good. 

Although Toby tolerated my stories and answered all my millions of questions with his routine loud "Phaaaaw!" He would have preferred to be been shed of me, had it not been for Mrs. Rubes. Her kind words had him at a loss to do anything but sit and wait for me to go in for lunch or my nap so he could cuss and spit with impunity.

Toby's garden had a ten-foot tall fence that circled the potatoes, melons, sweet corn and such. Two reasons required such great height, chickens, which he sheltered in a hut behind the old garage, and baseballs. The chickens kept insects off his plants and added a fertilizing agent to his wonderful crop. The balls came in on a regular basis by way of the adjacent playground at the Catholic school that practically surrounded Toby's garden. The hens smelled as one would expect and were shielded from view by a thick leaved grapevine from which he managed to obtain fairly nice grapes. 

He fortified these from the school kids by pruning the low hanging blooms. I doubt I ever tasted even one of those grapes, since he was a fierce guardian of his domain and all it contained. Paramount to this protection was the errant pop fly. Whenever one of the baseballs got over his fence, landing in the orderly rows of tomato and cucumber vines, he would slowly shuffle his long tall frame over to the substantial gate. Once through the gate he steadied his way down the wide plank walkway with a long handled spade. Paying no attention to the eyes belonging to the fingers clinched all along the wire enclosure, awaiting his response. Then with his spade he would calmly roll the ball to a suitable spot and proceed to put it deep into the soft loam as the compost he judged it to be. 

Only one gutsy student had ever clambered over the fence to save his ball from the garden of no return, the Kepler boy. He got the ball and tossed it back to his pals, but paid for his transgression by way of a swat on the behind from a long handled spade, before he could launch himself back over the fence. He made history, but none had the nerve to repeat the achievement when a wayward ball next landed in Toby's vegetable patch. 

From our house it was only a block to the Farm Coop Elevator. At this wonderful place, area farmers would bring their wagon loads of feed corn and such over the big scale built into the drive to be weighed. Once the total weight was known, the load would be removed and the return weight balanced out to determine what had been the product weight. As all the different trucks of farm produce came and went, Lady noted with great interest, that some of the trucks contained crates of highly prized fowl, chickens! They were stacked high and wide in crates that fitted together and had a swing gate that allowed the birds to be placed inside and, and when appropriate, removed. By and by as chance would have it, a gate would come dislodged, or a desperate hen of great genius, would manage her escape. Lady, being the natural bird dog she was, saw her opportunity, would catch the escapee and proudly make her way home. 

First, to take notice was old Toby. He quickly made it his business to emancipate the poor droopy fowl, and then deliver her to his chicken hutch for safe keeping. Eventually the teamwork became so efficient with this operation that Toby only had to take count to gain a new occupant. The spring-loaded gate allowed Lady to make a deposit to the pen night or day. Toby was elated. Lady wouldn't tell. All she desired was an atta-girl and a pat on the head. Little Jd had no idea of what was taking place, sort of like a ball in the garden, all for the better good. By the end of summer, Toby's chicken population had blossomed into veritable explosion of white fat, egg laying, bug picking, fertilizers. Lady was a champion in Toby's eyes. 

On Sunday morning the boys from the elevator came over during the after church glad handing session and asked my dad if he didn't have a big yellow lab. Proud of the dog, he gleefully admitted to owning such a bird dog. 

"You haven't noticed her showing up with a chicken now and then?" They asked. Then all participated in a lot of head scratching as he denied gaining hens in that way.
"I'll keep an eye on her" was his reply. 
Of course, my dad knew nothing about it, but on the way home he peeked through the grape vines. 

"Sure enough," he told mom, "half of Toby's hens have no feathers on their necks." 
"Well you don't know how they got there, best say nothing and keep the dog in during business hours" she suggested.

No matter, Lady would sniff out any breakout participants, whatever the hour. She and Toby continued to carry on just like a couple of pros. She got the praise, he got lots of eggs and regular fried chicken on his plate, and I enjoyed the big red apples that bounced onto the shady lawn by Toby's garage. I was an unsuspecting partner in crime, but relished in the rewards for supplying the getaway device. We were a crime ring of an unusual mix.

Soon the kids returned to school and the balls landed in the garden. This fall was different. The Keplar boy had seen how the arrangement was working with Toby and my dog, and when ever he got a chance he would play toss the ball with Lady. He would give her pieces of his lunch. She began to wait at home plate for the new game. Soon as the noon whistle sounded, she was off to play with the kids. 

The next time a ball landed in the garden, Lady was at the ready. As soon as Toby loosened the latch on the gate, she pushed past him and bounded right through the hanging vines. Grabbing the ball in her teeth she raced back for a reward of peanut butter sandwich. 

Old Toby was furious. "Phaaaaw!" he bellowed, "that darned no-good dog!" he threw down his shovel and shuffled back to his chair to sulk. When Lady returned he was abusive toward her and made target of her with spit. Soon this routine became the norm. No matter how Toby tried to exclude her from the garden. With this change in loyalty she lost favor in his eye and set about to give her a poke with his cane if he could. He turned off the radio, removed all the apples and began to spend recess time indoors. Lady, however, was industrious, and the next morning he found the gate standing open. All over the garden were small mounds of dirt, each with a corresponding hole. The balls he had buried lay piled upon home plate. 

A new alliance had developed and the kids now made friends with Lady. She would spend all the recess time running after the kids and bringing back their balls.

Finally, Toby had enough. That fall when all the produce was harvested from the garden, he propped the gate open and tied a stout rope onto it. "Here you go Lady!" he said and tossed a big apple into the garden. Lady bounded after it, and when she was well inside the fence, he pulled the rope, shutting the gate tight. Next he tied the rope securely and chuckling gleefully went inside for dinner. 

Lady sat and waited by the gate. She expected some reward. Toby went to bed, and Lady waited patiently late into the night. It grew cold Lady decided she had had enough.
In the morning Toby woke up and went to the window to look out at his clever trick and see what had transpired. What he saw was a big hole under his gate.

"Phaaah!" Toby shouted. He hurried down the stairs in this bathrobe, past the fresh coffee and the morning paper. Out the back door he bitterly shuffled toward his ruined garden gate. Then he stopped short half way across the yard. What he saw made him speechless. The door to the chicken hutch was standing open and all his chickens were gone. Lady sat proudly by the apple tree waiting for the morning farm report.

That Sunday morning I over heard the boys from the elevator say, "You wouldn't know about that ole dog that brung us all those twenty some chickens last week? That's some dog!"

Thursday, January 23, 2014

the Feet Mystique




At
days retreat
Amid the Sheets
My  frosty  feet's
A Warming greets

I trod a Winter street
The icy ground replete
Socks can not compete
I  bear not, ill  conceits
Within my chamber suite
When  lacking body  heat
Disrobed the bed entreats
Pull back the cover's pleat
Jump in like trained athlete
Between those fiber sheets
Then  thrust  my chilly  feet
A warmth my toes do greet
For down I shan't compete
Pray, why  do you
Retreat?