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A Moment’s Pondering

I saw a Druid strolling

through the ruins

of a Roman bath

Surely a dream image

yet as real as the pain

from my blistered feet

For a moment

I could imagine

being unfettered

and unabused by

the icy-hearted

bitch we call time

Free to wander

the back roads and

hinterlands of the past

Ultimately ”unplugged“

Most definitely ”off the grid“

Beyond the notice of Google

But then the moment is gone

and I’m pinned once again

to the firmament of reality

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Stonehenge

ancient stone legos

no instruction manual

answerless riddle

Stonedude

Went to Stonehenge the other day. (There’s a sentence I don’t get to write often.)

Compared to the distance they keep the public from the main structure, I’m always surprised by how close they let us get to the Heel Stone.

This time, when I saw it (the Heel Stone), I saw a face.

I had to draw it.

As Mr. Serling would have said, “submitted for your approval…”

Dungeon

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Dungeon

(Found poetry)

 

Please mind the steps.

Dimly lit and

uneven surfaces.

Cemetery Bench

Cemetery bench

A long way past usefulness

Time rests on it now

A TYPED HA IKU

The Stuffed Panda


Last weekend, my sister sent me a photo of her old teddy bear. She’d found the relic whilst perusing some storage boxes in her garage.

 

Looking at the photo of the one-eyed, worse-for-wear stuffed animal brought back a warm and fuzzy moment that I’ll quickly share.

 

One day, when we were little kids, my sister and I were in the family room with our father. She was perched up on Dad’s lap, playing with her stuffed panda. I was sitting on the floor right in front of them. My sister was enjoying herself, playing with the panda, when she suddenly decided to smack me in the head with it.

 

We all thought this was hilarious and we all laughed—my sister laughing the loudest in sheer delight.

 

Wanting more of a good thing, she hauled off and walloped me over the head again. This time it hurt. Badly. It was as if a first place javelin-tossing trophy had fallen off the top shelf of a Shaquille-O’Neal-sized bookcase and landed on my noggin.

 

I began to cry.

 

Yeah, I know, how could being hit with a stuffed animal make a boy cry? My dad had the same question. I looked up at him, and I’ll never forget the look of, let me just call it “disappointment” I saw on his face. It was a look that I would become accustomed to over the years.

 

I took the bear from my sister and began to palpate the panda’s abdomen as if I were a doctor feeling for a bloated and troublesome appendix. And there it was—a metal music box. And the metal wind-up key—that should have protruded from the bear’s side—had broken off upon impact with my head.