Saturday, May 28, 2011

The nation is controlled by

  The nation is controlled by deviant mutant aliens from another galaxy.

First contact was established in Ancient Egypt. We mutants had to buy Cleopatra off. The slaves were no problem. The pyramid design opened a door into our solar system. It was all part of the Master Plan.

The second group, also aliens, scared the hell out of the Inca. There were too many white faced hairy sightings to ignore. Our gifted writers and artists shared. They used leftover blood as ink. Sacrifice was later outlawed and we left. The jungle took over.

We aliens later financed the Hollywood film industry. Drugs were routinely administered and abduction, a regular occurrence. We carefully implanted the ancestor's seed. We ignored the prime directive. Clean-up is beyond our compliance. The producers have run amuck.

My father, another alien, was banished to this planet due to a selective hearing problem and a low tolerance for rule adherence. Mom was an artist. She went to the dark side of the moon ahead of Neil Armstrong. It was a covert mission. That is where the beta writing strain comes from. Our family is responsible for infecting the populace. Our ways remain too advanced for this culture. They still believe in deities despite our best efforts. Our science and telepathic abilities have to be reproved over and over again. Magic and illusion have gone the way of Monster Quest. The ratings speak for themselves.

Alpha Centauri was where our troubles began. Dad was the brilliant young Captain aboard, the newly commissioned, Venture, Starship class Z7653, Star date 2511. He beamed down ahead of security and was found in a compromising position with a Centaurian leopard. Later they accused him of commercial spot altering. They said he was trying to profit from it. Dad claimed that he found the leopard like that, but they knew better, him being infected by something called writers block. We still don't talk about it.

The inflexible High Council, made up of many aliens, banished him to the past on this archaic planet, with one moon, where they don't even have three eyed emerald fish and the locals are so ugly, it has us permanently constipated. We had to teach them our language. I would give anything for a bowlegged Alterian hump sucker. Not only are they delish, they relax the bowels, which makes our kind much easier to get along with. It produces minor gushing. Rapid fire bursts have resulted in some casualties in the Midwest. See product package for additional warnings.

The truth is Donald Trump, a talking head alien, had to be pulled out of the presidential race.

President Obama and his arch rival Osama bin Laden, also talking head aliens, are being called back to HQ. Osama is already back. All the money-power brokers are supposed to report for reassignment. Trump's show, The Apprentice, is too successful, which is highly suspicious in the present global climate. There is talk about a nude circus in Atlantic City, no word yet on if that includes the audience.

Here is the latest news from HQ. It is classified Code RED, the highest priority.

We're pulling the plug on the Earth experiment. The Dirt and Ash Concert is SOLD OUT. WE WILL DEPART behind Lady Gaga's, a hot alien babe, latest stage design. Hot air, lava, and plate shifting is escalating. The weather is out-of control! Simon Cowell and the X-Factor are unstable.

It is time to depart and resettle elsewhere.
The Mother spaceship arrives in 2012. Let the world-wide internet deprogramming commence.

This is the final transmission; Viking, over and out!

Friday, May 27, 2011

For Better or Worse

Who Knew?
It used to be different
Your parents picked one out
You maybe got to meet him once
before the big day
And that was that; simple, right?


Today we have endless possibilities.
We get to shop
pinch, squeeze,
check for soft spots, and rotten cores
before we put them into the cart
and bring them home.

A sharp few get free samples!

Parents, relatives, the family pet, the goldfish, plants
and the residual offspring
from the last vain attempt at matrimony
all get a shot at playing detective.
If he looks, sounds or smells off
it’s over.
And so it goes, back and forth, round and round
until the happy day you say, I DO!
Especially if there’s a dress, cake, crystal and fine linen.
Never mind you are in hock for the next hundred years
And that the bank gets what’s left of your anatomy
You are in love!

Everything goes really well throughout the honeymoon
Just that little scuffle, over nothing really, too much luggage
But he’s perfect; he picks up after himself and; get this girls,
HE CAN COOK!

Although it is a gamble, it does require effort and good recall
especially when those little annoyances start to crop up.
And there is the slight chance that they will turn on you
from all your daily devotion and care
and start to actually expect, consistent good treatment, until death!
Sometimes thirty, forty or even fifty years go by, well past any hope of regaining your lost figure and skin elasticity.
This is when strange growths start to pop up and you can’t remember the last time you had your period or what you did with your dentures?
Then you learn to cope with the little tics, a veritable sideshow of frolicking fun.
Belching and farting take a back seat to these jaw-dropping marvels.
Sneezing, spraying cold germs over a six mile radius
walking naked on the patio with a towel in one arm
and holding one finger on a nostril and blowing the snot out the other side
and then wiping the juicy remains into said towel,
or the ever favorite, hawking up a loogie and sailing it past the dog.
The possibilities are endless for the mature madam.

Of course you can always counter, with some unique sounds and gestures of your own.
Savor the possibilities!
You could
back up; try to sit on them, while using the commode in the dark
or squeeze a dab too much soap
into their favorite coffee mug.

Prepare yourself!
It will result in some hedonistic repercussions,
percussion being their expertise.

Unfortunately, as with all gaming activity
we eventually must face up to the fact
that perhaps our luck has run out, we need to move on, cut our losses
quit while the going is good.
Make alternate plans
like retail therapy, escape into a movie,
adopt a Pomeranian.

Take a long hard look in the mirror
have a talk with our post-menopausal selves.
Ladies, take it from me, it is cheaper to keep him
And you get to keep the hairdresser and your credit rating.

Do you remember
when divorce wasn’t even an option
when they put a scarlet letter on you?
Do you remember when they use to
accuse you of being a witch
burn you at the stake?
Talk about your odds?

I mean, what if the Martians
that we were
created to mate with,
had pursued love instead of war?
Had planted cash crops, practiced random acts of kindness,
been vegetarians,
listened to their mothers or done any retirement planning?
Who knows where we would be today?
Instead their legacy left us dependent on dinosaur juice
and double dog daring dictators
while wasting money we don’t have
on an angry planet still in the throes of labor.
A planet that doesn’t care
if our thin sausage casings
survive her vog thrust ratio
not to mention, escape the pull of gravity.
A bit technical, I know, but
everybody knows that, for better, usually gets lost
when it’s time to go to Venus and visit the relatives.
And worse, is what you get
when you let the Martians
direct the satellite broadcast
while driving the spaceship.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Published In Hawaii Fishing News

My poem "The Great Pacific Garbage Patch" is posted in the June issue of Hawaii Fishing News. My husband and crew had a recent encounter with a large cargo net, his story is called "No Fishing Tale". Both my poem and his story are on page 19!! Photos by David E. Johnson.

They're Loose!

Bull Mastiff puppies
explore their territory
hunting for tidbits.

Nothing else survives
on their watch. Chickens, lizards
observe puppy time.

To dance with these bulls
requires fancy footwork
most drop out, first day.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

The English Teapot and the Ceramic Pitcher


T: The Queen sends her regards. She trusts her subjects are well?

P: I am humbled, that the Queen would take the time to ask. What does her royal highness think of the current world view?

T: What do you mean?

P: Why, the end of the world dearie! Do keep up!

T: Ah yes the end of the world, The Queen is taking a no comment approach to this matter. Personally I believe it is pure and utter nonsense.

P: Oh yes, well down here in the trenches, we are taking bets. Right now it stands at 100 to 1 against. So, are you in?

T: Good gracious NO! I have my station to consider. It wouldn’t be proper. After all what would the Queen say?

P: The Queen is in it up to her eyeballs! She’s wagered the crown jewels against it but she’s a crafty wench! The royals will stay in power either way.

T: So what kind of liquid are you holding?

P: Nectar of the gods, dearie!  Dark warm ambrosia, guaranteed to cure what ails you. The Monks have been working on this recipe since the Dark Ages.

T: What’s the recipe?

P: I’ve been sworn to secrecy. I’ll be castrated, if I tell!

T: Castrated-WHERE?

P: Do you see that top band around my neck?

T: Yes?

P: Well, don’t spread this around but, it is the weakest part of my anatomy, if it cracks that’ll be the end of me. I will be rendered useless. They will send me to the compost piles...

T: NO- NOT THE COMPOST PILES!

P: I’m afraid so, and then I will be banished from the kingdom and no one will ever speak to me again.

T: You need not worry my Brave Heart, I vow on my honor as a lady in waiting to vouch for your character.

P: Thank you, my lady-If you please, do you have some spare cups to pour some of this precious nectar into; there's a good friend?



T: There you are, Brave Heart---I trust that there is plenty more where that came from. I have an idea, let’s toast to the end of the world!

P: Cheers, My Lady!

T: Cheers, Brave Heart!

 Moral: Don’t pass up a friendly pitcher of warm ale. It may be your last chance to party with friends!

Friday, May 20, 2011

Asses and Elbows

*** Image of Contortionist by hagenrock on photobucket.com


Look Mom, I can stuff
my head plus one elbow, up my ass.
Quick come see, what do
you think of this? Maybe I
could get a job in the circus
you know one of the sideshows?
Say yes, please, pretty please? I promise
to send the extra money home.
What do you mean, what about the dog?
Of course, him too! I’ll make him
part of the act.
He can hold the flashlight!

Thursday, May 19, 2011

I Should’ve Had a V-8

Tanka 5-7-5-7-7


Should have stayed in bed
played with the puppies, practiced
Zen meditation
taken stills of three Pacu
gliding through cool clear water.




Wednesday, May 18, 2011

On the Prowl

 A nonet has nine lines. The first line has nine syllables, the second line eight syllables, the third line seven syllables, etc... until line nine that finishes with just one syllable. It can be on any subject and rhyming is optional.




Sprawled atop the comforter, clever
white whiskered kitten cries and purrs
wrinkles tiny nose at twin
scratches mirror double
meows at smudge when
mouse emerges
game changes
hunter
food.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Roar

Volcano's red howl
excites rare Hawaiian goose,
lava cracks dwelling.


Monday, May 16, 2011

They Don't Bark

His didn’t.
Three months and forty pounds ago
we loaded
our new puppies, two Bull Mastiff brothers
into the
back seat of the car.
Our little bundles of joy
playful, cuddly, lick your face
tail wagging
pistons of power.
Muscle pups
that fly
eat rocks
like tissue paper, and
leap through the air
like they were shot
out of a gun.
Small giants
still growing.
Two heart throbs
tweaking
evocative cords.
That chatter in tongues
that only their mother,
a brawny brindle lass, with pink toenails
that lives in Aiea,
could appreciate.

Meanwhile
Uncle Zeus
his most royal Great Dane highness
has completed the first round
of inspections
and graciously agreed
to teach them the ropes.
So far,
he has taught classes in:

  I.   The Perimeter
 II.   Mapping out the exact corner where the neighbor’s dogs live
III.  How to mark your territory
IV. Where to drink water out of the pond
 V.  I have the bone and you can’t have it
VI.  Midnight Howling

They all got an A
in that last subject.

I am so proud.

Our choir
is a dedicated group.
They practice every
time they hear a siren.
Sometimes they will wail
up to three or four times a night.
In fact they enjoyed Midnight Howling so much
they have already enrolled in the daytime course.
We’re planning on sending them
to the AKC national competition
maybe even hire a handler.
I am curious
about their pedigree though?
This particular trait
must have skipped a generation,
because their
Mom and Dad,
don’t bark.

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Blood Sport

I see you over der Zeus.
Did ya eat?
Did ya have a good breakfast?

Oh, Oh
What are THEY eating now?

Apollo, don’t eat that!
What is that?
OMG, He’s eating shit!
NO, Apollo
Ehh, Ehh! Ehh, Ehh!
Don’t EAT THAT!
PEW, talk about ya bad breath!
Drink Water Apollo!
Go rinse ya mouth!

Rocky?
NO, Rocky, Eh ,Eh! Eh, Eh!
Leave that chicken ALONE!

OMG, that feral chicken is in his mouth.

He’s clamped down on it.

Oh shit, the chicken’s ass is gone!

There are feathers everywhere.

I can’t look!

No ZEUS No,
not you too!

Apollo stay!

Zeus!
Rocky!

God, are you watchin this?
I need a break!

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Little Monsters

The door slammed,
echoing down the long hall.

 Mom gasped,

Quick,
hide the wrappers,

the cookie monsters are home!

Friday, May 13, 2011

Pacific Golden Plover


Aloha,
Rain Bird flies home to
Alaska.

** Plovers migrate home to Alaska during April-May and are back again August thru October for the winter.

Beach Walk

You got ya walkers and ya talkers.


Oh how cute, are they PUPPIES?


SIBLINGS?


What BREED Are They?

After tha first few minutes and
definately by tha end of our walk
I got tha speech down.

Yeah lady,


Dey’re Bull Mastiff braddahs


five and half months old.


Der well behaved, even tempered and


Yeah, dey’ve bin NEUTERED!

Look at those PAWS!

Yeah Lady
Der gonna be massive!

Only Five Months, Looks like You’ll Have Your Hands Full!

The puppies want ta say hello ta everyone.

Rocky likes ta wade in da surf, gonna catch a big one!

Apollo wants ta inspect everything on da sand,
pick it up
chew on it
and den spit it out. He’s da smart one!

YO—AND dey like ta drink der water outta
a plastic water bottle too.

Some people just walk on by
dey like to look da odda way
not dog people, I guess?

Der walkin- is more important
gotta keep dat heart rate up
or you ain't aerobic.

Won't be able to eat dat
extra donut or MacFlurry
if ya get my drift.

But, like I said
You got ya talkers
And ya walkers

Later!

The Dark Side

Rain Bird Launch Party 2011














Posted by Picasa

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Rainy Day

I’m old and cold my body creaks
my posture is inflamed,
I am resigned to be confined
my teeth have been reclaimed,
but I won’t lie, I’d rather die
before I go insane.
***

The yard, a pool
for howling dogs
to paddle in a boat
will rush and swish
reward a fish
for flying over moats.
Oh happy fish
I sure do wish
to eat your white fillet
but I must swish
instead of fish
And so my meal, I feel
will get away, today.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Freelance

I've carved a creative niche
bitter sweet
difficult to deal with
as I saunter down your street.

My verse is clipped
And NO, I’m not a waitress
my heart beats true
my wits, a tender matrix.

I’ll stay for endless hours
to snap a simple view.
I direct my burning lens
to puke a primary hue.

It may affect your estimation
you see I have a reputation
It requires lots of concentration.
MY degree is in DEDICATION
to MY WORK.

You can’t be caught obscene
with dis drama queen.

Yeah my BAD
I mean
my gear is often stuck in
some balls hairy
places
lacking social graces
with dried egg plaster
embedded in our faces.

I’ll frame
you full of life
smug and satisfied
bare-assed naked
soaked
in all your lies.

SNAP DAT!

I am an artistic dish
itching
to generate, maybe palpitate
because I can imagine
you was once a gift, your mama’s boy
her pride and joy
intact, a sap-- JAIL-BAIT
that wouldn’t DREAM of being late
or make me wait
full of phony excuses
foul abuses
to face the boozers
sucking users
that refuses, to make the right choices
to grow, their WIRED VOICES.

WHY?

cause nothing shoots better
than living in your car.

And because I work for da STAR
you know.

Yeah-- I’m Mitch
and one dizzy bitch
what’s it to you?
YOU—standing there solid
in your dirty J. Crew.


And I am an artiste!

Won’t you be my candid shot
and play wit me some more?

Maybe later we can pan and zoom
by the corner candy store.

Because my lens is in your face
so shut the FUCK UP
don't dis me in MY SPACE.


I’ll just keep you AWHILE
What was your name, KYLE?
just turn yea sweet cheeks to da left
And babes, give me a big SMILE!!

Thor’s Hammer--A No-Show!

Thor’s hammer threatens
Kolohe Wahine golf
at Pearl Country Club.

Weather remains dry
forecast updated to cloudy
thunder a no-show.

Five Women golfers
laugh hysterically over
piss poor performance.
 
Saimin and Pepsi
lunch, revives tired bodies
Sun comes into view.

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Happy Mother’s Day Mom!

She gets up early
to dress and shower.

Today she will slide
into a comfortable pair
of slacks, large top,
and Reeboks.

She will comb her short gray hair
clean her glasses
take another Aleve
as the coffee brews
while she straightens up
before she gets into her car
to drive into town.

It is Sunday.

Today she will earn double time.

Tomorrow she has the day off.

Tomorrow she will celebrate
eat pizza at the mall
with her youngest daughter
the one who remembers to call her every day
the one who drives Dad to the Doctor
and isn’t too busy
or too far away to spend the
afternoon with her Mom.

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

No Flowers

Send me no flowers


no pretty petals

velvet soft.

Send me no long stemmed

beauties

whose dewy fragrance

waft.

Send me no posies

that require

casual note

if you care.

for they will surely die

their purple blooms

will choke

into a speckled brown despair.

Send instead

a cactus or a weed

that will not wither

or get into a dither

from neglect

that can be left

to survive in a

brown thumbed void

unchecked.

Monday, May 2, 2011

Pleasant Dreams America

                                                               Obama proclaims

Osama bin Laden, dead

pleasant dreams tonight.



Sunday, May 1, 2011

The Barber

He looks competent enough


standing there in his white shirt and dark trousers

as he makes slow deliberate steps

in a well worn semi circle

pivoting left and right

his sharp scissors shaping and clipping

carefully clicking along to a favorite tune

as dark mounds pile up on the floor

a shaggy witness to his art.

A trusty comb is well positioned in his back pocket

at the ready, set for its cameo appearance and then placed back

as the razor continues to hum

as he finishes up the Asian man before me

his neck freshly shaved and brushed

as the cologne is dabbed and the smock is removed and shaken.

The black and white checkered floor

quickly surrenders her dark wispy curls

as he turns from the polished chrome

and black leather chair

and announces

the next lucky customer.

It is gripping

like a one act play

and I am in the front row

then he looks at me and smiles repeating the invitation.

I smile back

it’s too late to retreat.

I walk the lonely mile

and surrender my locks

to his sharp shears.

The floor willingly accepts

my sacrifice

and the play continues

with one sold out seat

held over

as the patrons

continue to line up

down the street.

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Spotlight Exhibition: Mohonk Preserve Volunteer Photographers

"Baxter" by Cornelia DeDona