Posts for June 18, 2025 (page 8)

Through the generations we’ve learned how to best sort the goods:
milk and eggs dimly tucked behind rows of individually packaged sugar.
As shelved bread depreciates according to a function of its preservatives
just in time for its tag to grow larger and turn yellow: “Deal of the Day”.
Here an organic label can be purchased to turn higher profit.
It’s easy to forget the spell of scarcity cast by our kings.

The guide to being a healthy consumer would tell us to pay
the extra $3.50 for the eggs laid by chickens that walked around
5 square feet instead of 2.
Or better: buy the newest shelf-stable amalgymation of beans and spices
to scramble in your pan over toast

Free means valueless: that an item used to be worth something to someone
But a gift is invaluable. It has no price.
A sweater made by your grandmother warms differently than
plastics formed by children overseas, shipped, and purchased.
I can’t pretend to have answers to all our problems, but it seems to me that
community, Neighboring, sharing, gifting, and growing
are the ways to show that we don’t need to be isolate competitors.
sharing is the ultimate undermine of currency and scarcity.

The orange marmalade on your toast
this morning is not without consequence,
but citrus is not the answer
to your problems. Lemons
last a long time, but eventually they rot
in the bin. Don’t let the possibility of zest overrule
reason, and remember: the pineapple
is from a different family
entirely and is definitely not citrus, though
it is now in season. Learn this lesson
well: when you lose those fifteen pounds
you will remain unhappy.
Beware of the scent of a dark chocolate almond.
It is not your best friend. 

 The
    degree of privacy we         
        can procure for ourselves is
            in inverse proportion to
                the amount of technology
                    that surrounds us.

The creek in the upper brush sneaks closer to the valley
Nudging at clay and silt slowly wearing away it’s edges 

A bright yellow backhoe carries large grey stone
To drop into a widening creek bed where a girl  

The day before balanced on thin shale rock
Jumping one to one to one to cut across the low  

Sitting creek and pull themselves up with a young birch
To find a new path through the valley

Though now asked to stay back
She stretches then takes a step closer

Living room decor
crammed with old books,
many read, some to hold
and caress  textural treats,
others to look at and enjoy
antiquated pages, covers,
photographs
arranged in stacks and
various vignettes 
throughout the room,
in place of Christmas trees,
birthday balloons, or other
special occasion decorations.
In one corner, the gold trimmed
pages spilled poetry onto
hardwood floors, cascading like 
the Greasy Creek waterfall of words,
cling like moss to slick rocks,
generate echoes passed the lace
curtains, out the windows,
competition with the songbirds
that found refuge in an old cedar tree.
Some words leapt off the page
tuned to an adagio,
pranced across her vision,
an impala in the moon’s
crested shadow.

The winds blow fierce today 
bangin’ and scrapin’ and shovin’ its way
into the crevices of my soul

The winds blow fierce today

Mother Nature knows
the knowledge of a thousand times told
that ignoring her is to fold the cards
Allowing her to take her toll

The winds blows fierce today

Leaving a feeling of emptiness 
blowing the debris away
that clung to the rocks of self control
keeping the demons at bay

The winds blows fierce today

On Saturday morning the neighbors convene,
Old tables and tents on a carpet of green.
Each driveway a border, each box a new gate,
We barter our birthright, we auction our fate.

Glass goblets and medals, the stories we shed,
Our memories lined up in columns and spread.
Some shoppers come early, with eyes cold and keen,
They measure our treasures for scrap or for sheen.

A suit with dark glasses, a coin in his palm,
He buys grandma’s rocker, the porch now gone calm.
The children protest, “That’s more than a chair!”
But, “It just gathered dust,” is all grownups declare.

Deeds to the backyard, flags faded with pride,
Sold off to strangers with secrets to hide.
A ticket of gold, a rule in disguise,
Whoever now holds it decides what survives.

“Isn’t this worth more than pennies or dimes?”
But the sellers just chuckle, “It’s simply old times.”
A handshake, a whisper, a deal made in shade,
While memories scatter and legacies fade.

In the scramble for profit, for clearing some space,
We give away roots for a moment’s embrace.
The buyers drive off, their trunks heavy with gains,
What’s left is a silence, a loss that remains.

A patch of green grass, the last place to play,
Is claimed by the children who plead for delay.
Some neighbors awaken and quietly pause,
Deciding at last there’s a line, there’s a cause.

By evening the sunlight is harsh on the ground,
The chair’s absent echo the only new sound.
I sweep off my steps and I quietly muse,
What have we surrendered and what did we lose?

Were these only trinkets, just clutter, just things?
Or heirlooms of freedom, of rights, and of springs?
Too easy to sell what can never return—
Some lessons are lost and some bridges must burn.

So mind what you bargain, and mind what you sell,
For once it is gone, there’s no story to tell.
Protect what is precious, resist quick reward—
Or tomorrow you’ll find you’ve sold more than you stored.

She was always on the verge

Mom led the troops in Pocono mountains
earning badges, making sit upons by
the campfire even with her foot in a cast.
She also wore a pink pinafore volunteering
at our local hospital pushing a cart laden
with magazines and candy down the corridors
for the patients.

Dad ran for office and won PTA President
using his argumentive skills. Losing an eye
in the Navy made him an advocate for eye
care in the Lion’s Club.

I learned by their example and volunteered
as homeroom mother for Heather’s second
grade class. She whispered in the phone to
change the date of the Valentine Party. At first,
I almost hung up thinking it was an obscene
call but her voice grew telling me they told
her not to breathe on the sick phone!

Became a Brownie leader taking them to
Nursing homes with their homemade Easter
egg tree and hugs for the folks.
Tutored kids at Carnegie after school
earning a big hug one day.

Greatest joy was leading the leash for
Clancy, a certified therapy dog to
hospitals, schools, libraries, nursing homes
and Carnegie as he did his splendid thing.

(The font I typed this in wouldn’t paste in. I have it in a font
that emulates and old typewriter. 8-D  )

In America, things are not as they seem

Spare tires don’t have to hold air

Insanely popular and endearing Teddy Bears have hollow metal innards

Binoculars no longer bring distance closer…and they slosh

Methyl alcohol replaces the old store-bought whiskey

Don’t buy moonshine run through an auto radiator
                    Be sure a copper worm was used

“Speakeasies” require secret passwords – easy?

Medical necessity creates loopholes

Boots aren’t big enough to carry bottles of booze — especially with legs in them

Crime wave makes fortunes; suppliers gain notoriety     
                     Some become notorious

A “blind pig” doesn’t snort, though you can buy a snort from a “blind pig”