Public Posts

Years ago, in the days long past,
I worked on a Threshing machine.
A machine that would separate chafe from grain
Blowing out the straw of wheat stems.
A mower had cut down the wheat,
Leaving it in windrows.
The bundling machine would gather the loose
Wheat and bundle into sheaf's, leaving them in a row.
My job, at that time, was to use a Bundle Fork,
To pick up the sheaf's and throw to the wagon,
The person on the wagon, would catch and
Lay it down and stack until the wagon was full.
On this one, very sunny day, I grabbed
A bundle , with my special fork and
Threw it back over my head.
When I looked at the ground and with a double take,
There at my feet was a long rattlesnake.
My reaction was swift, the snake a surprise.
I broke my Bundle Fork; the snake met its demise .
Snakes were not a friend of mine
So nary a tear nor did I pine,
Except I had to use a regular pitchfork,
Which is a lot heavier and my work was more
difficult. As for the snake he was probably
More surprised than I.

When I worked, I would go running at night.
My running route, was always down a street with a light.
Going down my street, 148thAvenue Northeast,
Listening to my Walkman, an electrical device.
For those of you , it was a Sony portable cassette player.
Sorry, I did regress, so back to the run.
Here I was jogging strong, when my toe hit
The edge of a raised slab in the sidewalk.
I tripped and without thinking, did a "tuck and roll",
Which was like a somersault, so back to
My feet, I did spring. I was both proud
But embarrassed that I had fallen to the ground.
So, I looked up the street and then down,
Whew! I did not see anyone around.
I wasn't hurt and felt no lingering pain.
I discussed the event and told my refrain
Of falling and not getting hurt. I said
My Walkman was attached to my waist.
I pressed the area and said with a wince,
That I must have rolled on the player, since
There was a pain. In a few days, I did peruse
My waist where I observed, a sizeable bruise.
The advice I give you my friend,
Is to pick up your feet, when you run.
The end.

There once was a Gnu, his name was Lou.
He was a very young Gnu, who couldn't do
Everything an old Gnu knew.
At certain times, in Lou's young life, you see
He wanted to do Gnu things, like you and me,
Because, if he didn't his mood would turn blue.
That wasn't supposed to happen to he,
To become the blue Gnu, named Lou.
Lou loved to run and gambol, like a young kid
And of course, being young, that's what he did.
Playing was good for Lou the Gnu, who grew,
Into a healthy and strong, Big Lou Gnu.
As you may have already guessed or surmised,
Lou the Gnu met a girl Gnu and was surprised
To find her name was Lulu the Gnu.
They married and in a very short while,
Young Gnus arrived; Lou and Lulu did smile.

Have you ever been on a Snipe hunt?
If yes, you know the elaborate drill
Of going out at night and the thrill
Of the stalking of the elusive Snipe.
In early evening, while still light,
You would go out, with your flashlight
And a burlap bag, called a "gunny sack",
Out in the field, quiet as you can,
This little ritual that will make you a man.
Open the sack, prop it up with a stick,
Very clever and a real neat trick.
Place the flashlight in the back of the bag.
Be very quiet and wait for the bird.
They're attracted to light and will go inside.
Be patient, it won't be long and you'll see,
The Snipe approaching quite cautiously.
After waiting a half hour or more,
You go back to the house and
Hear the laughter roar.
You have been "snookered" it was a hoax
But for you it was an adult joke.
Could you get me a left handed monkey wrench?

Of all the jobs, that had no fuss,
Was when I drove a yellow school bus.
It was a Superior body on a Kenworth frame.
A rear engine, seventy six passenger, it came,
With the drivers seat, at the front end.
When I turned a corner, I did extend
Out to the other side of the street
And that, in itself was an exiting feat.
Our job, was to pick up all the kids
And take to the schools , which we did.
Afternoons, we would go to each school,
Taking them all home, that was the rule.
Dropping off the kids at homes, far and near,
When I looked up into the big mirror,
I saw this small head, above the seat,
So I went back to the Barn, to repeat
My story to my boss and he did say.
We need to take him home, right away.
It was his first day, going to school,
Missed his stop and I broke the rule.

The fog was thicker than a stray dog with fleas.
We were leaving a Mission Bay Bar, if you please,
But the fog was so thick you could probably seize
Big hunks of it that clung to our car
Like tufts of cotton candy you see at the fair.
We had to drive with the door open so we could see
The yellow line on the street, below our knees.
This was in the 50's, on our way back to base.
Driving slowly was all we could do,
So it was a very slow pace.
There were no street lights, like there are today
Just the pitch black of night fog, as we went our way.

I see you. Do you see me?
Or am I cloaked, with invisibility?
As we sit at the table and await thee,
But with no recognition, you must not see
That we came in here, for a small bite.
So please understand; don't be contrite,
A simple hello or I'll be right there
Is all that I need that you are aware
Of our presence is now understood,
So we can order some items of food.

This seems to be more prevalent in some establishments.

Up in the tangled branches
of the mostly, barren trees,
I heard a squeaky sound,
"Would someone, help me please?"
I was looking and I found,
then I saw some movement,
high amongst all the limbs,
of a small, tiny creature,
I knew that was him.
A small owlet, colored grey.
Body moving, with the breeze,
kept repeating, pleating to me,
"Please, Sir, help me please."
Not being agile or spry,
as I used to be,
I climbed up, ever slowly
onto limbs of this tree.
I finally did reach him;
he said, "Thank you please,
can you unhook my claws,
stuck tight to the tree.
I did and quickly as a bee
he flew now I'm stuck
high up in the tree.
Help, I yelled very loudly,
I'm stuck in this tree.

The slab showed up unannounced, a 4 foot by 4 foot concrete square sitting at the edge of the little park I caretake, a mystery to me. Maybe the county had decided to bring in artwork, who knows, maybe a commemorative sculpture of me, Ranger Daddle. I know, not too likely given the fact the county may not know the park even exists or if they do, who is doing the maintenance. But a mystery, like winning the Lottery, is mostly about firing our greedy imaginations.

A week went by … then two. A month. No bronze Skeeter appeared one morning. No plaque. Nothing. Just that square of concrete poured apparently by hand in the dark of night either by aliens or South End tricksters. I mowed around it and pondered its meaning the way astronauts in 2001: A Space Odyssey pondered the Black Obelisk, knowing only that some intelligence had brought it, who knows whether for good or ill. All I knew was I wouldn’t be moving it, not a half ton of concrete.

After a few weeks I stopped paying attention to my mystery square, stopped guessing what its Maker intended, stopped seeing it at all … until a few days ago when the phone booth showed up, one of those rectangular booths from a time just before the cellphone made public telephones obsolete. Clark Kent would have to change in a McDonalds bathroom hereafter and every citizen, no matter how impoverished, would need to purchase a personal phone and a plan.

And yet … here was the Last Phone Booth on the South End, possibly in America, maybe even the world!! In my park. Under my care. Which, considering I do not own a cellphone, is Totally Apropos, as if the Gods of Wire Transmission or the Ghost of Alexander Graham Bell had anointed me Keeper of the Dial Tone.

Of course it arrived without a working phone, just a payphone with no incoming line off the street. Most gifts, if you think about it, come with strings attached. Mine did, but not the useful ones. Nevertheless, I’m the Ranger, an American Dr. Who with his very own nonfunctioning Tardis. I would find a Way, count on it, because that’s my job. The concrete square was, it turns out, my new purpose, better, I suspect, than winning the Lottery where the end of my days would be filled with South Enders begging for loans.

Visit The Skeeter Daddle Diaries Site

So the World Health Organization just declared a new psychopathology, Gaming Disorder, the addictive propensity to sit for hour after hour with an X-box, disdaining sleep and food and exercise. Good diagnosis, guyz! But you forgot to include Facebook, You-Tube, computer addictions, porn and cellphone. Maybe, just maybe, they’re really all one disease. Ya think?

I guess the Facebook zombies actually stop to eat. And it could even be argued that this social media is really social. A new social, I guess, no face to face necessary, just tweets and instagrams, nothing too up-close and personal. Tim Cook, the new warden at Apple, recently declared sitting at a computer terminal to be the new cancer. Thanks, Tim, for asking the troops to stand up. How about asking them to go outdoors and exercise? Or quit their carcinogenic jobs? Or get a life?

We’re rewiring our brains, no doubt about it. B.F. Skinner and the Pavlovian dogs, peck a button and the bait, I mean the reward, comes tumbling out, time after time, predictable as an IV of opiods. Try this experiment if you’re a doubter: put away your cellphone, turn off your computer, unplug the TV and peripherals and devices, see how long you can last before the shakes and the fevers start. I bet about an hour. We might be missing important stuff. You know, Trump, Beyonce, Oprah, the photo from a friend you rarely see, Trump, the latest movie star scandal, did I mention Trump? If I did, let me add Trump again anyway.

This is our reality now. We even made a reality show huckster our Leader. We get what we deserve, the old adage goes in regard to a country and its rulers. Times certainly change and now they’re changing in hyper-drive. If anyone thinks, myself included, that there will be a cure for this disorder, we got another think coming. In about two tweets.

Recently I ordered one of those cool robot vacuums called a Roomba. It’s pretty amazing. It will quietly clean an entire floor while only mildly terrorizing the cats. And when it’s all done, it returns to its charging station and goes to sleep.

Read More

Please tell me your tale of woe,
On this bright and sunny day,
Of how you came to lie,
On the shoulder of the highway.
You lie there, as cars zip past,
As quickly, as if to fly,
With dust, a swirl, as they pass.
Did somebody, cast you out,
As not quite fit to wear,
Or if you were about,
To be thrown, into the air?