Magazine Posts

Beneath the grass so green,
on the far away hill,
lives a male Marmot.
I'll call him Phil.
Phil likes to burrow,
to run and play
and lie on the grass
to catch a ray
or two of Sun.
If you were to approach
these gentle creatures,
in the light of day,
they will let out a whistle
and go away,
under the grass,
where their dwelling is.
Waiting silently, without sound;
Phil will slowly come out
and look around.
Stay still, be quiet, you will see
a small portion of Phil's family.

Why, on all these days, I can't forget,
I feel like I was rode hard
and put away wet.

An inane discussion, is what it was.
No rhyme or reason, it was just because.
No logic in the words she said.
No understanding by me,
No rhyme or reason,
As there was nothing there,
Just an angst, full of despair.

Many years ago, in another life, in another time,
I worked for a large retailer, in the Catalog part of the
business.
As I recall, I was a District Manager and had recently returned
from Chicago, with my peers. The meeting was a big one
on a new product, called "Cling-a-longs" or women's full length
hosiery that had some elasticity that provide support for those
who were on their feet for long periods of time.

The store manager, I and some others, were in a local dive
bar. Actually it was a Chinese Restaurant with a nice lounge.
I was relating my recent travels to Chicago and talked about
the new product. I had also discussed that we had given some
samples to the Stewardess on the airline, with a request to tell
us how they liked them, or not.

This was later in the evening, after a few drinks. When our waitress
said something to the group, "I'm on my feet for a long time
and would like to get some of the hosiery you mentioned.
Now, uninhibited, I said I'll get you some.
The store manager had left, so I made a questionable decision.
I wasn't going to be there when the store opened.
I wrote on a cocktail napkin, a note to my manager,
"Please order this young lady a pair of the new hosiery."

I was in our Astoria office and received a call from my
manager in Corvallis. He said, "I have a young lady
in my office that has a napkin with your signature authorizing
a pair of nylons. How am I to pay for that?"
I told him to put it on my credit card, which he did.

I kept waiting over the years, for the napkin to show up. Alas my
manager has been gone for many years and I no longer
work for that organization.

A great event, of a slight error in judgement,
brings to me great memories, that always makes me
laugh.

A veil of fog covers lawn and tree.
Going out it will also cover me.
I stay inside, a nice warm shelter,
while outside the Virus plays helter-skelter.

A storm,
a port,
on land,
or sea,
trouble brews.
I'll flee,
far across
this land
so grand,
to me.
I will
then see
from what
I flee.

Please write me a story,
one that I will tell
to my friends, I know,
tell me daily; Go to Hell.

Silvered pearls of morning dew
on budded flowers,
catching the Sun passing through,
in the peaceful garden, ours.

Riding a motorcycle on
a loose graveled road,
can result in scabs
and contusions,
when your "bike" unloads
your personal confusion.

The days that lies ahead
are now full of doubt.
We are told to "Stay in
do not go out",
where the Coronavirus
could soon engage
the elderly and infirm
and compromise your
immune system, any place,
removing you from
Earth's lovely face.

Water me not,
Don't you see,
For I only want
Some Rye Whiskey

Listen not to what is said
from someone who is brain dead.