Month: February 2016

Tattoo Dreaming

My 59-year-old, lily white skin is unblemished. Kind of. If one ignores the C-section incision, the old scraped knee scars, and a multitude of freckles, then my epidermis is almost pristine.

Recently, though, I’ve been considering the addition of a tattoo. It’s no longer taboo for a woman my age to consider getting inked (note the hip jargon) and a tat would be an interesting way to mark the end of my fifth decade on this earth.

Plus, I have a nephew who is an exceedingly talented tattoo artist. Russ Bagwell, and his wife Ashley, have a top notch studio, Royal Avenue Tattoo in Spring, Texas.

 

An example of Russ’s work on model Veronica Lowe.

 
Now lest you think I’ll be going all out like the young woman pictured above let me reassure you that I’m getting a very simple tattoo. I’ve asked Russ to design something special, but for now it’s a secret.

That being said, I had a realistic dream several nights ago in which I finally got to view my new ink. It was already on my body, just above my right hip. Apparently in the dream I hadn’t previewed the design, so I was somewhat shocked to find this:

  
I guess I am the softer side of Sears.

Russ Bagwell, I will be previewing my design. 

Stay tuned. I might just come back with a bit of art.

Peace, people.

Black Ice

True and frightening. Read more at poesypluspolemics.com.

Paul F. Lenzi's avatarPoesy plus Polemics

betrayal-linda-monfort “Betrayal” by Linda Montfort

invisible skin
politicians on camera
treacherous disguise

hidden dark hunger
ready to swallow the light
gulling your trust

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Baby Sitting?

Pondering the deeper questions of existence today as I watch over my daughter’s three children.  Primarily, why do they call it Baby Sitting when Sitting hardly comes into play? 

Better this activity should be called Baby Following or Baby Running or Baby Exhausting instead.

  
Above, a rare moment of baby sitting as the youngest grandchild presents each of her princesses to me with a colorful introduction. “Actually,” she explains, holding one tiny figure, “This is Princess Tiana, and she is very beautiful. Notice her colorful dress.”

I’ve become quite adept at oohing and aahing. Perhaps I’m a Baby Ooh-er!

Peace, People!

Scaling Walls

a ladder might have made climbing easier, but ladders are for wussies.

so i backed up and took a run at the wall, jumping up to hang my fingers on the lip.

scrabbling feet searched for a hold, catching a fractured brick just right only to have

pieces of mortar crumble into rubble beneath my feet.

dropping down i crouched, defeated by the scale.

by now a crowd had gathered egging me on
“try!” “you can do it!” some cheered; others jeered.

renewed determination coursed through my brain trickling down to trembling limbs.

once again i made the run, leaping with all my might.

chin knocked wobbly, i fell back in the dust, chest heaving, eyes watering.

a wee face peeked over from the other side. “can i give you a hand lady?”

“sure, child,” i said, taking his hand and stepping over the barrier.

  

Say What You Mean–A Joke Y’all

A Texas Aggie goes in to see his doctor and says, “Doc, I want to be castrated.”

The doctor looks at the Aggie and says, “Surely you don’t want that. It’s a very serious operation and once you go through it it can’t be undone.”

“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, Doc,” says the Aggie.

The doctor does his best to talk the Aggie out of the surgery, but he refuses to budge. 

Finally the doctor says, “Well, if you’re sure, I’ll perform the surgery. But it’s against my better judgement.”

So the Aggie has his operation, and the next day he is up and walking very slowly, legs apart, down the hospital corridor with his IV stand in tow. Heading towards him is another patient, who is walking exactly the same way.
 “Hey there,” says the Aggie, “It looks as if you’ve just had the same operation as me.”

“Well,” said the patient, “I finally decided to be circumcised.” 

The Aggie snapped his fingers and said, said, “Circumcised! THAT’S the word!”

Courtesy of Sickipedia.org: http://www.sickipedia.org/sex-and-shit/castration#ixzz3zLgF1Ovf

I Hear Music

Sometimes in the early morning
after my man has left for work,
but before I have left our bed,
I hear a melody playing behind
my eyelids, soft yet insistent.

Instantly, though, once I open
my eyes, the sweet strains are
dissipated, music diffused all
throughout the greater cosmos,
and in vain I seek the source.

Creeping stealthily from covers
I tiptoe through our quiet home
pausing with held breath hoping
to surprise the makers of music,
but at hide and seek they excel.

The tiny musicians, for they must
be faeries, or related small folk,
lurk just outside of my eyesight’s
range, giggling giddily of that I
am sure; mischief is their nature.

So I return to bed, to the comfort
of my blankets and snuggle down in
a cloud of cool cotton and fleece.
My breaths lengthen, my eyes close,
and the music begins playing again.

  

I actually do hear phantom music, and have my entire life. Until I mentioned it to someone else I just assumed everyone heard it. While that used to freak me out, now I just accept the music as a quirky blessing. It’d be nice, though, if I could get a number one hit out of it.

Peace, people!

The Wire

This is an important story. Please read more of Jan Wilberg’s work at redswrap.wordpress.com.

Jan Wilberg's avatarRed's Wrap

It wasn’t a coat hanger. It was a wire.

The theory was that by inserting the wire through the cervix, moving it around a bit and then removing it, an infection would result and the pregnancy would be aborted. It worked. It was March 1967.

Afterward, after I watched the ‘doctor’ wash his hands with one of those little soaps wrapped in white paper, after he tilted the bedside lamp just so and after he said, “That should do it,” I got dressed, left the motel with the flashing vacancy sign, made my way to the bus station in downtown Detroit, and rode in the dark in the eerie silence of a mostly empty Greyhound all the way back to Mt. Pleasant, the tiny Michigan town where I was a freshman in college. Curled up next to the window under my black pea coat, I wondered how long it would…

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Scolded

justifiably angry
broken heart
pieces scattered
irretrievably lost
dissolved dreams
visions mattered
unerringly paired
soul’s mate
conscience scolded
tearfully rejoined
love’s patience
now rewarded.

  

Musical Oasis 

After driving over 1100 miles I reached our daughter’s home in Rapids City, IL, a small town situated on the banks of the mighty Mississippi. I always think I’ll come up with a better adjective for this father of American rivers, but nothing suits it quite as well.

I guess we could say HUGE, but thanks to the current presidential elections the H word is so overworked. And it fails the alliteration test, so there’s that.

Last night I stayed at a dump of an inn in Nashville, Tennessee. I might’ve slept for three hours. But earlier in the evening I did get to go visit with my cousin, singer/songwriter Effron White who hosted a songwriter’s round at the Millennium Maxwell House. It was the first time in a decade that we were able to hang out.

The evening’s company and entertainment more than made up for a poor night’s rest. In fact, since I couldn’t sleep I just played all the songs back in my head. 

 

Effron and me and some groovy catsup.
 
 
I’m not even going to try and tag these guys. They were a talented bunch.
 

More photos from the evening. I was blown away by the level of talent in the room.

  
    
    

  
 Check out one of Effron’s songs as performed by Phil Lancaster. I just love the French introduction! 

http://youtu.be/A1YVPWqsJc0
Peace, people!