“The Porch* Light’s On…”

The porch light is on

all day and turns off at night:

is it just me? Weird!


  • (Read an interesting bit by – to my lights technically inconsistent but in tale-telling brilliance acknowledged – writer W.E.B. Griffin his use of porte chere for the usual spelling of porch.  I believe he well may be right.  I recall spelling the word porch somewhat like portechere back in elementary school and the stern talking-to I got from a substitute teacher stays with me still.  Today I would have sued!)

“Pinto Bean Stew”

Pinto bean stew fine:

texture holds onto pasta –

add tomato paste?*


  • (Still have not so done with this two-pound batch, but I might near the end.  I have some flour tortillas which might serve faux burrito fashion for this afternoon’s feast – with fried hog jowl bacon with a fried egg topper to go with a tomato/cucumber/sweet onion salad.  I go to wipe drool off now.)

“A Marine Sergeant” Tanka 630

A Marine Sergeant:

spend him wisely – goes he glad

now to his brothers.


Wrong on so many levels:

right on just the one which counts!*


  • (Rarely – but often enough – I get a fully or near-so as not worth the quibble formed piece of writing thrust through sleep’s ears at me that causes me to grope for the pen and notebook which rest under the phone with a sidewinder-type handcrank one-bulb LED light and begin the write large – more of a scrawl, really.  This is except for minor cosmetics one I like most.  I knew a United States Marine Non-Commissioned Officer like the man portrayed in the above piece.  He had expressed quietly to me inside a bunker taking artillery fire one dark and miserably wet monsoon morning he wished for a bayonet charge into a treeline for a quick, clean death and release from the tedium and terror his times now laid out for him.  He admonished me never to use his name or unit identifiers if ever I should write that story.  I never did.  I don’t know yet if he found his treeline.  Others I heard about did. One survived and later – much later – “ate his handgun.”  He father was a Marine enlisted-to-General hero who remains still a figure of controversy. The Tanka two-line form came insisting at near-sleep’s door for me to awake and add those two lines.  I am glad I did.  Too often I resort to: I’ll just remember.”  You know how that works, right?)


“A Marine Sergeant”

A marine Sergeant:

spend him wisely – goes he glad

now to his brothers.


  • (This one came most-whole at 4 a.m. this morning, insisting I rise, grope for the pen and notebook and use the hand-crank sidewinder device one-bulb light to get it down.  Mollified, I tried to return for 150 minutes more repose when just a few seconds later I got the next two lines shouted at me from inside The Craze Factory I occasionally bank into cabinet doors one of me left open – again! Also, there was some dispute by 7 a.m. whether A Marine Sergeant should be reduced in rank to something like “Another Marine.”  That debate still rages sotto voce.)

“If Robin Williams” Tanka 631

If Robin Williams

is ‘The Late’ does that make all

the rest of us early?


Get me to the show on time!

That’s why suicide’s so rude*!


  • (aside from the one-count too far last line of the haiku form already discussed in “If Robin Williams,” I have to report another argument ‘twixt the several me’s involved in this project: seems instead of leaving bad enough alone I found scribbled in the preceding notebook page the following tail-ed “…why suicide is No Out!”  I picked the one less offensive.)

“If Robin Williams”

If Robin Williams

is ‘The Late,’ does that make all

the rest of us early*?


  • (Yup: failed haiku!  But why quibble?  I am sure the Japanese language and English are worthy of their hires and in this jape, ’twas more to honor now safely dead Robin than to shoehorn the last line.  Besides: there’s a Tanka form coming to garner any spare rotting vegetables coming our way.)