“‘Twas Once A Young Dame”

(April 26, 2019)

’twas once a young dame

who did the breast-bare to test

and i must agree:

neither side’s boobs are for sex

and, thusly, not indecent!*

*(A Daytona Beach belle once bared her breasts along Atlantic Avenue – to media delights and blue-nosed out-of-jointedness who proclaimed those mam,aries – same as for men shirtless all spring, summer, fall and most winter – are not covered under indecent exposure sexual organ statutes. A chill bikeweek wind, as I seem to recall, wrote ‘moot’ to the argument. Then some reporter-person looked up federal code and found ‘nother stunner: without purient intent or action nothing prohibits nakedness on federal property. Should get some Democrat bluenoses off their support of federal control of American land in excess of scientific, military or quasi-military reasons, no? Buncha nekkid hippies of all ages out parading around Federal parks and Wild West Wide Open spaces? At least when apoplexy subsides, the ‘lectronic visual press will find a way to blur the boobs and other bobbles. No?”

“My Nineteenth All Time Foul Word”*

(April 27, 2019)

The nineteenth worst word:

yup, ‘nother four-letter foul –

piece of slime – “fair!”

*(“Fair” has grown from something teens-and-under fling at adults when it comes to risky behavior they just know their moms-n-dads did in their teens which dray nyets from both when encountered a third-century later to a real conundrum when supposedly adult – often elected officials at local, state and federal levels invoke the term to test gullibility amongst their their followers and we find even further use by media who apparently never had parents who cared enough to say “no.” Neither is life FAIR. So get over it!)

“Lone Sail, Large Lake, Windy Wednesday”

(May 1, 2019

lone small sail stepping

on a four-mile ‘beat’ across

Lake Monroe’s width

pushed by a steady

southern breeze – forty-four squares*

Wednesday windy treat

this pre-frontal noon

foils the fully employed ‘nauts

foul wet winds on tap

already cotton

ball baby cumulus ride

from ‘proaching east storms

*(Lake Monroe in Central Florida, located on the northern borders of Sanford, is 11 miles long East-to-West and four miles wide and forms one of three shallow spots along Welaka (which we call The Saint Johns River) which the Timucua called “chain of lakes” with another lake, Jessup, forming Sanford’s southern and eastern boundary and just a little further East lies Lake Harney – the latter two large lakes named for Army generals who led troops in Central and South Florida during the Seminole Indian Wars of the early and mid 19th Century. The St. Johns is navigable from Sanford through Jacksonville, some 200 of its 300+ miles of waterway, emptying to the Atlantic Ocean at Jacksonville Beach. Until the early part of the 20th Century, water travel, both commercial and passenger depended on the river for North-South central state traffic, with railroads taking their turn at leadership mid-century and after The War Between The States earlier, especially along the East coast Fuel oil, gasoline and dry goods moved by barge down the center of the state by river with rail traffic taking larger commercial and industrail commodities by early 20th Century – and the occasional moonshiner intruding with flat-bottomed commercial-style fishing craft towing submerged 200- and 300-gallon “blivets” of raw “shine” up to Palatka where it was offloaded – by tradition as much as cunning, since a large sandbar blocked much larger boat traffic from the upper St. Johns through the latter half of the 19th Century. Stern and paddle-wheel boats which now ply the St. Johns were all the interior traffic available until rail moved inland to Sanford, Lake Mary and Orlando to serve South Florida. For a brief period central state citrus – and pineapples – were “sledged” East from Sanford to The Indian River between Mims and Titusville, where they were loaded onto “packet” sailing ships bound for Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York and beyond. Freezes and commercial rail and refrigerated truck traffic ended all that. The state did not have a continuously paved truck and automobile roadway until the mid-1920s, and it ended near Lake Placid, just above Lake Okeechobee. In many respects Florida remains a frontier state, as a trip to Southwest Florida’s Ten Thousand Islands from Fort Myers to Cape Sable readily could convince the tourist. Tyros still get lost in the mangrove-ringed “islands” some of which are located on “Lost Man’s River,” a name both apocryphal and actual even today/ Now, the St. Johns and its several tributaries mostly are for recreation, though commercial fishing – and crabbing (Blue Crab adapted to fresh water spring-fed runs abound and are commercial harvested, especially in and around Lake George, the most massive lake in Welaka’s string of pearls) – and the casual weekday waterman can have his motorized, human- or wind-powered pleasure most any day not named Saturday or Sunday. Plenty of stops for sustenance and sippenance and fuel for the engine – and overnight accommodations both private and rental – abound. Every few decades, however some doofus resurrects the notion of a Cross-Florida Canal, sundering several important underground freshwater passages, not to mention, inviting further salt-water intrusions. But I have come to a bifurcation: perhaps a cross-state canal could have a use: into which we could throw visitors from “up-nawff” who decided to stay and raise their own garden of wacko ideas about how best to improve Florida. We already know: convince about two million – or more – of y’all to move back to Ohio!)


Something perhaps more like: ‘gee, isn’t it wise and wonderful of us to create a near-cat with thumbs who knows where the can opener is? My treasured Siamese, Skeeter, even insisted I share the apple slices I gifted the tolerated yellow cur dog, Tiger, and I never rebuked her for spitting out the godsawful bit of fruit both I and Tiger loved. She even included that dog into the herd. He never said no. And when cheese was served along with the apple that cat insisted I separate the paired offerings and didn’t mind me giving her share of discard to dog. Skeets preferred indoors unless Tiger and I set up shop under a spreading Camphor tree and went trolling for loose canines to harass: then she was game and went trolling for pooches to sucker into a two-on-one just-us-cats (right?) fight. You evoke many fond memories, Bruce.

Cat Nap Revue

never leave the house
watch birds— no wonder my cats
think me one of them

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