“How Do You Say That…?”

(November 21, 2019)

How do you say that

in Sanford* is the question:

Jargon spoken here!

*(Sanford, Florida, USA, is my hometown – not my natal place-of-birth which is a Naval Hospital hard by a Naval college and a College of Navel-Gazers: Jargon is spoken in both places. In Washington, District of Columbia, that is about all which is spoke, written or read(-din’?) therein. In Sanford it is different. “Bokey” some say is a Gullah word for Sanford; Pokey is where altogether too many Bokeys went after running afoul and perhaps taking one or three-too-may fowls from Sanford backyards and were welcome to see their eventual Pokey-men come save them from their neighbors. Snaffurd speaks many languages: Some even taught elsewhere. We no longer teach Latin but I have heard a little about a small insurrection in that regards. Latin is not jargon. Internet is jargon – the Web, especially spouts jargon. Churches and Bars jargonize continually. Musically speaking we got jargon aplenty and on most nights, too! Gone, however, are the days of Adam & Eve On A Raft in our restaurants and heaven forfend if ever again I encounter Steak Diane on offer for my sup. At Sullivan’s Public House I can mix my jargons wonderfully. That is a place in begging need of franchisement. We have a booming place in which spirited drinks and special beers are dispensed to be taken by patrons of an upscale and eclectic furniture store called The Imperial. They’ve got one in nearby younger town Orlando, just off our first railroad tracks as it were, but they ain’t got the booze by gawd! My, yes, we got jargon. By the bushel, the peck or the pound. Now don’t you fret: Tuesday A Week I’ll be back with a satchel of that there jargon in mason jars if I’ve suspicioned the intent of my own personal moonshiners kerreckly!)

“Dan’l Wrote A Book*”

(November 21, 2019)

Words matter Meaning

Important – connote, denote

different: not same!

*(Sometimes I forget to point fingers at lexicographers further past Mister Webster, but ‘tween him and those editors and contributors in Oxford I get ‘twixt cliffs and shoals in choosing my next hard-place landing site in my oft’ no-need-to-‘scrute as it’s not able in my wild swings from condemnation to crusade with my friends The Words. May ever they continue to excuse if not exculpate me!)

“‘Gainst The Old Wind*” Tanka 2636

(November 22, 2019)

Come, join us in Crux:

Write if you will – Read, you Must;

Teach just by doing!

That is the matter at most:

Crutch of doers and teachers!

*(Often enough to be annoying still, I comment on a subject when I transfer it to Facebook: it’s happened again. Often have I found myself at odds with a subject with which I have had altogether too many scrapes. The Old Saw: Those who Can, Do; Those who Can’t Teach. In that FB intro I worded it less wordily. But the best of my so many fine – and so thankfully very few horrible – teachers did, and do, both. Right now, I am embroiled in a slight teaching project with a doer friend I found in my mirror long ago and have consented to teach the right horrid brat a thing about doing. Soon as I get my teachin’ certificate, that is!)

how to explain life to a live girl

How to explain why only five stars available to praise this piece, Tetiana? So glad I stopped by en route to tardy returns to mine own fields. I kept waiting for denouement and a door surprised me to go searching for Harvey’s Hop-Sister to tell her of such sandwiched delights and drippy floors. Thanks.

unbolt me

they walk around the room cuddling a dead hare
smearing the floor with stale syrupy gold
they cry out loud that awakening is here
exactly as beuys has foretold

i lie on the floor trying not to sleep
but the damned gold flashes before my eyes
here i balance over the greasy steep
falling through the creaky rickety skies

and i see in my dream how a huge dead hare
cuddles me to its soft warm belly
runs its paws over my messy hair
treats me to marmite and orange jelly

the hare whispers of shoes and sealing wax
of shooting stars over the seashore
that a worldview’s a matter of parallax
…i wake up to the sound of a slammed door

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