Hugh Jeego

Thanks, Robin.

I appreciate it, Julie.

Thanks man.

Kind of you, Robin.

We weren't members of the Lutheran flock,
but it didn't hamper those April walks, with mom
and Daena hoofing springy steps that freshened
our breath and line dried clothes.

Trail-head for the stroll a red brick road
aptly named Mason where our rented home
stood above sand on piled blocks.

Left turn on McGee Tisha's house is two away
from the intersection cornering a field of bouquets
in bloom along Monroe avenue.

Hues that accent the stained glass panes
pop of color for the plain brown table,
fuchsia purple, pastel blue, and red copper
belonged in a vase not a lawnmower hopper.

Puppies are reared to frolic
piss on bushes and lick faces
sniff butts and hump like rabbits.

People are raised up docile
told to lower the blinds
zip up their pants
bow to the crowned and do-si-do.

Square dancing marionettes
dishing caviar for the captain
but food stamps can't buy them tickets
to his opulent ball.

Do the bunny hop you little breeders
get your buzz on and fill up those hives
then kowtow in the beekeepers smoke.

Thanks, Julie. This is based on an actual experience I had in the early 1990's while working as a carpet cleaning tech on Disney property here in Florida. It was surreal seeing world famous Bob Hope being ushered quietly out the service entrance of the fancy hotel just steps in front of me.

Machines called ninja's
were about as agile as a
flying brick. Rolling them
across asphalt parking lots
with coiled hoses piled
atop their tubs took muscle.

Me with my best friend and
wand slinging partner lugged
the gear in at the service
entrance, prepping for another
sludge sucking session.

Checked in early at the Plaza
hotel so ascent to the twenty
seventh floor must wait.
Loitered outside the aluminum
framed sliding glass gate
so my comrade could smoke.

The doors parted and exiting
from the shadow within came
a frail man clothed in pajama
pants a burgundy velvet
smoking jacket and slippers.

As he slowly shuffled past us
arm led toward the nearby
nightclub by a woman decades
his junior, I asked under my breath
is that George Burns?

Still scratching my head,
we proceeded to stuff
wet vacs on steroids into an
elevator and start the rise.
Heading to the top, boyish bouncing
jammed the lift between floors.

After a stint of claustrophobic
confinement we reached our target
and cleaned the carpet.
While loading out my partner's
light bulb brightened and he
blurted "That was Bob Hope!".

Here's hoping you have a fabulous day today, and many more ahead, Pumpi!

A poignant expression that hit's home for many, Storm.

^^^
cousins...?

Upton O. Goode

Max Dowt

An illusion's reality is often elusive. It's a good to read from you again, mig.

Thank you.

Thanks, River. I appreciate your kindness.

Layne Staley
Etta James
Tony Bennett
Vince Gill
Sebastian Bach

I appreciate the encouragement, Storm. I've shared my writing here and on some poetry specific sites for several years.

The things that I write about, and the way I express myself, don't seem to connect with enough readers for me to feel my writing is publishing worthy.

No, I haven't been published. It would be gratifying to be though.

Thanks, Julie.

I didn't make plans to stomp
twenty four more cans on Tuesdays.
Sunday dad swore I "won't see a case of beer"
Monday evening when he slams the truck door.

A tape recorded memo might've saved his larynx.

If waiting on molasses to pour is a virtue
then the brown syrup and broken jars
heaped in the church dumpster
across the alley from the bar
leave me scratching my scalp.

My bull headed sobriety does not fall
neither does the celibacy that follows
the flowering of walls.

Thirty layers of dust coat a bottle of sparkling cider
saved for my cherry popping party or funeral
whichever arrives first.