Cable Fine

A solitary run down shack

set way back in the tall pines

remained untouched by human hands

except for those of Cable Fine.

 

He’d lived with her, in love for years.

When she left, he went mad at first,

but before long the hurt wore off.

At last, he was over the worst.

 

Then he came to the conclusion

that his wife was an albatross.

She’d always tried to bring him down.

All those years were a total loss.

 

The quiet no longer seemed sad

and he learned to like the stillness.

The constant jabbering of folks

he figured was like an illness.  

 

Contemplation was far sweeter

than dining with his so-called friends.

They talked money and possessions

and the means to obtain that end.

 

It was a tiresome ordeal

so he retreated to the pines

where he could live his life in peace

and be alone with Cable Fine.

He became wrapped up in himself

and didn’t note the passage of time.

He grew older and odder still

and died alone with Cable Fine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beyond Measure

Our words are powerful beyond measure.

Whether written on a page or spoken

they have power to be trash or treasure

and can either wound or heal the broken.

 

Before uttering or writing a word,

it is wise to consider the impact

and how others could take what they’ve heard

as well as how they may choose to react.

 

Sometimes the urge to speak the entire mind

reveals the motive lurking in the dark

recesses and sheds light on how unkind

the soul of the speaker is and how stark.

 

Truth telling may be quite commendable,

yet harsh facts do little good without love.

Words that treat people like they’re expendable

may be accurate, but what will you prove?

 

May God grant those wielding the pen and tongue

the wisdom to use those tools with great care

to encourage and help both old and young,

to lift up and not bring down to despair.

 

Less is More, More or Less

Things and stuff and stuff and things

never will true happiness bring.

Do with far less and you will soon see

contentment become reality.

 

Too much to buy, too much to pay,

it wrecks your peace of mind each day.

Too many toys to wash and shine

like that brand new car of yours and mine.

 

Cut up those credit cards of plastic.

Take measures that to some seem drastic.

Simplify, unclutter, and trim back

and you’ll spare yourself a heart attack.

 

Accumulated trinkets and junk

chip away the soul in great big chunks.

True worth isn’t in what you possess.

A good character is made with less.







 

Life on the Inside

Darkness enveloped inside its belly

as stomach acids went to on it.

He wondered, “What have I swallowed this time?”

That object went down easily enough,

But it’s left my poor tummy feeling sour.”

The fish kept swimming for three days and nights

with a stomach ache that was gargantuan.

The man inside was disobedient.

He’d gone out from the presence of his God

because he didn’t like his new assignment.

The people there were unworthy and heathens.

Nineveh was violent, filled with evil.

The place was nothing but a thorn his side

and the inhabitants were ignorant,

so much so that they couldn’t even tell

which hand was their right and which was their left.

God didn’t care how the man felt about it.

He wanted the message of repentance preached.

By divine appointment, He sent the fish.

Now, the man sat alone in the darkness,

buried within the fish’s belly to think.

His circumstance reminded the man of hell.

Only here, he was travelling through the waves

with seaweed wrapped about his aching head.

The soggy soul underwent a change of mind.

The fish was glad for he’d had all he could take.

He was so intensely nauseated

that he vomited the vile man on the beach.

He swam away feeling so much better

that he vowed to be more careful next time.

The man went on his way to Ninevah.

The city was a three days’ journey off,

but Jonah did as he was told this time.

He preached; they repented; God forgave them.

Jonah was angry! Go figure.










 

 

 

 

Too Much Rain

Rain, rain, rain, I am sick of rain.

The sky is so dark; the sight brings pain.

I’ll pull the stopper from the drain

and make the sun come out again.

 

No matter how hard that I try,

I cannot make this rain say goodbye.

It’s going to stay here until I die

and float to the sweet by and by.

 

Maybe I’ll just go with the flow.

Rather than sink or swim I’ll go

to work and build an ark to show

I don’t care if it rains or snows.

 

Oh rain, rain, please, please go away.

Forget the smart mouth things I say.

Will you leave if I plead and pray?

No? I guess you’ve come here to stay.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's Magic

Abracadabra and alakazam, 

presto changeo ,  there’s nothing in my hand.

Now, for my next trick, I’ll make him appear,

But he won’t return; he’s been gone a year.

 

No kind of magic, not even a spell

will bring him back as far as I can tell.

I’ve tried a love potion called number nine,

but that didn’t work; he still isn’t mine.

 

I waved a wand with a star on the end,

but it was a wasted effort, my friend,

for none of my wishes and incantations

brought results though I screamed imprecations.

 

If the moon and stars were somehow aligned

and I counted to a gazillion nine times,

perhaps luck would once more be on my side.

He'd orbit my way; our worlds would collide.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blackberries and Dreams

Blackberries luscious and as large

as thumbs sat in a bowl of white.

The contrast was beautifully stark

and created an appealing sight.

 

Then I noticed something most odd.

The room was of color devoid

like an old-fashioned negative,

vivid shades were gone or destroyed.

 

I turned to run from the room screaming,

but could not open my mouth.

I tried to fling open the door

twisting the knob for all it’s worth.

 

Feeling as trapped as a caged rat,

frantically I pounded the door,

as my mouth formed a silent scream.

It wouldn’t budge, so I pounded more.

 

Staring wide-eyed around the room,

I noticed the walls were moving in,

The ceiling began descending,

and there arose a horrid din.

 

It was a terrible whump, whump sound.

I put my hands over my ears

in an attempt to drown it out,

but it grew louder as did my fears.

 

Blackberries flew from the white bowl

as it sailed through the air and smashed.

When it hit the oncoming wall,

my hopes of getting out were dashed.

 

I stumbled toward a tall window

and tried to break it with a fist.

My hand bounced off like rubber

as it hung limply from my wrist.

 

Each night is long with dreams galore.

Some delight while others dismay.

What horrors roam a resting mind?

Some that won’t stand the light of day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Silent Dancer

She danced across the floor with such grace

with gliding moves, smooth and effortless.

A dreamy smile was fixed on her face,

but the music she swayed to was soundless.

 

She lived swathed in a shroud of silence

and danced to the beat that she could feel

rumbling through the floors for guidance

as she gently placed her toes and heels.

 

It seemed so natural; no one guessed

that the beauty never heard a song.

They never knew that she was stone deaf,

although she never did sing along.

 

Every dance partner was enchanted.

Her indigo eyes pierced their hearts through

and her smile was like a gift granted

from a goddess above me or you.

 

She vanished before the dance ended.

Though she was sought, she was never found.

She left into the night unattended

to retreat to a world without sound.

 

Many a young man dreams of her still

and longs to be held in her embrace.

They would waltz until she had her fill

just for a second look at her face.















 

 

 

 

Popularity

Today’s blog post will be short and to the point. The Sunday Scribblings prompt for the week is one word: popular. As I sit down at the keyboard, I will attempt to type strictly from the heart, so bear with me.

Is being popular important? Some people would answer with an unequivocal yes, but I would say no. I must admit that I’ve never been popular. Popularity is not as important to me as having a clear conscience or in other words doing what I believe is right. I would much rather put my head to rest on the pillow each night knowing that I’ve followed the dictates of my principles than have the fleeting praise, applause, and accolades of those around me because those things come and go so quickly that it won’t matter in a week or two anyway.

Another thing I’ve learned over the years is that those who expect you to sit down, shut up, smile and just go along to get along are not and never have been my friends. If they were, they would at least respect my opinions even if they chose to disagree with them. I don’t crave their approval and I’m glad. Living for the approval of others is a sad existence. No, I do not consider life to be one big popularity contest. It is much more serious than that.

Being Fuzzy

I’ve heard that Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear

and that Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair,

but it’s not a tale I believe, at all,

so let me tell you what I recall.

Fuzzy went into a bar for a drink

and drank glasses of something pink.

His eyes watered and then they became blurred.

His mind was fuzzy; his speech was slurred.

He guzzled down gallons of pink gin fizz

by then he’d forgotten who he is,

so if he ever wants to make the grade,

he’d better stick to lemonade.

 

Party Animals

 

 

 

 

 

It was the king’s idea to have a big bash,

But once his guests arrived, he asked them for cash.

He needed dough all the costs to defray.

Frog said the king’s demands were not okay.

The king got quite rowdy; the frog was irate.

The candles tipped knocking the cake from the plate.

They argued and fought over food of all sorts.

The badger swore he’d drag the king into court.

The others got hammered on steins of strong drink.

Frog said the party was starting to stink,

So the king tried his best to calm them down,

By telling them the cops would soon come around.

The king turned out to be absolutely right.

The cops broke down their door and ended their fight.


They told the critters to cease and desist.


Frog said it'd be stupid to resist.


The cops stated it was go home or straight to jail.


When the beasts heard that, they started to wail.


The jig is up and it’s time to go home,


But it's the best party they'd ever known.

Getting with the Flow

The stream flows on to merge with the river.

Obstacles are swept up in its current

As it meanders on effortlessly

And endlessly toward the waiting ocean.

The clear, pristine water is shimmering

From the rays of the late afternoon sun

And the branches of pendulous tree limbs

Shake their leaves in the faint summer breezes

To create some dappled light in places.

Nothing can mar the beauty of this day

And nothing of import will quell the progress

Of the ever flowing, cascading water.

Sitting by the stream with my back propped up

Against a gnarly deeply rooted old tree

With its rugged ridged bark against my shirt,

I begin to wonder about my life

And ask myself why when resistant road blocks

Obstruct the flow of my forward motion

Can’t I simply sweep them swiftly aside

And move toward the desired goal in mind.

As I drift off into a sweet slumber,

Lulled nearly senseless by the tumbling

Sound of moving water and warm sunshine,

I decide for once in my life to learn

How to go with my own strong inner flow,

Instead of bucking against the current.

When I awake, I will try to begin,

But for now I will float off to dreamland

And allow time to savor this moment.

 

 

 

 

 

The Show

She wears a smile plastered firmly in place,

With lips stretched so tight it could crack her face.

She is determined; the show must go on.

Her heart isn't it in now that he’s gone.

 

Her sole reason for the show walked away,

But she will still go on and face the day.

The make-up helps to hide the tear rimmed eyes,

And covers up a multitude of lies.

 

She lived this sham and it’s become routine,

For she knew what happened behind the scenes.

No one else ever knew of her sad plight.

The bruises were kept hidden from their sight.

 

She’ll sing a song now and sing it alone,

And pray that her man never returns home.

The show will end to thunderous applause.

She weeps, but only she knows the real cause.

 

Backstage he gives the weak apology.

He admits it’s all his fault; she agrees.

She has heard it before so many times,

As he hands her the roses for his crimes.

 

The show's over; this time she won’t forgive.

It’s not the kind of life she wants to live,

So she throws the red roses in his face,

As security takes him from the place.