tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6018406378664307972024-02-20T01:48:38.779-08:00TadaaaaaHDannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727508070178906983noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-601840637866430797.post-40024399404613540792010-11-26T08:49:00.000-08:002010-11-26T08:49:26.799-08:00167 to 1Religion through inheritance<br />
No thought really required<br />
Searching for meaning is dissuaded<br />
This concern right by birth has retired<br />
<br />
Parental approval guaranteed<br />
Endowment from higher powers<br />
A dollar or two buys redemption<br />
For six days and twenty-three hours<br />
<br />
Very few will resist inclusion<br />
Acceptance by family's the key<br />
Decisions made by dead relations<br />
Determines what each child will be<br />
<br />
A commitment of such great importance<br />
Should be more than a swift passing thought<br />
Blind faith without question is treacherous<br />
You must weigh everything that you're taught<br />
<br />
No one on earth has the answers<br />
Whether living today or in past<br />
Regurgitate bile of the elders<br />
Fomenting their dreams so they last<br />
<br />
Born out of man just like we are<br />
Religious perceptions on high<br />
Will fade and change with the seasons<br />
Like all man-made things they will dieDannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727508070178906983noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-601840637866430797.post-39588769762525126222010-11-25T10:24:00.000-08:002010-11-25T10:24:56.356-08:00Lime in a BottleOld Doris had a problem and it started with her nose<br />
It was always in some business that's not hers one would suppose<br />
It was really a big nuisance but it served as her third ear<br />
Collecting information no one else was apt to hear<br />
<br />
Of Course if Doris heard it then for sure it must be true<br />
If rumor was in question then the facts old Doris knew<br />
The neighbor ladies loved her, she was held in high esteem<br />
They all must be included in the information stream<br />
<br />
Her problem really started when she got into the gin<br />
She passed on speculation though the facts were kinda thin<br />
The girls became suspicious when she gave up using ice<br />
And the information path turned to a highway of advise<br />
<br />
How to rear your children was her first fermented tome<br />
Although her son was thirty-four and still lived in her home<br />
Then how to cook and clean instructions for the entire block<br />
That's when the other ladies realized she was a crock<br />
<br />
Now they very seldom talk to her although there's still a twinge<br />
They say she's still reliable when she's not on a binge<br />
So if they need some gossip to dissect some would be foes<br />
They'll stop by just by accident to see what Doris knowsDannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727508070178906983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-601840637866430797.post-50341480468452494082010-11-24T10:11:00.000-08:002010-11-24T10:11:45.484-08:00Old FriendsOld man Purdy has a wiggle in his walk<br />
And his teeth often click on occassion when he talks<br />
His glasses are as thick as bottle bottom ends<br />
He can start a fire with the sun through his left lense<br />
<br />
His wrinkled pants are heldup by suspenders and a belt<br />
And he wears a hat from 1929 that's made from felt<br />
Purdy has a dog,name of Rupert, what a pair<br />
You can tell which one is Rupert, he's the one that still has hair<br />
<br />
They both will gladly ride along if you're going for a drive<br />
Love to sit together and just glad to be alive<br />
Neither is to old to recognize a little fun<br />
And relish every moment when they're dozing in the sunDannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727508070178906983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-601840637866430797.post-77490435156341969412010-11-23T11:46:00.000-08:002010-11-23T11:46:17.024-08:00Tattoo Tattoo<br />
<br />
Pricked skin with needles shaped from words<br />
Outlined in black by society's random borders<br />
Colored by emotions from a rainbow of feelings<br />
Then rejected for the image that is permanently borne to view<br />
<br />
Piercings<br />
<br />
Push it through<br />
Tear the flesh<br />
Pinch the wound<br />
The damage lies inside, invisible<br />
<br />
Scarification<br />
<br />
Razors slitting seperation<br />
Fleshy fat erupts in mounds<br />
Shocked by the drying air never to return<br />
Creation's sculpture marred by an errant chiselDannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727508070178906983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-601840637866430797.post-78831627789980177442010-11-17T17:26:00.000-08:002010-11-17T17:26:40.983-08:00An Evening in the CaveQuiet tonight in the cave. Buddha is sleeping and I am sitting just watching the fire in the stove. It's easy to doze off on a night like this but i'm waiting for a friend to drop in. We have joined together in an Ebay store venture and it seems to be somewhat successful for having started so recently, so I am excited about it.<br />
<br />
I have been writing the next addition of Flybait, called Flybait's Reclamation, but the story is progressing slowly because of my inability to stay focused with everything else going on here. I hope to hear soon about the transformation of "Flybait's Lament" as well as "Wilt's Hollow" into screen plays. I am anxious but I don't want to call and start pushing because I think it should be allowed to happen without the additional pressure of an anxious author.<br />
<br />
My friend Kathy Griffin had her open house at the art gallery and I think she enjoyed it. I hope that she finds a lucritive following over time. She's a wonderfully open and endearing artist and deserves recognition and support for her talent. You might say that lately she's "gone to the birds" as she has created a flock of whimsical birds which she is offering. I was the proud recipient of a wonderful Raven that i have named Archangelo after my great grandfather. Archangelo smokes a pipe just like I do and I think my great grandfather might have as well. <br />
<br />
As for me I am still pondering . I haven't stop questioning formalized religion or the intrussion of government in our private lives or why toilet paper is in a roll rather than a box like tissue so you don't use so much. I still can't fathom why anyone would take "Dancing with the Stars" so seriously they blow away a perfectly good TV set. Somehow I think we have more serious problems than that to consider. I can't help but believe that regardless of which party controls the government, party politics is really their purpose. Democrats vs. Republicans is the game and common John Doe is forced to be the third string waterboy hoping for the recognition of a pat on the ass occassionally while constantly being discounted as to intellegence and common sense. Only after a drubbing at the polls will anyone of the political elite claim to get the message and then it will only be long enough to boil a one minute egg. I get the feeling that regardless of who goes to Washington they ultimately conclude that success in office requires the need to become "clever". In my way of thinking "clever" simply means smilingly deceiptful. I believe in a balanced budget and prevention of inacting legislation which has not been previously funded within the current budget. Cuts from programs which fail to meet expectation should be the source of unanticipated needs. I believe in a flat tax for all earning entities. I believe in the additional taxation of Corporate America who have holdings or are headquartered outside the USA. I don't believe in bailing out businesses including banks, insurance companies or the stock market. If AIG or Goldman Sacs had imploded there were a plethera of stable small companies that would have picked up the slack and thrived from the remains, for as with all things too much in one place is bad for the economy, environment, and the human race. I believe in small town America and look forward to a time when we realize that there should be a limit to the size of any town or city. Undoubtedly there is a mathematician out there who can calculate the size of a community that yields the best return to its citizens in terms of social service while generating revenue sufficient to promote a healthy educated caring community. It's not a New York City, or a Dallas, or a Seattle, or a Los Angeles or a Chicago, I believe it's something considerably smaller and much more manageable. Size emboldens to the detriment of the community as a whole.Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727508070178906983noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-601840637866430797.post-13877736004511750852010-11-14T06:36:00.000-08:002010-11-14T06:39:00.129-08:00Aging in Three ActsRail against the body's aging<br />
Rail against the loss of time<br />
Rail against the final heartbeat<br />
Rail against the finish line<br />
<br />
Anger serves to fuel the spirit<br />
Anger buffers pain with rage<br />
Anger beats back time's suppression<br />
Anger cloaks the fading age<br />
<br />
Hang on to your rage and anger<br />
Bookmark this the final page<br />
Scream your heartsong in full volume<br />
End act one, your final stage<br />
<br />
Longing for a past rememberance<br />
Longing for the strength to rise<br />
Longing for a word of kindness<br />
Longing for lost lover's eyes<br />
<br />
Throw away life's past endowments<br />
Throw away life's past regret<br />
Throw away the signs of future<br />
Throw away all goals not met<br />
<br />
Now rescind the pledge of duty<br />
Hold back plans of future view<br />
Lock away all that's remaining<br />
Sit and wait, end of act two<br />
<br />
Accept the weakness of your stature<br />
Accept the fact you do not know<br />
Accept the help that's thrown upon you<br />
Accept excitement's ceasing flow<br />
<br />
Sleep away the final moment<br />
Sleep and dream of only past<br />
Sleep protected from discomfort<br />
Sleep while final dies are cast<br />
<br />
All awareness now suspended<br />
Soaring spirit soon breaks free<br />
Silver thread breaks no resistance<br />
Now you're gone, the end act threeDannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727508070178906983noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-601840637866430797.post-24980986546023448572010-11-13T08:31:00.000-08:002010-11-13T08:31:41.061-08:00The Last LessonSoft downey tunnel so warm and secure<br />
Protected from weather and wind to be sure<br />
Fly thinks it's home and there's nothing to fear<br />
Until he gets stuck and the spider appears<br />
<br />
Fish in a brook feeding frenzy in force<br />
Grabbing at bugs as they float down the course<br />
Thinks it can eat everything in its way<br />
Even the worms that are shaped in a "J"<br />
<br />
Beautiful light glowing soft bluish hues<br />
Circling around to enjoy all the views<br />
Mesmerized lover besotted young sap<br />
Zips into touch hot loves final bright zap<br />
<br />
Squirrels chasing tails up and down the big oak<br />
Climbing so high is considered a joke<br />
Dashing young daredevil leaps tree to tree<br />
Til the spans six foot four and the jumps six foot three<br />
<br />
Cardinal singing and flying in flits<br />
Then views a stranger from where the bird sits<br />
Challenge is made no allowance to pass<br />
Until it's cut short by a sheet of plateglass<br />
<br />
Fat cat is grooming just out of dog's reach<br />
Unphased by barking and growling to teach<br />
Lies down to preen and prepare for a nap<br />
The noise is so loud he can't hear the chain snap<br />
<br />
Nature's last lessons can be rather stark<br />
They happen regardless of daylight or dark<br />
To each of its victims beside the term "Duh?"<br />
Is the unfinished sentence we hear said "What the...???"Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727508070178906983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-601840637866430797.post-2716075407550914212010-11-12T08:04:00.000-08:002010-11-12T08:04:01.564-08:00The Gray CrayonNo longer sent to dreaming places<br />
By colors used to fill the spaces<br />
Childhood memories are made from color<br />
A magic wand for a crayon muller<br />
<br />
Don't cross the lines or carelessly scribble<br />
Fill the space and not just a dribble<br />
The boldest colors are the best<br />
For emotions that we must express<br />
<br />
Why is it then as we grow older<br />
We shrink to gray instead of bolder<br />
Perhaps this is the dearest cost<br />
When the thrill in color with age is lostDannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727508070178906983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-601840637866430797.post-34374273797593671142010-11-12T07:59:00.000-08:002010-11-12T07:59:08.011-08:00A FlickerIt's Friday and things seem to have improved over the last few days, not in the legal struggle but financially there has been somewhat of an easing. <br />
I finally have the woodstove installed and it seems as though Buddha and I will experience a somewhat more snug winter this year than in the past. Next is to rebuild the toilet to work from harvested rainwater and then perhaps by spring to start digging a retention pond. I'm on a mission to become as self reliant as I can be and break away from as many City services and utilities as possible. Additionally I will remove as much hard surface on my 5 acres as possible and convert it back to urban farmland where I hope to grow a market garden and sell the produce. I have already located a vending trailer that I'm hoping to buy sometime in the spring. <br />
One benefit of transitioning away from business as usual has been the loss of stress relating to the coming holiday season. Now that it is just me at the plant , I don't have to worry about keeping other people employed which is a great relief.Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727508070178906983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-601840637866430797.post-22321549126921811532010-11-11T06:54:00.000-08:002010-11-11T16:04:26.661-08:00Wind SpritesBreezes playing tag, blowing in my ears and face<br />
Ruffling up my old grey cap of hair now out of place<br />
They really are quite gentle though they're rascals all the same<br />
To tease me is so shameful as they hardly know my name<br />
<br />
The little sprites are joyful even when they poke my eyes<br />
Because the tears they cause me , with their kisses, quickly dries<br />
Some of them are warm, gentle signitures of spring<br />
While others are a bit more cold, the last of winter's fling<br />
<br />
The twirling and the swirling of their gentle fairy dance<br />
Transitions other seasons where big brothers get a chance<br />
Old man summer's thunderstorms and brother winter's snow<br />
Their sharp swords truly blunted by the spring/fall pixie show<br />
<br />
Invisible to sight they play a game of hide and seek<br />
Although the tree leaves warn me just before they kiss my cheek<br />
Their rough and tumble games push down the branches and the grass<br />
And slam the old shed door each time they make a gleeful pass<br />
<br />
Two of them across the field will wildly make a dash <br />
And lift up into heaven a discarded piece of trash<br />
Then gently place it down and shift it 'round 'til it fits best<br />
Like a swan who with her down constructs her future signet's nest<br />
<br />
Ghostly little cherubs come to herald season's change<br />
Dance away the winter cold or summer's heat and rains<br />
I know they won't forget me as they leave I feel them wave<br />
They'll return and bide me dance even when its on my graveDannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727508070178906983noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-601840637866430797.post-89984543956740205532010-11-10T06:57:00.000-08:002010-11-10T06:57:51.439-08:00Lessons in PlayInnocence startled by a lie<br />
Heart flutter with awareness<br />
Precursor to an abomination<br />
Ice skating lost for a lack of edge<br />
<br />
White sphere poised for success<br />
Helmeted Trojan advances<br />
Weapon swung in desperation<br />
T-ball sits unaffected by the anticipated dream<br />
<br />
Bones rolling to reveal the spots<br />
Destiny held in points of black<br />
Angst awaits the accountants tolling<br />
No advance, return to go<br />
<br />
Twist the handle<br />
Hear the music<br />
Dread fills the stomach and mind<br />
Jack is held for the lack of one note<br />
<br />
Children eagerly wanting to stay<br />
Begging for someone to watch how they play<br />
Mother insisting they put games away<br />
Winning must wait for a more perfect dayDannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727508070178906983noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-601840637866430797.post-88144579996620370092010-11-09T06:55:00.000-08:002010-11-09T06:55:31.207-08:00Too Stupid to Lead or Gov't and the LawPlacated but not resolved<br />
Ambitions mollified for a moment<br />
destination still unreachable<br />
Movement stalled by a word<br />
<br />
Progress diverted<br />
Forced to take a longer path<br />
Intellect as a weapon<br />
Common sense the victim<br />
<br />
Reason ransomed<br />
Self serving fills the cup<br />
Slaves to Intelligentsia<br />
Common man abasedDannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727508070178906983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-601840637866430797.post-66692639808431767962010-11-08T11:22:00.000-08:002010-11-08T11:22:29.582-08:00The Idle HoursMoments softened in drowsy haze with a sense of completion<br />
No urgency to rush forward or back but stay safe at home<br />
The mind's eye blinks at last and moistens the lens<br />
Thoughts become clear, resolution is at hand<br />
<br />
Untightened shoes release the foot to dance over the tingling grass<br />
Uncinched waist relaxes, purring like a cat enjoying a good rub<br />
Cool water flushes the tired haggard face<br />
And for a moment youth returns<br />
<br />
New awareness of sights and smells<br />
White noise seperates into colors of recognition<br />
Humor returns, bubbling up like a covered pot<br />
And the earth draws the body down to rest centered<br />
<br />
Moments unfolding in the idle hours<br />
Where rest renews the flagging spirit<br />
Pressure of the masses is thrown off<br />
Returning to the gift of self and homeDannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727508070178906983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-601840637866430797.post-27422662393259593972010-11-08T11:11:00.000-08:002010-11-08T11:11:44.158-08:00Z-endAnd if I die before I wake<br />
Not a prayer, but a wish we make<br />
Anguish of never knowing when<br />
But if you knew you'd wish again<br />
<br />
Better left a big surprise<br />
Then know when you'll not open eyes<br />
I pray the Lord my soul to take<br />
But I'd rather have more birthday cake<br />
<br />
We all must go I understand<br />
Leave this world for an ethereal land<br />
But when it's time to seek that shore<br />
I hope that it is in mid-snoreDannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727508070178906983noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-601840637866430797.post-19517699050029416942010-11-08T06:33:00.000-08:002010-11-08T06:33:29.039-08:00The WellCursed well of broken dreams<br />
Filled by wishes in the night<br />
Prayers for sustenance and keeping<br />
Drowning depth has now been reached<br />
<br />
Dredges force the bottom deeper<br />
Though the ether holds no mass<br />
Untold heartbreak flows like water<br />
Bubbles of hope break at the surface<br />
<br />
Draw the senses up in buckets<br />
Dash them across the face of want<br />
Washer woman's washboard scrapping<br />
Rasping off the illusions of youthDannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727508070178906983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-601840637866430797.post-43604272073964698792010-11-07T14:52:00.000-08:002010-11-07T14:52:11.400-08:00Tadaaaaah Well here I am...hello...anyone? I suppose it's natural for someone such as myself to blog. Not that anyone wants to read what I have to say as much as I want to say it. If this space is simply the ramblings of my internal mind to my external self then so be it.<br />
I have finished my third book entitled "Wilt's Hollow" and am half heartedly seeking a new publisher. My original publishing company has done a rather unamazing job and so I am hoping to discovered someone else. It's like having to re-audition every year with the opera company I sang for in years past. I dislike it immensely but in as much as I don't make the rules I must abide. There are so many similarities between the music industry and the publishing industry and unfortunately they all seem to center around ego.Just as you must swallow your pride and endure the conductors and "Divas" in opera so too must you cow tow down to editors and agents and genuflect in their self-important presence even though they themselves owe their existence to a myriad of daydreaming,mental adventurers,ie authors,who willingly sequester themselves away for weeks, months and even years to churn out a story to be used as fodder. I suspect that the temptation to self publish is growing stronger and stronger even though the "traditional" publishers attempt to psychologically maim the concept with terms such as "vanity publishing" etc.. I find there to be little incentive to place my work in someone elses hands and then be told that the success of the book is dependent upon my willingness to promote it, given a small if otherwise nonexistant royalty, and then forgotten a few weeks later in favor of their next victim. It's my own fault however for being nieve and trusting. At least I was able to learn the harshness of the business with little personal expense except for a severely bruised ego myself. The lesson learned was that I lost the reason why I write in the first place. I write for the joy of it. When I told my first story it filled me with a sense of completion and a feeling of attaining something ,a goal if you will, that many people talk about but relatively few achieve.Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08727508070178906983noreply@blogger.com1