screee

The Little Man in my Garden, and gnomes at work

First off let me say that not only am I losing the battle of the weeds this summer, I have thrown in the towel. The war is over. Weeds is won it.
This year the Little Man in my Garden and his uber weeds have taken the day. They have won the season.
I've been pretty good at working about the garden, but the yard is a disaster. Not too many dandelions, but the crabgrass. Ich! And there's some viney stringy stuff too, and the thistle starts creeping in when I take my eye off of it.
Yeah, the Little Man is having his way with my green space. I went to search him out beneath the William Shakespeare Mulberry with Toby (backup) and got a surprise.
“Nay, he has not been here this long summer of your discontent,” said Willy, and he ruffled his tresses. I'd given him a bit of a haircut and by George, the old man was looking pretty dapper. A bit of Will's structure could even be discerned, and he didn't look like an unruly mop head anymore. Toby sniffed at his leaves; some were trailing onto the Coreopsis below.
I asked about the little man's whereabouts. “He went up North, so say the Finches, to visit his mum; but 'e left weeds about for the spreading. These wee creatures have gathered and sewn. Precious mites.”
Incredible. I was expecting a shouting match, and garbled slurs. Instead I get mulberry soliloquizing. And weeds! No rest from the weeds, even with the little sprite gone on vacation. Toby was no help. He didn't even pee on the tree. Just shuffled off to sniff a snapdragon and get startled by a mammoth bumble.
Gads! I can't even win the fight when the caustic little shit is away! Okay, so next year will be different. I'm doing the winterizer this fall and the preemergence next spring, and we'll see who gets the jump on who.
“Aye, snigger a digger! Ya puny googliget!” What's that? “Is he back? Toby, go get him! Bite his head off!”
“Woof.” wag waggity wag.
“Erg, ya crumbumbler. My mum booted me; said get thee back and weed 'im up, ya scraggler. Yer no son o' mine if ya let'im get those weedys by der roots! Har.”
“I'm gonna take my yard back next year, Little Man. You just wait and see; you may have won this summer, but I'll be back!” Thanks for the help, Toby.
“Ar...teweedly heehee and snicker snicker pffft.”
And he's getting all the best of my grape tomatoes now. Drat, I just can't win.
“Hee hee. Hoo! May a toad pee on yer toes! Ya sniggle tee hoo!”

garden map

it's a beautiful day in the neighborhood...

if at first you don't succeed

Ouch, it's hot.
That's the sun, don't touch it. Oh shoot, now I have to do this all over again....Lemme move that thing a few million miles away.

Reset

Ouch, it's hot.
That's because it's been sitting out in the sunlight all day.
Oh; well did you make it hot enough?
Did I make it hot enough, what!?
Hot enough, Almighty?
Darn tootin'. Yes, I did. Okay, I just thought of a name for you; it's P.J. Hotenuv.
What's the P.J. stand for?
Does everything have to mean something? Anyway, I want you to move this rock.
This hot thing? Alright. Nnnmph. Jeez, it's heavy.
That's because it's a boulder.
Wha? You said it was a rock.
A big rock is a boulder.
?
Stand up straight and wipe that dumb look off your face. Now listen up. A big rock is a boulder, and a smaller rock is a stone and a tiny rock is a pebble.
Why not just call it big rock, tiny rock and plain rock?
Because this is more confusing! Now, I want you to move this rock.
Well, this big rock, er, boulder, is heavy. I can't move it!
C'mon, P.J, think.
Um. It's on a slope. Maybe I can use this big stick...
Limb.
Maybe I can use this fallen limb to lever it and...
Oops...perhaps I should have told him about gravity. Now I have to start all over again, again. Fudgesicles!

Reset

well below the neck

here's my little contribution to the

Tenth Daughter of Memory.

Think of the picture/doodle as

my main entry, and the rhyme as backup.

And if anyone is interested, 10thDoM is

always looking for more bloggers to post

their stories/pictures/poems.

Rules are at the site.

Subterfuge on Piedome Lane was a matter of course
where the cars purred like cats on all fours like a horse
and James Monroe Smith took his notes in a halter
with one leg in the air, and his chin to insult her.
Sally countered with punches to his neck and his spleen
and every contraption he owned inbetween
except it din't phase him, he gave her the eye
almost as if Sal had not even tried.
Coming upon the front of the back of the lane
the girl knew that James was ahead in the game
so she landed a kick that he had not seen coming
well below the neck
well below the belt
well that dastardly kick really was something.
Jimmy was stumped, no more tricks in his bag
in fact 'twas his sack that was mortally tagged
and Sally departed
stage left so it seems
to end all her quarrels
if you know what I means.

TT- A Brush with Insignificance

I feel like Dante, lost in the nine levels of hell
—I'd taken a wrong turn and Virgil my ever vigilant guide
had left without me.
He crawled up over Satan's scaly carapace
into the fresh air of a transitory state.
I stayed believing myself secure from the horrors that belied me, but even as I cleared a new oasis
and stood back to refresh myself
the void crumbled in about itself
filling in like the sand
fills a dug hole on a beach.
The waves go out,
the waves come in.
This is called Job Security,
but it is a little piece of hell on earth...
Now I've succumbed to the pleasures
of my home, where I recline
and wield my brush,
dipping into the infinite palette
waving it higlety piglety at a fresh canvas.
It is a joy to escape the rigors of responsibility
into a paradise of distraction. What was, isn't now,
and tomorrow's another day; what is it they say?
“Carpe diem?”
I say 'fresh fish smells best in nature's broth'.
Ha ha, not really—that's stupid.

union station

we wandered the streets of DC with a purpose, a definite touristy type purpose which i had hoped to avoid. Problem was, we were staying outside of DC and couldn't just walk out the front door and be part of the city. It was always sort of a hassle getting into town. Get dressed for a day out, have a bottle of water, have your keys and metro card. Every trip has a destination. And the heat. Murderous. Naggingly so. I want to kill you, said the sun. Even an overcast day couldn't keep the heat from leaking through. My thoughts of just sitting and watching, doodling, evaporated with my will to thrive in the heat. A swinging door and air conditioning were always a top priority. Nevertheless, at one point she wanted to peruse a location that i sifted through lightly, then parted. And i wound up in a little wooded park outside the front entrance to Union Station. There were bench seats along the paved avenues, but all were filled. These folks were enjoying nature, but in the shade. I found a tree and sat at its base, legs stretched out into the grass. There i let the bugs crawl over me and attempted a sketch of the building through the trees. No great artist, but i gave it a go and came up with this. Trust me, the real thing would blow you away, as do all the great architectural sights of DC, and neither my pen or a camera do them justice.

picture out of limbo and idiot blathering

click on pic to enlargic

in a slog

below the random glog

lay a choke bloke

heavy headed

wearing a dog.

His girl up and left im

her excuses slim

choke bloke took a smoke rope

heavy handed

sculpted a choke rope very grim.

The dog robe

fearing disrobe

liked his choke bloke

piddled and chewed in fact

upon that dusty dandy

and talked into his earlobe:

and this is what he said:

woof woof woof,

meaning don't do it choke bloke.

And so the bloke and his dog lived happily ever after,

because this isn't a Harlan Ellison story.

Too bad, because it would have been a lot better if it was.

arriving soon, more or less, or not at all, at a theatre, in another place and time...

Wheelchair Specifica ...

...is less a movie than it is a diatribe
against modern man
...hates me
...is plagued with overexposed
duo-heads that swivel
and speak in monochromes
...belittles itself in becoming
a trivial romantic comedy
offset with tragic trickery
like dogs barking in the distance
and rolling fog
and branches that loom
...is destined to poke out your eye
...harkens back to olden days
with player pianos
and cigars
...contains a sphere
of rotating teeth
and rock stars
that cannot act
...is filmed
then painted over
and dubbed loosely
for blubbery effect
...has pornographic scenes
of monstrous entrails
...is unrated
...satisfies, like hitting a nail
on the head,
or stapling
...is metric
...conjures a distilled cityscape
and blurs consciousness
...criminally discriminates
...predicts a dire future
...inherently mimes
because the third act is silent
...sells itself
...relates to the masses
insomuch
as life is explored
behind rose lenses
and nude artists
divulge their secrets
under white sheets
that bleed crimson
until the saturation
pulls down the curtain
revealing a truth
that is already known
deep in our souls
but concealed by our
one-dimensionality
...gives away the key

as promised...

...if the 'before'
picture didn't
frighten you
tooooo much,
then...







at least this haircut must leave him feeling a bit cooler,
in these Dog Days of summer.



scrawny Toby

& self portrait

& poochon reflection

&...

no, that's all.

wild animal!

first in a two part series...
an unimaginable tale of terror
&
fur...



to those among you who may be frightened by unkempt creatures


of the blackest, hairiest type...

you may want to avert your eyes!

temporary insanity

Bottles of planned activities line my cupboard
this one labeled reminisce
hides under an inch of dust
and the sky is gray
and the wind is sinking from the north.
The rafters are creaking under the duress
of the weather,
no doubt tomorrow this cabinet door
will remain closed
and shingles will litter the front lawn
and the limbs of my friends
the trees
will lie beaten with only me
to agonize and cry out, why?
Tonight then I will cringe at the cupboard
twitching and shaking
fingers groping
until the cap is twisted
and the label is fretfully peeled
and the last drop trickles
down my gullet into a warm bellies embrace.
The moon is new,
the night is angry,
listen into the dark
and hunt.