Do not waste another day,
Even if you can only play,
For each new day is a gift from heaven.
Each new week, composed of seven,
Is there for you to do something great,
And that is how you work out your fate.
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The Naturist (and other poems)
The Naturist
I am a naturist…
I need to be naked…
There needs to be nothing…
Between my skin, the wind, the water, and the sun.
My soul has to flow…
Into the world…
Into the wind, the water, and the sun…
Because everything…
Me included…
Is all one thing.
Two Little Wolves
Every soul in the world is given two wolves to nurture.
You need both to survive.
One is strong and wicked cruel, full of hurtfulness and fire.
One is softer and more loving, full of empathy and life’s water.
You need both to survive.
So, which one will dominate your life?
Hard to know, I fear.
But you decide for your own little wolves.
The Original People
You stand at the Gates of Heaven.
Before he lets you in, St. Peter points to two little girls.
“Native American girls?”
“They get to decide who goes in and who does not
When an American arrives at the Gate.
You may have something to answer for.
Is your little heart full of hate?”
I shrug and look at the two girls.
I smile at them. They are cute.
“Better they decide,” I said, “Than Roscoe who bullied me in third grade.”
“He goes in,” the girls both cried. “We sent Roscoe down the Chute.”
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More Art Smart
Susu in the cornfield.
The girl from San Antonio
The cat girl with the rainbow colors.
Again, these pictures were made with the assistance of Picsart AI Photo Editor and AI Mirror programs.
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I Miss Her
She was only a puppy when we found her. She was wandering the street right in front of our family van. We took her into the house with us, and I gave her a piece of salami. She was weaned, but still a puppy. Giving her the food made her imprint on me. I became her mommy at that moment. I would, for the next fourteen years, be the most important human in her life.
We tried to find out where she came from. The vet information on her collar suggested she was part of a large commercial batch. The local pet store guy didn’t know about her, but he said they had probably already reported her lost to the insurance company when we found her. She decided to adopt us.
She hated to be left alone. She turned over trash cans and ripped up rippable stuff to show her anger. She had a habit of snorting whenever she was disgusted by the fact that sometimes I didn’t give her what she wanted. She could get whatever she wanted from my two sons and my daughter.
No one in my life was ever happier to see me and be with me. I did almost all of the dog walking in her life. She looked to me for comfort when she was sad or ill. She was not allowed to sleep in my bed, yet she slept there many nights.
Her name was Jade. We lost her to cancer three years ago in June.
Today I saw her in the kitchen. She wagged her tail once and disappeared.
I miss her.
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Wants, Needs, and Afterthoughts
As you get older and closer to the last page of the novel of your life, it is entirely appropriate to take stock of the treasures you have accumulated in a long and rewarding life. In fact, you will probably have heirs looking to reap their inheritance after your long-awaited passing.
My children, unlike those of certain Republican politicians, don’t have much to gain by discovering the perfect untraceable poison. In fact, if I don’t live long enough to pay off my hospital bills, they may only inherit medical debt and the rapt attention of Banko Merricka’s relentless debt-collecting agencies. (Since originally posting this essay, I have paid off my bankruptcy and inherited a third of the family farm. So, it is time to start letting the dog taste my food before eating it.)
But, as I am taking stock, what exactly do I need before I get the final handshake from Mr. G. Reaper? It turns out, I probably don’t need anything else. I have written more novels than I ever expected to. My children are grown into adulthood and take care of themselves now. And I am confident my wife, at eight years younger than me, will find somebody new to berate and explain to the myriad reasons that the new person is wrong about everything, and always will be… even if what they said was something she said was true the previous week.
Sure, if I had all the access to medical care and medicine that most other countries see as a human right, I might live longer. But my medical condition is bad enough that I would be seriously prolonging the pain and suffering. I enjoy being alive, but every day is a painful challenge, and, over time, that tends to get you down.
But what more do I want out of life?
Grandchildren would be nice. But none of mine are married yet, and only one of them seems to have found one he permanently likes. The countdown clock is ticking on that matter.
Well, recognition as a writer would also be nice. I came close to winning in a couple of novel-writing contests. A few readers have read and loved some of my books. Only one person ever hated my writing that told me about it, and he was a voice in my own head. There was also one reader who was not me that was somehow traumatized by one of my lesser books. But I have published way more books through four different publishers than I ever believed possible two decades ago.
But I was a successful teacher for three decades. I touched more than two thousand lives with my work in four different schools in three different districts and ten different classrooms… teaching four different subjects. I have no regrets about how I spent my life and what I got in return.
So, I am writing this believing this is not a maudlin topic. I don’t think I am actually going to pass away this weekend. I will probably get to finish at least one more work in progress. But nobody can say for sure that we will survive next month. Or next decade.
But pessimist that I am, things always turn out better than I think they will.
And afterthoughts?
If I had a magic lamp with a genie in it, my three wishes for the future would be;
- That Americans would invent a pill that makes everybody into a genius filled with empathy for all creatures, even the vilest, human beings. And they would share it for free with the whole world.
- That we would handle the climate crisis and all the future crises at least as well as we handled the nuclear crisis of the ’60s, the Cold War, the Coke vs Pepsi War, the Bugs vs Mickey War and every other war that didn’t wipe us out as a species in the past.
- There will be no Monkey’s Paw consequences for our wishes being fulfilled. So, that’s how it is.
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Three Blue Clowns
Well, here it is, my most recent work of art. But what does it mean? Why are they nude? Why are they clowns? I am asking you.
It is always up to the viewer to decide what an image makes them feel. In our society, nudism makes viewers uncomfortable and feel awkward. But they are covered up in clown makeup, real identities obscured. People find clowns in makeup creepy. What are they hiding? How can you hide things when you are naked? And why are they blue? (Even though their noses are red?)
You can tell me what you think it means in the comments. You will not be wrong. complerely
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What in the Dickens?
Life is full of crazy characters with silly sounding names.
Pumblechook and Magwitch, Miss Pross and Jerry Cruncher, Sydney Carton. Little Nell and Dick Swiveller. Uriah Heep and Mr. Murdstone. Bill Sykes. Little Dorrit, Pip, and Tiny Tim. Bob Cratchit, Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge, Peggotty, and Oliver Twist. Wilkins Micawber.
Sydney Carton quote; “I would ask you to believe that he has a heart he very, very seldom reveals, and that there are deep wounds in it.” …Said to Lucy Manet before he takes the place of her beloved in the line to the guillotine.
Wilkins Micawber quotes; “I have no doubt I shall, please Heaven, begin to be more beforehand with the world, and to live in a perfectly new manner, if—in short, anything turns up.” …Said to David Copperfield to explain his current poverty and difficulties.
The world, in so many words, is a complex and difficult world to understand. But with comedy and tragedy and irony and sweet understanding, Charles Dickens always made sense of it for me.
Did you ever read a Dickens’ book? I know they are long and wordy and more than a hundred years old. But anywhere you start, I guarantee it is worth it. It will pull you in. Oliver Twist, Great Expectation, A Tale of Two Cities, David Copperfield, a Christmas Carol… You have to read at least one. Start anywhere. Like me, you may never get enough.
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The Angel Confronts Me
The angel of writing inspiration is angry with me. It has been too long since I buckled down to writing some WIP words every day. I used to do at least 500 words a day on the work in progress at the very least. Today, there were no words added to The Education of Poppensparkle, He Rose on a Golden Wing, or The Haunted Toy Store. Three possible WIPs unfinished and available for daily attention. All of them are well along, but all of them have not been touched in three weeks. I haven’t written anything today but this post.
Susano, the angel of writing inspiration, doesn’t accept the fact that my health issues have been getting in the way. While it’s true I may have passed two kidney stones last week, he points out that I have often coped with health worries in the past by losing myself in a good story.
So, what do I do? He looks like a small boy that I could maybe beat in an arm-wrestling match, but he IS an angel. He has special heavenly strength that I can’t possibly compete with. So, tomorrow… Buckle down, old Mickey, buckle down!
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Catch a Falling Star 