Archives for January 2014

A documentary about drugs that touches all bases. Worth watching.

Fantasies and Dreams

My friend brings a smile to my face when she comes

into my place and fills the space with a heavenly glow

that flows into my soul.


The day seems brighter and the air lighter. Her eyes blaze

with secrets only she knows, I suppose and  wonder if her

eyes are so bright because they’re resting on me.


I don’t dare make it known to her or anyone else how my dreams are

filled with images of her. To try to fulfill my fantasies could mean

I’d be misunderstood and she’d no longer be my friend


At times it’s hard to stop my arms from embracing her so she’d

feel the love I have for her, but that love must remain unknown,

or I’d never succeed to fill my need to see her when I have the need.


I’ll search for another, maybe a mother, to find comfort in her whispered

words that’ll bring a smile to my redeemed face when like a miracle

she appears and makes my day brighter and the air lighter.


I’ve locked up my emotions all these years, because I’m a dreamer and know

they will cease to flow and the brighter light will be put out like a flame in

the rain if I allow my feelings to escape the prison they’re in.


They’ll crush the smoldering embers of my desires. My dreams of her can

never come true because if they do, I understand that by a wave of her hand,

my heart will quiver, stutter and stammer, and my love will evaporate like a

dew drop on a sunny summer day.


A Good Day to Die.

A Good Day to Die


When I was young I always feared getting

old and hoped I’d never live long enough

to dimly see my muscles wither and weaken,


my eyesight and hearing diminish, and the

curls go out of my hair if it hadn’t all been

banished from my head by then.


To eat without any teeth and drink prune juice

wasn’t meant for me. I’d die long before so

much time passed that I’d become an invalid.


To walk with a cane, a walker, crutches, or a

wheelchair were all unacceptable to me. Let me

die I’d pray before I ever needed help like that.


Old people all had a certain smell that death

knew so well,  and certified their age, I believed,

until I learned they didn’t bathe,


because by sitting all day they lost what it takes

to get in and out of a tub and they lost the ability

to notice they were drenched in a strong stench,


because a nursing home, where so many end up,

reeks of aromas worse than those unwashed seniors

who roam the halls looking for their children,


who promised to never put them in a home, and when they

broke that promise, said they’d come to visit every day, but

have better things to do than to see what’s in store for them.


It’s a shame, but that’s why I’m never getting OLD. I’m

going to live until I die and do every risky thing I

avoided when young because I had a lot to lose.


In my 70s now, I choose to take chances because death can’t cheat

me out of very many years, and if I die jumping from a plane,

crashing a car, or  a heart attack from running too fast,


it’ll be a good day to die.

Toni and I celebrate our birthdays at Out of Africa and the Predator Zip Line

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Interesting information on the word, “BOY.”


Boy Oh Boy – DailyWritingTips

Boy Oh BoyPosted: 23 Jan 2014 08:52 PM PST

This sentence in a newspaper feature about Civil War hero David O. Dodd, got me thinking about the word boy:

Dodd is lionized in these parts as the “Boy Martyr of the Confederacy” — although “Teen Martyr” would be a more accurate sobriquet for a young man who was only a year short of being old enough to be drafted into the Rebel army.”

Dodd was 17 when Union troops occupying Little Rock hanged him in 1864. The word boy to refer to a 17-year-old seems a valid choice to me.

Boy has been in the language since 1300. More than one etymology has been argued, but its origin is uncertain. Its earliest use in English was with the meaning “male servant” or “slave.”

Note: Before boy came to mean “a male child,” the word girl was used to refer to young people of either sex. A speaker who wanted to refer to a “male ‘girl’” used the expression “knave girl.” Both words, boy and girl, had taken on their present meanings by the 1400s.

In the British colonies and in the American South, boy was used to refer to non-white servants, regardless of age. Today, of course, such usage is considered to be extremely offensive. In France, until fairly recently, the usual term for summoning a waiter was garçon, “boy,” but nowadays, serveur is the masculine term for “waiter.”

Apart from its general meaning of “a young male, (usually below the age of puberty, or still in school),” boy occurs in a great variety of idioms that refer not just to male human beings of any age, but to dogs as well.

Oh boy! Depending upon context and intonation, this exclamation can denote delight or dismay. For example, “Oh boy! I’ve won the lottery!” or, “Oh boy, you’re in trouble now.

That’s my boy! A parent, proud of a son, might say this in approval of some accomplishment.

Old boys’ club/old boys’ network: network of social and professional connections that perpetuate favoritism in government and other sectors. The expression originated with the British “public school” system. (In the U.K., “public schools” are elite private schools attended by the children of the wealthy.) Male graduates of exclusive schools were called “old boys.” Because of connections forged in school, these “old boys” went on to occupy highly placed jobs in government and commerce, helped by a previous generation of “old boys” who made up a segment of insiders. By extension, the expression can be used to refer to any kind of favoritism that makes advancement difficult for outsiders.

There’s a good boy! An expression pet owners use with male dogs. Sometimes it is phrased as a question: “Who’s a good boy?”

Down, boy! This expression is used to address a dog that is jumping on someone. By extension, it is used humorously to a man who reacts with interest when introduced to a good-looking woman.

Our boys in uniform: Men serving in the military, regardless of age. Now that women are more visible in the military, the expression is not as common as it once was.

Boys’ night out: A weekly social outing for friends, limited to men.

Boys will be boys: An expression of resigned acceptance uttered when men do something despicable that is considered to be characteristic of age or sex.

Send a boy to do a man’s job: to ask someone young, ill-equipped, or inexperienced to do difficult or complicated work. Usually in negative contexts, as “Never send a boy to do a man’s job.”

boy next door: Unlike most “boy” expressions, this one has a corresponding one for women: girl next door. The expressions denote a stereotypical personification of a young, unspoiled, admirable character whom one might safely fall in love with.

boy king: Tutankhamen is often referred to as “the boy king.” Boy can be used in a descriptive sense with any noun: “boy wonder,” “boy genius.”

The police were called to chase old people from McDonald’s for loitering.

To Damn Old


My friends from all over town have

gone away. It’s just that way, no one stays

when time flows by and suddenly you’re to

damn old and are an ugly sight to behold.


It’s a shame to survive so long that we

become a drain, and no one remembers

our name or so they say. Our unwanted faces

take up space in McDonald’s and other places.


To live past thirty and then forty without death

beating on your door was extraordinary in olden days.

If a person made it til their hair turned gray, they were

asked to stay and never called, “Cotton Top.”


Age meant data and their thoughts were sought by

the young before it became so easily found in the

electronic age without turning a page. Today it’s not

unknown for a child of one or two to have a phone of their own.


Did we fuck with nature’s plan by extending

our life span? Is that why cotton tops are avoided

by those whose hair is yet to turn gray? Is that

why the old are kept out of site and put in homes?


Should they even exist, or be put on a list when they no longer

contribute? Do they take up space and depress those of us who

retain our youth and don’t want to see any decrepit people sitting

in a booth while we stand to eat our lunch.


Take away amenities given to those past retirement age so

they’ll die and get out of the way. Isn’t that better than letting

them suffer for so many years? Let’s go along with natures’

plan and rid the land of those who can no longer work.


Then when we go to McDonald’s, the booths will be empty

and we’ll have a place and some space to sit while we eat

without having to see what’s in store for all of us.

I just read this and have to agree that this is indeed what MLK accomplished.

Today was the 1st annual MLK in Prescott AZ. The turnout was amazing.

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Not much has changed since this poem was written. It’s the same old s—.

Let America Be America Again
Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.
(America never was America to me.)
Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed–
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.
(It never was America to me.)
O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.
(There’s never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)
Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? 
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars? 
I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek–
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.
I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one’s own greed!
I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean–
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today–O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.
Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That’s made America the land it has become.
O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home–
For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,
And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came
To build a “homeland of the free.”
The free?
Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we’ve dreamed
And all the songs we’ve sung
And all the hopes we’ve held
And all the flags we’ve hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay–
Except the dream that’s almost dead today.
O, let America be America again–
The land that never has been yet–
And yet must be–the land where every man is free.
The land that’s mine–the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME–
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.
Sure, call me any ugly name you choose–
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,
We must take back our land again,
O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath–
America will be!
Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain–
All, all the stretch of these great green states–
And make America again!

From The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes, published by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. Copyright © 1994 the Estate of Langston Hughes. Used with permission.

Poetry by Hughes



Vintage Hughes

(Vintage, 2004)




Will gas prices soon be cut in half?