Archives for November 2016

Reaching for the Moon

When on a date with a woman I’ve recently met,

I’m soon wishing I was alone, until I met

a brightly shining star hovering above the crowd

of single women I know.


To her life is glorious and her enthusiasm

is contagious. When I’m with her, I’m happy

that I’m alive and dream of the nights ahead

when I’ll wrap her in my arms and my fervor

she’ll learn, and return without concern.


My aspirations are as high as the sky. I think

I can make her mine if I get her to drink some

beer and wine. I sometimes think that my visions

of her and I, are entwined and I will be left behind.


Is she such a bright star that I’m too dim and far below?

Her orbit is so far above I may never get close.

If I learn to ride a horse, will she be impressed, or think

I’m a dude and probably a fool?


It’s only the afternoon and I’m already

reaching for the moon?

Who’s To Blame

My subconscious sent words through email a week ago,

and created thoughts I never would have had if, they

weren’t hidden in the membranes of my sensible mind.

If I had been aware, I would have edited and revised.


Sex is what it’s all about, and wants to be let out, so those

thoughts will never cease to flow, Freud had said so long ago.

If that’s true, it’s my little brain that’s in charge and we all know where its thoughts go, but I had no idea they were out of control.


Lord have mercy, for the little guy thinks he’ll never die, has

no principles and wants to have his way, regardless of any consequences that may arise. There are only three things on

his mind-Sex, sex, and more sex are the only specs.


So don’t blame me when you receive the written term, or when you’re near, and hear the words I can’t eclipse flowing over my lips,

because like a rising tide, they come from the dark side of my mind that controls my libido and forces the thoughts through so,


I cannot be saved, because, because, because, it’s out of my control

and Little Brain is the one to blame.

Thanksgiving Day for Cubs Fans

Today is Thanksgiving Day. Although the Thanksgiving festivities celebrated by the Pilgrims and a tribe of Wampanoag Indians happened in 1621, it wasn’t until 1789 that the newly sworn-in President George Washington declared, in his first presidential proclamation, a day of national “thanksgiving and prayer” for that November.

The holiday fell out of custom, though, and by the mid-1800s only a handful of states officially celebrated Thanksgiving, on a date of their choice. It was the editor of a women’s magazine, Sarah Josepha Hale, a widow and the author of the poem “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” who campaigned for a return of the holiday. For 36 years, she wrote articles about the Plymouth colonists in her magazine, trying to revive interest in the subject, and editorials suggesting a national holiday. Hale wrote to four presidents about her idea – Taylor, Fillmore, Pierce, and Buchanan – before her fifth letter got notice. In 1863, exactly 74 years after Washington had made his proclamation, President Lincoln issued his own, asking that citizens “in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise.” He requested prayers especially for those widowed and orphaned by the ongoing Civil War, as well as gratitude for “fruitful fields,” enlarging borders of settlements, abundant mines, and a burgeoning population.

It was Ralph Waldo Emerson who suggested, “Cultivate the habit of being grateful for every good thing that comes to you, and to give thanks continuously. And because all things have contributed to your advancement, you should include all things in your gratitude.”


Reposted from Writer’s Almanac

Anyone giving a Nazi salute should be required to wear an armband with a Swastika on it. The Nazis made Jews wear a yellow star, so how about a little payback!

On this day in 1963 that President John F. Kennedy was fatally shot

It was about 12:30 p.m. on this day in 1963 that President John F. Kennedy was fatally shot while riding in a motorcade in Dallas, Texas. The Warren Commission published a report concluding that Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone in shooting the president, a conclusion that less than half of all Americans believe. Don DeLillo’s novel Libra (1988) is about the Kennedy assassination. He wrote: “What has become unraveled since that afternoon in Dallas is […] the sense of a coherent reality most of us shared. We seem from that moment to have entered a world of randomness and ambiguity.”

Reposted Writer’s Almanac & Huffington Post.

The story that inspired Melville to write, “Moby Dick.”

On this date in 1820, a sperm whale attacked a whaling ship off the coast of South America. The Essex hailed from Nantucket, Massachusetts, and was captained by George Pollard Jr. Pollard was only 29, the youngest man to ever command a whaling ship; the Essex, by contrast, was pretty old, and she was also small for a whaleship. She was considered lucky, though, because crews made money on most of her voyages.

This particular voyage, which was to last two and a half years, didn’t start very auspiciously. Soon after leaving port en route to the whaling grounds off the west coast of South America, the ship was hit with a squall, lost her topgallant sail, and nearly sank. It took longer than usual to reach the whaling grounds, and the crew began to get edgy and superstitious. Then, when they finally arrived near the Galapagos Islands, they found the grounds nearly fished out. They struck out for a new whaling ground, but it was thousands of miles off the coast, much farther from land than whalers usually felt comfortable hunting. But the risk appeared to pay off when a pod of sperm whales was sighted on the morning of the 20th. The crew harpooned a couple of the whales, but then found themselves face to face with an enormous whale, which appeared to be acting strangely. The whale rammed the ship repeatedly; first mate Owen Chase later recounted, “I turned around and saw him about one hundred rods (550 yards) directly ahead of us, coming down with twice his ordinary speed (around 24 knots or 44 kph), and it appeared with tenfold fury and vengeance in his aspect. The surf flew in all directions about him with the continual violent thrashing of his tail. His head about half out of the water, and in that way he came upon us, and again struck the ship.” After crushing the bow, the whale swam off, never to be seen again.

The crew set off in some of the small whaleboats, but they didn’t have enough food or water. The captain wanted to sail west, to the Marquesas, but Owen and the crew believed the South Pacific was inhabited by cannibals, so they set off east, for South America, and this decision proved disastrous. By the time they arrived at the Pitcairn Islands, some of them had already died of thirst, and the survivors soon depleted the meager fish and bird population of the uninhabited island they landed on. The crew set out again in hope of rescue, but again, food ran out, and they resorted to cannibalism themselves, first eating the crew members who died, and then drawing lots to determine which living member they would sacrifice. By the time they were rescued by another whaling ship, they were completely out of their heads, and were terrified of their rescuers.

Owen Chase, who survived, wrote an account of the event, called The Narrative of the Most Extraordinary and Distressing Shipwreck of the Whale-Ship Essex (1821). Twenty years later, Chase’s son William met another seaman, Herman Melville, who had heard about the sinking of the Essex and asked him about it. William Chase gave Melville a copy of his father’s book. Melville read it while at sea, not far from the site of the original shipwreck, and it inspired his Moby-Dick.


From the writer’s almanac.

My book trailers


How many boodlers will there be in the new administration?  PRONUNCIATION:  (BOOD-luhr)
noun: Someone involved in bribery or corruption.

coulrophobia & kakistocracy

Another word we can use in today’s climate.




It’s the birthday of Claude Monet,

Born in Paris (1840). He and his friend Auguste Renoir were among the first European painters to take their canvases outside to paint directly from nature. They would often work as quickly as they could, so that their paintings looked like sketches, and that sketchy style became known as Impressionism. Monet spent the rest of his career exploring the idea that you can never really see the same thing twice. In a single day, he would often paint the same subject half a dozen times, from slightly different angles and in slightly different light, spending no more than about an hour on each canvas.

In the last 30 years of his life, he painted almost nothing but the water lilies in his garden at Giverny. Monet bought the four-acre property in 1883, built the bridges, dug the lake, and selected all the flowers and plants himself. His gardens are now the property of the French Academy of Fine Arts, which hosts visitors from all over the world.

Claude Monet, who said: “I am following Nature without being able to grasp her. I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.”

Reposted from Writer’ Almanac.