Tuesday, May 31, 2016

The rage in me, the rage in you

A driver stops, swears at and then runs over a motorcycle, injuring two riders.
Another frustrated driver losing control of themselves, and popping with rage.
It is easy to laugh at them, and wag a mental finger. Until it is me.
My case was special. I ran over something metal, and punctured my tire.
Had to get back home before the thing went flat. But – naturally – some slow,
lumbering truck pulls in front of me and drives about 10 MPH.
It doesn't take me long to lose it, drive around him, floor the accelerator.
Of course, I get pulled over, and chewed out. But fortunately for me,
the cop is not city police, but a private security officer.
After a lecture, he sees the tire, and says, “OK, go. You have enough air to make it home. Go.”
Once I cooled down and apologized, he was satisfied, and heard my explanations of
“I have a tire losing air and just want to get back to my driveway.”

I think on this later, not only that it was good I didn't just try and run from that guy, which would have prompted a call to the city police, but also how easy it was for me to lose my cool and speed around a vehicle in the first place.

Everyone has a limit. Some reach it sooner than others. But with traffic getting heavier, vehicles of all kinds on the roads, and the roads themselves deteriorating in some cases (what kind of metal sticks out of a pothole, and is sturdy enough to puncture my tire?), incidents of road rage will only increase.

I also blame the computer revolution somewhat. With gratification a mouse-click or finger-swipe away, it is easy to demand the same speed in all aspects of our living – including driving.

But driving is the very definition of an intricate, complex, often frustrating concert of actions and reactions. We must look all around, control a moving vehicle, watch out for what all the other drivers are doing. Often times there will be a distraction – music, a cellphone, or a passenger chatting. My normal mode of operation is to “let the hothead have their way.” Let any impatient driver pass, or change lanes cutting me off, etc. Believe me, my language at times could melt a nun's ear, but I still let the incident go. The mantra is to “Drive defensively.” It is a struggle to get around sometimes. Seems like so many are willing to take risks these days. And I'm not guilt-free in that regard.

Frequently I hate cars and driving, yet can't get by without either. So the show goes on. And I pray to the cosmic forces or whatever that I can make it downtown and back another day without an accident. The biggest danger is not the steel-and-plastic vehicles loaded with computers. It is the wet-ware behind the wheel we must all watch out for – including our own wetware. Thanks for reading.



Monday, May 30, 2016

Memorial Honors

They fought the good fight,
suffered privations, injuries,
Some made the highest sacrifice.
So we could enjoy a peaceful life
in civilized, well-fed comfort.

This is the day we give our thanks,
honor their sacrifices and memory.
Our salute to their bravery in battle,
their unceasing dedication in peacetime.
Thank You to our veterans, here and gone.

Thanks and Honors to all those
departed loved ones.
We shall never forget you,
on this day or any other.

- end


Sunday, May 29, 2016

Iowa Greenery Today

Was taking a drive today, and had to snap some late may scenes of Iowa greenery, etc.  Enjoy.





Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Did Not See It Coming

No majestic spaceships landed,
no grand announcement over the airwaves.
Our TV signal didn't even change;
The Internet seemed its usual kind of crazy.

Only breezes wafted over us,
spring fragrances pungent,
perhaps a bit too much so,
then again, that is also normal.

But tiny atoms and molecules
spun and re-oriented as per instruction;
Hardly any of us felt a thing.
And when our bodies began to bud
and sprout new appendages,
it didn't really seem that unusual.

There are always those few resistant:
some got oozing, painful sores and howled.
Postings and stories began to circulate.
But the recalcitrant soon began to drop.
Automatic culling was highly effective.

When we all gained wings, tentacles and
350% more brainpower,
it somehow made sense.
This was the next step in evolution,
and the world was looking just fine.

What did it matter if it was not our idea?

- end


Cannot ride a bike in the wintertime

So nice to see the plans form
for splendid new skyscrapers downtown.
Gleaming exteriors of glass and steel,
they offer central city living at its finest.

Yet driving to downtown gets more
interesting day by day.
Fleur drive is flower-bejeweled yet bumpy,
a jolting, jostling ride to the inner core.
University is little better,
East 30th gets patched regularly,
yet falls apart rapidly again.
The litany of bad streets could go on...

We should get these ambitious developers
to build new city streets.
Instead of bumpy asphalt lanes,
perhaps a smooth concrete road?

Instead of some pathetic excuse for a bypass,
one lane each way, and one sidewalk, with lots
of cheap little lightpoles – a parody of a new road;
we might get a four-lane divided road with two sidewalks.
Maybe they could charge tolls on them.
That would be worthy of the moniker “bypass.”

Or maybe someone could allocate a bit more money
to infrastructure, and a bit less to flowerpots
and corporate giveaways for low-paying jobs.

Perhaps it is time to learn Spanish, since
we are looking more like
Mexico around here every day.

  • end

Wednesday, May 18, 2016

Solar Energy Dreaming today

I look out over the Iowa landscape, and see all of these immense wind turbines. Sometimes they are even turning, producing 'free' energy. I've never seen one that isn't painted white. But a thought occurred to me. They do have available flexible, thin-film solar cells. Since we are already using the vertical 'real estate' with these, why not coat at least part of each one with the flexible solar cells. This could provide a complement to the wind power, or even a replacement when the wind stops or slows. It would increase the power produced by each turbine assembly, and possibly greatly reduce the need for backup generators. 

I would recommend coating the lower sections of them, for ease of maintenance access and so forth.

See links:





Certainly something to consider – as long as they are spending huge amounts of money on these turbines, spend a bit more to coat them with solar cells. Thanks for indulging this thought experiment.

Shine on.

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

Channelling Carl and Neil

Poltergeists on a galactic scale,
these denizens seem so alive;
made up of mere matter,
they maneuver titanic energies.

The binary stars that circle and dance,
the pulsars that emit regular energy bursts;
enormous clouds of gas and dust birthing stars.
All anchored by massive black holes,
that set the universe on permanent spin-cycle.

They speak to us in many wavelengths,
colors and radio and ultraviolet shimmers.
In turn, we draw charts, graphs and pictures,
trying to get a sense of what stellar stuff
coalesced to make our very selves.

It took numerous brave people to challenge
early religious dogma to discover what the
universe is really all about. Yet we are not finished.
Discoveries are still being made, new hypotheses formed.
Just as Galileo would be amazed to see our progress to date,
we will (most likely) be amazed at what will come.

In the meantime, our universe whirls and gyrates,
sings in color and radio and gravitational pulses.
Lucky us observers who get to enjoy the show,
no matter how little or much we comprehend
the underlying meaning that laces throughout.


Monday, May 16, 2016

Circling a Common Topic

My zombie friends and I
decided to check out some crop circles nearby.
We set our phones to monitor bots,
and asked Cortana to find us lots.
Siri objected and Google remained mum,
But we were on our way to have some fun.

Donald Trump or Prince could not have foretold
a better way for us to adventure and act bold.
If Hillary and Bernie held an arm-wrestling match,
We might not have gone to hike in weedy thatch.
Let some regal Queen Elizabeth edict all she wants,
We were out to find the real extraterrestrial haunts.

Only the zombies walked this way, that and the other,
I took one look and exclaimed, “Oh, bother!”
These un-dead friends of mine were making new designs;
Just in case, I snapped some pics to later post online.
Just then strange lights in the sky did appear,
geometric-shaped craft came into the clear;
A beam of light lifted each of us onboard star-liners;
I was the only one to think of Jay Leno one-liners.

“Have ya ever wondered how it would be inside a UFO?”
“All that Elvis music would drive you batty!”

After much scanning, probing and other indignities,
I was returned to the Earth, with a case of the sillies...

They put much scolding in my mind and memory,
We are fouling Earth, and destroying human family.

How dare that we should create Hollywood,
loose zombie hordes on the galactic neighborhood!

Nothing to be done, I simply carry on my life,
speak my mind and avoid unnecessary strife.
Tell no one I've seen the far side of Pluto,
briefly glimpsed out some crystal window.
And should some jerky dead-thing come up to me,
I'll shoot, burn or destroy it – and finally be free.
(No more Zombie Burgers right before bedtime and dreams!)

- end

Sunday, May 15, 2016

Thoughts on recent Crop Circle docu-drama

The designs appeared at differing times,
spiraling circles, dots and lines.
Could it have been extraterrestrials?
Or bored kids with boards and rope.
Few knew for sure.

But two brave men carried things further;
Copying the crop designs on paper,
and designing a “machine” out of them.
Would it jump time? Fly into space?
Perhaps create a whole new form of energy?

They decided to build “it” and find out.
After five years, visits to a milling center,
and hiring help at times, they found out.
Minute quantities of electricity came out
of a spark plug mounted in water,
attached to an underlying “apparatus.”

Oh the fancy, intricate rings and components
they cut and ground, fantastical hardware.
Seemed right out of a Sci-Fi epic.
But the things relied, in the end, on
boring, pedestrian, run-of-the-mill
laws of physics that are immutable.

Darn.

With seven more months and millions
of dollars, it might have been scaled up.
But they ended it. Too bad.
We might have had a real, working UFO.
But I doubt it.

Still,
never stop tinkering.

Because in the end, you never know.
Edison found 10,000 ways not to
build a light bulb, and the wright brothers
built a flying machine that contemporary
scientists claimed was absolutely impossible.

- end

Wednesday, May 11, 2016

Bitten by The Krok

Originally posted by me on Fanstory.  A cautionary tale...
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Bitten by The Krok

Chris decided to go make some extra money. Being a poor black kid in Chicago, there were not many options. Dad was gone, and Chris never knew when he might return. Mom already worked two jobs. The landlord was on their backs for rent all the time. So Chris knew he needed to act, and act fast – as fast as a 17-year-old high school dropout could act. He tried working at McDonalds, for a short time. The car wash job didn't last long. Neither did the busser job at a popular restaurant uptown, and the bus fare ate up most of that. So, after thinking about it, and chatting with his main homey, he decided to hit the streets. Lots of action on the streets, all the time.

He started with simple stuff. Slinging some weed and hash to build up trust with his dealer, Slink.
“Well, done, my man. You gonna be movin up, real soon. Just keep it up,” Slink said on more than one occasion. After a few months, Slink let Chris sell some rock and crank now and then. Not much, just a few hits every so often. The crucial trust element was building.
One Sunday afternoon, Chris was on a street corner, when the cops came calling. Seems they had some video of him handing something over. The police took him in for questioning. There was no sense in him trying to hide it – and he wouldn't eat it.
“So you have, like, two ounces on you here, Chris?”
“Yeah, officer. I'm sorry, man. That is for my own use, you know. Takes the edge off.”

“Then why is it divided up in ten baggies? And why do you have a thousand in cash on you, Chris? Really expect me to believe it?” Chris then clammed up, after requesting a lawyer.
He got charged with possession and dealing. But the judge, seeing it was his first offense, gave him a few months and probation. The cops asked him about his higher-ups, his sources. Chris wisely clammed up, or gave a fake name. They finally had to turn him loose in the jail system. His silence bought him more respect.

Once he got out, Slink looked him up within the hour. He got some accolades, pats on the back, and then new marching orders. Because of his silence and professionalism, he graduated to a small wholesaler. Known to the police now, he just made deliveries, and took larger amounts of money. Pretty much staying out of the limelight. Chris prospered, and used a new nickname. StreetFox. Fox because he had such good looks. The ladies, and some of the guys would hit on him often, and not for drugs. After a year or so, StreetFox seemingly had it all. A good income, lots of ladies, and respect. He was tempted to show off his wealth, and talked up buying a Range Rover with special rims.
“Don't do it,” said Slink. “Lay low, be cool, don't attract attention, don't let it go to your head. Stay wise, stay real, and stay outta jail.”
“Okay, man. Whatevah you say. I'm all about stayin outta jail!” StreetFox stuck to his older Chevy Cavalier for transportation.

StreetFox began to wholesale some exotic goods to keep his income rising. If there was one thing he liked, it was money. He was hiding sealed wads of bills all over his apartment, and in his mothers house too. She was happy with the money he gave her, and knew better than to ask where he was getting it. Once in a while, she would question him, though.
“Chris, honey. I just don't want to see you get caught, and go away for life. You know what happened the last time.”
“I know, momma. Don't you worry bout nothin. I got it handled. Don't you be talking to no one, though. I mean it, Momma.” Then he would fix her with a look, and she would know her little boy was gone from her now, forever. A new, more dangerous person had emerged in his place.



StreetFox began to sell a lot of Meth and Krokodil, both highly addictive and dangerous drugs. His cash flow was going through the roof. But since he had to lay low, and his money laundering skills were not the greatest, sometimes he entertained himself by staying home with a girl, watching movies and shooting up a bit of “The Krok.”
At first, he felt like he was on top of the world. But he gradually found that he needed more to get the same high. Still, he was young and vigorous. He kept his sales affairs going well, and kept his girls satisfied. He and a gal would shoot up, and sometimes attempt sex. But after a heavy dose of “the crok” they would oftentimes just sit, and laugh, in each others arms. Then other events took precedence.
It started with the shaking. His hands, and then sometimes his legs, would get the shakes. And he had periodic episodes of numbness. But they would pass. Sometimes he would do a bit of crank to get through the day, and that seemed to help. Months passed. He finally laundered some of his drug money various ways, via nightclub deals, and some fake compartments on trucks. He was getting better at various aspects of the business. Aside from a couple of close calls, StreetFox was living up to his name: He had not gotten busted since that first incident.
When the first sores appeared, he thought it might be Herpes. That is what a local clinic said, too, and prescribed Valtrex. But, of course, they didn't know about Chris's Krokodil habit, and he was not about to tell them.
Sometimes StreetFox/Chris would mix a bit of pure heroin in with the Krok, sometimes with a bit of cocaine. He would reach new highs, and not leave his crib for a day or more. But he always came down, and then needed some Coke or Heroin just to function at business.
One morning, he got into the shower, and found that could hardly stand. His legs shook, and arms too. He noticed several more sores, some deep. The deep ones hurt, but the shallow, coin-sized wounds didn't even seem to hurt. They bled just a little when water hit them, then stopped. He noticed how skinny he was these days. He washed himself as best he could, then got out. He had a couple of major cash deliveries to make, and in his condition, it would take a good rock to charge him to get on through it all. Sometimes, like this morning, Chris forgot to eat anything.

Somehow StreetFox got through his transactions. But his contact, a contemporary of Slink, looked him over.
“Man, you better take care of youself.”
“I'm fine, man. I'm here, ain't I?”
“You better be here when we say. You need to look after those habits, you know. Don't need no dead movers on our team,” warned the contact.

“I hear you. Don't worry bout me.”

“We better not have to. Later then.”
The two went their separate ways after the cash handoff, in a large, suburban parking lot.

StreetFox went back to his crib. He was mad, and several scenarios went through his head. He thought about calling in the cops and turning on those bastards. He considered running, just taking some cash and leaving the country. But it was difficult to decide on any course of action. Eventually, he opted for a hefty dose of Krok, to adjust his attitude and maybe clear his head some.
He found that he only had a small amount left. Where the hell did it all go? I had a half-liter of the shit. Couldn't have used it all...

He finally shot up the remaining Krok, one regular dose, and followed it with a good shot of Heroin, and another of Coke. Soon he was playing loud music, and pacing his apartment, giggling. Every so often he would smack a wall, or kick a chair, as he fantasized about kicking the shit out of someone in his crew. His hands and feet bled from several small wounds. After one hard smack, he left an impression of blood on the wall. That sobered him up some. He looked over his hands, and arms. They were nearly covered with wounds.
“Shit, man! I'm fucked up! I'm all fucked up! Fuck, man!”
He began shaking, and sat down. Dizzy, upset, crying, he still didn't want to dial 911 and risk exposing his place. He finally ran out of his place, and walked to a nearby hospital.
Once in the Emergency room, he found the nearest person with a gown, and grabbed him, sobbing.

“I got sores all over, man. I need help. I need a doc to check me out, man.”
The gowned person was merely a gentleman with a large overcoat.
“Let me go. The nurses station is over there,” growled the man, shoving StreetFox off of him. StreetFox/Chris staggered across the room, and finally collapsed right by a nurses station.
“Sir? Sir? You have to sign in here.”
“Lady, he's passed out. Better call someone, huh?” said another person waiting in the ER.

The triage nurse finally got on the intercom, and said, “Help in admitting stat. Patient coding. Need people down here stat.”

They got Chris on a gurney, and into an exam room. After giving him oxygen, he came to. They saw all of the sores, and decided to hook him up to some monitors. He was coming down off all the drugs in his system, fast.

“I need outta here, man. Got to get home. Got things to do,” he said, tugging at the tubes in his arms. A nurse tried to restrain him, and called for help. They finally strapped his arms down. Chris was too weakened to put up much of a struggle. So he had to lay there, while they got him stabilized. They treated all of his wounds, and bandaged up several.

“Do you have any kind of insurance?” they asked him.

“Hell no, man. I'm just a poor black kid, what do you expect?”

“Well, OK. We're going to have to turn you loose. Just answer a few questions and you can go. But you need to get yourself help, son.”

They took him to the exit, and handed him a few extra bandages, and some paperwork.

At least they gave me a script for some hydrocodone. I'll go get that, as soon as I can hit my cash stash.
Chris headed home, on trembling legs. He felt lightheaded, and realized he needed something to eat as well. But when he finally made it to his apartment, and got inside, and the doors locked, he realized his fridge was running on empty. His cash was intact, so he finally ordered a pizza with all the extras. It arrived, and he got the guy paid, tipping him an extra ten bucks. He enjoyed the first feast he had in a long time. Not too long after that, he fell asleep in his recliner.

He was awakened sometime later, by knocking at his door. He jumped up, unaware for a moment where he was. The knocking continued. He finally got his bearings, and answered the door.

“What? Who is it?”

“It's me, man. Slinko. Where you been? You missed a drop.”

“Oh, come on in, Slink. I been in the hospital. Look, see?” He showed Slinko his bandaged wounds, and Slinko exclaimed, “Woah, you. What you been doin to yourself? I told you to be careful, man.”

“I know, I know. I got it handled. But I need some time, man. Got to recover some, you know.”

“We got a business to run, man. You in it, now. We don't get days off. But tell you what. I'll cover your shit for a day or two. Tops, I mean it. That's it. Get yourself clean, or whatever it is you have to do. Alright?”

“Alright, man. That's real cool of you, man. Appreciate it a lot. I'll be back up to speed soon.”

Slinko got up to leave, and turned to him. “You do that, man. Two days. You answer that phone first thing Friday morning, or there'll be repercussions. You feel me?”

'I got you, bro. I'll pick up, and step up. Thanks again man,” said Chris. They shook in their style. Then Slinko walked out, and Chris locked the door behind him. He turned and surveyed the shambles his place was in. He began to pick up a bit, and straighten the living room.

Don't know how, but I got to get clean. Got to get off this shit. Got to get my old life back.

His cleaning jag lasted all of an hour. Then he sat, and got the old TV working well enough to watch some programs. He napped a bit. But his body was already doing things – strange things. He could tell he needed a fix. Chris soon found the prescription for Hydrocodone, and he shortly went out to get it filled. When he got the bottle at a local pharmacy, he paid cash out of some proceeds he had recently made. He went back to his apartment, and once there, he yanked the bottle open. Ignoring the few spilled tabs, he gulped down around ten tabs, with some water.

There, at least that will calm me down. Eventually, it did, and Chris fell into a deep slumber.
He awoke the next morning. His wounds were aching, and a couple bled some. And his insides were jangling. His head pounded intermittently. He found the hydro, and took five more. Then he grabbed some cash, and went out to grab some breakfast somewhere.

But by Thursday afternoon, his small prescription of hydrocodone was exhausted. His body was hurting, and nerves were on fire. He had to admit defeat. Chris went out with still more of his cash reserves, money owed to Slinko. He found some H to score, but couldn't find any Krok. He finally scored some coke as well. Trudging back to his crib, he got there, and barely got the door shut, before hurrying over to a special table. He got out his spoon, syringe, and assorted items. He mixed the coke and smack, melted them in the spoon. Then he filled a syringe with the whole mess, and shot it right into his femural artery. The explosive high he got felt exquisite. He had never been shot up this high, this fast.

He was sent into another land, full of flowers and colors and happy times, and hot gals hugging and kissing him....

Friday Morning came around. Slinko called, and called, and called. A while later, he came knocking, with an enforcer in tow.

“He ain't answering. Should I bust it in?” asked the enforcer.

Slinko looked around, up and down the hall. In this run-down joint, who would care?

“Got a jimmy or anything on you?”

“Naw, man, what do you think I am,” the enforcer snickered.

“OK, try and kick it, but be cool. We is just friends, concerned about our man.”

“Yeah, right,” said the enforcer. He raised up and kicked the door hard. On the third kick, the door flew open. A lady stuck her head out, and Slinko said, “We's checking on our friend. Think he may be sick, ma'am.”

“Ok, ok, whatever,” said the lady, waving her hands, and retreated back inside her place.

Slinko and the enforcer walked in. They soon found Chris/StreetFox. Sitting in the same place where he had shot up the bad Heroin mixed with extra-potent cocaine. The mix had overloaded his already-wearied body, and stopped his heart, permanently. He was still holding the empty needle in his other hand.
“Sheeeee-it. Better go see if he had any extra cheddar,” said Slinko. This was now a potential crime scene. They searched the place, and Slinko found some of the cash, but not nearly all. The fool had spent more than his share. Still, they had to get out of there.

“Come on, man. We'll work it out later. We got to go!” said Slinko.

“No argument here. We gone,” said the enforcer.

They slipped out, pulling the door shut behind them, and hurried out of the building. The lady down the hall was just hanging up her cellphone after talking to the police.

Headline the next day: “Another heroin overdose victim found – our city is under siege.”

the end

Tuesday, May 10, 2016

Publishing Recap 2008-2016

Time to sit in an easy chair, close my eyes and reminisce on where I've been - publishing-wise:

Falling Leaves, Rising heat – poetry book, self-published in 2008 on Lulu.

From my backyard to the Edge of the Galaxy – 2008 self-published Lulu.

Mirror Worlds – collection of Sci-fi – published on Createspace/Amazon in 2011.

Future Property – Sci-Fi collection – 2012 – Createspace and Amazon.

A Strange Enterprise – Amazon/Createspace – 2013

Susurrations from the edge – poetry – 2011 Amazon/Createspace

Shadow Intersection – A Collection of Thoughts – 2013 Amazon/Createspace

Books published under Dycen Alexander Pseudonym:

New Venture – First Contact in the Kuiper Belt – Amazon/Createspace – 2015

The Osmotics – An underwater tale. Amazon/Createspace – 2014

Experimental Tales – Collection of fiction – Amazon/Createspace – 2014-2015

Epic Prime collection – Amazon/Createspace – 2016 collection of flashfics.

Various smaller booklets published on Smashwords up to 2014 or so. 6 in all.

Short Stories and Flashfics accepted:

Call for a Challenge – Tales of the Talisman – Vol 8, Issue 4 2013.
Empire's Reach – Vol 7, issue 1 Tales of the Talisman – 2011
Ten-Gee – OSP Magazine - Sept, 2011 Issue part is on the web.
Competition – Tales of the Talisman – Vol 8 – 2014
100-word fiction sub accepted April 9, 2014. civil war piece.
Article in Cityview published Nov 27th, 2014.

(Essay on War printed by Cityview magazine in march, 2016 – under name of Jonathon Wilson.)
The Kidney was published by the University of Alabama literary journal around 2013.
Eschatology Journal – published “The Superbug” 4-2011
Various articles published in Suite 101 writers site, incl one on HTML.

Aphelion-Webzine.com submissions printed:

Cognition by Wilson, Mike Issue 137 Story
The Process by Wilson, Mike Issue 153 Story
Alternative Energy by Wilson, Mike Issue 155 Story
Escape to New Jersey by Wilson, Mike Issue 162 Story
Poetry subs published:
Jones Ropes A Thistle  by Wilson, Mike Issue 139 Poem
Change of Climate  by Wilson, Mike Issue 148 Poem
The Arousal Indicator  by Wilson, Mike Issue 151 Poem
God Evolved to make Darwin  by Wilson, Mike Issue 155 Poem
Amplitude, Altitude, Attitude  by Wilson, Mike Issue 159 Poem
Good Day in the Interstellar Tow Lane  by Wilson, Mike Issue 169 Poem


Poems published in the annual Lyrical Iowa publication from 2008 to 2015, every year.


Sometimes it is very satisfying to review what one has accomplished so far in a writing
“Second Career.”    - thanks for taking a look with me.

    - end

She Plays

Twirl the wand, flash the streamers
she stalks, pounces, charges.
Squiggle it on the floor,
shove it all under the carpet.
She jumps, paws the surface
with fury and glee.

I whip it back out along the floor,
she runs back and eyes, then jumps.
Every muscle activates as the sparkles
tweak her hard-coded instincts.

She gasps for air yet keeps charging,
follows it and bites at it.
She is one package of intent,
all aimed at her prey,
a plastic wand with gold tinsels
attached that flutter
an invitation for my cat to
attack, subdue and bite,
over and over again.

At least she is easy to please  ;-)

 


Monday, May 09, 2016

Lest I forget

Not that I think I am the be-all and end-all, or even that important.  After all, this blog is just one of thousands, blogs and vlogs and Youtube channels, etc, everyone sounding off about something.  I just use this to vent and throw out some poetry - and maybe market some books too.
     But, lest I forget the great writers around here who have helped me along in one way or another, with advice, instruction or mentoring, below are the links to their websites.  Every one is a fine person and very good writer, in my ever-so-humble opinion!    Thanks for checking them out.

www.jerryhooten.com - great mystery writer and private investigator

http://rjeliason.com/ – R.J. Eliason – fantasy and science fiction author.

http://www.authorannmorris.com/ - Award-winning bi-lingual children's author.

http://tellersusanjellinger.8m.com/index_1.html - Susan Jellinger, master storyteller.

http://maggierivers.com/ - Magnolia “Maggie” Rivers Romance author and Writing Instructor

- end


Wednesday, May 04, 2016

Des Moines River Revival

The Des Moines River: A long, wide, relatively deep stream. It is fed by various smaller streams, including Fourmile creek, which carries sewage remnants itself. There are plants that empty into the Des Moines, although the water is sanitized. Perhaps once upon a time, centuries ago, the Des Moines river ran clear. But now it is a dark green waterway.

If they develop this into a recreational waterway, it should prove interesting. There is an appeal to the idea! Most everyone, myself included, gravitates to the water, even if it is not the cleanest. The grassy riverbanks are an attraction even now in the summertime. If they were to remove the dangerous dams, and put some sandy banks in to access the river, it could become an appealing place to wade, or put in your canoe or kayak, etc. Of course the problem lies in flooding season. Every spring, the river rises up very high. This would wash away any artificial beaches, and put things like canoe launches at risk. If the city and recreational authorities were willing to take on this challenge, then there are times that a re-vamped riverbank area could be very nice. Especially during high summer, when it is very hot, and the river is shallower.

In short, there are problems – but they could be overcome. The main thing is to make sure all of the levees remain in place, and function during floods. The last twenty-five years, Des Moines has seen some major flooding. We obviously need to take that into account. Otherwise, I applaud the vision of some leaders who want to make positive changes to our river. I like the river, and would certainly be a “user” of a re-vamped river, especially if it had places were people could wade and soak in the river.
Any fishing areas would need to be somewhat separate from boating and swimming areas, due to things like tangled lines, hooks, old bait and debris. There are some problems like this to be hammered out. But if they succeed, then bravo – let's do it. Thanks for reading.