“I ask the impossible: love me forever.
Love me when all desire is gone.
Love me with the single mindedness of a monk.
When the world in its entirety,
and all that you hold sacred advise you
against it: love me still more.
When rage fills you and has no name: love me.
When each step from your door to our job tires you—
love me; and from job to home again, love me, love me.
Love me when you’re bored—
when every woman you see is more beautiful than the last,
or more pathetic, love me as you always have:
not as admirer or judge, but with
the compassion you save for yourself
in your solitude.
Love me as you relish your loneliness,
the anticipation of your death,
mysteries of the flesh, as it tears and mends.
Love me as your most treasured childhood memory—
and if there is none to recall—
imagine one, place me there with you.
Love me withered as you loved me new.
Love me as if I were forever—
and I, will make the impossible
a simple act,
by loving you, loving you as I do”
- Ana Castillo

BUCHANAN TO OBAMA
By Patrick J. Buchanan

Barack says we need to have a conversation about race in America . Fair enough. But this time, it has to be a two-way conversation. White America needs to be heard from, not just lectured to… This time, the Silent Majority needs to have its convictions, grievances and demands heard. And among them are these:

First, America has been the best country on earth for black folks. It was here that 600,000 black people, brought from Africa in slave ships, grew into a community of 40 million, were introduced to Christian salvation, and reached the greatest levels of freedom and prosperity blacks have ever known. Wright ought to go down on his knees and thank God he is an American.

Second, no people anywhere has done more to lift up blacks than white Americans. Untold trillions have been spent since the ‘ 60s on welfare, food stamps, rent supplements, Section 8 housing, Pell grants, student loans, legal
services, Medicaid, Earned Income Tax Credits and poverty programs designed to bring the African-American community into the mainstream . Governments, businesses and colleges have engaged in discrimination against white folks — with affirmative action, contract set-asides and quotas — to advance black applicants over white applicants. Churches, foundations, civic groups, schools and individuals all over America have donated their time and money to support soup kitchens, adult education, day care, retirement and nursing homes for blacks.

We hear the grievances. Where is the gratitude???

Barack talks about new ‘ladders of opportunity’ for blacks. Let him go to Altoona ?
And Johnstown , and ask the white kids in Catholic schools how many were visited lately by Ivy League recruiters handing out scholarships for ‘deserving’ white kids.? Is white America really responsible for the fact that the crime and incarceration rates for African-Americans are seven times those of white America ? Is it really white America ’s fault that illegitimacy in the African-American community has hit 70 percent and the black dropout rate from high schools in some cities has reached 50 percent?

Is that the fault of white America or, first and foremost, a failure of the black community itself?

As for racism, its ugliest manifestation is in interracial crime,
and especially interracial crimes of violence. Is Barack Obama aware that while white criminals choose black victims 3 percent of the time, black criminals choose white victims 45 percent of the time?

Is Barack aware that black-on-white rapes are 100 times more common than the reverse, that black-on-white robberies were 139 times as common in the first three years of this decade as the reverse?

We have all heard ad nauseam from the Rev. Al about Tawana Brawley, the Duke rape case and Jena. And all turned out to be hoaxes. But about the epidemic of black assaults on whites that are real, we hear nothing.

Sorry, Barack, some of us have heard it all before, about 40 years and 40 trillion tax dollars ago.

We are a Christian Nation even if Mr.Obama says we are not.

This needs to be passed around because, this is a message everyone needs to hear!!!

Student Survival Kit :

Sent home with my youngest daughters
welcome to the class packet years ago
Beautiful !
~~~*~~~

Honied yellow dripping gold,

Leaf of autumn in the cold

Dancing on in crisp despair

Whirling on enchanted air

Falling silently to earthen tomb

Away from tree’s rooted arm

Perhaps the silence broken then

By hollow cries of autumn grief

Synchronized with the falling leaf

S.K.Lindeman

Had to bring this one up front
Originally posted 01Oct07

I’m not gonna lay you down easy!
Your fall will be hard with great shatter!
You’ve given me nothing but worry.
To be done with you, is all that will matter.

Your blood runs no more, its stored far away,
seems your insides grew empty and hollow.
With your craggy arms broken and cracked
and your heart, has dried empty and shallow.

I’ve watched you not grow to this point.
Your wasted and the slowly demise.
The vermin inside has taken control,
within you they have taken up shelter.

I know you cant cry, as I add up the days,
since I’ve watched your eminent death!
Watch out below, we will watch as you go
You old ugly Red Oak with no breath!

10/07 OD2
Image by Lightworks

I used to think that growing old was reckoned just in years,
But who can name the very date when weariness appears?
I find no stated time when man, obedient to a law,
Must settle in an easy chair and from the world withdraw.
Old Age is rather curious, or so it seems to me.
I know old men at forty and young men at seventy-three.

I’m done with counting life by years or temples turning gray.
No man is old who wakes with joy to greet another day.
What if the body cannot dance with youth’s elastic spring?
There’s many a vibrant interest to which the mind can cling.
‘Tis in the spirit Age must dwell, or this would never be:
I know old men at forty and young men at seventy-three.

Some men keep all their friendships warm,
and welcome friendships new,
They have no time to sit and mourn the things they used to do.
This changing world they greet with joy and never bow to late;
On every fresh adventure they set out with hearts elate
From chilling fear and bitter dread they keep their spirits free
While some seem old at forty they stay young at seventy-three.

So much to do, so much to learn, so much in which to share!
With twinkling eyes and minds alert some brave both time and care.
And this I’ve learned from other men, that only they are old
Who think with something that has passed the tale of life is told.
For Age is not alone of time, or we should never see
Men old and bent at forty and men young at seventy-three.

~ Edgar A Guest

4:10 am

“Yeeeeah?…. alright I’ll pick you up in about 15, 20 minutes, let me take a crap and find my friggin’ license, you make coffee yet?”

“Yep and the bacon’s on too.”

“Jesus, Cole! Do you ever stop fuckin’ eating? I’m still stuffed ! See ya in a bit”

I had to get rid of last nights grillins; Springtime fishing is a endless bounty of freezer stuffers and we had a great time at our local honey hole yesterday. The smallmouth bass were hitting anything we threw at ‘em and Cole was just itching to get an early start.

My guts were a little uneasy after all the food we cooked last night and I was in no hurry. I gathered up my tackle and found the license laying on the floor of the gazebo. It must of fell out of my pocket when I finally collapsed in front of the fireplace.

I was jarred awake around 1 am to the sound of thunder and made my way inside to
finish off the dream . . .

It was a good one too!

All I remember was a carton of Moonpies, a six pack of Cokes and a muddy Jeep ride with some tight jeans and a clean white T. . .

Cole lives down a twisting lane, fenced on both sides, so it was easy for my groggy eyes to blindly follow the gravel path. I realized not far along though, that it had rained pretty good last night. I hit a couple of puddles and got my ass wet, without having the doors on the Jeep.

I smelled the breakfast as I pulled up to the brightly lit house and had to dodge
Bruiser and One – Eye, Cole’s coon hounds. Who instinctively start howling
when they hear the Jeep coming half a mile away! They go into that mode when its dark out, regardless whether we’re going or not.

“Find your license?”

“Yep, Got coffee?”

“Sure do, grab a seat, ya want toast?”

“Sure, I ain’t in no hurry. The roads gonna be wet as shit, it poured last night. Andy’s field is full again”.

Cole slid a plateful in front of me and set his down. Then went and grabbed our coffee.

“Gonna have to lock the hubs in to get down to the river. It’s gonna be sloppy for sure.
You’re gonna have to take the tractor to your drive, it washed out again down by the cedars.”

“Damn, think I’ll need more gravel?”

“Nahh, just a brushing’ll do’er” . . .

“Maybe pull some in from the lower edge.”

“Thanks for the eggs”.

“Sure, there’s more bacon if ya want.”

“Nah, I’m good…ya ready?”

“You kidding? I cant wait to start casting, that was a ball yesterday.”

“Sure was! Well lets git goin then.” (I grab the bacon.)

We locked the hubs in and pulled out, Bruiser and One – Eye followed along,
till I could hear their howls diminish, like they always do.

I didn’t have the fence to guide me any more. So it was a little harder to see
especially going down through the wooded trail.

All of a sudden an owl came swooping down from my left! Scared the shit out of me!
(didn’t think I had any left) and when I ducked, I pulled the wheel to the right,
that sucked us downward into the gully, I nailed the gas and the mud started to fly.

I knew I had to keep from getting stuck in that ravine. Well, I cut it back to the left again and she started to climb back up out of a certain mire. When all of a sudden,
I saw an old dead fall, with it’s outcropping of branches headed right for my grill!

Still in threat of sliding down into the deep ditch, I had to keep going.

The screeeeeeeching of metal and wood brings cringes to me as it rubs its way along. Snapping and popping as the brittle twigs break free from the trunk.

I managed to save us from going into the ravine. But in that quick instant a branch had reached up into her innards and rendered us immobile. I imagined, it had popped the Z Bar off of the clutch.

Well, I shut her off and climbed out. Kicking and grabbing sticks and twigs, cussing and growling.

I hurriedly got the hood cleared off and opened it up in fear of the battery shorting out or a broken gas line.

Nothing was injured inside the engine compartment. I sighed a little sighhhhh of relief.

So, the next thing was to crawl underneath and look for the Z Bar to try and pop it back on.

I’m on my back under the front end and the water is starting to soak my shirt. I holler out: “Cole bring me the flashlight. It’s in the glove box between the seats!”

I yell again, “Hurry up I’m getting wet!”

Suddenly I feel a hand on my crotch, I clang my head loudly on the metal undercarriage and scream out, “WHAT THE FUCK !”

I clamber on out from underneath the Jeep and there stands Cole:

With a Moonpie and a Coke, in a white T, and his fat ass tightly encased in blue jeans!!!

~Outdoors2 5/08

this is another story written for a “Twisted Tales Challenge” @ Redbubble

I’d let you go.
untouched unseen
Faded dull,
became your sheen

With lack of heed
your jeweled patine
tarnished
green
by envies course

We shared this view
As longed for each
To blush
again so soon

To strip you down
with oiled scents
callous hands
massaged back
Smooth

Though done before
caressed and buffed
Polished
once more
to all your splendor

We’ll let them know
We share this
Bond
By winning
First in show

~Outdoors2 5/08

Have you ever woke to that perfect day?

The one where everything beforehand has been tediously planned,
all the details scrutinized, checked off and gone over thrice!
The only thing left to do the night before is relax, chat about the
upcoming events and get a good nights rest, for the trip ahead.

Trust me, this was “That” day. We woke to the smell of the
timed coffee, the birds calling their splendor to the new dawn.
The sun, just starting to rise over the lake. Suddenly the alarm
breaks the stillness with the Neil Young, put in to listen,
as we rolled around last night.

Signaled, we rise and prepare for the day ahead.

Ambling downstairs, I think of last minute details, such as
the windows and doors locked up, all the powered electronics
off’ed and phone calls to the others to see if there is anything,
anything at all we could have possibly forgotten. Quickly the bagels
go into the toaster and the cream cheese taken out to soften.
Wallet is found, purse set to the ready.

Ah! Toilet paper!

Everything, just as planned!

All the little miscellaneous little do-dads gathered in our arms,
we head outside and dump the burdens on the front seat.
After an observant walk around, we both Jump in and ready
for this, so needed getaway.

Buckled up and all set, I turn the key.

The alarm goes off!

It’s raining hard,….. and Like a Hurricane, is Blaring across the Airwaves

I reach over and touch your back, So starts another, Perfect Day

Originally posted as “The Trip”, for a Twisted Tales Challenge…Here

With a swift crack of the crop

He neighs as he rears and hoofs come down hard.
Pounding the ground ‘thump’ with a thunderous bolt.
Faster than the grasshoppers among Timothy grass.
Yah!! She yells and he bucks a wicked once.

He continues his stride longer and faster
as she grabs his mane tighter with screams
Yah!! Yah!!
to where they are headed is with out a care
but the ride is the limits, if limits were there

Faster!, Faster!
Till all bristles are straight. As if a paint brush
quickly readying to stroke virgin canvas
This portrait of ecstasy is done by a master
The clods that he scours, fly by in a flash
the few that have circled are on their way back

Yah!! Yah!!
He jumps in his canter, as he’s off on this dash.
She pitches to the left as the gritty balls fly,
then back to the right to avoid her sweet sighs.
The river ahead will clean them up well!
The moisture of sweat slipstreaming her thighs.

He slows to a trot,
As the river is thick, overflowing its banks.
She releases his cape in a unparalleled quench.
He kneels down as if bow, then her legs cast away.
They shiver the calmness, after this ride of midday

~Outdoors2 5/08

Chili ’s not made with all measures of which,
But dashes of that and handfuls of this.
Big chunks of onion and plenty of sauce,
Squeezed to extract and steeped in the rue
Tomatoes chopped up and and pushed in to stew
Add cumin not spooned but shook with a shake
The most cayenne also that your stomach can take
The mushrooms are thrown from the woods to the pot
Just a half jig of ‘basco, to get her plenty hot
So slice up the sausage and grind up beef too
This brew will be ready in an hour or two
Still the true test will come as it sits and melds sin
Tomorrow’s guarantee? You’ll have to stay in…;P

~Outdoors2

We gather at Joe’s on a crisp October morning, Coffee for most. Beer for some. The `man’ hug shared among the core. We chat about what chainsaw needs sharpening, who has the percosets (for laters back relief), the deer in the field, which log pile to start on and who’s position is who’s at the splitter.It starts out with three or four `supervisors’ (usually the beer drinkers) directing the mass confusion and stumbling around trying to help the roughshod process turn into a smooth running, orchestrated production. After the initial burst of enthusiasm things settle in and each finds their own spot among the group and accepts the designated or perceived position that needs their filling. The day wears on as we each relinquishes the worn out soldier from the strenuous task they, too, had taken over from the one before him. Lunch brings a long awaited break from the chore that we never prepare for. Moaning and groans, bandages replaced, war stories told about the log that almost… the finger…the toe! All smile at the mornings accomplishment. Each knowing the necessity to keep the winter stoves stoked will cost these little scars. Break time passes and few head off to football practice, the tree stand, shopping whatever other life deed needs to be done this fall day. Besides, wearing oneself out from each years ritual. The core continues on..a well tuned, greased machine is all that remains now. The rhythm goes unbroken as switching eachs’ task, is a premonition known far in advance, before failure in this chain of events. The last pile dwindles quickly, as the remains are cleaned up and every odd piece is put through the mill, Finding it’s fate eventually on the stack. The field is scanned again for the evening feeders, the saws gathered up, stray files found, Tailgates put up, a pat on the back and the final Man hug given.

~Outdoors2 5/08

Thanks, Rachel …be whole now

Been There !

I’m from the oceans
or is it the seas
could be the valleys
a deep side of me

I’m scattered on plains
cast far across rows
or is it the prairie
where my soul blows

I’m born out of springs
trickled from earth
might be the rivers
which I am birthed

I’m an ort of granite
from mountain so wide
but soft as the magma
deep down inside

I’m bayous and swamps
a quag to be mired
stalled to a halt
mossed beauty admired

I’m wherever You are
You’re one in the same
whoever you are
whatever Your name

Care not where
nor what you were then
Who you are now
means more than you’ve been

~ RRS ~ Outdoors2 4/08

the day we went cycling
in the hot summer sun
the wind on our skin

I fell
sat there crying
you came to kiss my bruises
I tried to stop you at the scratches

you looked at me
and kissed them anyway

that day
a garden bloomed
in my heart

I still smell
the flowers

~*~

De-N