The Exam

No matter the clear blue morning sky, or the bright sunshine piercing from above the horizon, I am nonetheless dreading the doctor visit. At age 57 you would think I would be accustom to the annual check-up.

I arrive a bit early and settle myself into a comfortable chair in the waiting area. Lovely art adorns the walls, there is calming New Age music and hot herb tea. It is as pleasant a waiting area as could be found. Still I dread the visit, and once I am taken to the exam room I know why. Its the chair that so dominates this small exam room room. I think it would be grand to be a man who might have to lay down on a flat exam table, cough a few times, deep breathe...fleeting thoughts.

I put on my gown and get seated in the blue mechanical 'cockpit'. The doctor knocks then walks in. We exchange a few pleasantries while she adjusts the chair backwards. I think I know what it feels like to be an astronaut taking off for space.The doctor does a general exam and takes a pap smear.

As uncomfortable as it all seems, it is these routine exams that are important to ALL women. The idea that a bunch of insensitive old white guys can debate, much less have an opinion about womens' reproductive rights and health needs is unconscionable. They do not and will not speak for me. This is the year that I push back against their absurdity.

Simply

A soulful man walked the path...

Two Peas in a Pod...

if I could be a vegetable

i would want to be a pea

in a pod with a pea

snuggled up next to me.

it would need to be a lengthy pod

for my honey pea and me

to make room for baby pea

in case we made pea whoopee!

Back Then

Radical Sixteen- new school(with girls!), protesting war, smoking pot, interested in the 'classroom of life'.

Well, that's it! All 16 words for this our 83rd week of Saturday Centus. This was a good short exercise, as I like to ponder the past sometimes. It may be apparent to you that the photo is not of moi when i was 16. I do however find it interesting to look at this picture and wonder what I was pondering...did I have some idea as to how divergent I would become from my upbringing, and how troublesome I would become to my mother. Perhaps it was all starting right there at that moment behind that pensive look. Ah...the idyllic and promising 50s would soon give way to the turbulent 60s, and the rest is history as they say. Wish I still had that blond hair ;-)Peace and blessings

Asking for Forgiveness

"We gather together to ask the Lord's blessing", when we should really be asking his forgiveness for abiding a country whose leaders applaud and abet active citizen protest in the Middle East at the same time denigrating and pepper spraying those engaged in such here. We should ask his forgiveness for abiding a situation where an infant in Milwaukee has a 220% greater chance of dying than an infant in Guangzhou China, for abiding a situation where one in five of our children live in poverty, and for abiding a system of law that does not apply to large corporations or the wealthy. We should however ask the Lord's blessings to empower us to change our ways.

Peace and blessings to you all...

http://www.jsonline.com/features/health/economic-decline-elevated-infant-mortality-go-handinhand-in-53210-zip-code-mh2kv7l-133758368.html

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2027013/Child-poverty-1-5-American-children-living-poverty.html

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RGRXCgMdz9A&feature=share

Trapped

Confined in this wheelchair, body trapped by insidious disease, mind trapped by body, I watch the world go by, as I often do from this sunny perch on my porch. I cannot engage the world on my own terms. Sophisticated computer technology enables me to read, write, scan the internet, and look at photographs. I find myself often staring at this one photograph...a group of young kids in their golden soccer jerseys and black shorts, getting last minute instructions from their coach. I wonder about this one girl with her short, wildly red hair, marked by the #6 on the back of her jersey. Half step back from the group, obviously confident, no need to listen. A striker for sure with one mission, to secure the ball on a breakaway and with a confident sharp strike send the ball to the back of the net. Am I reading too much into this picture, which seemingly shows so little? Perhaps, except that I was that #6, confident striker, the one serving up the goals. Now, confined in this wheelchair, body trapped by disease, mind trapped by body, a future entrapped by memory...

If I Die Young

I do not fear

an early departure for me.

It is she I worry about.

This I plainly see.

I will be cruising the cosmos

on gossamer wings.

She will be left here on earth

dealing with my things.

If I die young,

I hope she knows

of the love deep inside

that everyday grows

in me...

Lost in Space

Plasma ray torpedoes fired...

how would I escape...?

Suddenly woken

from my nightmare...

bright light pouring in

to starboard window...

star sucked into black hole...

Magnificent!

Spaceometer reading 8 b ly...

CPS unit reading...

FAILURE!

A laugh out loud moment...

save for being lost...

at the edge...

of the universe.

Rainbow of My Mind

delicate seed planted

in god's rich earth...

lucky to sprout,

determined to survive...

stalk reaching to sky,

bending to sun,

swaying

to

the

rhythm

of fickle breezes...

bursting forth

with bud,

none too soon

for me...

petals unfolding,

blossom revealing

the rainbows

in my mind...

the musical color

in the depths

of my soul...

"Vous etes mon soleil,

apport de la lumiere

a ma nuit foncee"

Thus, my offering for this week's Centus...prompted by the famous song title, "You are my sunshine." A lovely song, a delightful, swaying melody...one undoubtably sung from many a saddle...please take the time to check out what often prove to be remarkable stories, poetry and such at Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus. I am now going to check out the last 7 entries from last week...because I should, and because it will give me twice the chance to win Jenny's special prize...and I'm all for prizes ;-)

Desert Summers

the heat, yes

the desert

summer day.

as 'they' say,

you could cook

an egg

on the sidewalk.

hurrying from car

to building,

spending little time

in energy

sapping

sun.

oh, but those

desert nights,

those cool

desert nights.

like this night,

this moonless,

eggless night.

cold Margarita

in hand.

my company,

the saguaro,

the coyote.

i lay back

in my

lounging chair,

looking upward

to the sky...

star studded,

like a diamond

broach, pinned

against

The Universe...

Whatever you call this writing attempt...perhaps poetry of sorts...it is based on our Saturday Centus prompt which, this week, is a photograph of what appears to be an egg cooking on a hot sidewalk.

Gets in the Way

before I die, I want to...

learn how to forgive.

without forgiveness,

little else of deep meaning

is possible...

Who, Where, Why...

Saturday Centus #64. Just when I was in the mood to write the perfect vignette story, hoping that somehow Jenny was going 'out of the box' and maybe allow us 200 words...good luck! This week our prompt is nearly as long as our word restraint of 15. This suggests that 1) Jenny is not a mind reader...at least not mine, and 2) that our teacher is in charge...'do or die'...speaking of death, and not that I care to ponder its morbidity, our prompt goes something like this..."before I die I want to..." Suffice it that a mere 15 words would not begin to cover this subject. I am ok with that inasmuch as I believe I have lived many lives before this one, so, perhaps what I did not get to in this one, just maybe I covered before or will get to later. Point is, it seems, is that doing this or that, going here and there, having such and such is not important...the importance in it all may lie in the emotions...the clarity of that moment, those moments when we have that feeling, those feelings that are beyond words, beyond description...the moment which fuses past, present, future, and the whole of the universe into a precise, unexplainable 'entity...' I have tried to capture such a moment with this photograph. Now I will give a go and try to explain in what are obviously too few words, my desire.

before I die I want to...

know the truth...

who we are...

where did we come from...

why we are here...

Peace and blessings

jc

Short and to the Point

Saturday Centus...and 25 words...oh my...5, 25, 50, 100...I can do this, I can do anything. I may not be getting any younger, but I am getting better...although my creative vision often trumps my abilities to put vision to paper. Somehow though, as usually happens, the vision came to me in an instant...question is can I translate the feel of the moment in so few words? Perhaps with a little ESP working, some of you might feel it, see it, wrap your heads around it...I hope so.

"Anything else hon?"

"No, thanks."

She returned with the check...and an unexpected note...

I'm off at 11...meet me out front...

What the heck, I'm not getting any younger...

Home...Not This Time

Some years had passed since I had left home. I had wanted to visit many times, it was just that...you know...my parents and I had not truly 'gotten along'. I left home under less than desirable circumstances. Back then it felt more like an 'escape' than a simple departure. Over the years I realized that you cannot run away from your past, and cultivated the hope that 'time heals everything'.

I left the interstate, deciding to drive the rest of the way through the countryside and small towns along Rt. 66. The miles ticked away as I passed through familiar places...Venita, White Oak, Bushyhead...the small towns forever etched in my childhood memories...all unchanged. Just past Bushyhead, something however did change. The landscape was unfamiliar. Had the distraction of childhood memories caused me to take a wrong turn? I could see a road sign in the distance. As I got closer I could read it, and the sign read...Hwy. 666...

Lost In Translation

What if Francis Scott Key, a young, aspiring, 34 year old lawyer and amateur poet, had used his cell phone to text his poem, Defence of Ft. McHenry...a poem inspired by the view of a large, 30' x 42' American flag, made by Mary Young Pickersgill and her 13 year old daughter Caroline, and for that moment flying over Ft. McHenry...texting it to his dear wife Mary, as she huddled in their home with their 11 children during the war of 1812?

Well, it would have read something like this..."OsA cn UC by d dawn's erly lyt...OsA dz dat (*) spangled banner yet ~~~, over d l& of d fre n d hom of d brave"...

and...what if he had not be feeling poetically inclined? Well, he might have texted her saying..."Mary cn UC d big (_!_) flag @ d fort?" And if he had done that, then what would folks incorrectly mumble the lyrics to at ball games?

Thank you for bearing with me today and translating my silly attempt at interpreting our Saturday Centus prompt, "O! say can you see". Please check out what will certainly be an interesting and thoughtful collection of writings, poems and such at Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus.

World Inside a Grain of Sand

Why is it so hard to be as good as I want to be? I seek a certain perfection...not perfection as we might think. I am not a perfect success. I am not a perfect writer, poet, artist. I was not perfect in my careers. I am not a perfect husband or father, although those attributes would be worth the challenge I think. I have not perfectly challenged and beaten back the fears and anxieties of life, although I have spent some thought and time seeking that. The perfection I seek is more one of attitude and disposition. I want to achieve perfection in understanding, compassion, empathy, love, forgiveness. On the surface it may seem that these attributes are simple, free, instantly accessible. We do not have to cross an ocean to find them. We do not have to climb tall mountains seeking them. We do not have to hone our skills for years to know them...or do we? Can an eternity of compassion be found in a moment? Could all the love of the cosmos be contained in a small box just in front of me, within reach, if I could only, truly open my 'eyes' and see it? Could love, compassion and all that I seek be contained in that grain of sand in my pocket?

Why is it hard to be as good as I want to be? Perhaps I am where I am meant to be...need to be...

A Short Note To Say...

Men in the trenches

of that big foreign war

left loved ones behind

as they walked out the door.

"Dear John", the many

thousands of letters would read,

'I have found someone else

who'll better fill my need'.

Often no details were given,

more often a short note...

"Dear John, love you, goodbye",

and that's all she wrote.

Yes, its Saturday, and not just any Saturday. It is Saturday Centus, #60 celebration!! Woo-hoo!! Whoopee!!Can't believe we've made it this far through the insanity. Jenny, instead of giving me a prompt that would lend laughter to this joyous occasion, has sent me in a different and predictable direction with her "Dear John". I do hope that some of you will be able to take it in a different direction...something contrary to broken lives, broken hearts. Maybe its just me...that I am perpetually inclined to write about the sad things in life...a troubled romantic. That being said, I can't wait to read what you have written, in 60 words or less. Peace...

Domi Gutu (A Short Story)

Another Saturday, another Centus, another opportunity to explore this universe in my cranium...to see if I can match thought to word, drawing inspiration from a prompt...much to my surprise, my own prompt, "Within the Stone". I am compelled to share with you its origin. Within the Stone is the name of a coffee table book of photographs...closeup photos of the polished surfaces of rocks...taken by Bill Atkinson. It is a remarkable book that combines free association, literary pieces from seven guest writers with some 70 photographs. As stated on the inside of the dust jacket..." Atkinson opens a vault beneath our feet, revealing to our astonished eyes the tumult of color, form, and desire hidden Within the Stone."

From early childhood to present, I have been a lover of rocks, stones, geology...and photography. With this book, Mr. Atkinson is speaking to my passions. I was once told I had spent a past life as an Egyptian stone mason, working on the pyramids. When I heard this it all made sense to me...

Help, I'm a Rock

Help, I'm a Rock

Help, I'm a Rock

- Frank Zappa

Domi Gutu (A Short Story)

Sun shining hot

repressive, voracious

sucking energy

my lifeblood from me...

Circumstance of fate

tore me from my village

my family,

dropping me in

this hell.

Grubby, bloody hands

scooping rock, mud, water

into round, screened pan.

Within the stone

lies my misery,

and redemption.

Amidst these hot depths

of terraced, muddy walls,

I hear the voices...

my wife, my children

calling...

Tamba, we love you

Tamba, come home...

"I ti der bepi okuru o solo" ( I shall come, God willing)

The Wall

The wall was built long ago, by whom no one is certain. It is known to be ancient, dated to 400 AD. Cherokee legend holds that the wall was built, the area nearby inhabited, by a tall, bearded, "moon-eyed" race of people. Intriguing as these mysteries may be, this wall holds very special memories for me.

As young children, Matthew and I played over and along this thousand foot wall atop Ft. Mountain, devising make believe battles, pitting good against evil, sharing and trading our fantasy roles. As teenagers, we made love here...a small tent pitched at the base of the wall, beneath star-studded skies. Matthew was my first love...a love grown from friendship, evolved, and ultimately a relationship 'broken' by common circumstance. After high school I left to pursue an art degree at a small college in Rhode Island. Matthew left town to pursue...adventure!

Oh, we stayed in touch over the years, seeing one another on various occasions that would bring us back home. Yet, we rarely talked of our shared adventures on that mountain. Now, some 30 years since we left town, we have decided to return to the wall and see what great mysteries might await us there.

The wall was built long ago. For that we are certain. Yet, we are equally as certain that our friendship will remain long after these rocks, this wall, have crumbled into dust.

Convenient Journey

The end

is not

the end.

It is

beginning

again.

It is

convenient

for those

in need

of a

destination

to mark

the journey.