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Just shooting the poop with Lori |
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He travels the world on the backs of others Insignificant in his stature and size His journey carries no mission Randomly roaming at the will of his host Sated enough to never question his trek Life is an open adventure without worry If the excitement of his dusty trail dulls Another bus awaits to grant passage With a furry friend to carry him home Ah the wonderful life of a flea |
| I have reached a milestone. My blog has been censored for use of an "i", an "s", and a "d" word. I had also posted a story that I had written for a contest that was a winner. I have since removed all of the offending unmentionables that I could find. I will become a milder and kinder blogger. Sorry for any harm this caused. |
My World The Earthen sphere spins upon its axis A Rudimentary rotation of graceful gravity A Distinctive orb, God's humble houser of life Envelope encasing a world of possibility Beauty envisioned lays a landscape of opportunity Prayer, a weapon to infantry all evil Human love, a tool to cocoon misery Compassion, a baton to combat hatred Grace, an inspiration for a calm and lasting peace Empathy, an apparatus bridging to hope Respect, an implement to extinguish indifference Unity, a device employed to terminate animosity Fidelity, an allegiance of trust to trumpet goodwill Courage, a utensil for carving away fear and ignorance Faith, that one day all will seek to paint this portrait of beauty As the earthen sphere spins upon its axis A global warming of the human spirit is needed now A portrayal of Eden on earth awaits, we can build it together |
| It's picnic time in our small city. It is a citywide fair that draws thousands of people from all around. It is accomplished through the hard work of many volunteers. It raises funds for the park's upkeep and citywide beautification. There are tractor pulls and races. Farm animals line the outskirts of the fair in a show of 4-H pageantry. Carnival rides draw the children. Music causes toes to tap. Funnel cakes, cheeseburgers, and beer buckets call you home. It is a quaint invitation to welcome folks to small-town America. Two days of hour-long parades celebrate the German heritage at UND Augustfest. It is our family tradition to enjoy the weekend as well. |
| I write stories every day. It is fun and cathartic. My inspiration is random. It could be a prompt for a contest, a conversation with a friend, or even a dream. I finish almost all of them but there are some that I fail to meet deadlines on and leave them hanging. The story below is one such item. I know how I was planning on ending it but let me hear your thoughts. The Eyes Have It My recurring dream, a face with no eyes, troubled me greatly. The details of the dream were vague as if a haze covered the place of its occurrence. Only the face was clear because of its close proximity to mine. The mouth and nose were masculine in form. The lips were turned downward in a grimace, almost pensive with a slight quiver. The nostrils were flared allowing me to see deep into the caverns of the man’s unsightly membranes. It was a view that I tried to escape by the twisting of my head. My movements were restricted by lightweight straps. My limbs failed to respond normally as if the neurons had been severed with my arms flopping like fish stranded on the beach. The dream conjured up such fear in me, not only for the unknown outcome but for my inability to fight. There was no rhyme or reason for when the dream occurred. It visited randomly for several years. My first memory of the dream was at age ten, with me waking to mother’s calming voice. Now eleven years later, the dream was part of who I was and fodder for the family jokes. As accustomed as I was to its presence in my life, I couldn’t help but feel that I would see the face with no eyes without the cover of a dream. Illusions of blank peepers on a mask of mystery shaped my destiny. With each vision, I attempted to learn more about the location and the people present. There were voices but they were distant and ambiguous. They served only to reinforce the male connection to my dream. Delivered by nostril man, I was able to make out one coherent sentence. ”This is harder to do than I thought it would be.” The statement only added to my anxiety, as it failed to clarify my predicament. The dream sequence never allowed me to see beyond the one room or the haze overhead. My sleepiness left me groggy and unable to think. It was always as if I was moving in slow motion. On Saturday, the day I finally met my dream and the nostril man, I awoke from the dream as usual. There was one small difference. Incredible pains stabbed at my right side causing me to sit upright and vomit on my bedroom floor. I was diaphoretic, as usual. The pain seemed to stretch instantly from my side to the middle of my belly. I could barely stand with the pain so intense. Placing my feet on the floor was all I could muster before doubling over and calling for my mother. She came, as she always does, to tend to me. She immediately decided that I needed to see the doctor. After being examined at the office, I was sent to the local hospital for testing. Doctor Harmon believed my appendix had ruptured and a CAT scan was needed to verify the diagnosis. We traveled to the hospital by car. I couldn’t decide if my uneasiness was due to the pain or the residue of my dream. Every movement I made seemed familiar like I’d done it all before. Even something as simple as opening the door at the hospital’s entrance stirred a memory. I was escorted to the emergency room. I didn’t have to wait long before Doctor Harmon’s suspicions’ were confirmed I was prepped for surgery. After signing papers, they scrubbed me, medicated me, and coated my abdomen with orange goo. I could hear the doctor talking to my parents, telling them he had performed hundreds of appendectomies. He walked them through the surgery and warned of possible complications as an afterthought. When he entered the room I was waiting in, he introduced himself as Doctor Jagor. The medication had started to kick in, leaving me groggy. The doctor’s image was hazy but familiar. His voice echoed in my dreams. I tried to scream but nonsensical mumbling came out. The nurse flew to my side to comfort me and telling my parents that the medicines sometimes caused hallucinations. |
Come on in and sit awhile Leave some thoughts to make me smile Tell me a joke or tell me a tale Share a sip of ginger ale Toss a snippet from your mind Leave some wisdom for me to find Strum a pleasant tune upon your banjo While browsing my very own portfolio Leave your name, a claim to fame Friends, I'll call you, please do the same Because at writing. com We're all the "bomb" Write upon my blarney stone Think of this blog as close to home |
| We are all in need, of a safe and loving place Our purpose in this life, to help the human race Put differences aside, work toward the common cause For the sake of mankind, we must alter the course So vital the task, don't let another day pass Let's rise above the past, find strength to make love last Wake up! Wake up! The clock is ticking Wake up! Wake up! The clock is ticking We must Unite, Keep peace in sight Shine bright the night, with God's good light Wake up! Wake up! The clock is ticking Wake up! Wake up! The clock is ticking Hold out your hand, come take a stand Let love prevail, Grace will not fail Wake up! Wake up! The clock is ticking Wake up! Wake up! The clock is ticking Urgent is the need, Let us plant the seed Can we make a start and open up our heart? Wake up! Wake up! The clock is ticking Wake up! Wake up! The clock is ticking Let's stop the hate. make humanity great The kindness we await, goodwill we celebrate Wake up! Wake up! The clock is ticking Wake up! Wake up! The clock is ticking Within the hearts of man, lives the hope for peace Embrace the caring spirit, so all hatred may cease We must all make the effort, to bring about change Honor and value all life, in this human exchange The Time is now, to be the voice for our children Give this gift, this legacy, can we stand as one? |
| My name is Noble and I am a unicorn. Labeled imaginary, they say I am not real. Gaudy and pink, identified only as a child's fictional character. Glitter gushes, as I dance and prance. Showcased for parties, I am a hallucination of a child's wish. Mythically displayed for celebrations, I am just a figment. Pastel ribbons aplenty adorn my scalp. My spiral spur, believed to be the granter of wishes, is legendary. Flying through the air, as no other maned creature can, I am a fabrication. My castle in the sky is just an illusion. I am the dream of a thousand dreamers. I am the fable built on falsehoods. A creature of fantasy conjured in mystery, my existence is a fraud. Witnessed only in myth, so the story goes, there is more to me than anyone knows. Strong and powerful, I am a steed. I am the reality. I am the goodness of truth. My soft glimmering mane is the tangible element of my life. The warm steam, that exits my snout, is proof of my presence. Kindness and love are the core of my essence. I survive in the hearts of all mankind and thrive with each good deed completed. I lie behind the smile of all exchanges. My spirit prevails where grace is permitted. I endure where unity abounds. I will remain for all that believe in the power of love. My existence is fact, with no room for fiction. A child, bright and fair, wished one day upon a star. The sadness of the heart, her malady was clear. Worry lined her brow, as her future seemed unknown. She was heard to say in a childish song,” Please unicorn, creator of dreams, come to me. Make this world a better place to be. Please grant to me, this most important of Birthday wishes.” In swooped the unicorn, all shiny and bright, dancing with magic to the child’s delight. “On this day, I grant your wish, for the love you will know, forever more. It is not a gift for you alone. Tasked you are to spread the love: share it wisely with others you meet. It takes the heart of a child to bring kindness about. It will grow and abound with each person you gift. In your heart lives the possibility of a better world. “ This small child grew to be a loving and caring person. Through one person at a time and one act of kindness at a time, she makes our world better. |
| So first let me say, that I would never trade my teenage son for anything in the world. And then there are days..... days that bring yourself to question your parenting through the years. Is the laziness of your child a reflection of the parent's erring deeds? Is the sleeping until noon with the parent screaming to make them descend from the cozy warm loft an effort in futility? Is asking the child to see the same mess that we see and randomly do something about it a lost dream? Is automatically asking the child to know that the dog's legs are crossed for a reason and are barking at the door to ask the child to know to take them outdoors? These are the many points a parent must ponder before letting one swift kick in the rear to travel. |
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