The Crazy People Excerpt

She was still muttering, rummaging through the remainders of her last hallucination when I hollered "BINGO!" to the crowd of 25 or so, and she stopped to admonish me for being so brash. "Some people here take this game very seriously you know" she whispered, chuckling as she looked nervously about the room. "Whoops, my mistake" I told the number caller while I flushed to the bone. I'd made the mistake intentionally, but there was no reason not to add some dramatic color to my ruse. "You're right mom" I admitted; "Let's let the crazy people win. It'll make them feel better." She laughed and looked me square in the eye. "BINGO" she shouted, and then leaned toward me to whisper "yes let's". With a wink and a smile she collected her prize and settled in for a night of heavy competition, aware that her skeleton had been sprung from it's heavily guarded closet at last. I despise bingo. I loved my mother. It was a fair trade. The art of compromise is a fallacy. It's a science.
This page appears in honor of my mother, and all the many things she was.

Songs of Bragi Stringbreaker, King’s Bard

I have to admit I never thought I’d say this, here, or elsewhere… but…. Buy this book:)

http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/donnickcottage

Oh Happy Day

Erik the Melancholy

Erik the Melancholy

Let’s begin at the beginning. I have this creative itch. Hopefully this page will satisfy it.

Little Engines Can Do Big Things

Again, for youngsters only. A reading of the Thomas and Friends book “Little Engines Can Do Big Things” for the little woman’s nephew Zane. Includes the little woman making noises as page turn prods. Delivered in my marvelous English accent, which only occasionally seems to be Scandinavian, but really isn’t.

Push Me; You Know You Want To

 

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Little Engine That Could

Unless you’re about 3 years of age, this will likely not be interesting to you. In fact, I’m not even sure yet if a 3 year old likes it. But here it is anyway. A reading of the book “The Little Engine That Could”, with page turn instructions for my wife’s nephew Zane.

Push Me; You Know You Want To

 

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Baby, You’re the One

A few people… ok maybe one person has wondered how I write verse; like what’s the process. Well Timmy… sometimes I have an earworm! (that’s a song in my head) and I write what fits in the song syllablalitily! Often the poem has nothing to do with the original song, mainly cuz I can’t remember other people’s lyrics any more than I can my own verse which would amount to none so there. And often the melody I sing my words to (in my head) is one I made up cuz the stupid song writer didn’t jam enough words into each note for my taste. But… and this is the special part… sometimes what I write fits damn near perfectly into the freaking song as if I was a rock star and came up with it all by myself like I’m sure they (cough) all do! Now since that’s so hard to explain and likely still quite garbled in your brain, I’ve decided to demonstrate just what I mean. This one fit just like that… except I had to cut a bunch of lines and dupe some musical phrases and slap a piece here and there for length and then shorten the whole thing with… oh never mind…

Please… I realize once you hear this you’ll think “This guy’s a ringer! He’s actually a real rock star like Justin Bieber and he’s just pretending to be a no talent hack!” Please don’t think that even though it’ll seem true. The fact is I can’t sing at all. I don’t even sing in the shower cuz sometimes the glass window surround starts cracking when I just clear my throat! So take care in there. Wear earplugs if need be!

This is a poem I wrote, it’s in the book actually… done to a *Purchased* karaoke (slightly modified) version of Sheryl Crow’s Steve McQueen. And Sheryl… I’m so sorry.

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A Spire For Bishop Clannad

For a primer into what prompt writing is all about, picture this; You’ve been given the words and phrases… Missing Monarch, By any other name, Escape, Darkness within, Heretics, A view of the cathedral, Subscribe, Classified, Puzzle, Editorial, Lion’s den, Web of Deception and Snail’s Pace. Now… use them all in a story.

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The Magic of Rachel Green

the-magic-of-rachel-green

Four poems from Rachel Green, an English poet whose work always makes me smile. If you enjoy them and want more, her book is available here: Bear Ridge to Nettle Lane

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For Those Poeseussed By Fear

One of my first attempts at verse. Could be one of my best though it’s a tad punny. Warming up for a post to come soon.

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Poop Deck Ambiance

This is an unusual post, not meant to entertain but only as an intimate experience. Saturday afternoon I grilled a couple steaks, and recorded the sound from my deck as I hear it whenever I feel the need to contemplate my navel. Within the sound you’ll hear myself and the little woman, a wren mama who has taken up residence in our birdhouse and is now feeding her babies, a few airplanes, cars, voices, crickets, various songbirds and pootie, who wanders out toward the end and protects me from wandering animals with his fierce growl.

There are pics of my view front and back from where I recorded, so if you’re of the mind, memorize the photos, then hit play and close your eyes, and stand with me for 5 minutes or so while I take in what my world offers my ears every day.

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Poop Deck Fore


Poop Deck Aft

The Red Cloak of Malevolence

A slight variation on an old classic.

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Green and Yellow Basket

It’s alright that you don’t trust me
It’s alright
the world is not what it was
if it was
ever
And I should let your distrust dictate
but I can’t
and I’m sorry
I just can’t

You’ve your reasons and I know
all valid in their way
all real in your eyes
but I also know I am not who you might think
you’d say I can’t please everyone
it’s not the point that I please
but only to leave a basket of flowers at every door I can
or they just wither and die
if left in my care.