Beware the Troll

Beware of the long-haired Old Troll who lives under the bridge, and frightens Trick or Treaters as they cross on Halloween night. Still feeling sore from Big Billy Goat’s but in the butt, he hides away picking on little children when their candy bags are full. As they trip trap across his bridge on the their way home, he rises from the shadows and snatches their candy. He does not care that they run off crying all the way home. Being an old mumble grumble troll, it will take more than candy to sweeten him up. So warn your children on Halloween night to stay away from Sleep Hollow, and the Old Trolls bridge, if they want to keep their sweets!

Hunter’s full moon shines

Ghosts and Goblins come knocking

Watch out for the Troll

Frank at d’Verse told us to write a Halloween Haibun. He said we could even write a fiction prose to go with it. So that is what I did. One for the Kiddos young and old. Enjoy!

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Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Changing Focus

When life overwhelms

Focus on what’s important

Nature’s beauty calls

This has been great painting weather. Today I found an old painting I did back in 2013. It was a black swallowtail from my garden on a 4′ x 5′ canvas. I liked the painting but it was too big for anyone to be interested in, so I cut it down to 31″ x 48,” leaving just he butterfly, and used the top half for another painting I did last year. I had the canvas stored rolled up and it had a couple of places that were damaged, so i decided to remount what was left and touch it up. It turned into a greater restoration than I expected, but I like the end results.

Butterfly Painting – Dwight L. Roth

The Headless Horseman of the Apocalypse

I wrote this wild poem four years ago as a response to the upcoming election between Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton. The conversations then were not that unlike what is being said now, as many could not imagine that Trump could win the election. As we all know he did win and is now trying once more. Only time will tell. It is amazing how the muck of politics goes on and on and the alligators in the swamp keep getting fatter and fatter.

Riding through the dark night of the soul

Comes a headless horseman on a golden steed

Snorting fire and ashes he rides with great speed

No one can stop the galloping Spector

No Donkey nor Elephant, not Fox nor Hound

No one dare be so bold

As the ghastly night round him grows cold

He defies all those who would slow him down

Many have tried and been left on the ground

Some have screamed and some have yelled

But nothing can stop the apocalyptic wail

Out of the swamp through the fog of night

Rides the horseman of the apocalypse

leaving all in a fright

He comes charging the bridge in full moonlight

Not a myth not a tale nor a short lived wail

Will rise up to challenge with ghastly pale

The pending disaster that rides on his tail

In the morning sun he’ll surely be restricted

It was not true as many souls predicted

He’s here for now and he’ll be for a spell

This wild man with no head has tales to tell

The powers tried to slow him down

In that midnight hour as he rode into town

But the pumpkin wielding warrior

Simply brought scare and horror

To politicians far and wide

Bringing chaos and confusion now all is lost

He won’t stop till that last bridge is crossed

********

Painting: Dwight L. Roth

The God Perspective

“You know,” he mused, “Some folks don’t believe there is a God. They get all tangled up with religion and theological arguments about who is right and who is wrong, and miss the bigger picture.”

Grandpa always did have a unique perspective on life. He was wise beyond his years, but only shared his wisdom if asked.

“Aren’t your afraid of catching Covid and dying,” I asked?

“You know son, there are a lot worse things in living than in dying. Death is knocking on all of our doors!”

“I believe there is a God who is the source of all life, and that my life will continue on long after this old pain-ridden body is gone.”

I thought about what he said, as he continued, ‘We look at him through the wrong end of the long telescope of Time’.

“God’s Love is eternal!”

***********

Painting By Dwight L. Roth

Today at d’Verse, Kim is having us do Prosery. This is when we write a prose piece of flash fiction (144 words) that includes a random line form a poem she chooses for us. She gave us this line from the D. H. Lawerence poem, Hummingbird:We look at him through the wrong end of the long telescope of Time’. I decided to write my piece as a conversation.

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Covid Creativity – A Chair Seat Bass

A few weeks ago, I was volunteering at our local Habitat For Humanity Restore fixing some chairs that had been donated. I used one damaged chair to repair two others for resale. When I was done, I had this nice solid wood chair seat that was about to hit the dumpster. I thought to myself, “This would make a great electric bass guitar.” So I brought it home with me.

I drew a curved body on the chair seat and cut out one side with my jig saw. I used the piece I cut out for the opposite side. That got rid of all but two of the holes along the edges.

It fit nicely across my leg, but the point on the top side caught my armpit so I cut it off. That worked very well. My belts to my belt sander separated so I did most of the sanding on the edges by hand.

When I got it smooth, I hung it up and spray painted it black and then began working on the neck. I needed a strong piece of wood that would be very hard so I used a piece from a hickory tree in my back yard. I cut it the year before and it had dried out nicely. With my table saw I cut off the bark and shaped the neck. Again I had to sand it by hand so it was a little rough, but smooth.

I found some old paint that I used to touch up a car I used to have and decided to paint it all burgundy red. It turned out very well. I then put several coats of clear coat over it.

When I bolted the neck to the body I found I had it too long and would not be strong enough to keep from bending, so I cut six inches off and reset the neck to a 34″ scale. In doing so got the end that bolt to the body too thin. So I had to find something to serve as a truss rod or the neck would bow forward.

In my collection of junk I found a clothes line tightener and by flattening an L bracket I was able to attach it to the bolt on the guitar and the neck, so when turned the middle it drew or loosened the neck. That worked and brought the neck down to about a quarter of an inch action height.

I forgot to mention I only had room for three strings on the neck, so I decided that would work. I ordered parts from amazon and found they had a three string cigar box pick up as well. When it came I discovered the four string bridge was too wide to line up with the magnets on the pick-up, so I had to redrill the string holes. By plugging in the jack and holding it over the strings I found where I was getting the best sound. That is were I mounted it onto the body. The pick-up had a very fragile wood frame so I used a couple of wooden toy wheels to shim it up. It ended up being the exact height I needed.

I drilled through the body and ran the pick up wire through to the back. I trenched out a space for the wire to lay in and used electrical caps to cover it. I bent the end one on and angle and used it to mount the the re-soldered jack.

When I hooked it to my amp it worked great. I could only turn the volume to a 3 or it would rattle the windows! I was thrilled.

I mounted the tuning knobs in the head piece of the neck and used wide head screws to keep the string tension in the grooves.

I used my guitar tuner to set my scale on the neck where frets would usually go. I wrote the chord roots on the neck so I could see where to put my fingers. Then I drilled holes in the neck to mark where they were also. It works great seems to hold tuning well. It tend to have a little feedback buzz if I pick to hard with my thumb.

Building this was the most fun I have had in a long time. Now I have to learn how to play it! I tried to load a face book clip of me playing it but it would not let me use it. You will have to use your imagination!

“A creative mind never sleeps! – Dwight L. Roth

I finally found I had to put the FB video on public to get it to load on here! We did a simple version of I’ll Fly Away, so you could hear a little of how it sounds.

All is Lost

‘Twas with storm and October gale she ripped the sail

Shredded last threads flapping / faceless flag without stripes

Into the gale / fearless calm / face of moon-ash-pale

Fate assured / as many feared the Orca axed rock’s sharp scrape

*

Tsumami waves… his pall bearers strong / buried him deep

neath igneous rocks, casket solid, lasting a thousand years

Pale moon shredding tears / hidden from all in view’s keep

Fate assured / guiding light / riding gears of hopeless fears

*

Now each October 31st she walks / cold quartz beneath her feet

Pale Moon brightly shines / smiles / mist kissing her ashen face

This night her last walk / gang plank of sand / calls from the deep

Assured fate / drawn to his siren song / moon follows her last trace

Waves wash the chalkboard clean….

Spectors walk hand in hand in the full moon’s light….

Painting: Dwight L. Roth

Today at d’Verse, Lucy is the guest host and asked us to write a dark ballad. October has many aspects of this ending with Halloween. I am not into murder, blood, or gore, so I wrote my ballad about a salor lost in a storm and his love who cannot take the loss any longer! Hope you enjoy it along with my painting that I entitled “All is Lost”.

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com Then click the Mr. Linkey box to read some of the other poets poems.

First Snowfall

Out in the field

behind the chicken house

rows of asparagus

line the edge of the woods

kinked twisted…

bent over like a hundred old men.

Seed pods cling stubbornly to the tops.

In the woods,

bare foot paths

Disappear under a snowy blanket.

Painting: Dwight L. Roth

Today at d’Verse, Merril asked us to write a Quadrille of exactly 44 words, using the word blanket in any form we choose. It is still Fall here, but I immediately thought of snow in the winter where I grew up. It was such a beautiful sight to see that first snowfall blanketing everything outside.

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com … then click the Mr. Linkey box to read other poets’ posts.

The Humble Servant

Bing photo

What do you think would happen if Trump and Biden washed each other’s feet?

Today is World Communion Sunday, remembering the suffering and death of Jesus. It is celebrated by many Christian churches. When I was young, our church celebrated communion twice a year. Along with the bread and the cup representing the body and blood of Christ, we also practiced foot washing. This also was a part of the original story where Jesus washed his disciples feet, and told them to do the same for each other.

In the time of sandaled feet walking dusty roads, it was common for a servant to wash the feet of guests who arrive. It was probably one of the lowliest jobs in the household. This was the humble act of service his followers needed to do for each other to remind them that in God’s eyes we are all the same. We are all humble servants of one another. This concept seems to be lost in today’s society.

I had this flash of a thought in relation of the upcoming election and the debates scheduled. Wouldn’t it be interesting if, instead of castigating each other, Trump and Biden would simply come on stage and with a basin and a towel and wash each other’s feet! And in this act of humble service say to the American public, whomever you choose, we will be the humble servant to the other! Wow my imagination really did run wild today!!

Let me wash your feet

Humility and service

heal division’s wounds

To read the story click the link below:

Offered Wine… Served Kool-Aide

Beware you serfs, sucked in

by superfluous words wrapped in thorns

pricked and pounded by talking heads

offering hot air opinions

floating away,

bursting in mid air

bottle rocket promises full of

spectacular show and nothing more

*

Beware of blunderbuss arrows

pulled from your quiver of bias

shot from tensioned bow pulled

back, bleeding hearts left crying

wounds that never heal, running

blood red, not black, white, or yellow

dreams stained streets crying for hope

futures down times drain,

never coming to fruition

*

Beware you serfs, feeding off crumbs

from the masters table thinking

caviar and filet minion

Promised “a chicken in every pot”

only to find bones and feathers

floating in cesspools of bigotry and hate

destroying the marrow of society

grinding bones of workers

into mortar for castles of gold

*

Beware you serfs when you watch

cherry picking favorite words and lines

feeling like twisted truth is genuine

offering you Wine … but serving Kool-aide

Painting: Dwight L. Roth

Today at d’Verse, Lisa asked us to consider the Vatic Voice, the voice of the prophet in our poetry, speaking as though from the voice of God! I decided to try something different for me with a prophetic political rant. Tonight is the first of the Presidential Debates. Never have we had such extreme differences in the candidates. It is easy to simply choose someone who thinks and talks like we do, but there is much more at stake. We are choosing a way of thinking for the future of the country. The two candidates are really irrelevant, in my opinion. We are voting for a philosophy.

Join us at: https://dverse poets.com Then click on the Mr. Linkey box to read poems written by other poets as well.