Childhood entertainment when the service went too long
Carried in my mother’s purse
with Juicy Fruit gum and a silk handkerchief
A magnetic pair in a little white box
Imaginative fun for one little boy
Today is Quadrille Monday (only 44 words) at d’Verse. De asked us to write about magnetism in any way we chose. I was taken back to pre-school days when my mom would carry the magnetic Tricky Dogs in her purse to entertain me at church. I loved playing with them. If you put the like poles together they would spin around and connect from opposite poles. They were great entertainment for me.
I saw this sign in an old cabin when we visited friends in the mountains a few years ago. It made me smile. It could also apply to our parents. We can’t pick our family members, but we can learn to respect and love them.
My sister was five years older than me. I always looked up to her because she was smart and well liked by all of her teachers. She took time to read to me some of the stories she was reading, and brought me left over pizza from her dates. I am sure I was an aggravation to her from time to time, but we have always maintained a good relationship, even when we disagreed over the years.
Today we decided to visit Dogwood Park. On the way back to our car we passed a cute little high school girl. We discovered she was parked right next to us. I had to smile when I saw her front plate: Carolina Girl… Best in the World.
The younger crowd who likes to go to the beach often find themselves shagging to a beach music band. The Shag is a dance that is very popular on the Carolina beaches. One of the songs they sing goes, “Carolina Girls, best in the world…” The You Tube clip gives you a taste of Beach Music…
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.
“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.
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”.
This old canvas board print came through the Habitat Restore where I volunteer two afternoons a week. It was in pretty shabby shape, worn and in need of cleaning. I found that it was a painting by Winslow Homer. It was about ready to be thrown out, so I said I would take it home and see if I could restore it. I went back over the painting with the original colors and brightened it up. I am very happy with the results.
Our disposable society has a lot of downside and excess baggage that comes with it. I believe we lose so much these days because we are too quick to discard what we once held dear. Whether it be friends or family or spouse, everything these days is dispensable. Commitment and vows seem to be archaic confinements in this generation. We seem to forget that in relationships we will have differences; things that may hurt deeply, but forgiveness is always a part of life. Without forgiveness, we will go on repeating our same mistakes and adding more and more baggage to our life’s load.
A Dunkard Brethren church once sat at the top of the ridge overlooking Willow Run. Now in crumbles of brick and mortar, flowering honeysuckle invite bees to commune at their cups of sweetness. Blacksnakes slither through the rubble looking for a toad or rat residing there.
It was in this church where itinerant preachers on horseback brought fiery brimstone, forgiveness, and grace to the faithful who gathered. Souls were saved and dunked all the way under in Willow Run.
On the hillside the full moon reflects off of a few protruding graveyard stones. Most have long since been overgrown and broken. The names on the stones kiss the ground, above the deceased as “In their dreams they sleep with the moon.”
Tales are told by the ancients, who still live nearby, that at midnight’s full moon rise, horses pounding hooves echo through the night!
Today at d’Verse, Merril introduce a prosery prompt. This is a short story of no more than 144 words that can be flash fiction, true, or far out imaginary. It must include a random line from a poem that she shared with us. Her line was from a Mary Oliver poem, (Death at Wind River),“In their dreams they sleep with the moon.”My story is flash fiction, based on a little church from my home town. My two brothers and I visited there two years ago, and I took a bunch of photos. These are a couple of photos from there. The story is made up.