Joe Wells

I’VE SAVED ENOUGH FOR SHADY PALMS

I’ve saved enough to go in Shady Palms,
assuming I die at the end of the week.
If I reach old age, or get dementia,
then I’m surely up shit creek.

I find it hard to understand the system,
which pays if it’s your leg that’s broke.
You pay though if it’s your head that’s ill,
and to me that’s not a joke.

I have no desire to go in Shady Palms,
to find I’m fading and walking toward the light.
I want to stay home, then one day on waking,
find I’ve gone and died in the night.

GINGER ROGERS, BACKWARDS AND IN HEELS

Hard dancing Fred Astaire,
with Ginger Rogers made a pair.
Her fancy footwork always appeals,
amazing, as it’s backwards and in heels.

Hard dancing Fred Astaire,
did tap with Ginger with such flair.
Moving fast as light with flashing feet,
man oh man dig that rhythm, dig that beat.

Hard dancing Fred Astaire,
rehearsed for hours with no care,
No thought for Ginger her feet so sore,
taking off her shoes and the blood would pour.

Hard dancing Fred Astaire,
hit the top in the floodlights glare.
Asked the secret of his success to explain,
he thought for a while then said, no pain no gain.

Hard dancing Fred Astaire,
then Ginger’s thoughts did share.
My feet bleeding until dances he perfects,
I am proving women really are the stronger sex.

Hard dancing Fred Astaire,
with Ginger Rogers made a pair.
Her fancy footwork always appeals,
amazing, as it’s backwards and in heels.

JRR TOLKIEN AND THE NOBEL PRIZE

JRR Tolkien, author of great repute
was nominated for a Nobel Prize
by C S Lewis, a writer and his friend,
then suddenly came a surprise.

His Lord of the Rings books were rejected
the jury called them second rate,
poor storytelling was also cited
as the reason they met this fate.

I wonder if the author JRR Tolkien,
these comments cut him in half                                                          
but as a bestselling author,
he certainly had the last laugh.

WOKE IN THE UK

As an older fellow, I would like to reach out to the younger members of society in a vain attempt to retain my sanity going forward for there are certain expressions and phrases which are used by the youth of today which are causing me anxiety and are interfering with my mental health, some of which I have placed in bold type.

For example, starting a sentence with So punctuating it with Like talking with a Multicultural London accent emphasising any word ending with ility and now I find I’m having to contend with Woke.

I’m getting a little sick and tired of it all and would like to go back to English as a language and for modern Woke people to stop taking offence on behalf of others who are probably more capable of dealing with the situation themselves.

That’s the end of my minor rant for now but I am certain I have missed a multitude of things and will no doubt think of more going forward, sorry I mean in the future.

BACK BENCH MP’S

In Great Britain, we have numerous traditions and peculiar habits which I personally love, especially the ones that make no sense at all, an example being The House of Commons.

A person can stand for Parliament and when elected become a Minister of Parliament and assuming they continue their way up the greasy pole of Politics can become a Member of the Cabinet, an example of which is the Minister for the Cabinet Office, Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, or slightly stranger the post of Minister Without Portfolio, which is a post for a Cabinet Minister with no specific responsibilities.

I’m sure all this makes perfect sense to all those of you who may not live in our rather wonderful country but just to throw a spanner into the works, should one of these Ministers cause a bit of a hoo-ha by having an affair and groping his secretary and breaking the current Covid restrictions he or she will lose their Ministerial position and be banished to the back benches of Parliament, this is rather like becoming one of the naughty children on a school trip who sits at the back of the bus and causes a commotion, although smoking is not permitted in the Chamber.

There you are, the British Parliament in a nutshell, I hope it all makes sense to you!

~~~

Joe is a retired actor, author, and blogger. thediaryofacountrybumpkin.com is an amusing take on the more quirky aspects of modern life. His books are available on Amazon, the latest of which is a murder mystery set in 1947 and is called The Case of the Grease Monkey’s Uncle. Joe was first featured on The Short of It on March 6, 2020, and then published in our first anthology – The Sound of Brilliance.

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The Rhythms Of The Day

Mike Von – Unsplash

i arise beginning the morning routine
brushing and showering away
bacterial colonies having sprung up during the night

greasing down the cracks and ashy skin
donning either pajamas or street clothes
it depends – maybe stepping out but probably staying in

slipping on worn out house shoes
shuffling across the floorboards
a short trip to the kitchen

a steaming morning cocktail needs preparing
i await its consumption, promising zest
to awaken this still sleep-filled mind

a push of the button on the blender
containing protein, vegetables and fruits
loudly swirls its nutrient-dense meal

the dishes in the sink beg for attention
my computer is more insistent
you’ll just have to wait

read, read, read – hundreds of emails needing attention
clack, clackity, clack – creativity is unleashed
write, send, await a response

project one – putting on additional deails
project two – just begun
project three – nah, let’s wait till tomorrow

i’m coming dishes and exercises
and other things i don’t want to do
what shall dinner be today

couch time, tv time, hubs time
catching up with gossip, whining and lovin’
getting satiated on food and drink

the hours always seem to pass too quickly
if only i had 24 times 2 hours in a day
then i see all that i’ve accomplished

… and i wonder why i’m tired at the end of the day

Reblog – The Writer’s Anguish

Reading this, in what I think the tempo requires, you can really feel the lethargy and depression in this piece. It totally resonates with some moments I’ve experienced in my own life, how about yours?

Ramblings Of A Fragile Mind

I don’t
think
I have
anything
to say

Today

Perhaps
there
will be
more
sorrow

Tomorrow

So I
will
wait to
pick up
my pen

Then

For I
fear I
wouldn’t
even
know how

Now

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Roaming

my mind moves about aimlessly
and unsystematically
the terrain is vast
and still no thoughts

just none

trying to find the inspiration
the words don’t easily appear
context eludes me
and the point is

why anyway

this wordsmith’s periodic dilemma
having a need to express on paper
yet hampered by my unwilling brain
and fingers tapping, not stamping

it’s my cross to bear


Words

Recently, my dear friend, Chuck, posted about The Magic Power of Words, which prompted me to comment…

“It took me years to become a writer. I didn’t know what I wanted to be when I grew up until I was in my late 40s but what finally pushed me in that direction was finally understanding what I loved so much – words – how they sounded, their definitions, how I enjoyed forming sentences or thoughts and what made music and reading so special to me. I had been in love with words all my life. It was time to honor them.”

… and he later asked me to expound on those thoughts. Interestingly, I had already created a draft to do precisely that! I will happily double down on the view that words are special and wonderful and every positive adjective out there – in other words, they are indeed magic to me! But I will also compliment my friend on putting into words for himself how divine words are—then capping off his last sentence with the title and intention of his blog – sublime!

Furthermore, I felt it was important to delve deeper into the subject on a more emotionally-evoking aspect of it for me, and purely because words are that exciting. I see many new blogs on WordPress, where it feels like the commitment to writing and using those precious words well is lacking in the presentation of their work. I’m not just talking about me being a Grammar Nazi (which, at heart, I am) but just taking words and placing them willy-nilly without any forethought to whether they rightly belong in that order or in that thought process. It feels like massive disrespect to those words I hold so dearly. Add to that, they sadly also don’t care enough to spell them correctly, in the right context, or even in a flow that makes sense. It diminishes the glow I feel that words deserve to be bathed in.

Now, I’m fully prepared to be called out that reading is subjective, and maybe the things I’ve mentioned here, another writer could feel about my pieces – I’m not perfect, I do make mistakes in my writing, and gotten called out about it to which I happily thank them. What I’m referring to primarily is a gross misunderstanding of how to write a coherent thought. Words are meant to deliver information about the subject matter, concept, or story idea – not take away from the purpose of what those definitions are relating. Sadly, I’ve read many who, as I said, don’t seem to be that committed to pulling off a sound thought. That makes me sad because I revere words. I hope that we all remember how unique and magical words are, letting this opinion and concern of mine be recognized the next time a post begins to percolate in a writer’s brain.

Thanks for reading! Comments and/or slap downs encouraged. 😉

Reblog – Blank Page

When I look deeper into this piece, I feel it doesn’t necessarily refer to just dealing with writer’s block. Humans are complicated, and sometimes facing things is a long-drawn-out process. Being scared is just one of the emotions one can go through.

ReconnectedMind

A blank page
can be scary to look upon,
as it awaits
your inner messages…

©EN, All Rights Reserved

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Bartholomew Barker

Early Birds

How I hate those poets who rise at dawn
to write a couple hours before work—
Wallace Stevens especially, Emperor of Ice-Cream,
my ass! You’re not the only one with a day job.

And don’t get me started on Ted Kooser,
who should be staying up late in the flatlands
to watch the milky way flow instead of drinking dawn
from a bucket some early bird probably pooped in.

My muse sleeps in a bottle and does not awake
until neon lights buzz. She inspires the moon
and I do her bidding beneath flickering televisions,
whipping a ballpoint to get every last drop.

The only time you’ll see me in the stark morning light
is if I’ve had to walk home drunk and forgotten the way.

Holding On

As the soft skin of your leg
conceals the strength of your thigh,
I lean in close to hear your voice—
quiet as dandelion seeds in autumn
with words powerful as a storm.

Hand in hand, enjoying your perfume,
your mouth and eyes straighten,
no longer curved like the rest of you.
I don’t want to relax my grip
but know I can’t clutch onto my desire
without losing that which I hold most dear.

Yes Man

I was the teacher’s pet
not because of my smarts
but because of my charm,
smooth chocolate compliments
and precision tattling.

I knew which bully to befriend
for much-needed protection
and when to stab him in the back
then upgrade to a bigger model.

There will always be men
who think they’re great
and need little guys,
like me, to confirm
their awesomeness.

~~~

Bartholomew Barker is an organizer of Living Poetry, a collection of poets in the Triangle region of North Carolina. His first poetry collection, Wednesday Night Regular, written in strip clubs, was published in 2013. His second, Milkshakes and Chilidogs, a chapbook of food-inspired poetry was served in 2017. www.bartbarkerpoet.com

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Reblog – To Be Loved By A Poet

I shared this with my husband and he agrees 100%! 🙂 Nice job revealing these truths, Mich!

michnavs

You are the love of my life
and the poetry i write–michelle

to be loved
by a poet,
they say,
is both
a blessing
and a curse

love him and
you unlock
the intensity
and passion
in his heart
you become his
loving muse

betray him and
you unlock
his deepest secret,                                  his darkest side
you become his
most savage
inspiration

you will linger
in his lines
and verses
in his highest highs
and lowest lows
and you will be
immortalized in
his poetry

secret
(For visually challenged writers, the image shows an old wooden door framed by ancient stone, with an ornate key inserted in a rusted, heart-shaped lock)

For Sue’ s writephoto
Thursday photo prompt: Secret #writephoto

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