Weeks in the sun, and now for you to bring some of it with you just for we webfooted types--how sweet. It is SO good to see those sparse key strokes connotating your return, your taking up residence in your domicle, and all like that.
nly 57 comments during those 16 days of your absence. I thought maybe Robin or Liz might jump on at some point, but no mostly just Anonomann and myself and Emily and Eddie and some of their pals and croonies. Melva and I are going to the closing day of Cirque De Soliel (?) on Sunday. It will be a gas to see it in person.
We were a tad worried at your long absence, but some of us "knew" you were safe and secure and just having fun. Lane Savant has to have fun after all. Eddie keeps pinching me, and Poo was a poop and never even made a comment while you were away. I am getting tired of hearing Eddie's one album, SIDEBURNS. Perhaps we can talk him into listening more to your stuff. God, I hope so. Poo, quit sulking. Custer is still looking for his golden locks scalp. He certainly is demure; shorter than I am. Emerald towers over him. Patton bitch slapped Poo for spitting the other day, and he won't apologize. Buttkus keeps blogging away like a creature possessed. You really unleased a literary demon there. Hugs from beyond, sweetheart.
Havv youse noticed dose holes in your bakk yadd yet? Sorry, bout da mess. Da boys wuz in a hurray, and we cudn't git no backwhore to hep out wit da diggin.
Your return has aroused my muses. This bit of poetic rendering just found its way to FFTR.
Friday's Song
Driving into the office at 04:30am this morning, the northeastern skies began to lighten up already, and those first tentative reddish rays of day began to stain the horizon, and tinge the few clouds, still hanging puffy and low.
The shiny hood on my cherry-red Isuzu pick up caught a bit of the light as I moved from lane to lane dodging the 18 wheelers-- those garulous giants, those arrogant behemoths lit up like holiday porches; flying high and rolling tall in the crisp air-- pounding pavement with their fat radials; beating out a jazz bass and a blues riff as I streamed past fastly.
So now from my office window I can witness breathlessly American Lake turning to gold, and Mt. Rainier busily pouring raspberry bisque over its fat glaciers.
I can hear an eaglet scream and a gull's reply, as snow geese fly past the slit below the gray steel of my sill; and the sun leaps high, even burnishing the rust on my window screen into lopsided smiles.
4 Comments:
Weeks in the sun, and now for you to bring some of it with you just for we webfooted types--how sweet. It is SO good to see those sparse key strokes connotating your return, your taking up residence in your domicle, and all like that.
nly 57 comments during those 16 days of your absence. I thought maybe Robin or Liz might jump on at some point, but no mostly just Anonomann and myself and Emily and Eddie and some of their pals and croonies. Melva and I are going to the closing day of Cirque De Soliel (?) on Sunday. It will be a gas to see it in person.
Glenn
Welcome back Dougie Dearest:
We were a tad worried at your long absence, but some of us "knew" you were safe and secure and just having fun. Lane Savant has to have fun after all. Eddie keeps pinching me, and Poo was a poop and never even made a comment while you were away. I am getting tired of hearing Eddie's one album, SIDEBURNS. Perhaps we can talk him into listening more to your stuff. God, I hope so. Poo, quit sulking. Custer is still looking for his golden locks scalp. He certainly is demure; shorter than I am. Emerald towers over him. Patton bitch slapped Poo for spitting the other day, and he won't apologize. Buttkus keeps blogging away like a creature possessed. You really unleased a literary demon there. Hugs from beyond, sweetheart.
.............Emily
Welkum Hume Youse Guys:
Havv youse noticed dose holes in your bakk yadd yet? Sorry, bout da mess. Da boys wuz in a hurray, and we cudn't git no backwhore to hep out wit da diggin.
Vito
Your return has aroused my muses. This bit of poetic rendering just found its way to FFTR.
Friday's Song
Driving
into the office
at 04:30am
this morning,
the northeastern skies
began to lighten up
already,
and those first
tentative reddish rays
of day
began to stain
the horizon,
and tinge
the few clouds,
still hanging
puffy and low.
The shiny hood
on my cherry-red
Isuzu pick up
caught a bit
of the light
as I moved
from lane to lane
dodging
the 18 wheelers--
those garulous giants,
those arrogant behemoths
lit up
like holiday porches;
flying high
and rolling tall
in the crisp air--
pounding pavement
with their fat radials;
beating out
a jazz bass
and a blues riff
as I streamed past
fastly.
So now
from my office window
I can witness breathlessly
American Lake turning
to gold,
and Mt. Rainier busily
pouring raspberry bisque
over its fat glaciers.
I can hear
an eaglet scream
and a gull's reply,
as snow geese fly
past the slit
below the gray steel
of my sill;
and the sun
leaps high,
even burnishing the rust
on my window screen
into lopsided
smiles.
Glenn Buttkus May 2008
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