Playing Outside The Realms

Dirt

Small particles of dust, decay, and
disintegrated rock matter
collecting under our feet
under our fingernails
in the folds and wrinkles of our skin
melding with liquid or oils
in our eyes
when the wind blows
what is and what was

Dirt...

moves from one place to another
riding freely
on tongues
disgraceful gossip
about the private lives of others
soiling reputations in the garden
of good and evil
If looked at with a microscope
you will see, a whole other world
of damage and waste


Also, I have been singing this song while searching for an ole recipe my mom used to make. I did change up the lyrics some...

My momma done tol' me/ when I was a young girl/ men won't stop- no/
until they get what they want/so- go ahead and sail/ down rivers of
heartbreak/ it works both ways/ yeah- a woman'll sweet talk/ revenge and scorn/ leavin men beggin for more...

(from Blues In The Night by Johnny Mercer/composed by Harold Arlen)

Happy Thanksgiving...and remember...

Do not over eat...save room for PIE, oh and have a glass of wine...wine hard, good, and lay off the lard! Heh! I love ya all!

Have I Gone Cannibalistic?

A Philadelphia resident and friend of mine turned 80 this past week. He and I are fellow poets. Pasqualle Varalo is quite a character. He makes me laugh and we both share loss of someone dear to us. His wife died ten days before my daughter, but that does not stop us from getting into trouble. I made his birthday cake for his large party in Philly this Saturday. He has called me several times to say thank you for my work of love. I also gave him a funny gift. I mean, what do you give an eighty year old who has or could have everything they already desire?

He is lonely, but I cannot help him there! I could not sleep one night, so I began to think of what I could say to him at his party. Should I read a poem? I would need to write one if I did. No, I would roast him. Surely his funny military buddies would come and we could all tell funny stories about him. That was it! But what else could I do? A performance piece of some kind? Yes!

I decided to take some rope, and a few other fun props. I had him come up to the front of the room. He had hired a band, so the dance floor area would work. I had him take off his jacket, he kind of acted startled. I had him sit down, and behind his back I pulled out the rope and showed the 100 guests and they started laughing. I began to tie him up. Then I pulled out some celery stalk and a bag of carrots. I said he was running around introducing me as Chef E, and how great I was, so I figured I was going to really 'Roast' him in the chef way...then I had him hold a potato and an onion. Everyone got into it and was laughing.

I told the guests how we met and a few stories, then asked if anyone else had something to say to him...he was tied up and not going anywhere! Many nice people came up and spoke to him. His sons and a woman read a poem she wrote for him. Also other friends and family came up. His youngest son brought tears to our eyes, telling his father how he realized the importance of their relationship in spite of his bad behavior all those years leading up to this date, so I know in the end I did a good thing.

Sometimes we may feel an idea might come across as uncomfortable, but in the end you will open a door for someone else. This was my birthday wish for Pasqualle. To have a moment he might not have had without my silliness.

Happy Birthday Pasqualle- I love ya!

Chef E

Publishing Takes Work

If you have not gone over and read Bryan Borland's poetry site, you need too. He has started his own Publishing company, Sibling Rivalry Press, and is getting recognition all over the place. "Very talented young man is he"- Yoda, Star Wars...(oh okay, really me)

I wished I possessed the talent to just produce work the way he pops it out. I can at times, produce three or four in a day, then I am dry for days, maybe a week. Unfortunately they say pain can bring out a voice we never had before. He and I have tasted loss, and not a good flavor I might add

Well when he does produce something that pops off me, then I really get excited. I need many more poems for my first book, and am finding it rather difficult to admit I set the goal of 'The end of November' as my deadline for completion. I am giving myself more time. I need at least 30 or more poems for the book and I am barely halfway there. No worries, I will get it done by March. Bryan told me not to edit so much, and I felt like..."Wow does he have a camera in my living room"? Yes, I tend to redo my work, worried its not perfect, so I throw it out at you to see...when I can, you all will be put on the payroll! LOL or I can cook you a good meal when you come visit, or vise versa!

Untitled

Bryan Borland made a milestone
marking his dad’s passing. Grill

char stains his apron, writing code,
another poem onto his life page. I

remember my own mother
wanted me to be a nurse, because

I cared so much; however
the stitches I had sewn into

my wounds are ripped open
time after time. When I begin to feel

warmth running down my knees
forming a puddle at my two left feet;

its reflection leaves me faint
at the sight of my own blood.

Seriously, A Good Laugh

My dreams are just way to crazy for reality. Many of them I begin short stories, or poems, if I can make sense of them. Are yours? I guess we are concerned with unspoken things sitting in our frontal lobes. Right, well wait till you read this short-

Groggy I lift my head up from the pillow to see the sun has come through Wednesday morning, drying up our stormy Tuesday mess. I notice my husband's closet door is shut and the pathway past his elliptical trainer is clear of his shoes and cloths. I shrug it off and walk out to the bathroom where I find a sparkling clean clutter free room as well. Again I shrug my shoulders and think nothing of it. Pulling on my jeans there is still evidence of water on the bell bottom edges. I have lost weight over the past months and because they constantly fall lower than meant to be worn levels- the back bottoms are dragging on the ground, causing some unraveling to occur. This is a fashion statement my son has told me, so I continue to put myself together. There seems to be an urgency to get out of the house. Going down the first set of the staircase I begin to notice no paper work along the edges. Our system of sending paper work from downstairs to the office.

Going around the curve I begin to see more evidence of a extraordinarily cleaner house than me or my husband are concerned with; unless we are having a dinner party. I begin to hear a vacuum cleaner to my left; its in the living room area, and the back door seems to be open due to sensing a cool breeze. There is an short and bald African American man in a black leather jacket and jeans cleaning my floor. He nor I are not too puzzled, I tell him I have to go out and will be back later. I linger long enough to notice he has picked up my iron from the closet. I quickly dot out the front door. Cutting across our small condo lawn to the neighbors house it seems things have quickly turned into a need to let someone know a stranger has broken into my condo. My neighbor has approached his front door and walked right through me. Did he not see me? The police are now around the condo, but the man vacuuming is gone. Strange feelings are taking over and then I hear my neighbor tell his wife a man has been reported to break into homes, clean house, and then kill the residence.

I soon find myself in a store front looking out onto the street and I see a shadow of a man from behind me, he has red glowing eyes...

Hope you enjoyed this, as I told my friend Randi what I dreamed she laughed- I got up this morning and first thing was look to see if I had cleaned house in my sleep! Nope, my days chores are staring me down as we speak! Have a great day- Chef E

Recent Publication

I had taken notice of an online publication GetSparked.org which every quarter of the calendar year pairs up a writer either with a photographer, visual artist, musician, or composer...so I went for it. Receiving my first piece of 'Inspiration' from Mark Owen Martin, a composer called 'Passepied'.

A bit nervous about what to send, I decided to give him an unpublished piece called Texas Skies, and then I began listening to his piece over the next week. See you get ten days to write your final submission.

In that time I thought and thought about what it was I was hearing, and then began to hear what I was feeling. The piece took me to a place I longed for, my grandmothers home and in the room we all gathered each visit- her kitchen. So I thus created 'Feast of the Absent'; its kind of a whimsical fantasy, but says what I feel.

The site has the inspiration piece paired with his final piece, not the other way around I had thought should be, but go enjoy and tell me what you really think (my final piece is with his inspirational).

PS- I am taking down any poetry I feel serious about for publication after a few days, so if you wanted to see something- let me know and I will send it to you personally, otherwise its down for good. - Chef E