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  • The green of summer has turned brown
    The dry of July is now moist again
    and we are done.

    The fair’s stalls and booths are alive
    and the displays of chalk and butter art are finished
    To be judged by colored cloth ribbons.

    DSS

     

  • Several Billion Cells

    Life is a whim of several billion cells to be you for a while.  ~Author Unknown

    To that quote I add this.

    As my cells group to make me who I am each day
    I feed them, give them air, water, shelter and transportation
    I am the vehicle for the DNA to satisfy their sexual urge to survive
    I think I am in control
    but really I am cursed to be at the whim of billions of cells.
    And I think I am only as one, an island
    As I care for my army of cells each day
    I ignore their multitude and only think of me not we
    I think I am coordinating my efforts
    but I am only the result of their needs
    Is it for my sanity or the need of the whole
    that they allow me to think I have a soul?
    Is that the false hope, the vapor that holds me together?

    DSS

     

  • Silent Spring’s Ballet

         The quiet morning’s dog barks and bird songs are broken by the cranking whine, stuttered start and roar of 600 horsepower round engines. Two more spray planes take off to the south. From my window I watch the planes climb to only tree top height and disappear beyond the close horizon.
         Another early beginning to take advantage of the calm winds and light turbulence that will only last a precious few hours on hot summer days like these. What will be the enemy today, green bugs, broadleaves or grasshoppers? Miles away from here the planes will perform their low level ballet spreading their fog from one end of the fields to the other. At the end of each pass a short climb, a quick bank and a slow roll to an opposite turn. The chandelle complete, a dive over or under the power lines and aligned for another five foot high pass. The noise, precision and grace are spell binding and impossible to let pass without stopping to watch. Very beautiful, at least for ground bound pilots like me. Emptied, they will soon return to port.
         I will hear them first as they fly downwind directly over our house. The change of engine and prop pitch as they pass adds to the pulse of my chest. They must do this to tease me. Damn they’ve got to be having fun!

    DSS

  • A Bit of Flash Fiction.

     
    Friday March 11, 2011

         Gerald Watswigger looked only one way, stepped down from the curb and was abruptly struck by the precisely on time MTA bus. Without resistance, Gerald silently slid under the Red Line Express and was ejected out the rear as a broken tangled mass of flesh and broken bone. A closely following Prius, screeched to a stop and was left high centered, balancing on the pile of Gerald’s rib cage, hip and thigh bones. 
         The day began as usual, with a quick shower and masturbate, an electric shave, deodorant, tooth paste and hair cream. Weakly teetering, he clumsily pulled on his stretched shorts and struggled into his t-shirt. Still barefoot, Wiggs had shuffled into the kitchen, tenuously grabbed a cup and using both hands, carefully poured his first cup of black coffee. The pot felt heavier that morning and the shaking of his right hand caused a large spill of hot liquid to run down his thumb and fingers onto his hand and wrist. He didn’t care. The pain of the scalding burn was unnoticeable. He had helplessly watched the slowly advancing disease take over his body leaving his legs and hands practically numb. 
         There is no way a note written by the withering hands of an exhausted man can adequately describe the despair that causes a person to do this. What goes on in the mind of one contemplating and successfully taking their own life? All we know for sure is he had had enough of life and tomorrow life would go on without him.

    DSS

  • Earth Rise On The Hidden Moon

    Earth rise on the hidden Moon,
    only twenty four have ever been.
    Never further from their homes,
    the brave strong hearts of these worldly men.
    They rode atop rockets high,
    Shook and pushed by the loud engine’s thrust.
    In ships of thin metal sheets,
    of the physical laws they’d trust.
    These men who have sailed in space,
    They had only one unquenching thirst.
    To put their foot on Lunar rock,
    Be the man to step upon it first.

    DSS.


     

  • They Come as Birds

    They come as birds,
    Descending from the heights,
    landing but briefly,
    Only tied to earth by hunger and thirst.
    They come panting and spent
    They hunt for the new seeds
    and the quick drink.
    We must remain still as they search
    They fly for the safety of the thin air at the slightest sound.

    DSS

     

  • Willow’s Shallow Roots

    Pour upon pour the water runs.
    Raised from deep aquifers of an ocean’s width far below,
    water gathered from slow flowing glaciers and northern winter snows,
    drawn up sweet and ultraviolet blue.

    Clear and cool and wet it flows..
    Seeping between the brittle blades of dusty grass,
    soaking deeply beneath the stolon’s underbelly and awaking the June grubs.

    The willow’s shallow roots sip away the moist ooze,
    filling its veins and leaves with green liquid being.

    Black birds still search skyward for the long awaited rain.

    DSS.


     

  • Life

    Riding on fires and flares of exploding stardirt
    Melting into the ice of comets
    orbiting through dark and deep.
    brewed in sunheat,
    Organized by chaos
    Tempered by flame and cold
    Lightly touched by an amino…. I wiggle.

    DSS


    Wolves

    Oh Moon shine on
    Still the night, shine on
    They, on wild haunches
    They, the wild watch
    Shine on – the Moon.

    They think, they watch,
    They wonder.
    Oh Moon shine on,
    They howl.

    DSS

     

  • Hawking


    Among the jumbling mumbling mode
    the Racker Thatcher crumbs his creel.

    his back’s crunched bent
    - his chrome’s thrust spent,
    fingers palms thick tough as heel.

    upon the humbling rumbling ride
    the Racker Thatcher moves his way.

    his voice’s grunt gone
    - now electron’s song,
    teared eyes movewink what to say.

    within the mightling thinkling mind
    the Racker Thatcher spins his rhyme.

    smiles gum and tooth
     - speaks Universal truth,
    of our, A Brief History of Time.

    DSS.

     

  • We Who Remember

    We, the People, we who remember.
    We are the pushed, the shaken and the torn.
    The good are taken from us,
    some taken to lead, some to do our bidding,
    some to succeed, some to die.
    We, the People, we who remember.
    We are the hard working and the builders,
    the unspoken, the wholehearted.
    We, the tolerant, the patient,
    the taken advantage of.
    Quiet with ideals too deep to express,
    We, the People, we who remember
    the good of every man,
    of every good cause, of every dream.
    We, the Children of the Mother of Exiles,
    the mother who stands with silent lips.
     
    DSS.