Flaubert

Human language is like a cracked kettle on which we beat out tunes for bears to dance to, when all the time we are longing to move the stars to pity.

--Gustave Flaubert

Dog Years

They say a dog year equal 7 human years. 

In dog years am I 434 years old, or

am I 8.8571428 years old?

I can’t figure out if I multiply

or divide.  I guess, since I am not a dog

it doesn’t matter.  I do, however, get the

urge from time to time to bay at the moon.

I’ve lost the urge to chase after car tires,

even walking has lost its allure.  I do

still enjoy a good long tummy rub.  I could

learn new tricks for an ice cream treat,

and I still love to hear you call my name.

How to Peel A Peach

Patience:  start with the obvious,
and know there is no natural
separation of skin from flesh.

Have the right tool:  Having a knife
is not the same thing as having
a knife sharp enough to shave a peach.

It is not a contest--nor is it a race:  The goal
is to leave behind as much
peach as possible. Oh, yeah, expect

juice:  it will coat your fingers with 
something sweet, but as sticky  as
blood. Through all this peeling--remember

that the skin on a peach won't hurt you.
The fiber you peel away is actually a benefit.  
Still, you should wait to ask yourself:  

"Why do I do the things I do?"
Mostly the reasons won't matter.
Bad's good is often delicious.

HOW I'VE LIVED MY LIFE

I've lived my life like an empty
suitcase stashed in the back 
of a back closet.  I've always had 
the capacity to be filled, but I've 
not been filled.  I was designed
to go places, but I went nowhere.
My usefulness was, well, useless,
because you can't use less of what
was never used in the first place.
I've been stored away in a dark
place, longing for and loving light.

I Use To Dreamed I Was A Bird by tex norman

“I worked myself half plumb
to death,” granny said.
“After mama died and I was
drug up hard
by my sister Dot, who seemed more like
Satan’s Sister than mine. Back then
washing clothes involved
a galvanized washboard,
a galvanized tub,
a big ole cake of lye soap
and a whole lot of me. Seemed to me then
like there was no end to the clothes
needing to be scrubbed. Dot,
my merciless sister, didn’t have
a break schedule or
a quitting time schedule.
Quitting time was when you were done,
which was never.
I remember my arms ached
like an old maid’s heart at a wedding.
I remember I’d lay my arms over my head
each night and cried myself to sleep,
and in my slumbering
I dreamed I was a bird.
You just imagine birds can fly
and if you can fly then by golly
you can escape anything and birds are never
confined to drudgery
or the caustic contact of the lye,
or the constant contact with lies.

The Jigsaw Puzzle by tex norman

In 1958 I’d broken my leg, was confined to bed
and was working diligently at driving my mother
mad attending to insatiable need for her attention.

The pile of contorted cardboard shapes were given
in the hopes that a puzzle might preoccupy me.
It didn’t. The differences were too subtle for me.

The task was frustrating, exasperating, like job stress.
By not knowing the point, I missed the point. By not
seeing the big picture I couldn’t piece it together.

I thought the goal was to make the pieces fit,
to bring order to chaos, to get to the gestalt,
to finish, to conclude, to wrap up, to be done.

I’ve avoided jigsaw puzzles for the past 50 years
but my life has not been puzzle free. I’ve always
looked for the edges of everything, noticing similarities

in color, the shape, the corner pieces, believing that
if I just turn each piece, if I consider it from all sides,
if I believe a fit exists, order can be imposed on disorder,

then I can actually finish. The goal of puzzles has never
been to complete the picture, or to make all the pieces
fit. The purpose is the process. It is always the

journey and never the arrival. It is always the process
and never the product. The end doesn’t justify the means
if the means is the important part and the end is just the end.

Stay, Illusion

“. . . stay, illusion.” -- Hamlet Act 1 Scene 1 Line 139

Stay? Stay, Illusion? Why?
Is there an advantage in clinging
to our illusions? Security is
an illusion, as is unconditional love,
fair play, the happily ever
after ending, low calorie deserts,
a living wage, god, labor saving
devices, the right to privacy,
salt substitutes, the life time
warranty, satisfaction guaranteed,
safe cigarettes, sex after 60,
the nest egg, a binding verbal
agreements, a comprehensive
energy policy, a war for peace,
compassionate Republicans,
Democrats with a plan,
Independent’s with a chance,
spam protection, pop up blockers,
low cost housing, sufficiency,
palatable decaffeinated coffee,
and a tie without food stains.