FunVerse #8

Here's the story, told by Jon himself:
Hey dudes and dudettes,

Saturday afternoon I had a good day out hunting turkeys. Walking through the woods, came up toward an open field, and I could see a few heads right at the edge of the field. I sneaked up through the woods, and got within about 30 yards. There were about 4 or 5 turkeys. Picked out one that I thought had a beard, and shot. But there wasn’t any wing flapping or flopping around, like a typical turkey dying. In fact the turkeys just jumped up in the air about six feet, fluttered back to the ground, and went back to eating.

I stood there for ten more minutes trying to see if there was a dead bird on the ground, but I couldn’t see one. So I pulled up and shot again (and missed), but the birds stayed again. So I shot again, and this time I knew by the flapping that I had killed a bird.

When I went over to the field, there were two dead jakes, both around 17 or 18 lbs. They’re young gobblers, kinda like teenagers. I tagged one and took it home, called a friend and asked if I could fill his tag, went back and brought the other one home. (5/15/06)

And here's the poem I wrote to commemorate the occasion:
Title: Two Jakes for the Price of Three
Alternate Title 1: One Jake Shy of a Hat Trick
Alternate Title 2: Good Thing I Had Three Shells With Me
Alternate Title 3: Was It Shot #1, Shot #2 or Shot #3?

Jon took his gun into the woods
To hunt some turkeys wild.
He walked o'er wood, dale, glade, and glen
The wind was calm and mild.

Just then he spied beneath some trees
A gang of gobblers bunching,
Just four or five (or forty-five)
A-pecking and a-munching.

Jon peered through scope, took careful aim
And squeezed a careful shot:
The gobblers rose into the air
And headed eastward, not!

"What's this?" He cried inside his brain,
"Have turkeys gone plumb crazy?
They settled back onto the ground!
Perhaps they're just plain lazy."

He wonders if he hit one, if,
Perhaps, it's wounded sore.
He looks for flopping, flapping, but--
They simply peck some more.

Ten times it sweeps, the second hand.
His bloodshot eyes have bags.
He peers through leaves, he strains some more,
His shoulder droops and sags.

"I must have missed!" says he to self,
"No birds have yet been toasted!
A second shot I'll venture now,
And soon one will be roasted."

As echoes of the second blast
Went ringing round the glade
Those cotton-pickin' turkey birds--
Amazingly, they stayed.

Again he held his breath and watched
To see one bite the dust
But nary feather-flop was seen
"I must get one, I must!"

"I cannot understand what's up,"
Said he to no one close,
"It mystifies me why they stay,
Perhaps they are morose."

His hands were shaking, shoulder sore,
As in his bag of ammo,
He placed his hand. One shell! One chance!
To make his gun say blammo.

"Third time's a charm," he told himself,
And as he drew a bead
On all those feisty turkey-birds,
His finger did the deed:

And blam! The shotgun roared its fire!
And wham! The turkeys fled!
And zoom! Jon rushed to claim his prize!
And hey! Here's one that's dead!

"But wait!" he muttered to thin air,
"Could I have been mistaken?
This pile of beaks, wings, beards, and claws
Means two birds have been taken!"

"My first two shots, I'm pretty sure
Missed every bird completely!
That must mean on my shot the third,
Two jakes were downed quite neatly!"

"Oh no," he gasped, quite pointlessly,
Since no one was around,
"I've run 'a-fowl' of hunting laws,
By hunting laws I'm bound."

"My hunting tag is only good
For one bird on a tag!
I've got it now! I'll check with Fred!
He never fills his bag!"

And so Jon tagged the larger bird
(No need to take a chance).
Soon back he came, Fred's tag in hand
To dance the two-fer dance.

The moral of this hunting tale,
Inside my mind's a-buzzin':
At two jakes for the price of three,
You can't afford a dozen!

FunVerse #7

Been working this one over for quite a while, that's why there are two poems today:

Spring Fling

Spring is springing in my garden, little sprouts are everywhere,
Reaching sunward, sighing, "My it's great to be out in the air."
The spring-rain-softened flower beds enable germination,
While grubs and beetles scramble to avoid extermination.

The tulip’s petals form a bowl to catch the morning dew;
Each daffy holds a teacup made for sipping springtime brew.
As croc'ses stretch their necks to be the first to see the light,
The hyacinth prepares to fill our nostrils with delight.

I grab my shovel, plunge it deep, drink in the earthy scents
Of just-turned earth—I see some worms a-making nutrients!
The Easter lily, Christmas cactus, birthday mums, and daisy
Are dropped into their summer homes to grow and grow like crazy.

The sun is keeping longer hours. Its stimulating beams
Ignite the fuse on waiting roots, 'til, bursting at the seams,
Defying gravity, they blast their blossoms in the air!
Chrysanthemums and comets fill my garden with their glare!

May 8, 2006

FunVerse #6

Wrote this one on a whim, just had fun with the words and ideas:

Hullo, My Name is Steve

Hullo, my name is Steve. I have a problem, I admit.
It's something that I must do; oh, it’s something I can’t quit.
I'm helpless. I am hopeless. This is quite beyond my pow’rs
Of self-control. I’m guilty of—yes, sniffing lilac flowers.

Yes, lilac blossom time, for me, breeds great anticipation,
And just as soon as buds appear, I sniff with great elation
Those purple clusters, sometimes white, or blue, or pink, or yellow.
Indeed. The color matters not—I’m an addicted fellow.

It started way back when I lived at old Moore’s Corner homestead.
The lilac bushes towered far above my little boy-head.
Ah! When they blossomed, yes, indeed, I’d surely find a way
To pull some lilac blossoms down to sniff, somehow, each day.

Now certainly you must agree, it’s such a harmless fault,
Compared to reckless driving, gambling, eating too much salt.
And yet—if forced to choose between my lilacs and my dinner,
The writing on the wall says clearly, “Lilacs are the winner.”

May 8, 2006

Now here's food for thought

Remembrance

To what can our life on earth be likened?

To a flock of geese,

alighting on the snow.

Sometimes leaving a trace of their passage.

Su Shi Poetry

[Su DongPo]

http://www.chinapage.com/poet-e/sushi2e.html

I Didn't Write This...

...but I wish I did.

Robert Frost (1874–1963). Mountain Interval. 1920.

The Road Not Taken

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Epson Refillable Cartridge Update

I've refilled all of them now. They work great. Very very very few instances of clogged heads that have to be run through the cleaner, in fact, I think only once. The guy I bought them from said leaving the printer on wasn't such a good idea, but in fact I leave it on all the time without any ill effects (I always forget to turn it off). Print quality with these inks is great.

His eBay moniker is ... hmm I'll have to look it up.

Funverse #5

Don't ask what inspired me to write this...

Mmm-Hmm!

Mmm-hmm! just popped the seal atop a jar of peanut butter,
Oh boy, to peel the seal and smell a smell that’s like no other!
A whiff invades my nostrils, sniff it deep, so tantalizin’...
Just think what joy we’d miss if not for Carver’s pulverizin’!

Mmm-hmm! the tummy monster growls at chocolate chips-in-cookie,
It’s not enough to close your eyes and sniff—you have to looky.
And once you look, you’re done for, for a peek is just a tease!
The monster bares its cookie teeth and roars, "I’d like one, PLEASE!"

Mmm-hmm! just mall-walked by the place where cin’mon rolls are made.
They have to know you cannot stay the course with them displayed
In yummy piles of sweet soft dough with icing dripping slow--
My iron will has turned to mush! "I’ll take two, thanks, to go."

Mmm-hmm! just poofed a bag of chips just inches from my smeller--
I can’t describe the thrill it gives—it makes me want to beller!
To tell the truth, I nearly lost the chance to do the honor:
My sister nearly grabbed it first—I put a headlock on ‘er.