
It has been
My experience
When the people
That own the straws
Make us all
Draw straws
Everybody draws
The short straw
Except for them
That will be the way
Until the final straw
Is drawn.
Taking what life throws at me one pitch at a time

It has been
My experience
When the people
That own the straws
Make us all
Draw straws
Everybody draws
The short straw
Except for them
That will be the way
Until the final straw
Is drawn.
🎶
I'm called Little Dilettante
Dear Digital Dilettante
Though I could never tell why
But still I'm so dilatory
In social media purgatory
Stream of consciousness blogger am I
I've haikus for Mondays
And tankas for Tuesdays
From prompts kind people provide
I post them in mornings
To shake up my wake up
Then on with my daily survive
🎶

For her “Can You Tell a Story In…” prompt today, Esther Chilton has challenged us to tell a 40-word story using the words curl, potion, robin, unicycle, and bombast.
With reckless bombast, Robin rides a motorized unicycle. Crashing into a bowl to join a birdie bathing bacchanal, which Robin hadn’t been invited to. A party where illicit potions were being served that would curl their little dirty birdy feet.

The difference between
winners and losers. Winners
know how to palm cards
My favorite place is nowhere and everywhere. Simultuneously. From an early age walking out my front door into the night. No destination. No goal. Deciding which way to go for a stroll around my neighborhood. Then the whole city at large. City streets lit first by dim street lights. Then by mercury vapor lamps. Eventually they even lit the alleyways. Shame , because alley’s had the best shadows. You could really tell a neighborhood by its alley. Just down the alley from home there was a cement and broken glass garden with windmills and bridges and houses and walls along the black cinder alleyway. A well kept garden. Cement and glass carefully smoothed. I had to go back there in the daytime just to take in the full wonder and be sure it was not a midnight phantasm. It was there. The glorious miles I covered as I branched out. The hours filled in silent reverie exploring the streets and alleys of my urban habitat. People sitting on their porches on hot summer nights. Some sleeping there too. I would quietly wander. No mischief. No malintent. Just Urban Hiking. Even through snow storms I’d hike on. These days it’s day hiking. Different insights. Shorter durations and milage. Grateful to be able to enjoy my nowheres and everywheres again after decades of that pleasure was taken away with every other step. I breathe in inspiration and breathe out expiration on my strolls through a wonderland that holds both urban, lake, and bucolic residential views whenever I can. Because I am the luckiest man in the world


Covered in times soot
This old coot don't scoot
As a geezer
I'm quite the wheezer
Not much of a pleaser
An occasional teaser
I think about this
I think about that
Now I wonder
Is the past tense of scoot
Scat
I got a boulder
On my shoulder trying to crush
Me as I moulder
It's what I can do
As I try to mitigate
Sorrows of the world
Making the world dirtier, meaner, and less safe
With every moment he soils that once prestigious office
Meanwhile
I couldn’t resist posting one of my favorite tunes for this prompt

I rummage about
In rubbish I've left behind
The frolics of yore
The many sheets from before
Bits and bytes of things to come
Stacks of melted wax
The mess of cassette formats
All shapes and sizes
Twentieth century discs
Magneto stuff lost in mists
All up in the cloud
Or that's what I have been told
Digital rummage
NFTs now will be sold
Just like the tulips of old
No lugging required
Paper trail's have long been trashed
Memories now stored
By our server overlords
Just one EMP away
Remember: A.I. thinks the word “memories” has four syllables. They are: me-m-o-ries. 🤣