jgregorywright.com » Scribblings

Haiku Challenge – “arc”

Some Dude — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 15:35:43 +0000

Original challenge from Yojinbo. My response:

Metal sings with sparks
Clashing, rebounding, dancing -
arc of fatal light

Haiku Challenge – “lost”

Some Dude — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 03:02:51 +0000

So let me start a trend, whereby I post my responses to #haikuchallenge from Twitter. The concept behind #haikuchallenge is someone tags a Tweet thusly, specifies the word or concept to be captured in a haiku, and presents their offering. Since Twitter is one line, 140 characters maximum, the haiku is typically presented using a slash “/” to separate the verses or phrases of the haiku.

Tonight’s #haikuchallenge is from OregonMJW, who is one of those folks who has a great deal of creative talent and a big heart whom I have been fortunate to meet through Twitter. Hopefully one day I will get to meet her in person, much like other good people I have encountered online and then had the good fortune to finally meet in person.

OK, enough rambling – the #haikuchallenge is “lost“:

Paw prints in fresh snow
Snow gently warms crystal gems
Marks of passing lost

My original #haikuchallenge tweet here.

Beware of Buying Underwear Off the “Clearance” Table

Some Dude — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 02:31:00 +0000

It all started last Thursday, with the knowledge that I needed to acquire new underwear. Keep in mind that I’m not your stereotypical guy who waits until he has to go to work commando because his last piece of “sacred” jockey shorts disintegrated on him in mid-commute. Well fitting underwear is essential in my line of work, which involves long hours with your butt firmly planted in a chair in front of a computer screen. When you’ve spent the last hour mentally chafing over someone else’s crappy code, the last thing you want is physical chafing of your dangly bits.

I must admit that I was pretty darned proud of myself for (a) remembering that I needed new underwear while I was in a store where I could make such a purchase (as opposed to being in the produce aisle next to the visual cue of the cucumber bin), and (b) that I had lucked into a truly amazing underwear sale. I like to think of myself as frugal, or at least somewhat thrifty, because self-delusion is, IMNSHO, easier than admitting the all too painful truth revealed by my bank statement.

I am reasonably certain that the fact that I had not only found underwear in my size, but on sale, and at rock bottom prices, combined with my usual obliviousness, lead to my lapse of checking the packs of jockey shorts beyond the price tag and the size. The “Mogwai” brand should have been a warning, or at the very least, a clue. As it was I was just so damned happy to feed my self-delusions about thriftiness that I scooped up five packs of jockey shorts and headed for the check outs.

So, another way in which I am not a stereotypical guy is that I like to wash new clothes before I wear them. Things generally fit better, and I have found that the incident rate for highly irritating rashes in uncomfortable places became greatly reduced by the “wash ‘em first dummy” policy. So I get home from Target (you know, Tar-je`, the lower end cousin of the fine French retailer J.C. Pen-ne`?), dutifully removed my new soon to be close friends from their packaging, tossed them in the washing machine with some detergent, and went upstairs to get something to drink.

Imagine my surprise when I came back downstairs the next morning and found the washing machine practically overflowing with a year’s supply of underwear. I was pretty certain that I’d only bought two week’s worth, but figured that with new packaging technologies you could squeeze the tighty whiteys even tighter and therefore get more in each pack. Needless to say my delusions of frugality swelled even more, as I tossed an armload of underwear into the dryer and went back upstairs to set up my coffee IV.

I have to tell you, I was mighty happy with the Mogwai brand at first – they fit well, they were really soft and kept my dangly bits warm while I was in the computer room. I guess I’d been wearing them for three or four days when the darker nature of my deep discount underwear reared it’s ugly head. Some friends of mine had been talking up the Heat Flash podcast, and so I’d gone over to check it out right before bedtime. Rumors of Ms. Madden’s naughtiness have not been exaggerated, and when I fell asleep I was more than a little “hot and bothered”, which quite likely fueled the next chain of events.

I don’t exactly recall the exact point in the dream involving the lithe nymph and baby oil where things took a turn for the painful, but I do clearly recall the burning sensation in my dangly bits as my underwear attempted to give me an Atomic Wedgie in my sleep. As I said, the “Mogwai” brand should have been a clue, so I really have no one but myself to blame for violating both rules in the midst of my dream date.

You do know the two rules, don’t you?

(1) Keep ‘em dry

(2) Don’t feed ‘em after midnight

Truth be told, I don’t know what was more embarrassing – the ensuing trip to the emergency room (they’ll be talking about Atomic Wedgie Man and the carnivorous jockey shorts for years to come), or the visit from the weird old Chinese guy who shook his head as he delivered the “product recall notice” for my underwear and wouldn’t leave until I turned over every last pair.

So, this is what happens when one is doing battle in the Cave of Clutter, and decides that certain items have been multiplying like rabbits. Especially if one has a mind like mine, which is not simply twisted, but has actually been tied in a Gordian Knot.

Parking Lot Revelation

Some Dude — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 04:22:42 +0000

Walking up the hill towards my car this evening, I found myself noticing the smell of fallen leaves, which yanked me out of a brief internal discussion. At that juncture I found myself unable to return to the internal dialog, while at the same time unable to re-acquire the smell of the leaves that were at once so heady, By the time I reached my car and placed my belongings on the front seat, I could no longer resist the urge to put pen to paper,

So I stood there in the semi-dark, with the parking lot lights giving almost but not quite enough light to see what I was doing and at some point I had to give in to the faith that I could write in spite of the funky orange lighted shade. So here it is.

Parking Lot Revelation

It is that first flash of realization
The smell of fallen leaves
The thin sliver of the moon

The sudden knowing that the leaves have turned
The color of Fall leaves around the bend
With the first touch of sunlight

It is bread baking
The first taste of something indescribably wonderful
It is the experience that if you try to recreate it,
That you try to grasp and hold onto
You cannot

It is the magic of gently brushing
Lips against an ear by accident
In passing

It is all of these and yet none of these
For it has already happened
And will never be the same
Or happen in quite the same way

Like the impromptu flowing forth
From a pen on paper that you can barely see
Trusting that the words will end up
Where they need to be

It is that need, that urgency
And closet fears of losing thoughts
That bring these words to me
Upon my notebook in an emote parking lot.

Linthicum, MD, November 2009

Footsteps of Giants

Some Dude — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 20:42:57 +0000

For Kate, of Suppertime Sonnets fame.

Footsteps of giants may shake the earth
frequently without regard
for consequences or outcomes

Yet how often are mountains moved
  seas parted
    hearts and minds opened
      by gentle footfalls of the thoughtful?

While rain fills holes roughly made
in soil ravaged by the careless

Tears fill footprints left behind
where one has touched us
deeply in passing

Dams burst, creating floods
  of Biblical proportions
    after the silent departure
      of those who danced in our heart

Though it may come to pass
  that thoughtless wounds
    to Gaia’s body
      will heal and fade

Footprints left by gentle giants
  are not so easily filled
    indelible markers of fertile ground
      seeded by vast minds,
        watered by genuine tears

Who is to say what will grow -
magic beans? golden geese?

What is sown by the mighty
  with kindness and generosity
    tended with unconditional love
      can only bring forth beauty
        for which words are truly inadequate.

Kate lost a dear friend this week whom she had never had an opportunity to meet. After hearing from other sources that Mac Tonnies had apparently died alone while no one at his place of work thought to check in on him after three days of absence, I could understand even more why Kate resembled someone who had taken a hard punch to the solar plexus.

If you haven’t “met” Kate (sadly, the soonest I will likely get to meet the Wyoming Muse will be at Balticon 44 in May 2010), you need to check out Suppertime Sonnets and Kate’s Twitter stream.