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 |    A log of the magnificent journey across the vast sea of my imagination. |
 A log of our magnificent journey. |
Sun rises, sun sets, tide comes in, and tide goes out. Dolphins dance in surf and chase my worries away while living on island time. |
| I found this poor guy floating on an inner tube in the Sea of Propaganda. He says his name is Truth and he was beaten severely before being set adrift to starve by a gang of rowdy bullies led by Rumor, Opinion, and Speculation. If you claim him, I would like to share custody as long as you vow to maintain a strict diet of verifiable facts, supplemented by a healthy dose of journalistic integrity. Meet us at Sincerity Harbor if you are familiar with this unfortunate soul, so we can nurture him back to health and rebuild his strength to help him stand up against these ruthless thugs. |
| Yo, bro, listen up. We need a roommate over here to help with expenses. Schizophrenic dingbats and undercover agents need not apply. Please pay no heed to those rumors of my recent incarceration, as they are highly overblown. Just ask my parole officer. He will happily attest to my complete rehabilitation. He'd better, because we are paying him dearly to cover my butt, which is the reason we need assistance paying the bills. If accepted, you will be responsible for paying the rent, the water bill, the electric bill, the groceries, any debts to my bookie, and all other expenses. In return, you will be welcome to share Granny's weekly batch of brownies made with special ingredients grown in our greenhouse out back. If you stay in Uncle Jed's good graces by helping him deliver to his customers, I am sure that he will allot a gallon or two of his famous corn likker for your troubles. To respond, leave your name and phone number at the newspaper office. When we have screened your background to ensure there are no law enforcement connections, we will contact you with a secret password for entry to our euphoric world of constant pleasure. |
The dog, eager to run and have a little fun, chases the ball on Folly Beach. Tomorrow, I’ll return to the rat race with its vulgar gratuities. But today, we are free: the dog, the ball and me. |
| When Whitey Bulger maimed and killed, it got pretty ugly in town. As Mafia leaders went down, pressure on him began to build. The cops moved in, and he took flight. With cunningly true pretension, he managed to dodge attention by hiding himself in plain sight. The kindly killer was done in by his love for a feline friend and things he could not comprehend in that negligent discipline. When Whitey Bulger maimed and killed, pressure on him began to build. Author's notes: 1. Form: Swannet - http://thepoetsgarret.com/2012Challenge/form23.html 2. For those not familiar, Whitey Bulger was a Boston mobster who avoided capture for 16 years by assuming a new identity with his girl friend as a retired couple in Santa Monica, CA. The story of the hunt can be found at the following link: https://www.nytimes.com/2011/06/24/us/24bulger.html |
| Back in 1969, I got arrested for riding the rails down in Mississippi. They caught me trespassing on Conductor John’s train and threw me in the Starkville City jail-- said I was a vagrant hippie. Through my cell window, I could see flowers blooming on a magnolia tree and longed for the day I would once again be free. |
| Midnight poems about my dreams erupt in streams without restraint. Midnight poems make passions glow like lava flow in Hawaii. Midnight poems release the rage from mental cage for all to see. Midnight poems keep me awake with thoughts that bake my weary brain. Midnight poems capture the grist and will persist beyond the dawn. |
| The twisted mind behind this test possessed unholy knack to rack my brain with strain. Beware the ghoul with cool facade to prod! Prompt for the "Invalid Item"  : Write a Minute Poem (The Minute Poem is rhyming verse form consisting of 12 lines of 60 syllables written in strict iambic meter. The poem is formatted into 3 stanzas of 8,4,4,4; 8,4,4,4; 8,4,4,4 syllables. The rhyme scheme is as follows: aabb, ccdd, eeff). THE TWIST - Write it in 30 syllables (3 stanzas of 4,2,2,2; 4,2,2,2; 4,2,2,2 syllables. |
| Young cowboy Bob likes to frequent the local honky-tonks and bars. It is his special way to vent after days of riding boxcars. For money, he will steal and rob from any poor soul who’s around, because he never has a job-- just hangs ‘round like some lazy hound. That ragged old scar on his cheek and the evil glint in his eye will make the queasy patrons shriek-- he’s such an evil-looking guy. If you cross him, he promptly cuts you up with his trusty switchblade. It’s true, folks, he’s really quite nuts. You have good cause to be afraid. He’s afflicted with a bloodlust that thrives on the blood, guts, and gore and feeds on a very robust craving for even more and more. He would just as soon slit your throat as drink another shot of booze. So be sure NOT to get his goat, ‘cause that’s a fight you’ll surely lose. |
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