Sunday, April 16, 2017
Tuesday, February 14, 2017
Blooming buds, three and seven
Roses need their rain
for Desiree and her Buds, Valentines Day '17
Friday, December 30, 2016
Thursday, December 1, 2016
Wednesday, November 30, 2016
a true thousand points of light
He waved his hand like a magic wand, and said, let there remain a thousand jobs, and let us be Great Again, and it was. And it was good.
Friday, November 11, 2016
the unknown sky
Tuesday, July 19, 2016
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
a vagabond's sketchbook is 10 years old today. It's been a savior to me. A place to come to dissipate despair. And loneliness. A faithful sketchbook to grab up in my hands, scribble a vignette or two, then clutch to my chest for comfort, so to speak.
Thank you, Dear Reader, for visiting.
Saturday, June 4, 2016
Sunday, April 24, 2016
"Pass the bread, Dear".
"Here you are, Dear".
There were thirteen for dinner at eight. By seven after eight, eleven of the party could form a vision of targeted host backhands without looking up from the main course, forks on the way to their mouths, or with muffled orchestral triangle sound of knives clinking forks. A delicate sawing motion.
"By all means. Graciously, my Dear". There was the first flash of gritted teeth.
"My pleasure, Dear".
Eleven folks had to swallow hard now it seemed. Three of the party actually read something in the Sunday Times about how to deal with a domestic dispute just last week, and panicked as they couldn't now remember the five step program. In four of the party, gentle lamb was reluctant and suspicious passing the esophagus. One esteemed member, an actual doctor in a tight bow tie, grew rather queasy as he imagined the lamb portion fight its way towards the inlet to the diaphragm. He would quit his practice the following day, a Monday I believe.
"Dear, try the bean casserole. It's simply marvelous".
"I will, you old cow".
There was no clinking. People stopped chewing. It was like a deer in the headlights.
photo by Tom Chambers
Saturday, April 23, 2016
Wednesday, April 13, 2016
all the rage
Sunday, March 27, 2016
"What's so hard to understand? What don't you get"?
"But this isn't what I want", gesturing to the slight offering. "I'll say it again - I want hot biscuits with gravy and cold orange juice. Simple".
The man pointed. "What. Do. You. See. All.I.Have.Is. Bread. And...."
"Look. I traveled a long long distance to be here. In this spot. Now give me what I want, please, my good man!"
The proprietor was thougtful. "You came a long way?"
He peered around. "I see no cart, no vessel." He swallowed hard and was barely audible versus the gentle wave upon the shore. "No footprints in the sand", he said to himself.
The visitor pointed to the horizon beyond. "From yonder".
"I see no boat".
"I need none".
He looked at the bearded man, mouth shakily opening, no words. Dropping to the mans feet, he clasped his hands into the sand and began to weep.
painting by David Ligare
Saturday, March 26, 2016
Don't much care for being stared at. Especially playing chess. Children are the worse culprits. Two ways to deal with it. Stare back is the easiest, man. Or - "Here kid, 75 cents. Go across the street and git me a package of Newports".
"I'm not allowed to cross the street, mister".
"Take the dollar. Go on. Bring me back twenty cents. You can have rest for candy. I can't leave this game. Git".
Her eyes widened. Candy whats did it. Reverse psychology of ease of giving candy to a child.
She went. Crossed the street. Didn't look both ways. When the ambulance arrived he was at the corner, hands in pocket, watching the scene, trembling man. The mother was wailing louder than Times Square. Damn.
photo by Damien Derouene