?

Super loud roaring when driven,also slight vibration felt on steering wheel.Have all new tires and a lot of work done.Mechanic says it could be motor mounts,Ideas Anyone?

I wonder how many folks will move into Colorado because of pot availability,medical or recreational.

Last night I posted a poem Christmas Long Ago and it was deleted.I wrote it at top of my head and have no copy.If you do please e me!Thanks!!!This message will self destruct in.......

My writer's club topic asked What one thing would you change for the good of the world if you could be God for a day.

Perhaps you might try one also....

What an empowering thought

that I could play God for a day.

With what single act could I remonstrate

to make toxic things go away?

Should I spin the world on the tip of my finger,

or just its axis up end?

Or with one mighty blow of my breath

return to Genesis again?

My how the ego expandeth

with the dalliance of playing God;

but I will choose something simpler,

I shall purify the sod!

I shall destroy Monsanto-

Oh what a devilish group-

They've criss crossed animal with vegetable

Rat genes in tomato soup!

They've threatened farmers to buy their seed

with tampered genetic codes-

you won't have weeds in your garden,

but your corn will taste like toads!

This chemical plant made RoundUp

and dioxin in the Vietnam war'

Their Agent Orange killed the land-

later veterans by the score.

It rotted the brains of fine young men

and brittled each war weary bone;

So I shall maketh them disappear

to some realm in the twilight zone.

Their cancerous crops will be stricken from earth

and again you'll consume Real food,

Many thanks for this opportunity

to go to bat for the common good.

I must be missing something,when did this start? I prefer not to have animals in my house,yet all my friends who are dog lovers won't visit without them,is that fair?

Does anyone else have trouble reading and finding stuff?Do we have to keep this???

The wraith with the scythe

slides his shadow underneath

my fragile front door,

He knows where I hide within-

yet I go through the motions.

Oh my, what a wonderful day, on the morrow it will be.

Blessings to all cheeseburger lovers,you all know the one

that out does me.

Though born in a diner where my Greek family thrived,

the most famous cheese lover has evermore thrived.

We connoisseurs, only can guess, what upon his two buns

make for the zest,be it ketchup or mustard,mayo

or all three? Lettuce,tomato,and WHAT KIND of CHEESE?

Pray he sends us his recipe to hail the great day....

and a communion like dinner to share in - his way!

will there be bacon,or imported cheese?

Let's hope the waitress upon it won't sneeze.

Let's send a card to our Cheese whispering friend,

although not his birthday,we must all pretend.

I am so envious of you sonnet writers whose complicated stories just roll off in perfect meter.IT IS SO HARD TO DO!!! Please,peruse my infantile attempt,feel free to bash,trash,or,REWRITE it and keep my meaning in tact as you see it!? A large bag of M&M's will be sent to the winner forthwith!HAAALP!!!!

Slipping Away

It's like I have traveled to some dark star

former intellect and memory shorn.

Alien beings speak kindly to me

as if acquainted before I was borne.

I recognize nothing from yesterday

a short time ago,of that I am sure-

but how did I come to this strange new place?

In a new suit of innocence so pure?

Am I akin to some born again soul

whose life was by God so hotly reviled

that banished forever I am now gone

to renew faith with the mind of a child?

Although I feel I must submit to all

Still I sense there is a soft place to fall.

I tried to post my very first sonnet,

but the Gods of thunder pissed upon it.

I needed rewrites,

and much advice,

I tried to post it more than twice.

My typing's slow,

but I'm letting you know

in the same words as that old muscled hack,

in my best accent,"I will be back!"

Okay now,enough of katydids,

tonight let's watch the Perseids.

I told you it was short....

The fog steamrolled in

and blanketed the beach

in minutes,meshing all horizons

into an abysmal grey.

Winds kicked waves

and circled in menacing waterspouts-

a haphazard race to nowhere.

Suddenly the rain's sharp teeth

bit our sunburned backs

and freckled the white powder sand

as we ran for cover.

I'd like to conjure

Salix babylonica

to help shed my tears

Trending in Japan right now,

kids are licking eyeballs.

Getting pink eye by the droves,

Ridiculous from their sky falls.

College aged and kindergartners,

get sick from a daring drink,

lots of hot sauce in that mix-

WTF don't they think?

We have oranges,grapefruit,Lemons!

A Good Old Boy Regime,

Stand your ground laws,Republicans,

but nothing is what is seems.

The sunshine state has hanging chads,

and votes that are never counted,

our governor's a criminal,

Medicare rapist ? That's unfounded!

A jury stunted by pro gun laws,

a win win situation,

the last man standing is exempt,

a cause for much elation.

Racial profile never seen?

Oh please , give me a break,

Guns and Skittles,what a duel,

It makes my old heart quake.

Years ago,Blacks got strung up,

no trial,no defense.

Today their killers are just let go,

( with substantial recompense.)

Hide your children, burn their hoodies,

even white kids wear them now.

Stay out of the rain and shadows

or you'll go beneath the plow.

Pocket your cell phone while walking about,

please become more aware,

because if some Gonzo shoots you,

he will never get the chair.

In Florida we still have strange fruit,

even though it doesn't hang now from trees...

but 'till color blindness binds us all

we'll have bad times such as these.

It hit me right away that she was a

female Boo Radley slithering ghost like

along Kathryn's kitchen wall at midnight.

I'd heard about her,but never saw her

until that night in the communal house

when I went for tea and toast.

White robed and alabaster skinned,

her blue veins blinked when I turned

the lights on .

She stared from deep, purple edged sockets.

Her skull face taut from hunger,

hands enfolded to a fist upon her breast.

Anorexia was slowly erasing her.

A phobic fear of elimination caused her

to shun all but mouse portions of food.

Quickly I lowered my eyes,mumbled a soft hello

and asked if she would like some chamomile tea,

being told that was all anyone ever saw her swallow.

She nodded, sat at the farthest end of the marred wooden table,

I prepared the tea and pushed a mug half way across;

wraith like fingers reached out and slid it closer.

Slowly I buttered two toasts,cutting off crusts,

dotting with honey and dividing each

into four tiny squares.

She watched me like a white owl would

as I chewed,savored,swallowed.

I ate four,washed my mug and left the room.

I heard her chair scrape,then the tinking

of fingernails on the plate as she reached for what was left.

Then the faucet ran,and I saw the light go out from beneath my door.

Kathryn found her huddled and shivering beneath

an overhang of a Photo Mat booth

in a rare Berkeley rain.

All she possessed was in a cloth satchel

slung over one shoulder and a raggedy

violin case glued to her left hand.

She played for loose change over

in the Haight,and I wondered what she bought

with her meager money.

She was mute by choice,although sometimes

late at night we could hear her crying and Kathryn's

soft voice urging her to have a little soup.

Once we heard her screaming in the bathroom,

her intestines trying to be loosed,her phobia

fighting back -

afraid to see

afraid to smell

afraid to be unclean.

Plainly,she was dying.

Finally,a flush,

an hour shower,

and she padded back to her room.

Her premature gray hair was dry as straw

and fell like silver pine needles to the moonlit

deck where she brushed her thinning hair.

Soon a plaintive song wafted in from the back yard.

It may have been Brahms,but who was I to know?

Sadly soft and lilting,it was so skillfully played on that fretless instrument.

Kathryn found her family,left a message

where they might find her,as she had disappeared,

I forever wondered if it was, in fact,too late.

Oh,Snow Bear,

what a fierce name you bequeathed

your frail,fragile self.

Your night song will linger forever in my mind's ear.

They drop from the trees

like snipers shot -

just seconds ago camouflaged

by leaf and shadow.

They wait,

They watch,

till I come with sustinence.

The battle begins!

Blue Jays first

Squirrels second.

Blue Jay pilots zero in,

peck at squirrels' heads

and fly off with stolen booty.

Cardinals come in crimson

their dull brown wives eat first.

Titmice mind their own business

and just peck around the outskirts.

Those doves,of course ,

keep their distance

biding their time

sauntering around unfettered

until the melee is over.

One crow squawks,and the rest

of the murder follows

to dip the bread bits in birdbath soup

their favored entrée.

A red tailed hawk hovers above,

the Red Baron of the skies

and all disappear again.

Ya' know,I was just thinking -

I wonder whatever happened to

that "so New England" girl.

Remember her? Orphan Annie hair,

humongous brown eyes

and an accent as thick as

Wright's bacon?

Remember how pissed she was

when someone stole your boat

Chained to her house 100 yards in

from the canal?

She wanted to grab her gun and hunt down

those "Pirates!",because SHE

was a Portogee.

What the hell was a Portogee?

I wracked my Jeopardic brain-

never knew til' I met Bernie

and her tales of ancestors,sailors all,

made me want to belt out "LOS PECADORES"

like Buffy St. Marie.

Omigod,that girl could make fish sing on your tongue

however she prepared them.

Dumb as a box of rocks but oh so so sweet.

Her friends amazed she landed a job

with the Post office.

Seriously now,didn't she come from

Falmouth? Worked in a sweater factory

until it closed down?

Yeah,that's her.

Bernadette Marie Olivera the Third,

always her reply to What's Your Name?.

And I wonder from what dimension she drifted

to land inside my mind

on this rainy afternoon.

The humidity has encased everything in a strangle hold.

Not even a finger of a palm frond scratches at the atmosphere.

The stretched grey beards of Spanish moss

hang sullen and stiff

as stalactites from the thirsting oaks.

Mosquitoes cling to the side of the house-

too lazy to struggle through the heavy air.

A squirrel stares stupidly at thrown bread,

perched passively

on a dead dry limb,

exhausted.

Barely breathing,I sympathize with

the shriveling scorpion who has

found solace on the sidewalk

in its early endless sleep.

Even the sunset is locked into place

amongst pallid pink cardboard clouds

seemingly pasted

upon the sky.

The stillness is only broken by

sweat beads rolling at a snail's pace

from my forehead

leaving behind salted trails

and stinging eyes,

and I curse at the rain

which stubbornly

refuses to fall.

Last night I dreamed of the bridge tender,

the woman with the silver hair.

She was pacing about her tiny space

Like a she lion in its lair.

Light came from her laptop

and I saw upon the screen

that old familiar border

that denoted Yahoo green.

Nervously she grabbed a cig

and went outside to smoke,

the bayou air was thick and dense

so humid it made you choke.

She was blowing perfect smoke rings

that made cones into the fog,

and then she heard a boat bray

its arrival in the smog.

Dutifully,she tossed the butt

and scurried back inside

to push alarms and raise the bridge

ensuring a captain's ride.

Her work now done,she sat on her chair

in her home away from home,

thinking about the eerie air,

and started to write a poem....

Memorial Day is not just for soldiers slain .

Remembering the dead is what it really means,

isn't it?But-

Okay,Pvt.First Class Bucky Gierman,

I will honor you first for succumbing

to enemy fire in the Vietnam War.

You were the darling in my history class

of 1963-64.

You always got Coach Mawry to teach us

football plays instead of boring dates in history.

"Read chapters 1 through 20 and a test on Friday"

you would always make him say.

I would never have obtained such a knowledge

of the game if not for you.

Oh,Bucky,I will always go back to an earlier time

when I answered the knock at our jalousie door

and there you stood,sheepishly asking if

my sister was at home.

I remember your black cowboy boots

below the last pane,digging into the stoop with the

nervous squirming of your feet inside.

You then invited us both out to your family ranch,

afraid your first date Was a first date,

and took us riding.

You gave my sister the golden palomino,

you rode the black horse

and you gave me

the gigantic mule.

I remember your long bangs

and over due haircut

shining like sunlight

on beach sand and flying

in the wind.

The two of you stayed ahead,

no walking or even trotting allowed.

Galloping to full runs,

what a great wild ride we had.

One of those perfect afternoons

that we etch to memory.

I always wished you had married my sister,

just so we might have a few cute towheads in our family

to fawn over.

You signed up and went away

right after our senior year.

Sis was engaged to a Navy guy,

who played on your football team.

I never even knew you died

until many years after the fact,

but when I was in D.C.,

I finally found your name on that

dreadful onyx wall amongst the thousands.

I traced it out and sent it to your Mom

without a note or explanation,

but hopefully a simple gesture of remembrance.

And so,Buck,on each saddest day in May,

for over forty years

I have never forgotten your sweet ever smiling face,

and as Dylan has sung,you will always remain

"Forever Young".