Saturday, November 18, 2017

Wis's Xmas idea for yr 2013; Raccoon rescue; Through many trials and snares; Zepata's creekets, revisited, Agnus Dei, Paul Winter Chorus, Kings College

When autumn leaves turn to Xmas cards


If a tree happens to fall


Trials of spider webs
imaginary beast further tethered by insects

and held-onto ears
girl grabs ears riding bear sculpture along the Fox
during a farmers market


Zepata's Creekets

Gender Studies
by Michael Blumenthal

Listen Online

A cricket chirps in the grass.
Another cricket, all ears,
joins him. Now there are two.
Up above, birds shriek
like drunken gods, the air
is atizzy with the melodrama
of what is about to be.
The two crickets
eye each other
out of the corner
of their cricket eyes.
Each desires something
the other has, each
abhors its own desire.
After a brief silence,
there will be little
cricket mating, a little
cricket love. Soon,
the air will be abuzz
with the sounds
of heavy cricket breathing,
legs rubbing together,
the sound of war in the air
in crickatese,
a subject for specialists.

"Gender Studies" by Michael C. Blumenthal.



In 1998 the pre-SRN writer ran a series
called 'Zepata's Adventures'
Synthesizing the famed name
of Mexican Robin Hood-style outlaw


Today's Writers Almanac poem
about crickets (above)
reminded us of our prior work
on the subject:

Zepata and the creekets

Instalment 6

The expected storm arrives
Just before dawn
Zepata and Irena
Pull the tarp down upon them
It was either that or have it blown away
So high were the winds

The red-bandana clad creekets
had long ago retired to
their stow-away saddle bag
and if their legs had been
fine instruments
which in a way they were
the creekets would have put
them away
in velvet-lined music cases;
as it was, to the little mariachi band,
they just blew them off
like smoke from fired

This weather pattern was a frik
Zepata say to Irena
He nevair see one like
Cyclonic winds seem to blow
Around and around the mountain

A stream-rinsed red union suit
Hanging on a makeshift line blew off
Only to return fifteen minutes later
From the opposite direction
It had traveled around the mountain

Daylight slowly comes
But the rain and crying wind does not let up
El Dayo appears at their active
Bundle of tarp and he sounds
His battle call
Zepata and Irena look out from inside
Their waterproof canvas
Cocoon of rest and love

Raising himself again and again
On his powerful hind legs
Dayo gives a primeval battle cry
At the sky, daring it to strike
Him with lightning
His bulging eyes blazing

Zeus himself might refrain
From hurling a bolt at such a
For fear El Dayo would perhaps
catch it
In his frothing gaping mouth
And hurl it back

Zepata calls out to the drenched
Issy Boy issy
Go get Mare
We liff in half an hour

Soon Dayo and Mare
stand waiting
And the terrible storm
Zepata checks the dynamite
Eet is try he proclaims
And with Irena breaks camp

Vowing never to forget that storm
And the jump-started Mexican saviour
Ponders its portent

Now mud is their greatest danger
It is too risky to ride
So Zepata and Irena walk
Beside their mounts
All morning they descend
In this way

In the early afternoon
They discover that the storm
Did not happen at the lower
It had been a mountaintop
Electric cyclone only
Like nobody ever saw before

Zepata thinks it must
Have been a sight to see
From down below
And indeed the compadres
Had looked up from their campsite
And thought of Zepata and Irena
And offered prayers
for their safekeeping

The waters that had rushed
Down the mountain
Were torrential
And the air had taken on
A charged crispness
Following the high winds
That had swirled through
The compadres' tentative

Zepata who was a simple Indian
with cause and effect
thought patterns at root
Divined the storm had been
Stirred by the pro-creative
Exhibited by humans and horses
In the night

After all, he mused
If a little Zepata or Irena
Was being conceived
Or a foal to match or even
Exceed Dayo and Mare's
Powerful exhuberances
Should it not storm?

These were all natural things
To the mind of Zepata
For himself he knew
That the inflammations
Stirred by Irena
and her surfeit of oil
Produced energy that not even
He, ZEPATA, could fully combust
Try as he might

He thought as he watched
Her riding ahead of him:
Here was an exciting fuel
That could never be burned

Irena possessed a life force
That commenced as female
Gateway of life physiology
That which every woman has
But in Irena's instance
A bellows of only guessed-at origin
Had blown her womanly propensities
Into a conflagration whose
Raging flames licked
The highest clouds and
Changed weather patterns

The Indians knew
The northern lights were caused
By a woman such as this

In the north, it was said,
there was such a woman
And in other parts
Of the world
Rainmakers, storm-causers
Interacting with mighty men
Their powers are released
This is what Zepata believed

How could he not believe it
As he watched Irena's
Buttocks ahead of him
Nudging and shunting
The hand-tooled saddle
He had rubbed to smoothness
And presented to his Real Woman

It must be time for siesta
He mused
Irena felt his eyes upon her
And she smiled without turning


Agnus Dei
Paul Winter chorus
King's College


Background Info on Paul Winter


Saturday, November 11, 2017

Can't help falling; Review of toasted cheese, Wauk. Mem. Hospital Cafeteria; Round redounds; Struggling waitress; Backs to the wall; Old poets; Mahalia at Satch's 70th

Wise men say...


Toasted cheese sandwich

(A review of a sandwich at the Waukesha Memorial Hospital Caferia)

Just the right amount of grit
to slosh around the golden creamy
'merik'n cheese in the washer 
 tub of my juicing mouth 

the thick texas toast
fried in the buttered pan
while four fat slices of cheese
melted before the hungry short-orderer

laying down his coin, a mass consumption ~
washed, deluged down by an iced
Dr. Pepper and fries in the hospital
outpatient cafeteria

DZD 11-8-17



Is it a sign of being civilized
To live in spaces that always have an angle
Squares and rectangles
Cornering us in the dust

When all uncivilized simple creatures
Around the globe
- Under the dome of heaven -
Live in tepees, igloos, round or oval nests

Without reservation
The choice is automatically made
Make it round;
:"We'll have what nature's having."

Why our angular fixation then when
Our own preliminarily-cultured children
Given their first crayon will draw
Instinctive curves and ovals

Nothing in nature is straight
We use our squares, plumbs, transits,
And snapped chalk lines to get it straight
We need straight to build high; but not nature

Nature is round
Even a squirrel outside my window
Chewed a near-perfect circle enlargement
In a gourd filled with bird-feed

He'd squeezed through my smaller
Bird-sized hole but it was a tight fit
So while I secretly watched him
He went around my circle all the way

So I wouldn't notice what he'd done?
He could have hacked a jagged opening
Any shape to gain access to the seed
But he carefully widened my circle

I think this wasn't really a squirrel squirrel
It was an Indian squirrel
Or an Esquimaux squirrel
A spirit squirrel from another world

Following an instinctive blueprint
And I sat in my square room
Looking out my square window, amazed;
Roundly amused

Zep 6-2000


Alaska Dispatch News. Anchorage

Sent to the Raccoon by daughter Laurie  Kari
Director, family Promise Homeless Shelter, Wasilla AK

She fumbled with her pen and paper when she took our order at the restaurant we had chosen for our special night out. A blank look came over her face, in the midst of our exchange, and she asked us to repeat our meal request. She apologized a couple of times before leaving our table, and I couldn't help but notice what she was wearing as she walked away. Frayed black athletic pants stretched over her thin frame. We were at a place that was reputed to have good steaks, but the service had me questioning our choice to eat there.

Saturday, November 4, 2017

Halloween configurations; Impressions of Angels Grace Hospice, Oconomoc WI; Teraoka's gift - Anything Goes

Odd Fellows pose  ~ 
Wis Guthrie's DIRT MONSTER
join KD Cat for a special Halloween scare
with full moon


Normally Conservative Jon T.
- leading Waukesha businessman -
wears dress-down marijuana socks
 at the editor's Odd Fellows poor man's penthouse
on Halloween night, 11-1-17


Dallas Oregon writer, retired US Army Major, 
G. Nel O'Neil
(see Avalon Reflections)
dons unwidely disseminated uniform of the annual night.



At Angels Grace Hospice, Oconomowoc, WI

This editor spent two weeks at the runway terminal
in October of 2017, as though just prior  hacking impassably
 through a dense jungle with a dull machette.

At last, exhausted, tight vines
twisting all around him holding him down,
a vast runway clear of all impediments appeared
before him stretching to a far blue-skied horizon.

He taxied onto this glorious airstrip
ready for take-off at last but

he could not pull the engine throttle back.

It was not time for departure.
This flight was cancelled.

This was just a dream that could not spoil his take on 
the facility.  Situated on a peninsula with a small lake
called simply The Pond on three sides, in a wilderness setting,
with sandhill cranes making a seasonal encampment in
their migratory pattern, roaming the grounds searching for grubs 
in the landscape mulching

or sheering tender greens sprouting from rained-upon birdseed
beneath the many birdfeeders on hospice patients'

with tranquil walkways around the pond shore.

Many donations to keep this lovely place are recorded.

The blue pond is at the foot of this zinnia-plaited outdoor area.

The building is shaped in a hexagonal configuration
with a central living room, and the six spokes house the patients' private rooms,
each with their own patio.

Dee waters a plant.  She brought a compass so the Raccoonteur could tell where he was.

A recently acquired dragonfly metal sculpture sat on his solo patio
where whole beds could be rolled out onto the lushly-surrounded
cement flats.

As he was expected to soon expire
he was afforded all the salted french fries
and hot fudge malts he could consume.

No one was counting.

Similarly the popcorn was free, 24-7.

A large frog crockery stood at the end of one of the halls.

Son-in-law Ben brought this satellite shot print
from his Lawrence University home computer complex,
allowing a raccoonoitering when the editor was still
confined to his bed.

Dee's compass also helped.


John and Janelle brought this harbinger of a future year to come
as a gift the other evening.

His marijuana socks by the way were a gift from a playful friend
who sings with him in the church choir.

He may be arch, but he's also ANYTHING GOES.

Saturday, October 28, 2017

Editor back at post; After; Then; Old friends

On October 28th 2017
The Raccoon Editor returned to the Odd Fellows Hall
to recommence operations after  a layover of about one
month of ill health.

He is back from a knock-out series of punches. Close.

He is shown here after entering his premises to find
welcome apple products from his wife partner; a Macoun apple pie
she made from Ela Orchard, Rochester WI; unpasteurized apple
cider grown and pressed at the orchard and a large Macoun apple
(more in a bag) set before him in a loving way.

Ela is a third generation business tended by son-in-law
Ben Willard's family.  Dee drove the half-hour south drive to Rochester
to secure these great finds.


a hospitalization in Waukesha for failing heart and kidneys
in October I spent 6 days there until being transferred to
Angels Grace hospice year Oconomowoc.

That was most likely to be  his final act, and what lovely
place to set out from.
He inagined hacking fruitlessly through thick jungle

Instead, after his meds were cut off nearly entirely he began
a 13 day recovery in the hidden paradise where he at first imagined
he was in a farmhouse where he could hear cows being milked
in the morning and the freshest cold water being drawn from 
a well outside his bedsite range.

Where was he?

After a couple days of coming to, he was given a wheelchaired
tour of the actual site and saw it is built in the shape of a hexagon
with a hub shaped central lounge area; the complex is on a hilled
peninsula surrounded on three sides by a small lake they call 
The Pond.

This pond is restorative it itself.

Migratory Sandhill Cranes settle in this little lake for the summer.They stroll the grounds
of Angels Grace until flocking up for their winter months spent way south of here.

It is common to have them peering through the hospice rooms' patio doors and they average
5 feet 6 and1/2 inches tall.  They walk regally in pairs, male and female. One guards
as they they dig for grubs in the landscaping mulch.  They take turns most graciously.

Changes of scene
changes of form...

after a week and a 
half of muscle toning
he again retook his position at the Odd Fellows,
back from Linden Grove, Mukwonago

Old friendships were renewed there
and some new ones were made.

Paul Kortes, Corpus Christi, Texas
Our paths briefly crossed at Linden Grove Mukwonago.


All for now.
Much more later...