Saturday, February 16, 2013

Cat sleeps with dog, 2013; Downtown a carousel; While the city sleeps; Guns; Roses (Morning Glories)

KD Cat cozies up to ancient velvet pillow
resurrected from a dark closet.
Velvet worn off, stuffing fried
but the pillow takes the shape of the reposer
and the hooked canine completes
her attraction, we speculate.
Animals love company.
Species doesn't matter.

      Ellison Bay WI

Downtown is a carousel

Architects eventually of towns
Aboriginals at first laid it out as trodden pathways
through forested land like spokes in a wheel
a merry go round to the trading posts

For me and others it is still a carousel
where we go round and round -
this downtown that we love so much
is like a Rogers and Hammerstein tune

The fairies in their buttercup blooms
threaded to a colorful 
but hallucinogenic mushroom
live dreamy lives

and everybody gets along

in the dark.

The street lights came back again last night.
In a way we miss them being out.
But the icy patches here and there
are much easier to see.

Rooming house on Wheeling Island WVA
with old carousel horses as front porch ornaments.

While the City Sleeps
Waukeshans complacently enjoy their town-grown-to-city
With it’s well-policed, clean, safe streets
And the cerulean blue skies overhead;
Or when it rains

The rain washing everything anew and flowing
If heavy
Away like dirty bathwater down the drain
Out of sight, out of mind;  oh yes,

We think of everything and take for granted
That the solid terra-firma plane on which we work and play
 IS as storybooked as it appears
And that the sky overhead here is relatively terrorless

That covers two of the three physical dimensions
But we never think about the seething subterranean world
Beneath the city where that dirty bathwater flows
Unless we happen to be with the Sanitation Department

And as far as I know, they aren’t talking;
My friends, we co-exist over a nether-world
About which we never think
And the Sewer Raccoons down there - that’s right - count on our ignorance;

Their profligacy festers beneath us
Growing daily, like whiskers becoming a dread-locked beard
But we don’t know it because we trust in our local government
And in what we see

The coons, woe to us!  phantoms of this opera are
Just a few feet beneath Waukesha in archen coves and caverns
Until nightfall when every storm grate at every corner
Becomes an open doorway into our elysian yards and gardens;

Marauders on velvet paws which they keep licking, masked,
They steal about under cover of nocturnal shadows, late,
When the windows of our proud houses show black; 
It’s then the Sewer Coons take over the town;   by day,

These slick creatures have free rein in their underworld
Bartering our garden produce in little shops and bazaars
In their sub-city
Where they swarm and reproduce like rabbits;

They have their own school district where all the little coons
Study burglary and ankle-nipping;
So far they are content with their lowly position, hence,
The Sanitation Department, the Mayor and the Aldermen

Only monitor them and do not tell us of their spreading presence
 An Amos or a Paul Revere I send this warning
For I live nearer the Fox River in one of the town’s ruder huts
And the Sewer Coons are, though proliferating

Concentrated only in our poorer neighborhoods at the present time;
By the railroad tracks and the Fox River waterway,
But the storm sewer web is beneath us all, free and accessible
And even now no one is safe

I have again lately seen the coons emerge from the grate at our corner
As has my wife;  we know the desolation
Of having our grapes stolen from our vines;
We’ve actually heard the coons’ little “chick-chick-chick” sounds;

Close-up, we’ve seen the phosphorescent reflection of their eyes
In our flashlight beams; they run, are not brazen yet – oh, no -
Carrying little bindles over their hump-ed shoulders
And make their dash back to their grated holes,

Furred hit-and-run warriors, in place,
Waiting for their messiah to come, perhaps from Milwaukee or Chicago
The Really Big 'Coon, to marshal them into an invading army,
Meanwhile waxing stronger in secret on grapes and sacked left-overs;

And sometimes we think we can hear muffled “tink”s
As they pound on their tiny anvils under Arcadian Avenue
Making suits of armor on foot-pumped forges; flaring
Light seems to flash from the gratings after the clock has struck twelve

And I go out and listen at my corner sewer entrance
And hear their “YO-OH, HO HO!” chants
Echoing softly up from below;
The Sewer Raccoons are coming, the Sewer Raccoons are coming!

[David Dix 9-19-2002]

(and to be continued in 2013; it's only getting better)


On Point 
NPR's Tom Ashbrook interviews Tim Dickinson, author
of Rolling Stone recent feature article
Subject:  THE NRA vs AMERICA

It''s an hour broadcast; sit back and listen.


DZD, US Army, Fort Leonard Wood MO 1958
Hon. Discharge 1962
all the gunning I ever wanted
and then some

Photo by Jeffrey Means, (Mr. Means Photography) Brooklyn NY
(Dee's brother)

Morning Glory redux
2nd growth from last year's errant seed
(see previous posts)
shown Friday 2-15-13;
a blossom appears, one.
Will there be more,
will the vine ascend to the window-top again?
Some things are Die Hard at the Odd Fellows.