Poetic Just Us (Redux)

(3rd of a mini-series of taking poetic license)

At first it was the land and the sea
That separated you and me
Before we could be just us.

Then your hours got shorter,
And Skype made it a little better
Before we could be just us.

Hard to believe you are here with me,
But can you turn off the TV?
Before we can be just us.

Get horizontal,
So we can be full frontal
And finally we can be just us.

Image: Pixabay

You may also want to read the mini-series Poetic Just Is:
1st
2nd
4th
5th

Poetic Just Is

(1st of a mini-series of taking poetic license)

I made a decision.
Stop with the inquisition.
It just is.

My mind is made,
Nothing more to be weighed.
It just is.

Simply admire the gloss,
And accept that I’m my own boss.
It just is.

There’s no age limit
To getting a mullet.
So get used to it.

Image: Pixabay

You may also want to see:
2nd of the mini-series
3rd of the mini-series
4th of the mini-series
5th and last of the mini-series

Orlando

Opening Spring Fling in Florida – Part 2 of 3

Our return to an expanded Disney Springs.

(sung to the tune of Abba’s Fernando)

Can you hear the gasp, Orlando?
I remember long ago when souvenirs were less than this
On a fire sale day, Orlando.
You’ve come a long way from a few shops to miles of chains
I could hear the constant ka-ching,
And sounds of consumerism from all over.

They are so many now, Orlando.
Every hour, every minute a sale is made
My eyes are glazed, Orlando.
Every turn I make, there’s a character from the past and present,
And I’m a little ashamed to say,
The sights and sounds still impress me.

Other parts:
Part 1
Part 3

Opening Spring Fling in Florida

Part 1 of 3

My family and I had our own mini-celebration just a week before Major League Baseball’s Opening Day on March 29th. We went for a brief visit to Florida, where we stayed with friends and, among other things, went boating in Kissimmee, bopped around in Orlando, and enjoyed the beaches and downtown sites of historic St. Augustine. This was our way of welcoming the new season with faces turned to the sun and arms open wide to embrace the warm weather (even though we experienced two more nor’easters upon our return home). Not to be deterred, our recent memories of good times mixed with  sunny days and beautiful evenings will be presented here and in the next two posts. It’s just a reminder for those up north that spring will soon feel like spring!

Kiss-a-me, Why Don’t Ye?
Water-sprayed hair,
Laughter fills the air,
As old friends toast,
Listening to Margaritaville
And other oldies from the ‘70s,
Eighties, and 90s,
O, Sun, kiss-a-me,
Why don’t ye?

Part 2
Part 3

Game of Thongs: The Walk of Confidence

Part 3 of 4A Matter of Wear and Tear series
Part 1 posted on 8/24/17
Part 2 posted on 8/26/17

(Warning: Some language and sexual references may be objectionable)

Both fashionably late in joining the other contestants onstage, the first up is Crissy Bannister, tall and regal in her royal blue, silken thong. Rising from the waist of her thong is a plumage of peacock feathers held by a strip of flesh-toned material securely attached to her back. The colorful plumage hovers a couple of feet above her head. Appearing right behind her is Dana Tara Gong, whose presentation is equally imposing.

In keeping with her stage name as the Dragon Lady, Dana’s gilded-trimmed thong is adorned with sequins resembling reptilian scales. Attached to the back part of her thong is a pair of wings, resplendent with the same gilded and sequined patterns. Perched between her wings is a tiny, gold-shellacked canister connected to two silver hoses. From behind, one hose trails into a long tube, which is attached on a shoulder pad protruding 12 inches from where the pad is fastened on her shoulder. The other, much longer hose connects to a wrist band on her right hand. Jutting under her band is a button, which when pressed, sends out a whoosh of flames from the long tube atop her shoulder.

Theo swallows and mouths the word “shit” to Anya, who is posing next to him.

She whispers, “The person who fears losing is already screwed.”

Theo retorts, “Losing so terribly sucks, while winning gets you many free fucks.”

Sunny, who is on Theo’s other side, murmurs, “There is no humor in pricks.”

From the speakers, trumpets sound off, signaling the emcee to appear. Stepping boldly onstage he announces, “Welcome to our 70th annual game of thongs!” The audience bursts into applause.

The emcee shows off a sandaled foot, as he continues, “How do you like my thong?” The crowd laughs even though they’ve heard the same joke about his flip-flops every year. “For years we have been graced by our creative townies, showing off the latest design and style in thongwear. I would like to thank our sponsor that started this tradition, Made-in-Ware Ironclad Thongs.” Another round of applause ensues.

“This year marks a milestone for us because we will be retiring this contest after today.” Gasps from both audience and participants alike follow, with many muttering “Shame, shame, shame!” only barely under their breaths. The emcee holds up a hand to stop. “Please, this has been the longest running event ever this town has ever had, and we at the Chamber of Commerce Activities Committee think it’s time to have a new contest, but that’s going to be for another venue to announce. Right now, let’s focus on the show. As you all know, the prize has always been a year’s supply of thongs from our generous sponsor. But, this year, the winner will also receive the iron throne as the grand prize!”

The emcee directs everyone’s attention to the glistening throne with an M-shaped back. Although the seat of honor is referred to as an iron throne, it is made of stainless steel. The seat is mesh, usually found in office chairs, but that is the only similarity between the two. Sewn on the throne’s mesh is the front of an oversized thong.

All the participants’ eyes light up. Dana and Crissy give each other the evil eye. Juan, Theo, Sunny, Anya, and Tyrone seek out one another’s attention, each thinking their friendship might be on the line by vying for the prize.  Tyrone rolls his eyes and philosophizes to himself, “Breeze and bullshit. We are only dust, and our maker created us for fun. That is our great challenge, and our great demise.”

To be continued . . . 

Game of Thongs: The Outhouse


Part 2 of 4
A Matter of Wear and Tear series
 Part 1 posted on 8/24/17

(Warning: Some language and sexual references may be objectionable)

Anya runs to Walter. “What happened?” She can hear his muffled voice still uttering, “O’dore . . .” She turns him over and cradles his face. Then she presses her ear close to his mouth. A look of realization flashes on her face.

“’Oh, the odor’ is what you’re saying! Portable toilets can be stinky. Walter, I’m sorry it was so bad, but you need to get up if you want to be in the running.” Anya gently shakes him. Sunny joins them and tries to straighten out what little fabric she can salvage. To make matters worse, Walter’s fall landed him on some pebbles that poked some holes on his thong.

Walter sits up and thanks them. He looks down at his ruined design and says, “When you play the game of thongs, you wear it or you tear it. You can’t return it.” He exhales, “Looks like I’m sitting out the contest this year. I shoulda listened to my mom and used a real toilet before coming here. Never use a port-o-let without adequate cover . . . and a nose clip. Let that be a lesson learned.”

“The things we sniff destroy us every time, man. Store that in your skull,” Theo reinforces Walter’s words, as he and the rest continue walking toward the stage. Secretly, he’s glad to have one less rival to compete with.

Juan, Theo, Sunny, Anya, and Tyrone are met with applause as they parade onto the stage, taking their place among the others. Good to see not too many participants this year, Tyrone thinks. His plan in spreading his crabs apparently worked, although at the expense of having to suffer through it himself. But he had cleverly designed his thong to hide any evidence of discomfort and disease.

Juan surveys the group and notices two more people have yet to join them. Just then, the crowd erupts into cheering and hand-clapping, louder than the reception he and his friends received. As the cheering continues to grow louder, he sees the two, fashionable late-comers prance onto the stage.

This year is going to be a slaughter, Juan thinks, as he eyes the two show stoppers—two well-known locals who also happen to be arch enemies: Crissy Bannister and Dana Tara Gong.

To be continued . . . 

Game of Thongs (A Matter of Wear and Tear series)

Part 1 of 4

(Warning: Some language and sexual references may be objectionable)

Summer has come. The annual thong pageant has begun. A throng of staunch thong supporters gather before the stage, set against the nautical backdrop of the beach. Friends and families of the contestants call out to their hopeful entrants. Locals and out-of-towners alike sit and stand together with anticipation. For as long as any of the loyal followers can remember, the battle of the thongs is an event that’s been going on for years. Because the competition is open only to permanent residents, the ceremony has a rather incestuous reputation. Nonetheless, everyone ultimately has great fun and the celebratory bash after the show is even more of a blast.

Meanwhile, in the makeshift backstage, made up of rows of connected cabanas, the contenders get ready as they string on their thong, along with other accessories. Every year, the stake gets higher for how original one can be in designing and presenting their strips of decadent material.

“If I look back, I can see your crack.” Theo Silverbliss teases Juan Nieves, as they both don their thongs.

Juan sighs, “If you keep looking, you’ll get lost in the abyss.”

“This place makes people strange,” Sunny Lark says from her own little area, across from them.

Sunny’s sister, Anya, pipes up, “I swear to you wearing a thong is a thousand times harder than designing one.”

Sunny and Anya’s cousin, Tyrone, groans as he walks by them. “A sore is a reminder . . . and each reminder makes me angrier.” By “sore,” he is referring to the unfortunate red scratch marks in his pubic area. “Once you’ve acquired crabs, no one will want to sleep with you.”

“TMI, dear cuz, please.” Anya shakes her head at Tyrone. Sunny smiles at Tyrone and agrees. “That’s shorthand for a little too much information, darling. Come on, let’s go and show them our stuff!”

The three cousins, Juan, and Theo head toward the stage. Passing a portable toilet, they see a friend, Walter, stumble out, gasping and mumbling, “O’dore . . . o’dore . . .” Barely strung on, his thong threatens to flap open, and then he trips, face down.

To be continued . . . 

. . . Home for Christmas: Part 4 of 4

Image: Pixabay

Image: Pixabay

[Part 3]

I see you’ve gotten to the last written page, Mr. Lang. If you go to the back of the journal, I inserted the ripped part of the page there.

“Dec. 24: . . . home for Christmas. I  p . ; l ls  n  I  a e l p . . . “

It is difficult to make out the rest of his scribbles. I see you can’t decipher them either, Mr. Lang. That’s all I have for you, sir. So, if there’s anything else . . . Please let me walk you out. You know we have a beautiful place here; we don’t really see too many people come out this way. Thanks for visiting. Okay, good-bye . . .

Mr. Lang looks like he’s headed out in the same direction as our Mr. McCue. Perhaps he too will find his place in our valley. I’ve been here many years now since I’ve been given the post of Overseer. I take good care of my residents. I feed them well. In time, they will be ready to spread out and take over more of this world.

[To see Part 1]

. . . Home for Christmas: Part 3 of 4

Image: Pixabay

Image: Pixabay

[Part 2]

“Dec. 23: I’m freaking out. Nothing appears normal here. I’ve lost track of time. The sky always looks dim and heavy. How can that be? What’s become of day and night?  It doesn’t get bright or pitch black. It’s as if there’s a dirty film over the place. My legs feel like they walked many miles, but I keep seeing my car directly ahead. Is the car following me? I can’t figure things out. I’m tired, but I can’t fall asleep. I haven’t slept since I woke up hours ago, but it must have been a whole day because I can feel my chin’s five o’clock shadow.

And what’s with these trees? Some are twisty or bent to the ground, while others are completely straight. They don’t feel right either. There’s some kind of slime coming out of the squat looking ones. I’m also starting to hear something like a cross between murmurs and light rustling. For some reason, my nose is also picking up smells that kind of makes me want to throw up.  My mind seems to be playing tricks. I’m writing what I can so I can read it later to see if I’m making any sense, although my eyes aren’t helping. They seem to getting progressively bad. Am I becoming myopic?  I’m thirsty and hungry but my body can’t seem to stop from walking around. I’ve actually tied my legs to a tree stump so I will stop walking. I can barely write.

I just want to be . . . “

To be continued