- Dear Friends For Life: Pictured here at the Hunt Ball, Congressional Country Club, Washington, D.C. (early 1950s)
An Empty Box Of Animal Crackers, 60 years Later
Allay this, Time; at long last, grant rest here?
Thou keep’st a fair wager, well-played and won;
So, keep more fair in leaving each lost year,
By Thee, thus free from me; done, as is done.
Wretchèd I plea for my gamble and waste.
These are to Thee as pebbles for skipping;
Forever gone. To Thy sea—Pure, still chaste!
They are to me as precious pearls, weeping.
Alas, I see Time’s purpose: Retrospect.
Alack, for Youth and inexperience;
Assuage, ephemeral years, due respect;
Anoint, Thy pebbles here; mark, their conscience.
For Time doth win its years: harsh, just and fair;
Lest all years hence be lost to more despair.
Original Sonnet Written at 03:30 EDT, 01-June-2012, by The GidgetWidget™
© 2012, by KHC, All Rights Reserved
June 02nd, 2012
Tags: Musings Shakespeare Time gidgetwidget™ original work photography poetry sonnet ©KHC2012 family friends
I just realized I thought Halloween was over, Daylight Savings had turned the clock, and I was living a “normal” life.
A man with a thick, Brooklyn, accent keeps yelling, outside the loft, for, “Junior!” There are three construction zones for our three exposures and I think Junior must be on the wrong one.
When I woke up this morning, Stewie Pickle Egg was staring at me. This is what Stewie looks like:
The Egg somehow was communicating to me telepathically. I became sentient of my state of wakefulness and then he yelled at me, “MROW!?” (Flame-Point-Himalayan Felines have a good deal of Siamese in them, so, they retain the breeds’ penchant for vocal prowess.)
I do not wake up in a home but I wake up in a bed. Outside the construction roars. I go to the loo. I hear people outside my bathroom so I quickly return down a short, dark, hallway, to the small bedroom. I check the clock, 2:11. I get back into bed. I can feel pressing tension from the rest of the floor penetrate the walls of my quiet room, reach themselves into every pore of my skin and clotting my soul with its stress, I light a cigarette.
The opaque material composing the internal plates of the otherwise, iron-metal French doors in my room, allow the light from the rest of the floor to glow into its darkness. Silhouettes of legs walk past. I remember this feeling of activity and stress but for a moment cannot place it. Ah, that’s right. Floor 2. Election year. That’s it.
But I should I feel like I am waking up on the floor where Executive Offices inside a media conglomerate speckle the place with little theaters of war?
It’s Monday, again.
DAMN BE HE THAT CRIES FIRST, “HOLD! ENOUGH!”
October 31st, 2011
Tags: Monday culture life musings Happy Halloween gidgetwidget™ writings