Poems a different way to communicate to the world. The place of “Who fucking cares” to “Hey I hear what you are saying!”
“…to set forth or offer for attention or consideration…let me pose a question…” /Pen name often used instead Hudley Flipside
Wild flower in my garden comes forth singing Coyote’s song…
Does it seem braggadocio to say that I am no longer searching.
Blake, Jung and The Divine Comedy no longer guide me? All the religiosity I have learned pales in comparison to what I found within myself … nature, mother father God … the medicine wheel, praying mantis, Dionysus.
The mystery is accepted! Creativity and the simple things in life guide me.
I still have ambitions and needs which inspire me but it is different now.
All the emotions play now… a compassionate nature almost crescendo at times … but passes.
From the cloud a large drone came forward. It had extensions and was computerized to detect many things. Designed to trim trees on a continuous basis in neighborhoods. Also, out to more robust ones for forests and fire regions where the weather and environment were elevated temperatures.
These tree trimming drones were made up of many parts to trim trees. It would affirm the tree family. Birds, bees, squirrels and opossums or any living life form.
Even human children climbing trees.
Softly working with the gathering drones that moved and grinded the tree parts into mulch, grind grind, to share throughout the neighborhoods.
A gentle “AI “which trimmed and extended common humanity to the living tree. If any issues came forth beyond its designed expertise an electronic note would be sent to the Street Service department.
Where a trained human specialist would address the issue. Such as moving a bird’s nest or loving beehive to another home.
Or addressing the cutting of a tree down and removing a tree stub if necessary.
Always addressing the tree with an ancient prayer.
New category for posts that concur with the many film-doodles I do.
Film Doodling by Hudely Flipside
It is the creative endeavor that is real and mine to share.
I love my garden and am so close to the ways of nature. Yet as a human being I endure the other man-made things. It is a life I was born to. Yet I think we can learn the power of nature by listening and hoping for the best to inspire us to be better human beings.
I think there is a relationship with how nature is and us in general. Our feelings and emotions.
Yet often even though nature speaks to us we don’t listen.
As I am a listener and follow the ways of ancient traditions I like to share.
Creatively embracing and helping for a better world.
Wild ways, music and nature are how I endure and so it goes.
After opening the bathroom drawer up on the Q-Tips box was a large beetle bug. I think we both were surprised. I swooped it up to the ground and got my two sleeping kitty girls. I know this is their favorite pass time going after bugs that enter the house. I am guilty because I’m prejudice on how cats think over the needs of this bug.
As the two girls altered to attention and moved towards the bug it was not a long chase. Seems beetle turned around and pinched one of the girls. End of their engagement. Yet over the week the two kitties did keep beetle bug in the bathroom.
Youngest son and I did some cleaning in the bathroom and did not find beetle bug. So, I put a small plastic container in the bathroom in case the bug showed up.
Beetle bug was there one day in the bottom closet and seemed to be waiting for me. Husband and I caught the bug and put the creature outside on the grass near the rosemary bush.
Hungry as if the beetle bug came upon the biggest smorgasbord in town. Embracing a purple anarchy flower, grass and leaves, this beetle bug’s feast began. Beautiful little beetle bug is now free.
worm
While walking around the block. A break from the rain. I saw a worm halfway across the cement walkway. Knowing about other people walking, dogs and wild things, it seemed like this little creation did not have much of a chance of survival. I often find rolled up ones dried from the heat.
I tried to gently hold the little worm that was very long. He was slimy, grey, and untouchable. So, I grabbed a small leaf and got him and softly put him on the earth near a bush.
The worm slowly moved with all its body’s muscles into the darkness of the earth. Only leaving the tip of a tail. I smiled and touched it saying loudly,
“BOOP!”
With boundless rapidity the little worm pulled a worm tail into the safety of the dark grassy earth and was gone.
The Fulton County Jail (also called the Rice Street Jail) is a jail facility located at 901 Rice Street, in Atlanta under the jurisdiction of Fulton County, Georgia. It was built to hold up to 1,125 prisoners in 1989 but now occasionally tops 3,000.
I think and feel sickness when I consider how such injustice is inflicted on any human being… I stay up at night and pray for these people… criminals maybe and maybe only just days of waiting for justice, human beings all the same. Regardless…the rich pay their bail bond and the rest of us sit in the darkness of confinement. A gloomy awareness that pursues me when my antenna is up and reflective. It is a hard reality we face in this country like the abuse of drugs and most importantly Fentanyl…. We must ask the right questions. Questions of compassion and insight into the human darkness of our psyche
Paul Newman from Film Cool Hand Luke~ June 15, 1967
Captain: What we’ve got here is failure to communicate. Some men, you just can’t reach. So you get what we had here last week — which is the way he wants it. Well, he gets it.
October at the supermarket is another routine that brings to our home good cooking, comfort, and kitty treats.
Like most Tuesdays I hit my local Ralph’s for round sushi bowls, a slice of cheesecake and did I mention the kitty treats.
Something was off this morning. As I grabbed my old sturdy cotton Trader Joe’s bags, I saw a guy standing at the curve before the entrance to the market. He was not moving and standing there like a Praying Mantis on a rosemary branch.
I was near him now. Looking around I saw no cars crossing. I walked quietly past him.
As I grabbed my shopping cart, I looked up to see he was still there. Slightly bent to the right but focused forward.
I thought to myself,
“Maybe he thinks he is invisible or maybe he is waiting for someone?”
He was all alone by himself.
I then went into the market. As I walked down a few grocery lanes he slowly passed me by. He walked slowly without a cart. One time he stood in front of me. Still standing with a slight bend to the right side. I said,
“Go ahead.”
He replied while looking down with the sweetest young voice,
“No please you go ahead.”
He had a t-shirt on with shorts and sported tattoos. I walked by him and as I passed a strange familiar desperate darkness was visible to me as I walked through it. I wanted to cry. I know that desperate feeling.
I walked forward and turned down the lane towards the front of the market. Then I saw some black boots and gazed upwards to see a guard standing about 6 feet 5 inches tall in front of me.
He was standing there transfixed on the lane ahead of me. His gun in holster.
I heard the movement of his leather belt and shoes as he walked. In slow motion. Moving as the other strange man moved.
I then realized he was following this man through the store as music danced from the PA and people walked around unaware.
It was as if I was watching two animals in nature. One the predator and one the victim.
I felt a wave of possible assault that I had avoided.
At the deli I thought to myself,
“Something does not feel right?”
Before this I did notice a strange orange bus van in front of the market to my sideways glance before entering the market.
After ordering some food. The darkness lifted and both men were gone. As I went outside the orange bus van was gone as well.
I was witness to something dark and frightening as well as desperate. As what could have happened but did not. A desperation of incarceration.
Maybe an unsuccessful escape? A prison guard targeting a bird like a cat would. I felt deep grief for this young man. As I drove safely home, I thought upon how the young man bent to the right side.
His quietness and subtle sweet voice touched me. I was stuck with grief again. I reflected on the film Cool Hand Luke.
As for stories Dad was the best at keeping us kids interested. He had the gift and I guess he learned this from his mother. Who he said left poems on the refrigerator door just for him. Later she had her poems published in the weekly Santa Monica newspaper back in the late 40s and early 1950s.
It was my mom who asked me to never stop writing and always supported my endeavors.
I even fought and wrestled with the Flipside Fanzine crew to get a Poetry Page in Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine. Pooch continued the poetry page after I left.
Flipside Fanzine Issues 57 Fall 1988
I love to write and especially love to write poetry. It is a time when magic happens. As human beings we naturally engage with memories, with the cosmos, and our feelings. Also, with those large uncontrollable metaphors like our professors tell us.
I was going through my notes and work and found this chapbook of poetry. I was surprised to see it was completed on the day September 17, 2018.
I will be talking this weekend. September 17, 2022. Telling stories with others. It feels great too to join in this narrative of speakers. At a cool pub. I can not think of a better place to talk. My youngest son told me this,
“Mom I just feel so comfortable in pubs, I dot know what it is but is just feels so good. I can just relax and have a pint. Listen to music and have fun.”
We could be talking about the pubs in the stories from Lord of The Rings to the history of William Blake’s’ family where the pub was so important in their freedom to speak and sing when the Church of England suppressed their views.
To the characters who linger, who come and go and grow from such a pub. Or simply to those who want to relax and hear a few stories.
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