Hi and welcome to the Attic, I'm Frankenberry of said Blog Title and I write of just my everyday here, sometimes funny, sometimes heartfelt, sometimes angry, sometimes funny again because, well, who don't like funny, thoughts on getting older and sometimes stuff that's just kinda shit. I pen and sing the occasional parody tune and other songs, sometimes I even get a little bit poetic or short story-etic or something like that. If you're joining me here I thank you, but just mind your head and feet and keep an eye out for my little Bella and Cricket The Blind as well as the memories of Raspberry (Razzy), Mimi the Quirky, of Blink The Lil' Kit, Grayson the Mighty, Shoes the Big Orange, Shana-Girl, Benny Good Man Benny Brown, Merlin & Bob. Wouldn't want you step on them or anything … 'cause then I might just have to throw you down the stairs … damned humans.
Their prosery? A very short piece of poetry or flash fiction that tells a story with a beginning, a middle, and an end. It can be any genre you choose, but it does have a limit of 144 words. Somewhere within your story, you must include given lines without changing word order or adding any.
The lines to include this time around? A couple from Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Sleeper”
I pray to God that she may lie Forever with unopened eye
Headstone
In a graveyard nearing dusk the groundskeeper came upon Death, leaning heavily on his knot gnarl anguish handled scythe as he knelt at an almost hidden, fallen stone, shunned, just outside the cemetery, alone, at the edge of a large forest. He wept quietly.
“Are you alright old man?”
Death was startled
“What?!” as he tried to stand
“No need. Pay your respects”
“Why don’t you shudder cold at the sight of me, cringe, run to escape who I am, maybe to you?”
“I know death. I have been here as long as you have searched … for your mother right? How did you know?”
“I had this inscribed in her stone I pray to God that she may lie forever with unopened eye hoping she would never see my shame and what I had become and wrought”
There are many things that can bring us together, when things are rough in the world, seem out of hand, things we may share, things that can put us on page with a complete stranger
A favorite sports team maybe, in a parking lot before a game through the haze of grill smoke and beer smack talk
An event of grand proportions where suns and moons align for just a passing moment as we look to the skies and buy churros from that one enterprising fella who has set up shop on a great lawn
A “Hey, my cat likes that one too!” in a pet food aisle at a local grocery store as we grab at the same cans (without bumping heads as this ain’t no Hallmark love story shit) or even a tragedy, though, of course, we would hope that wouldn’t be the case.
But then there are those moments that transcend these possible things
“Hey, I like your T-shirt”
“Hey, thanks!”
And then a counting blindly with a gas pump between you
“Then shall you count to three”
“Thou shall not stop at two”
“Four will be a no go”
“Five will be right out!”
Ok, we were kinda close but no matter, my faith in humanity has been restored in difficult times
Then a wave at my window as I was getting ready to drive away
When seeing this prompt from Bjorn at dVerse Poets “Today I want you to use Onomatopoeia in your poem, to strengthen the imagery through its sound” I thought back to a poem I had written a number of years ago (2016) that had use of such, though briefly, and that I included as part of a post of remembrance for my dear Shoes, aka “The Big Orange”, who passed away about a year into living in a new place, along with Bella, with me single again, after a breakup.
Now this apartment, a wonderful little place, happened to be just across the Hudson from the train tracks that ran along the river. I found comfort in my two furry sidekicks but also in the sound of those trains at night and wrote about them then and my new found solitude.
Being reminded of it though, and with a new eye, I thought to a bit of re-work and to expand with Bjorn’s prompt in mind.
/////
Trains Pass
Trains pass
rumble and clack, clackety clack, clack clackety, clack and rumble in order, order
across a river
Pass past the meander of tugs doing silent heavy water work
only in the shoulder length soft splash – wash – splash – wash – splash wash wake
felt
in the night
in other times
any proof they were even there
.
They pass the overgrown cat’s couch comforter
Bella
unawares
through my tiny comfy disturbing
nothing
not even a single dining room chair
.
from a neighbor’s dinner
unawares
throwing air tasted
Island stereo song scent treats into every corner of this new tiny
from below my feet
familial familiar clink clink clink laughing silverware china clink clink
wishing if only for a fork and an invite
.
Shoes
To my left
in purr-in purr-out purr-in purr-out even cat breath measure
matches the clackety’s and the clacks and the clack clackety’s
from across a river
.
There’s rhythm, melody, music in trains
and scents
in the linger of a stranger’s daily
below my feet waking, cooking, fighting, living, laughing
the couch
overgrown comforter sleeps as do left bed purr-in purr-out sides
while trains pass in clackety clack clack clackety time
I was a little up in the air about this one, thinking maybe it wasn’t quite up to par, after 6 years and dozens upon dozens of these tunes I do have a bar, but I thought about how much I work on these, how important it is for me to make my points about this fucked up in which we live and the even more fucked up who run it and those that want to again, and then a friend, one of my very much valued Mikey Six, who I run things by when need be, mentions a line she thought was spot on and gives me a thumbs up.
So Tuesday’s dVerse Poets prompt, “April Poems Bring May Centos”, was of two possibilities. Choose any line from any poem from those provided and write a poem including the line or inspired by it or, you could instead, try your hand at a “cento” (a poetic work wholly composed of verses or passages taken from other authors) also from any of the poems provided and to use at least two. In this case those poems provided for both were from April dVerse poetry prompts.
There were selections of poems from six different prompts and I went with the ones for “A Box Of Poems”, a prompt summarized as “write a poem of your own metaphorical box of 3 stanzas, the box, what’s in it, where’s it kept”. Then I decided to take the “Cento” route with this prompt as I had never done such.
7 poems and one of mine, also of a box, that used the prompt for inspiration but strayed from the particulars and went a different way.
Early last month there was a prompt atdVerse poets that talked of boxes and to write something of such. The idea has been sitting with me, what box might I have that holds thoughts, things, ideas, history?
Now I am envious of all my new found friends at the dVerse site that can word as they do and do so well and I know that there is a muscle that needs to be re-worked, exercised, a poetry muscle, but it’s been a while for such. So stretching is in order, grab the back of my sneaks with a lean on whatever is there for that lean, wipe the bottom of those sneaks with a hand just to make sure they’re fresh then go for a run.
Anyway, to boxes …
Cigar Box
Cigar box
that told me I was adult
enough
granted one
smelling of old men and oft smelled stories
drifting
high curls in kingly fathom
street side tavern sidewalks
confident legs holding court
in hard backed simple chairs
crossed in plumes legs of sitting smoke at hand’s burning hip
that hung like clouds wishing rain
heavy full only of droplets of truth
but
torrents of what could fill a day with wonder
for the dumb enough grapes to take smartly a grape’s need
“well, ya know” says grape
“he’s a bluster of nonsense but brings rain and wine stories with my assist”
.
It held small child-like things
.
The Saint Christopher medal found with coins
along a child’s suburban hikes
that medallion that the good Saint kept
maybe
himself before he was patron
before Christ’s burden
with iconic emblems
a superstitious sort I’m sure for superstitions that would come
for us
for trips as a test
to protect his own self
in own travels
a coin thrown on the latest nightstand
under a burning lamp safely found
again
or for been company in the morning
.
It kept my secrets, stolen cigarettes, a lighter’s 70’s smiley face
belying
short unsmiling wind to come
a bit of cloth, a coat of arms, from a school sweater smelling of defiance
a picture of young girls it held
on a sitting stone wall in an old English town
smoking also stolen cigarettes
damning the future as long as mother didn’t know
a mom’s youth arrogance leaving something behind to dry and air
before come home fresh
so mother didn’t know
.
And the coins I so loved, misshapen, bent aged ones
run over by trains
some
that rhythmically roll clackety lull clack me back to furtive sleep
even perfect coins being quite boring but perfect still
that had years you could mark
in hands and passed pockets of time and bets maybe with a flip
life or death?
Oh the drama
you could
imagine of who had been here
before you
in your pocket’s history
you kept at right hand right there
in a cigar box
if only to find them
In lucid dreams to come
in stark sharp crisp grey yellow contrast relief
like hurricane eye
colors
never casually dreamt in such hard lines
but found in otherworldly lucidly explored stories of ends of
time
worlds
dynasties, presidencies, normalcies, monasticies (if such a word alone exists)
tell me the date, just tell me the date
tell me where I am
in this timeless
could be found there in that cigar box
if only
.
Saint Christopher had already found his way
immortalized
his nightstands to safe you along
next to yours
your way with a coin as your only token
of safety
please just show me date in this mad world of
clear crystal nightmare dreams
of my own walking searching making
willing
.
Travel is never done my good man
the saint might say
just place in a corner of that cigar box
a yearless coin
medallion found in child’s walkabouts and skips and jumps
for safe travel tales still be told
smelling of old man smoke plume and oft told stories
Earlier this week I was searching YouTube for something from a tribute band for a show of theirs coming up around here that I could use for building a commercial and Dylan’s “Gotta Serve Somebody” was on the YouTube page. Don’t know why (maybe the YouTube gods were trying to tell me something) but it popped up among all the other “Steve similar things” that are always there, cat and dog rescue videos, movie and show trailers, sci-fi short films, new tunes alien to me but maybe in my “like-house” of artists etc, etc. (that knowing of me, even though I/we should all be well accustomed to such by now, can still be a little unsettling).
Anyway, it’s a Dylan tune I had never heard, or at least I can’t remember that I had but when I played it for a few bars I thought, well, ok, I think I might actually know this and it just happened to be right in my song wheelhouse and could definitely work for a new something if I could find a workable instrumental version.
After getting that tribute band’s spot done I did then find an instrumental version of it and, while referencing that two part Trump interview where he layed out in stark detail his plans for a new dictatorial reign, I got to workin’ …
Gonna Wanna Rule Somebody
You may be a wished dictator who’s scripting a dream
Of what to do in year 25 with a right’s loyalist team
Who’r mapping out a dire plan where democracy it seems
Is no longer a real player in the grandest of red schemes
.
And you’re gonna wanna rule somebody, yes indeed
And you’re gonna wanna king somebody
It may be those already on the devil’s dark page
Or those forced to take new stage
.
Body vessels are the targets in this new SCOTUS age
The ones who stand up try prevent women in a cage
The ones who had temerity to think body autonomy
But in this new world order legislating you’s the rage
.
Yeah, you’re gonna wanna rule somebody, yes you are
And you’re gonna wanna lord somebody
You’ll make women understand that they just don’t have a say
Instead monitored by state
.
You may be undesirable in this grand U S of A
An invader less than human is all he will have to say
To rile up the base while he drives all you away
The military will be called upon slap down to make point’s sway
.
Yeah, you’re gonna wanna rule somebody, yes you are
You’re gonna wanna lord somebody
You’ll make those who just don’t belong go back to where they’re from
Yeah, you’re gonna wanna king somebody
.
You may be a protester on campus wantin’ say
You hate the inhumanity that you’re seeing day by day
That you’re not an anti this that or even a pro that
You just hate women and children wearing dead pawn hats
.
But they’re gonna wanna rule somebody, yes indeed
They’re gonna wanna use your naivete
To gain an in ground against hated college elites
They’re gonna wanna rule somebody
.
And you may be example of future disputes
To quell freedom of speech tear it out by the roots
Teach that protest is only what they will agree
You are no patriots like Jan 6 ones who would see
That he gets chance to rule somebody, yes indeed
Gets chance for a new autocracy
That there will be no dissent that doesn’t come with intent
To help him rule somebody
.
You might like use projection to describe your enemies
Accuse them of harboring fascist wills and dreams of tyranny
You’ll even claim reverse discrimination of dear whitey
You’ll say that anti-white feeling can’t happen in this great country
.
And you’re gonna wanna lord somebody, yes you are
And you’re gonna wanna take us back
To a time where white man ruled
And others minded their P’s & Q’s
You’re gonna wanna white everybody
.
You may call yourself disciple of the MAGA ways
Protect yourself on his good side fearful of vengeful days
You may even say that fascism’s not that bad just give it play
As we’ve heard too often now from MAGA’s praying new Trump day
.
Well, you’re gonna have to serve somebody, yes it’s him
You’re gonna have to serve somebody
Well, it may be the devil, while the lord sits this one out
“… a very short piece of prose or flash fiction that tells a story … It can be in any genre of your choice, but it does have a limit of 144 words; an additional challenge is to hit 144 exactly. The special thing about Prosery is that we give you a complete line or two from a poem, which must be included somewhere in your story”
The line or two in this case?
“Something told the wild geese it was time to fly”
So to a little bit of fun then was my first thought, don’t know why, just was, a conversation.
.
Marge & Henry Geese
“Marge, can ya high tail it please, gotta fly”
“Hold on Henry, where are the kids?”
“They’re not here, grown and flown Marge, you know that, with little geese of their own”
“You’re gonna make me cry Henry”
“Heck Marge, the only time you DON’T cry is when I DON’T bring up the kids and then you honk at me thinking I’m purposely leaving them out of flight out of mind right before you start to cry”
“But we’re running late, why? Usually we’re right there with our sense of time” Marge flapped a wingpoint towards that sign in the roost Something told the wild geese it was time to fly
“Things are getting warmer now, gets timing off. Now can we go … and leave the Honk Sweet Home sign. Wanna catch up to the kids right?”
Since the end of February I have been dealing with a back issue, a really bad back issue actually, after popping it turning a doorknob at the bottom of a flight of stairs at the old apartment. I know, the simplest of things right? I mean if you’re going to pull your back it should at least be doing something cool or possibly even heroic, like lifting a car off a kid or something in a traffic accident, not just turning a fucking doorknob but multiple X-Rays revealing a fracture, a new one (yeah, this ain’t my back’s first creaky rodeo it seems) a bone density test, a couple of MRI’s and a shitload of awful nights (it hurts when I pee takes has taken on on a whole new not in college meaning now as the simple act of just standing up from out of bed has me sounding like the Troll that lives under the bridge to my upstairs neighbors I’m sure so when I do get into a position that doesn’t make me tear up in pain, at my PC desk now for example, I just stay there.
So thus me just doing some scrolling back through old stuff, one to marvel at my own brilliance hehehe and two cause my PC chair is probably the most “comfortable” spot in my feeble, fragile old man world right now.
Speaking of old then, a So Then Sunday, a re-posting of something older, in this case, a fave post of mine from back in August of 2021 about being old.
/////////////////////////////////////////
New Cat Scratcher … Sir
(August 3, 2021)
On my way home tonight I stopped into PetSmart to see if I could find a cat scratcher that wasn’t ridiculously expensive, something I wasn’t all that confident in accomplishing. Though I have managed to trim them on occasion, it’s not the easiest of endeavors to convince Bella to let me clip her nails and they are getting a little long again as she’s clicking on the hardwood now like she’s taken up tap dancing and rehearsing a new number so I thought a new scratcher would at least help her with some nail maintenance.
I know she wants another one, a stand-up model (I do have a nice large well used wood framed one with cat scratch cardboard inside that sits flat on the floor but it’s not quite the same) as she keeps trying to also use this old one and well, a couple of short naked two by fours nailed together with a carpet top don’t really do the trick. It’s also Bella’s way I think, with the repeated attempts, to say “yo, knucklehead, human, can ya see what I’m tryin’ to do here on a couple of short naked two by fours nailed together with a carpet top?! Are ya catchin’ my fruitless cat scratchin’ drift … numbnuts?!”
She’s right, as you can see it doesn’t really have any cat scratchedyness to it anymore as almost all the rope is gone or fallen to the bottom like scratchy rope one legged shorts around its ankle. I only keep it for a couple of reasons. First is a sentimental one. It’s one of my earliest and favorite pictures of Shoesfrom when he was kitten, one of my bestest of pals who passed away 6 six years ago now, clutching onto it in its newer days to give me a stare and a sniff while we were getting to know each other and second, I keep it on the floor at the end of the bed as it’s kind of become a pretty good lean to assist for old man stand ups. You see I stand UP from my bed as I don’t have a bedframe, just my box spring and mattress on the floor (I don’t like bed frames … got’s to be proactive on possible spots for monsters underneath right?) so the assist can be welcome, but not always necessary, I’m not quite there yet in my oldness thank you, though still welcome on occasion, breathy light grunty exhales sometimes included.
Anyway, as I was looking wide raised eyebrow eyed at price tags of cat seats and cat condo’s that can also serve as scratchers on the big shelves or a few smaller ones in an aisle across from them on the regular shelves a pretty young woman passed to step into the next aisle for canned cat food, the aisle that has the Wellness Brand by the way, which is pretty good stuff and correspondingly expensive.
I found two possible scratchers but held the thought for the moment, debating 30 bucks versus 40, as the pretty young woman buying some canned food suddenly reminded me that I should do the same, even though this wasn’t my initial intent tonight, before that reminder fell out of the front of my head only to silently slide out the back. PetSmart has a few things the girls like that the grocery store doesn’t carry so I then passed her, reminder still holding noggin front, on my way a couple of aisles up to where another less expensive brand is located but, knowing that she was stocking up on the Wellness, I almost felt guilty and a bad cat dad for going with the cheaper stuff. I was even worried she’d notice disapprovingly.
After I grabbed a few cans of what, like I said, I can’t find at the grocery store (a slightly more top shelf version of this one at least to ease my new found bad cat dad guilt) I made my way back to the scratchers aisle to make a decision on that 30 versus 40 bucks but accidentally came up one aisle short (because of course I did) and stepped right into the one that the pretty young woman was standing at the end of, still, though unknowingly, shaming me as she loaded a cardboard flat with the Wellness food, and I almost bumped into her.
“Whoa, shit, sorry, wrong aisle, my bad”
“No problem” she said
Now then it occurred to me that this all could have looked as if I had done it intentionally. See a pretty young woman pass me when, suddenly, it seems I need to walk past HER and then come back again only to “accidentally” step into her aisle and almost bump into her?
Future reference. I never do anything like that intentionally, I REALLY only ever do things like that accidentally, usually too lost in my own thoughts to sidetrack them unnecessarily for that kinda stuff. Plus that whole possible thought’s attention silently sliding out the back of my head thing I mentioned earlier. In general, if I happen to note, wherever I may be, that there’s some younger woman there who, like in this case, is attractive I also then, almost immediately, note the operative word in this sentence, “younger” and that I’m most probably old enough to be her dad, a dad who would probably kick my ass at any of this whole notion of noting things. So, quick admiration and acknowledgement of pretty and I’m done with the thought. Then it’s just to possibly some accidental awkwardness.
She ended up at the checkout line in front of me and as she was getting ready to leave, bag in hand full of her good cat mom Wellness Brand food and as I was slowly putting my cat scratcher down for the cashier while holding back ever so slightly on the lesser cat food stuff being seen she looked at me and said.
“Have a good night Sir”
“You as well” I replied
Damn … and yeah … she called me “Sir” to which I had three thoughts.
1. Sigh.
2. If she did for some reason think I was actually trying to “check her out” or even hit on her and that I was a bit too old for the attempt and should know better the “Sir” was very subtly and very well played, very well played indeed. Bravo lady!
3. Sigh.
I think I might just be leaning a little more heavily on that old Shoes cat scratcher at the end of the bed for the stand ups this evening while pausing the TV or in the middle of the night when I have to pee a million times it seems, sometimes even when I don’t have to but just think that I do.
Me 2: “Well is that right now … is that what you’re thinking … Sir?”
So, a good friend, who I will call Bart here to protect the innocent, plus I don’t know his phone # or his address to truly dox him and put his family at risk, mentioned after I just re-posted my Orange Album of Beatles parody tunes from back in 2019 (a pretty damn fine collection I will say) and in mind of all my other parody tunes since then (quite a few) that he couldn’t wait to see what scathing political satire I might have next.
Well, this one surely ISN’T that, doesn’t rate, more just a bit of of a bit really, but this does tread into some hallowed MAGA hymnal territory, could almost be considered MAGA sacrilege, so it has that going for it …
Hi and welcome to the Attic, I'm Frankenberry of said Blog Title and I write of just my everyday here, sometimes funny, sometimes heartfelt, sometimes angry, sometimes funny again because, well, who don't like funny, thoughts on getting older and sometimes stuff that's just kinda shit. I pen and sing the occasional parody tune and other songs, sometimes I even get a little bit poetic or short story-etic or something like that. If you're joining me here I thank you, but just mind your head and feet and keep an eye out for my little Bella and Cricket The Blind as well as the memories of Raspberry (Razzy), Mimi the Quirky, of Blink The Lil' Kit, Grayson the Mighty, Shoes the Big Orange, Shana-Girl, Benny Good Man Benny Brown, Merlin & Bob. Wouldn't want you step on them or anything ... 'cause then I might just have to throw you down the stairs ... damned humans.
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A personal exploration of autism from a brother’s perspective, including family relationships, philosophy, neuroscience, mental health history and ethics
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