Summers Last Weekend

Summers last weekend and the night is noisy with the Fairs midway. Geeeee I so love hearing Nickelback blaring blocks away. I pity those living next to the grounds. Windows shut tight, earplugs in trying to lip read the latest TV reality show. Wouldn’t take much thought.

The swoosh of the Octopus ride can be heard faintly along with the kids giggling and screaming. I feel for the animals stabled as I’m sure the racket isn’t something heard every night. Cows must be lulled or the girls just say, “nope this milk store is empty for the next few days til you get me home safe in my bed of straw”.

The Fair brings back fond memories though. As kids we would work every job we could leading up to it. Never mind saving the money for silly things such as pencils and books for school. Nah, Fair weekend was our time to let loose, one more fling before our care free days ended.

Night was the best time to go. We would use one of the less frequented side gates or at least some of us would, ;) While a few would step up and pay admittance keeping the Tickie person busy, others would scramble under and over the chain link fence behind Barn 2. Sometimes the Tickie person knew our folks and would turn the other way whispering “git going”.

Every ride was ridden at least once in a night. The Tilt-A-Whirl, the Octopus, Ferris Wheel. We would stand and watch those young lovers on the Wheel acting all innocent but we knew better. Most were praying it would be stopped just one seat from the top. Hidden in the back from most eyes. Uh Hunh, we were young but not naïve.

Chip wagons, lemonade stands, fudge huts lined the way with their aroma. And those Cotton Candy makers !!! To this day I buy one. Not quite sure what it’s made of but what the hell. Picking pieces and sucking the sugar flavoured with cherry, strawberry. Ya can’t go to a Fair without having Cotton Candy.

O the lights ! Rows and rows of coloured lights lit the way, some blinking to attract us with full pockets like moths to a flame. Ring Toss, Air Rifle, all with your choice of stuffed beasties. Lucky were the ones walking away with the huge teddies, penguins, elephants. We’d giggle poking each other when the young couples walked away. She would be all gushy, hugging the beastie while he strutted along with his arm around her shoulders.

The Fantasy Farm, o yeah now you’re talking, was a must see. Bunnies as big as dogs with ears longer then their legs, roosters with such exotic feathers, wee donkeys protecting their weeer ones from onlookers, chickens, ducks, llamas, the sheep not yet shorn. That would happen next day during the Sheep Shearing Trials. We’d ooo and awww choosing the ones we wanted to have on our fantasy farm.

The Ladies Barns, mmmm. Full to the rafters of quilts recently sewn with care and imagination, baking set out for all to drool over, veggie and flower arrangements, crafts, jams, jellies, photography, even paint by numbers. That always struck me odd asking meself, soooo one gets a prize for painting inside the lines. Hhmmm, what fun is in that. Prize winners set up front with their first, second and third ribbons. Entrants were passionate as a First place prize of $10 hardly buys ingredients for a good Angel Food cake.

I could go on about the days activities such as Cow Chip Tossing, Lawn Mower Racing, Best Calf, but I feel the Fair at night is the only way to enjoy it. And so I am this night, though from a distance and a big smile on me face.

I Fall

I fall...

I fall into bed
grasping sheets and pillows
holding them tight

I fall into light
as the sun rises
shading my face

I fall into life
ever busy not living
pondering its meaning

I fall into night
welcoming the sheltering darkness
safe once more

I fall...

Truth Be Known At Last

Day slowly slips away
as Luna arrives
not yet worn, shining brightly.
Ripples in the Moonlight
reveal their presence
watching, always watching.
I ponder……
If they ever truly sleep
close their eyes and drift off
floating to a far away Pond.
Do they seek planters and pots
up high out of harms way
for their night slumber.
Balls ping against each other
while lotus drifts along
moved silently by those in the dark.
Garden lights flicker
as I watch and wait
pondering their plight.
Creatures in shadow move
slowly with assurance
cross the stones.
Tis feeding time for the
night crawlers, moths, spiders
provide the feast.
Their serenade foretells
moisture is on its way though
perhaps this night they sing for their supper.

Rolling Hello's

Stopped and idling as the 10:13 rolls thru town. These eyes search each rail car for signs. Signs of life, and I was not disappointed. I’ve often pondered who are these people, where are they, do they ever see their creations again? As for why, I already know as there is a creative soul in each and every one of us seeking an audience. An audience of one, ourselves, or an audience of millions, however many……an audience.

To some it is graffiti though I see it as a signature. Similar to carved initials in a tree trunk or a note in a bottle tossed into the sea. An affirmation of our existence. Hello, I am here. I am now. I am alive.

The colours, style and subject intrigue me. There are raw coloured phrases no doubt from the hands of angry youth. Look at me! They shout out. I’m here damnit! The scribbles in black spray paint are younguns with too much time on their hands and the devil whispering in their ears. Ahhhh, me faves appear. Brightly coloured paintings of flowers, mermaids, wrapped in signatures, words flowing, melting into each other. Lastly, words such as RIDLE, TEMPER, and JOSE outlined in a hard script, as if they had to scurry when the night watchman rounded the corner. I wonder would they have filled in the letters given time.

Next time when stopped and idle look closely at the passing rail cars and smile. For there is life and that life says Hello.

It Was A Dark and Stormy Night........

We all know that beginning but did you know there is a site dedicated to Wretched Writers of The World. The results are in for 2008 which I've been anxiously waiting much like a nine year old waits for the Sears Christmas Wish Book to arrive in August so the Dear Santa list can be started knowing she has at least four months to clean up her act. Okies, that was not an entry :) I can write much worser though I prefer to call them ponderings. Anyhoo this is the website http://www.bulwer-lytton.com. I have yet to figer out how to create those neat over thingies where you hold your mousie over highlighted words and the website magically appears so copy and paste will do you for now. Enjoy !!!

A Dusting

I dust off brushes, blowing into the light
Remnants of colours swirl, slowly as a ciggies smoke
Hue lost ago, only fragments remain
Easing their way, languidly
Followed by these eyes

Up, around, drawn in to the warmth
They dance, sparkling, fluttering to and fro
I am entranced with movement
Canvas lies bare, awaiting
Brushes caress

Notes To Self

Do not pot up in pure compost. Thought I was saving fertilizing but d’oh compost is mostly nitrogen. The Lantanas have never been as green.

Never have the last goblet of Merlot on a Sunday eve when Monday is a civic holiday. Quebec is an hours drive.

Do not start painting a room on the leftist wall when one is right handed. Does Tide really wash the paint off ones bum?

Even if the local Doppler shows no rain within a 500 miles radius roll up the car windows. Never mind the neighbours cat likes to curl up inside.

When watching a Pipe band have handy a battery operated fan for failed breeze. Better yet enjoy during a Hurricane 5.0 force wind.

Press the automatic car window button down when you want it to go down. Vicie versie if you want it up. Maybe me rhythm is off.

Recount the cans of Chick Peas in the cupboard before shopping. Hhmmm, do canned goods really last 3 years?

Do not put damp towels in the dryer waiting for a rainless day. That green is not the original colour.

O I'm sure there will be more for if it weren't for stickies I'd be lost :D

5-7-5

darkness of the night
soft white glow beneath the cloak
Moonflower beams light

Ha Ha! I did it ! Follow the 5-7-5 flow of traditional Haiku. I enjoy most styles of poetry but none so much as straight from the heart. Those poems who cause me to seek the dictionary only serve the poets ego. Tis not me style. Shelby is a fave, such a romantic he was. e.e. cummings, well his "i carry your heart with me" is just so perfect.

I find as I ummmm, mature, yes that's the verb, I lean towards Haiku though more in the non-traditional way. Fewer the words used to describe a moment the more heartfelt. Long ago I spent eves sipping tea with a dear ole friend Willa, an artists soul had she. We wrote, or she wrote Haikus and did her best to teach me the rhythm of 5-7-5. Alas, seeking so many words when less would do, didn't make me the best student. Still I shall never forget our time. Slainte Willa !

Tiny words is a wonderful site dedicated to Haikus. Very tiny words with such expression. They capture the moment o so true, as it should be.......