famous for its pewter work
one of thirteen states
I have written three versions of this word because it is very complicated to explain in 17 syllables.
ABRACADABRA – Ab’r achad ab’ra (Aramaic and/or Arabic origin
1.Concerning the bull
it’s the one and only one
a name for the sun
2. Used by magicians
to perform their magic tricks
a magical spell
3. A magical spell
inscribed on an amulet
to cure deadly ills
For those readers with a mind to do so, I hope you ask yourself the question: is there such a thing as magic? Sir James George Frazer in his book the Golden Bough thought so.
He explained that contagious and homeopathic magic (both generally referred to as sympathetic magic) were valid and practiced throughout the world in one form or another. This magic (these magics) basically formed the basis of our religions.
I have always wanted to throw the cat among the pigeons Ah yes! it’s a full moon.
On October 5th of 2018, a friend of 43 years passed away. He died of a heart attack. He was 81 years old and as I like to say, he had a good “at bat”. Harland “Lanny” Ross was in his retirement years an artist. He referred to himself as a swab and glob abstract painter. His work, quite extraordinary.
As a former executive with Norwest Orient Airlines, he travelled millions of miles around the world. However, most of his travel was in Asia and the South Pacific. During the Vietnam War, he managed the military contract flights moving troops in to and out of Ton Sun Hut air force base in Saigon, (now Ho Chi Minh City). At the end of the war he established a tour wholesale company offering tours to Southeast Asia and the South Pacific.
The theme for his abstract art was portraying pictures of Asia on canvas. These images in his mind’s eyes covered the gambit from Fijian beaches, Tahitian moonsets to the Malaysian jungle, Indonesian volcanoes, Rainy days in Tokyo, vineyards in Australia and his passion, China.
Lanny was a talented person. You can see some of his work here at his former website. He billed himself as The Man of Colours http://www.themanofcolours.com
In spite of his talent as an artist he bemoaned his lack of financial success, eking out a living on his somewhat meagre Social Security income and occasional sale of a painting. Which brings me to the real point of this post.
This is my first post in almost a month and a departure from my usual stuff: Haikus, stories in rhyme and Don the Con satire. Lanny was an ardent anti-Trumpian. He realized what a con job Trump had pulled on the American people. He was so anti-Trump that he wrote daily to a large list of email followers with updates on the latest lie, dirty deed, illegal, abuse of power, insult, manifestation of misogynistic narcissistic behavior that Trump had displayed. When all was said and done, I think the stress Lanny endured because of Trump is what led to his heart attack.
I have refrained from writing for a while because I too have been stressed by the disgraceful excuse for a president of the United States that we have.
Yesterday marked the beginning of his end. Madam Speaker of the House of Representatives stood up and showed us and the world how to dispose of a tyrannical toddler prone to temper tantrums in order to get his way.. Thank you Nancy Pelosi.
Stories in Rhyme No. 31 – Wanderlust
I had a nagging urge that told me I must write
And so, sitting at my keyboard I began to type.
At first the words came slowly Then gradually not at all
My mind it would not function, nothing to recall.
A thought then came to me, it was an awful shock
I had been stricken with this thing, they call it writer’s block.
This was not the first time, it had happened oft before
And so, I searched my memory for a quick and simply cure.
I began to think of old times, the days of distant past.
Days upon the high seas spent before the mast.
From Angola round the cape to a place called Zanzibar
With rum culls and Lascars and one, one-legged Tar
But now those days are done, no more do I quest
To view a new horizon from a place they call the nest
A garden plot is my place now, it’s where I ply my sport
Planting seeds I gathered up from many foreign ports
I have not seen every seed, there are many still unknown
But those taken and to my plot consigned were well and truly sown.
Did they grow to manhood or plant maturity?
Not always, but it was a wonder just to see
God’s miracle emerging from the soil
Green shoots searching sunshine, with just a modicum of toil.
Ampalaya, a bitter gourd has a taste to be acquired
A vegetable so good to eat, of which I’ve never tired.
And then Kamote, comes purple and it’s sweet
The original potato another tasty treat
With a glass of wine at hand, it’s good to reminisce
]and write down pleasant memories so the grand kids will not miss
Reading of adventure and so learn firsthand the truth
What grandpa was up to in the days of his youth.
And therein lies the use (perhaps) of stories told in rhyme
Many years from now will they stand the test of time
And become the stuff of legend or forgotten and then lost.
Or worse, consigned to boxes, (as I have done) to be buried in a loft.
What fun it is to find them, to blow off gathered dust
And relive forgotten moments and days of wanderlust.