All Over the Place: I Just Want to See How the Drunks on Ash Street Are Doing

By Michael H. Brownstein

When my county became a red zone in the wake of the pandemic, I already knew the answer. Of course, this is my personal opinion. I live in the entertainment zone of my town. This means bars and restaurants with bars. It does not mean theater or dance or creativity. It simply means places for people to drink and get drunk. One of the managers of one of the businesses came down with Covid-19. He was driven to the hospital by another employee – neither wore a mask. He stayed home a couple of days and then he began going outside. He even entered the bar where he works. Even now he does not look that healthy.

From “The Scratching Post”:Helplessness

By Ken Marks

[Originally posted on The Scratching Post, January 31, 2016. Republished here by permission of the author.]

Helplessness is the defining condition of all life. It is especially so for human beings. We anticipate aging and death; we understand the concept of fate. Women know what it means to be born into a culture that denigrates their sex. People of color know what it means to live among racists. The poor know that their lives will be a battle with hunger, squalor, and shame. We all can be brought low or perish because of the corrupt games of the powerful or the capriciousness of warmongers. And, of course, disease and natural catastrophes can destroy our innocent lives.

12 Years Ago Tomorrow: Smiling is over-rated in America

By Moristotle

[Originally published on January 30, 2009.]

I told my friend Ken, who took this photograph a couple of days ago and labeled it “Visionary,”¹ that I tended not to feel comfortable with photographs of myself in which I was not smiling. He commented that smiling is much over-rated in America. If you look at photographs from just a few generations ago, you’ll see no one smiling.

BODY COUNT: Killers (a novel): Chapter 26. The End Game

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Next morning, Blake’s whole team – less Shelley, who had gone to Seattle – were gathered in Operations. Each team member had a sheet of paper listing all of the roving security guards who fit Mary’s profile of the Hometown Killer. All of the guards were black males and drove the standard, small pickup truck used in Memphis for roving security checks, with a company logo on the doors, so they would be easy to spot.
    Under each man’s name, Peter had added personal information about him. Mary asked her teammates to independently pick and highlight the names of the men they thought most likely suspects. After 30 minutes, she collected the papers and reviewed the picks. A few minutes later she entered three of the names into her computer and sent them to the big screen.

Highways and Byways: Red Stars

By Maik Strosahl

I have had a few loads going into wind farm territories in Iowa and Kansas over the last couple of weeks. It reminds me of when they were installing turbines north of Elwood, Indiana and my drives north to Marion as they slowly grew out of the ground. Just for the big pieces it took seven trucks to bring them in. It was a cool experience watching them all go up. When they were finally done, I was driving through in the cold darkness of an early winter morning and I thought about what signals aliens might read into the red lights on top of the turbines as they would flicker on and off. Thus, “Red Stars” was born.


New stars burn cold in constellations,
flickering a generated red,
blinking out with the passing of a wing—
perhaps that of an angel or a bird,
or maybe it is just another shiny knife
cutting through space
and the moonless breeze,
again and again,
off then on,
flashing notice to more distant stars
that we are here:
dare not fly too close.

Copyright © 2021 by Maik Strosahl Michael E. Strosahl has focused on poetry for over twenty years, during which time he served a term as President of the Poetry Society of Indiana. He also dabbles in short fiction and may be onto some ideas for a novel. He relocated to Jefferson City, Missouri, in 2018 and currently co-hosts a writers group there. In September 2020, he started the blog “Disturbing the Pond.”

Drinking Kubulis is available in book form at last!

By Moristotle

To paraphrase Bobby Burns, the best laid schemes of writers and editors as well as “o’ Mice an’ Men gang aft agley.” I stated in my September 18 post (“Now available as a whole: Drinking Kubulis at the Dead Cat Café”) that Roger Owens “plans to have it available by the end of the year in paperback and as an e-book, for sale on Amazon.”

From “The Scratching Post”:A day at the DMV

By Ken Marks

[Originally posted on The Scratching Post, January 26, 2019. Republished here by permission of the author.]

In September of 2017, I had a heart and kidney transplant, and a long convalescence began. I thought I might never drive again. I canceled my auto insurance, let my license lapse, and ignored the notice to renew my registration.
    As a year passed, my thinking reversed. Yes, I would become a highway hazard again. I would go through the hassle and expense of renewing everything. And I resolved to succumb to an insidious scheme known as Real ID.

BODY COUNT books now available as a series on Amazon

By Moristotle

As the editor of Ed Rogers’ three BODY COUNT novels, I am pleased to announce that Amazon now accommodates series of books, and Ed has taken advantage of it by creating a series entry on Amazon. The graphic shown here is a composite of the series’ text description and its image.

BODY COUNT: Killers (a novel): Chapter 25. Street Rules

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Peter entered Operations and addressed everyone who was working on the list of possible suspects by occupation: “We can cross mailman off the list. Only driving carriers operate in the target area, but they’re women or white.”
    Taylor said, “I’m not seeing anything with the day-care centers. There are three within our target area but not one of them has a man working there.”
    Bobby said, “There are four school buses that pick up and drop off kids, but two have women drivers and the other two have men over 60, one black and one white.”

All Over the Place: Songs in a Summer’s Window

By Michael H. Brownstein

wind
night falling but not yet
a glitter within trees
leaf lime to emerald to dark green
silence
within wind

Acting Citizen: What about those who know better?

By James Knudsen

While much of the nation was breathing a sigh of relief on January 20, 2021, I was enduring self-inflicted turmoil from the Facebook universe. In fairness, I fired the first shot. Immediately after Joe Biden took the oath of office, I sent a two-word statement via Facebook Messenger. The message was, “It’s OVER.” The recipient was a former classmate who has persisted with his belief in “The Big Lie.” Make no mistake, he’s through the looking glass. Up is down, down is up, Biden lost, Trump won, IN A LANDSLIDE!!!

14 Years Ago Next Week: Monday Musings

I took this photo in the gardens
of the Rodin Museum in Paris
on April 27, 2016

By Moristotle

[Originally published on January 29, 2007, without an image.]

The other day I had occasion to share with someone something that I have thought for many years:

God [if God exists] can communicate with us any damn way God pleases [that is, through the Bible, the Quran..., the angelic kindness of a stranger...]

BODY COUNT: Killers (a novel): Chapter 24. A New Plan

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Mary flew past Taylor and Blake’s doors, threw open the door to Operations, and went through to her office without saying a word to anyone. She closed her door with a bang. Peter heard it slam and went to see what was wrong, passing Bobby sitting at the computer table. Opening her door a few inches, he asked, “Are you all right, Mary?”
    Mary was already intent on starting up her computer. “I’m fine! Close the door. I have work to do. And tell everybody to leave me alone for a while.”

Highways and Byways: Runners with the Devil

By Maik Strosahl

I lived in North Central Indiana for many years, a very flat farming area. On the occasion of the first decent snow there, we wanted to find a sledding hill. The only one around was a small dip on a golf course. The kids seemed to enjoy their time, but I was bit disappointed. I remembered the great hills that surrounded my elementary school in Moline and a real Radio Flyer sled with runners. Those were great sledding days! And where did all those lost mittens go?


The locals here
use two inches as an excuse
to cut through the cemetery,
to ride the ridge,
the one by the creek
on that par three fifth,
dropping twenty feet in a saucer
to the squealing delight
of four-year-olds
who climb back up,
unconcerned with the dangling clip
and a missing mitten
or its remaining widow.

Boldt Words & Images: Calavera Number Six

By Bob Boldt

Artificial skeletons are hardly ever displayed

now in thought or in sight.

Shop windows are voided of all but surgical masks.

Imagine what all the uncut pumpkins

must think of the strange ones this year.

Moses Addresses the Israelites

Trump Style

By Tom Harley

[Originally posted on Sheep and Goats, March 26, 2020. Republished here by permission of the author.]

And the sons of Israel proceeded to come out of the Red Sea. They congregated and Moses addressed them:

Martin Luther King Jr. and Albert Camus

For MLK Jr Day...

By Moristotle

...we could read Bob Boldt’s April 4, 2018 column, “Boldt Words & Images: Martin Luther King Jr. & Me.”

“An ear in a glass of alcohol”

Lessons from an Outlier

By Marshall Carder

[This essay appeared originally on WordPress, posted on March 20, 2016, prior to the election of Donald Trump as President of the United States. Republished here with the permission of the author.]

The rise of Donald Trump as a serious contender for President has elicited an avalanche of criticism aimed at stopping this impending catastrophe in its tracks. Comparing his rapid ascent to that of the most reviled figure in recent history, Hitler, is so common that it may have lost its power to disgust. The tired analogy is generally thrown around mostly as pure hyperbole by both sides of the political spectrum, but in Trump’s case that is chillingly not so. In a few short months he has gone from a laughingstock orange carnival barker to the overwhelming favorite to gain the Republican nomination, and he has done so with a sordid mix of lies, insults and incitement which can only be understood properly if you have lived through this type of thing before. There is a good reason that the experts and pundits failed miserably to notice his sick and widespread appeal. They have not witnessed first-hand what “normal” people will resort to when the rhetoric and circumstances have ignited their inner furies and primal fear. There is almost nothing they won’t do in defense of their “principals” (read Rights).

BODY COUNT: Killers (a novel): Chapter 23. Another Body

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The price of a good time on the lake was a hangover the next day. The ride to work was painful and quiet. Each brother was fighting to keep the coffee down and hoping for the aspirin to kick in.
    By the time they had parked at A.P.S., they were ready for another coffee. On their walk to the entrance, Taylor came up from behind them. “We need to go to Operations, another body was found last night.”
    Blake’s eyes widened. “Does Wayne know?”

All Over the Place: A Gathering of Mirrors

By Michael H. Brownstein

I am past fifty and wondering where I am going with this.

Hanukah has ended, Christmas is past, Kwanza is gathering mass.

A hundred feet from the trail, the horse barn has the smell of horses,

Sweat and sawdust stained and sticky, mold drenched in snow.

Susan’s Stuff: mmmy sharona, blood on their hands

Detail from painting

By Susan C. Price

i include my notes as commentary.

“Never met one I didn’t like”

Excerpt from one of my books

By Tom Harley

In the ministry one evening in upstate New York, I approached a man about to launch his hobbyist drone. I told him I had never seen one up close and he invited me to watch. It took off. He guided it up and over the street, over the rooftop of the neighbor’s house, and I saw in his viewfinder what the drone saw. Yes! There it was! As he suspected, his first mini-drone had come down over the house and was stuck in the gutter.

BODY COUNT: Killers (a novel): Chapter 22. Steak and Beer

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It was a beautiful fall afternoon for going to the lake, the ideal kind of a day to drink, have a barbecue, and catch up on life. It had been a year since the two brothers met face to face and a lot of water had gone under the bridge for both of them. There was very little conversation on their trip to Arkabutla Lake, other than about the weather. There was a lot to talk about, but they both wanted to be relaxed before they opened that box.
    Blake parked in the drive at the front of his trailer, which ran north and south, with the back side facing the water. He always entered the trailer by way of the kitchen. There weren’t even any steps leading to the front door. Getting out of the car, Tony remarked, “I see you never got around to building that house you and Beth talked so much about.”

Sheeple

By Eric Meub

They’re angry Patriots (and heavyset)

Who’ve stormed the Capitol while out to get

Pelosi, Mitch McConnell and the Veep.

They think the rest of us are merely sheep:

We’re blindly grazing with the herd. But then,

The other night, while watching CNN,

I heard the West Virginian say out loud –

But sir, I was just following the crowd.

He never knew it was against the law.

Can anyone but me discern a baa?

Copyright © 2021 by Eric Meub

Highways and Byways: Remembering the Willamette

By Maik Strosahl

I enjoyed Eric Meub’s poem “Willamette Valley” on December 12th, but I kept thinking about the drawing by Susan C. Price. It seemed to capture a sadness, a looking back with longing. This last summer I got sent with a special load out of my normal area and into Oregon. I remember the mountains most – they were different from the ones I had gone through in Colorado and Utah. Beautiful country. In my poem I tried to capture some of what I saw in Susan’s picture, drawing also from the biblical story of the Garden of Eden.


I remember the valley.
I remember the heavens on earth,
land flowing milk and honey,
wine and meads—
blackberries to die for.

Final Embrace

When Death comes,
there is a smile on his lips.
    —Muhammad Iqbal

By Moristotle

Death’s embrace closes,
its kiss brushes my lips.
Strange the comfort it gives,
unexpected during hours of
running free, frolicking.
Not the enemy we supposed,
not the fate we wished to escape
though we always knew we couldn’t.
But the friend we always needed,
if never thought could be.

Copyright © 2021 by Moristotle

Goines On: “A day without wine is like....”

Click image for more vignettes^*

Goines considered himself to be a realist – there is no personal god, life is mostly sad – so he was taken aback by what happened the morning he glanced at an ad in the New York Times online. Was he not a realist after all, but rather an idealist?
    The shirt on the woman in the ad had a stenciled declaration beginning, “A day without wine is like....” And from the next two lines, Goines’ glancing eyes caught only the word “idea.”

BODY COUNT: Killers (a novel): Chapter 21. Agent Roberts

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Wayne Roberts’ history included a lot of undercover work when he was with the MPD, but this was his first time being lead on a case. He was determined that it would be his day in the sun. There weren’t many moments in his life he could point to as proud ones. There were only the day he graduated from the police academy and today – because of the faith Blake Harris had placed in him.

All Over the Place: Consequences

By Michael H. Brownstein

When madness takes root,

When deviant behavior becomes a norm,

When great lies get great support —

Let’s not forget the Hitler big lie,
No one “could have the impudence.
To distort the truth so infamously.”

Poetry & Portraits: Theseus

Drawing by Susan C. Price

Theseus
By Eric Meub

[Originally published on June 14, 2014]

The king gave me protection, and the god
the body of an ad for underwear,
but on the docks of Troezen in a fraud
of both I tempted every sailor there.

78-14 Years Ago Today: “Will you still need me, will you still feed me...?”

By Moristotle

[Originally published on my 64th birthday, January 8, 2007, without an image.]

Reading Obama

The Cairo Speech

By Eric Meub

—Inspired by Barack Obama’s memoir, A Promised Land, pp. 358-59, 365-66

To hear a U.S. president tell hard

But basic truths would catch them all off guard—

To recognize achievements, that’s a start:

Islamic math, its sciences, its art.

Highways and Byways: Live Music at the Bear Trap Beer Tap

By Maik Strosahl

I never was much for the bar scene. I never found the “Cheers” I was looking for. This is my attempt at capturing the atmosphere of all the Dew Drop Inns I have seen in towns across the midwest and central region in a poem about a relationship gone bad. Have a drink and enjoy the live music at the Bear Trap.


Staring into the blur
of ice cubes in scotch
as they twirl,
round and round
by the twist of my wrist,
searching for answers
in the swirl of amber.

Are you happy?

Boldt Word & Images: I Am Transfixed

By Bob Boldt

I Am Transfixed by a Giant Water Lilies Triptych

by Claude Monet 1995 Chicago.

(after James Wright¹ and Rainer Maria Rilke²)

Four feet in front of me looms a waterscape.

Claude Monet painted scenes of empty air

where even a Rouen Cathedral might float

Contest Update: Other possible futures for Donald Trump

More scenarios for writers to explore

By Moristotle

We are grateful to Mr. Joe Hanover for suggesting some alternative futures for Donald Trump. Mr. Hanover believes that Mr. Trump’s future will grow more out of his achievements as President than out of his failures. Among those achievements, Mr. Hanover lists:

All Over the Place: The Incident with Mace

From My Teaching Book

By Michael H. Brownstein

The first thing you notice about mace is how pungent it is. Then you notice the taste. Then eyes begin to burn. This was the order for me. For Stanley, the order came differently. The mace hit him full in the eyes. He bent over and vomited. Then the pain came and he could not see. The third person only felt its anger in his nose, and he sneezed, coughed a bit, drank a few glasses of water and it was gone.

Encounter with a Leaf

By Moristotle

A leaf beckons – alive, florescent,
in a rainbow of colors, a prism of light
refracted, bent, cast across
a stained garage floor. It greets my eye
at just the moment it needs to happen,
the short span of time when the sun’s rays
penetrate the door at an angle to strike
the white reflector on a bicycle’s front wheel.
Oh leaf, oh leaf, oh leaf! Oh life!

Are Children Too Smart for Their Own Good…

Or Just Too Smart for Disney?

By Paul Clark (aka motomynd)

[The first installment of this story, with the subtitle “Or Just Too Smart for Adults?,” appeared on October 30 last year.]

When my son was 2-years, 8-months old, he and I were getting on an elevator in Anaheim when a 40ish woman joined us. She was headed for Disney and was decked out in a bulging yellow and black tightly stretched lycra mouseketeer-like outfit and some sort of bee-like pseudo-princess headband with flashing lights - apparently a Junior Leaguer who had not taken an objective look in a mirror in quite a while. She looked at me, looked at my son, and practically screamed: “Is your grandpa taking you to Disney?!!?”