Am I both a boor and bore
to point out where their spelling’s poor?
Is it such a goddam chore
to choose correctly “your” or “you’re?”

Am I both a boor and bore
to point out where their spelling’s poor?
Is it such a goddam chore
to choose correctly “your” or “you’re?”

This is actually a pretty accurate depiction of my writing process.

Peeking Cat Literary announced today that its latest anthology, Peeking Cat 40, is available for purchase over at Lulu.com. A paperback copy costs just $12.35 U.S.D. plus shipping. The publisher says that the book will also be available at Amazon in a couple of weeks.
I just ordered my copy. Peeking Cat has always been one of my favorite indie lit publishers, and this issue includes 109 pages featuring 64 writers from around the world. (Yes, one of those is me — my poem “The Rough, Violet Stone,” which Peeking Cat published in January, is included.)

“America’s Anti-democracy Movement Rallied Yesterday to Adulate Their Desired Dictator”
“No Word Yet on Police Casualties”
(That ought to fix a lot of headlines.)
grasshopper skeletonszzzzzsliding down a willow limb —
a jitterbug pirouette
of vibrant-green-gone-brown
— This micro-poem just buzzed out of my brain during this morning’s coffee. (I’m a weird guy.)

Photo credit: Fairchild, David; Fairchild, Marian Hubbard (Bell), Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
I have a friend who is trying to “make friends with hummingbirds” and I suggested that she hum at them.
There are no drugs involved here. We are speaking literally.
Weird world — Laura Branigan wasn’t the first vocalist to perform her signature song, “Gloria” (1982). It was originally an Italian pop song performed in 1979 by Umberto Tozzi. (That’s the second video below.)
Anyway, for a lot of people in my age bracket, this remains a quintessential 80’s tune. Branigan even performed it in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade the year it was released. I still remember people commenting about how beautiful she looked.
If you’re wondering whatever happened to Branigan, there’s a bit of a sad postscript here — she died in her sleep at a relatively young age, 52, from an undiagnosed brain aneurysm. By that time she’d become a fellow Long Islander; she’d been living in East Quogue.
This is your daily reminder that there is nothing “American” about overturning the results of a democratic election.
Now stop shouting “1776,” you goddam meth-head.
I’m kinda proud of it.

Texas Tavern on Church Avenue in Roanoke, VA. September 2021.
A pal of mine who grew up here advised me to go back and try the chili. I’m glad I did. Sorry for the loud slurp here. It’s a thing with me and good chili.