Trinkets

               It seems like I have been trying to write this piece on what I have been doing making trinkets to put on the refrigerator, or hang about a person’s neck, or catch the eye from the rear-view mirror of a rig for a couple of weeks now.  It cannot be more that fourteen days.

 

               I worked as a laborer all my life. Now that I am a retired laborer, that paycheck is not there every two weeks like it was before, and life is getting more and more expensive even without the added pleasure of getting old and decrepit, so once again I am taking a stab at my merchant side with a product that comes out of my hobby of dysfunctional art, objects removed from their purpose.

Prometheus

An Angel

                Playing with bits and bobs of stones and minerals that I have found along the way will help me relax and network with people as I work on my prose.  I need to develop my prose into a professional interest.  I have been paid for my poetry, so that makes me a professional poet. As I have said before, poets are a dime a dozen.  My job was picking up and disposing of the solid waste that people sluffed off from their attempts at educating and being educated.  They used to pay me to deal with their garbage.  The pension and Social Security are more static in their nature of once a month and there is not much growth, unlike the exciting and growing nature of garbage.

                My van is now street art, or my store front window.  I picked it up at a surplus auction about fifteen years ago.  It has been mobile storage, transport, and my tent when I am out digging garnets.  The sign in the window points to my blog.  If you see something you like and want to talk about buying, leave a comment.  We can talk about it, and you might get to hear a story.  I could use a couple bucks here and a couple bucks there until I can turn prose into a few dollars more.  It seems a little more reputable than a tin cup on a street corner, and I really do not think I fall into the go fund me category just yet.

                For the time being, let’s just say that when you see the sign “Trinkets”, think in the terms of costume jewelry.  I am making little items to fill out a costume, a story you wish to tell, ice breakers for starting a conversation.  The “Etc.” part of the sign is something that I will fill in as I grow up and figure out what I want to be.

I can use feedback, so feel free to just say hello.

Power Mad

Inspiration is everywhere.

Perseverance is a slog.

Death is the finishing line,

theoretically.

Us little people just cannot be trusted.

I find mental people in positions of authority

very disturbing.

It is frightening when they are quoted

in the Media.

That is why us crazy people

installed authority:

perseverance.

Tail Of The Red Fox

Swish, swish!

Gone.

Isolated

Isolated lightning storms,

thunder,

isolated sunset.

Nothing is really isolated.

A Field Of Rapeseed

There is rapeseed, and there is rapeseed and pillaging.

Faking Hope

How do I pretend there is hope when there isn’t any? Sometimes I color. (LOL!)

Work Party

Thinning the trees, with drinks.

Past And Present

Occasionally “The News” tickles memories that have supporting evidence, like when floating restaurants in Hong Kong sink while being moved.

A Law Of Pain

When you drop a heavy object on your foot,

it hurts,

unless you are one of those individuals

who has no feeling.

They can run a razor

from wrist to bicep without

flinching.  Imagine living your whole

life in a lukewarm tub

watching the water turn

slowly red.

Subtitles

“Whoosh, bang, pop, gasp,” film makes interesting

sound effects for a flat tire.

But you do not really hear

it in the real world

until you snag a piece of rebar

with the wall of a rear tire.

Window down, burst

of compressed air with intimate

sound in your head forever.

Slow leaks you just notice

in the morning when the truck

sits a little off keel.