tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165869492012-01-08T13:03:27.695-06:00Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.comBlogger5261100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-14981545123898412202011-12-24T18:57:00.003-06:002011-12-24T19:02:41.789-06:00

There’ll be no white Christmas for me. Pity, that. Crystalline sprites chose not to cavort amongst the moonbeams. A bit o’ magic’s missing. All is dreary, damp and puddled (much like my mind). Much like most of this past year.This has not been an easy year for me. For some I hold most dear, it was tragic.So it goes. Each life has its seasons and each season is what it is. Some are far harsher

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-33824657227441709032011-11-27T22:53:00.004-06:002011-11-27T23:05:20.785-06:00

He came knocking Friday dusk. My Father. He said he came to say good-bye. It was true that he and my Mother had been packing their belongings all week to be ready for the moving van due Saturday. I had been helping them. I would be helping them tomorrow. So. It wasn’t that my Father was saying good-bye exactly. He came to say something else, something more.We sat in my living room. Dusk gave way

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-64470157361939008252011-11-18T18:38:00.003-06:002011-11-18T18:46:14.775-06:00

Don't care much for the off-key/bent-string interlude...still and despite that...this song and lyrics do something to me.Heavy HoursBy Crooked FingersOutside your windowWaited for youYou didn't comeYou never doIn the city in the winter timeThe snow and the rhymeCover the isolationYesterday, baby, they told you the newsThey meant no harmThey never doYou can take it anyway you wantIt comes and it

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-84417505090195796112011-11-10T21:03:00.003-06:002011-11-10T21:10:48.818-06:00

I find myself saying this a lot, most days:“I dunno”I dunno if there is a God,Or an afterlife.I simply dunno.I dunno if love is everlasting.Thought I knew.But, now, I dunno.I dunno...If the early bird catches the wormIf a stitch in time saves nineOr whether an apple a day keeps the doctor away.I simply dunno.What I DO know,Is the truth of this:At A WindowGive me hunger,O you gods that sit and

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-10153904360006674722011-10-31T11:34:00.005-05:002011-10-31T11:47:47.116-05:00

This offering from singer/songwriter Tyrone Wells moves me.His entire repertoire is worth a listen.* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-15485761955140251022011-10-26T22:44:00.006-05:002011-10-26T22:55:40.591-05:00

I read an obituary not long ago. The facts were presented in formal, austere fashion: full name; names of parents, brothers and sisters, spouse(s), children and grandchildren. A complex web. Then there were the academic and career achievements: degrees attained and subsequent employers. Honors and achievements duly noted. Then come references to church affiliations along with community ties,

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-64948112427433476432011-10-12T03:35:00.003-05:002011-10-12T03:39:32.483-05:00

Gently kissed your fingertipsWould you kiss mine?I ask becauseI’ve grown oldAnd kissesHave proved important.* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-33306442154360922712011-10-12T02:33:00.003-05:002011-10-12T02:37:55.542-05:00

Worn notched oakCradles throatPerfectlyWrists bound tightBlindfoldedAcquiescenceBlade to spineBlood to groundSurrender* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-49953756353470720972011-10-11T21:00:00.013-05:002011-10-11T21:17:53.968-05:00

If I were challenged to identify a symbol for a human life,It would be this:A tearThere’s no way around itSimply no escapin’If you’re gonna live, you’re gonna cryGonna cry when parents struggleGonna cry when you discover Life ain’t fairGonna cry when first rejected. Then again.And again.Gonna cry when friendsAnd loversDrift awayDisappearGonna cry when you lose your faith, hopes, dreams, looks,

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-71528120686268618702011-10-09T23:50:00.004-05:002011-10-11T19:28:13.215-05:00

Time and distance are typical measures for most endurance endeavors. Time and distance. There’s a whole lot packed in those two words.Yeah. I’m about to go all metaphorical on ya.What I loved most about long distance running, what I love most about cycling today, is the time allowed to think and feel. Time to simply think and feel.I should explain from the outset that I’m an emotional, not an

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-27613765222054808592011-09-26T00:58:00.006-05:002011-09-26T01:20:13.943-05:00

They’ve been breaking all week long. To understand what I mean by that, one must understand the meaning of this: "For should your hands drop white and emptyAll the toys of the world would break."These are the last lines of a poem by John Frederick Nims. It happens to be a poem I first encountered in a college poetry class some forty years ago. I was charmed from the gitgo. Enchanted by the wit

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-13401078058545860282011-09-22T20:50:00.003-05:002011-09-22T20:58:51.464-05:00

Tried to keep it togetherSmiled forced smilesWaved to my neighborsCooked tasteless dinnerWent through the motionsDrank me some wineAmazing Woman lies dyingHourglass emptyI lost itLost everythingWent through the motionsAshes and dust* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-37004238271513476322011-09-04T21:16:00.003-05:002011-09-04T21:27:03.412-05:00

The hourglass has been put to good metaphorical use for centuries. Why not? It works. If we consider each grain of sand a minute, hour, day, month or year, we can visualize the passage of time. We understand the general notion deep within our cerebella. I visualize the hourglass differently today. I see heartbeats falling to silence. Amazing Woman is dying. And this process of dying, in her

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-45964577773450604352011-08-31T20:34:00.002-05:002011-08-31T20:40:53.350-05:00

...have seen the glory of a great many things. They surely have. Not with great acuity, mind you. Being astigmatic, my perspective was always a bit skewed. I view that as a positive. The list of glories witnessed could extend for line upon line, page upon page, volume after volume with no end in sight. These grey-green, yellow-flecked orbs of mine have served me well. But we’ve reached the end

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-60848248384576421622011-08-24T22:13:00.005-05:002011-08-24T22:56:21.408-05:00

Dear friend, Fiona, nudged my heart towards this song in her comment to my previous post (even provided the lyrics, she did). As luck would have it, here's a live recording of Beth Nielsen Chapman performing this song...a song she wrote after her husband passed away. As "luck" would have it, it struck a nerve for reasons I shelter from view. Sorrow, at times, is best felt...unexpressed. * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-88437269264102921002011-08-22T22:05:00.003-05:002011-08-22T22:11:16.596-05:00

Dust I shall become. The days grow shorter. Here, on the prairie, one can see and feel the change. The corn that stood sky high a week ago is making acquaintance with the reaper. In the coming weeks, all the fields will morph to stubble. Redwing blackbirds that, eye blinks ago, voiced their opprobrium at my presence, the very same birds that dive-bombed me hurling insults, no longer care as I

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-63306716514993842292011-08-10T03:14:00.003-05:002011-08-10T03:40:21.915-05:00

I spent a morning with my (ex) Mother-In-Law last week. It was, as always, an emotional experience. Her stroke has robbed her of voice and mobility. My divorce from her daughter envelops us in a dark cloud. The hearts at the heart of things struggle for expression. I sat with her and talked. It wasn’t (couldn’t be) a conversation. It was a soliloquy on my part, met with smiles and nods and

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-74289200404458728892011-07-30T10:48:00.004-05:002011-07-30T11:00:17.423-05:00

I’ve been cycling quite a bit this month. I try diligently to ride five days per week (weather being the wild card) over miles and miles of somewhat neglected asphalt. One can’t ignore the road kill.Out here in corn country, there’s quite a bit of carnage along our back roads. Each corpse leaves an impression as I coast by. Some sights are sad, indeed, like the two young raccoons expired

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-62746651998824014392011-07-30T10:32:00.003-05:002011-07-30T10:42:17.965-05:00

I picked up my new bike a coupla days ago. Still kinda shaking my head in awe of the technology. This bike has a carbon-fiber frame and fork. Carbon-fiber crankset and pedals. Fancy-schmantsy integrated gear shifters/brakes. Aerodynamic spokes and a saddle that's a byproduct of the Spanish Inquisition. Oh, and the tires? They’re racing slicks about the width of my little finger. This creature is

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-58772150016420624292011-07-15T07:50:00.002-05:002011-07-15T20:14:22.342-05:00

Plains Milky Way from Randy Halverson on Vimeo.This video transports me to a good place. I hope it carries you there, too.I've been thinking about "day-blind" stars lately. It comforts me, somehow, to know they are ever present, even when the day's glare overwhelms. Come the night, come peace...beauty becomes manifest.* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-20576322501795354942011-07-14T20:42:00.002-05:002011-07-14T20:51:30.640-05:00

Seventh Decade Musings (Part Deux)...I’ve been rather pensive the last few days. I’ve taken to cycling almost daily. Riding along open country roads a few hours at a time tends to send a loosely tethered mind such as mine adrift...and I was already in a “musing” kinda mood.I believe I’ve mentioned, a time or two, that I participate in a few different Internet forums. There’s my beloved

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-31548023060397107302011-07-08T20:28:00.003-05:002011-07-08T20:33:34.892-05:00

I’m at peace when I cycle along country roads. Not always, mind you. I don’t fare well in traffic. I’ve come to understand that my cousin’s fatality and my own near-fatal motorcycle crash left indelible prints. Luckily, I live in a sparsely populated area with miles upon miles of open country roads. I can often pedal a mile or two in solitude. I am happiest then.I’m not oblivious when at peace.

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-46535098320723198982011-06-30T00:19:00.003-05:002011-06-30T00:25:23.780-05:00

I sitClavicle square to open windowCool breeze fondles shouldersHair tickles napeEyelids fall shyCool breeze seducesSigh* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-91319319523262072732011-06-29T19:07:00.003-05:002011-06-29T19:14:30.395-05:00

No pair of testes or ovaries has yet to be created that does not "tingle" to the gurgle, pop, hiccup, menace, improbability, muscle and sheer madness of a V-Twin motocrcycle engine.Just sayin'* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-76737815907695333452011-06-18T21:36:00.003-05:002011-06-18T21:57:41.331-05:00

I slipped and slid into my seventh decade today. Kinda has me rubbing me eyes in somewhat of a stupor. Me, Sixty!?! How can that be? I once thought youth was mine forever. Turns out I (along with all who have come before and felt the same) was wrong.I’ve never been one to celebrate my birthday. Well, OK, birthdays were a big deal for the first decade or so. Kinda came to be old hat after a while.

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-39470341613261005402011-06-17T20:14:00.002-05:002011-06-17T20:23:44.457-05:00

It's hot and humidOr, "close" as some would say* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-34864564871005357032011-06-15T01:19:00.003-05:002011-06-15T01:25:18.131-05:00

I walked the length of Laisves Aleja a few too many times to count. It’s a broad boulevard that traverses the length of Kaunas from the Nemunas River to the ancient heart of the medieval city. I grew quite fond of that street, despite the howls of protest from aching knees. I walked its length in sunshine and rain. Walked for hours to meet a friend, see the sights, digest a dinner, metabolize

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-78026441651809931782011-06-13T00:54:00.003-05:002011-06-13T02:16:04.542-05:00

Restless midnight. I wander from room to room disjointed and distraught. About two hours ago I learned Clarence Clemons suffered a massive stroke. The news set my mind spinning, sent me cascading through time and space. I wasn't prepared to learn "The Big Man" had fallen.How can that be?I've listened to a great deal of music over the course of a lifetime. Watched countless musicians in concert.

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-49369378378438028662011-06-10T23:11:00.005-05:002011-06-10T23:23:51.082-05:00

GiraAh, yes, Gira.They say it’s a sort of beer made from bread. I dunno. I was usually too drunk on the stuff to comprehend the alchemy. I drank me lotsa Gira in Lithuania. Felt obliged.Some refer to it as Kvass. Well, let them have their say. Me? I call it Gira.I’ve tasted Gira almost all my life (not as an infant...but as a YOOT). I gotta say, I never did like the taste, the taste of what I had

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-60587126928610932862011-06-09T22:09:00.003-05:002011-06-09T22:16:28.624-05:00

I can’t put words to the feeling.All I know is that stepping across the threshold to the former KGB headquarters in Vilnius hurts the soul.Today, it’s known as the Museum of Genocide Victims.My grandfather was imprisoned there.Interrogated there.Tortured there.* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-7069195552540645252011-06-07T21:03:00.005-05:002011-06-07T21:14:09.764-05:00

Hang on to your radicles, peoples. I'm about to go all botanist on you and beat a metaphor to death.Our plant cousins exhibit two fundamentally distinct root systems. There are the stalwart members of the taproot clan, trees that drill a single root deep into the earth, a root sometimes longer than the tree itself is tall. A taproot so earnest it can cleave stone in search of succor. One cannot

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-47112138856743960492011-06-03T20:11:00.005-05:002011-06-03T22:24:59.199-05:00

(Discourse entirely in Lithuanian...translation provided for Dear Reader’s convenience)We were sitting street side at the inaptly named “California Tapas Bar.” Beer and wine flowed freely, punctuated by plates of cheeses, sausages and sundry morsels (some quite tasty but all decidedly NOT Spanish in either heritage or spirit).To my right sat three comely women who had been drinking Chardonnay

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-69246401605740864272011-06-01T21:57:00.003-05:002011-06-02T19:21:14.410-05:00

This fire grows highThis fire grows higherThis fire grows highThis fire grows higherWhen there's a burning in your heartAn endless yearning in your heartBuild it bigger than the sunLet it grow, let it growWhen there's a burning in your heartDon't be alarmedThis fire grows higherWhen there's a doubt in your mindBecause you're thinking all the timeFraming rights into wrongsMove along, move

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-61546624836652019872011-05-12T02:32:00.000-05:002011-05-13T15:45:01.657-05:00

I spent the day paying bills in advance and doing laundry. ‘Cuz, you see, I’m leaving on a jet plane bound for a different continent (moving back and forth in time to boot). And this whole process got me to thinking ‘bout the difference between luggage and baggage.I’m gonna lug about a bit o’ luggage. Just one piece o’ luggage, though...just capacious enough to contain two weeks’ worth of

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-60404626636140113082011-05-08T01:55:00.005-05:002011-05-08T02:29:30.660-05:00

"Up To The Mountain (MLK Song)"I went up to the mountainBecause you asked me toUp over the cloudsTo where the sky was blueI could see all around meEverywhereI could see all around meEverywhereSometimes I feel likeI've never been nothin’ but tiredAnd I'll be workin'Till the day I expireSometimes I lay downNo more can I doBut then I go on againBecause you asked me toSome days I look downAfraid I

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-61813911203176642312011-05-03T02:34:00.006-05:002011-06-01T22:12:53.913-05:00

Saw herIn a thumbnail picTook a whileTo catch my breathHair cropped shortSilvered nowNot like I rememberStill beautifulShe cleavesTo flesh and bloodNot mine, not meSomeone more preciousSaw herIn a thumbnail picAnd smiledAs I died inside* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-21995172965986785672011-04-29T23:58:00.003-05:002011-04-30T00:04:54.743-05:00

Mocked and ridiculed(deservedly sometimes)Rejected and abandoned(reasons varied)Scorned and praised(not always rightfully)Honored and despised(ditto)Spit on(twice)Pissed and shit on(mostly figuratively)Kicked, punched and bit(no reason for that)Struck by cars(got scars)Tested(passed usually)Assessed(results pending)Judged(found wanting)Penalized(fairly?)And if thatWere all there wasTo lifeWell,

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-64569445633717239412011-04-21T03:24:00.005-05:002011-04-21T04:28:43.445-05:00

I stood over the pheasant lying prostrate, bewildered, in the corn stubble.No living thing can predict the moment of its demise.Just minutes before, this beautiful bird had sprinted skywards to escape the jowls of a predator hound...a “gun” dog...trained to find and flush feathered prey. That handsome, tireless, canid was dedicated to purpose. Amazing in instinct and insight.The pheasant fled

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-28790004417371879182011-04-18T21:21:00.004-05:002011-04-18T21:30:23.787-05:00

A different place Different situation Different yin Different yang I might have Laughed Not now Nor ever again Not this lifetime * * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-2400387023508470922011-04-16T00:52:00.003-05:002011-04-16T01:15:33.850-05:00

That’s kinda how things happen in my brain. Gimme midnight. Gimme a song. And...if the song is right...I’ll listen to it again and again and again. Through all the dark hours leading to the dawn. Call Me Wrap me in a bolt of lightningSend me on my way still smilingMaybe that's the way I should goStraight into the mouth of the unknownLeft the spare key on the tableNever really thought I'd be able

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-56448669307372379632011-04-13T01:10:00.003-05:002011-04-13T01:18:21.720-05:00

The silence is disconcerting.It is eerily quiet tonight. True, the windows are set hard to jamb. After all, we are to freeze before dawn. Even so, there are no muffled exhaust rumbles, distant train whistles, no faint echoes of a world beyond streaked glass. It is eerily quiet.There’s no music tonight. No footsteps in hallways, no gentle snores from an adjacent room. There's nothing more than the

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-31005089815790587042011-04-10T02:35:00.007-05:002011-04-10T03:06:08.175-05:00

Ah, what a day!The months/weeks/days were so dreary and bleakThen came warmth from God knows whereClouds parted and sun blushed radiantTemperature climbed extraordinarily...veritably soaredSuch that windows begged to be flung openAnd they wereChildren shrieked catapulting ‘cross emerald grassNeighbors called my name...Smiled and wavedSweat soaked dirty shirt as I walkedWell, limpedLimped ‘til I

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-75826926501848199992011-04-04T01:42:00.004-05:002011-04-04T02:04:40.103-05:00

Is to hear a Hammond B3 trembling, then wailing, through Leslies. A drop-eyed lead guitarist, half-pint tucked in ass pocket, bending the strings on a well-worn Telecaster, triplets beat with tired resignation and a voice, reminiscent of Janis, crying truths ‘bout love. Yeah. That’s what I wanna hear tonight.* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-74575883397513542722011-04-04T00:57:00.003-05:002011-04-04T01:04:48.250-05:00

The winds howled. Windows rattled and shingles shivered. Warm front generals decided to stage a frontal assault against the forces of the dreary, weary cold. The assault raged all day. Came the night and heavy artillery was deployed. Skies burn phosphorescent. Thunder explodes. Homes tremble before the fury. Me likes. Me prays to be electrified, thunderstruck, blown to smithereens...transported.*

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-72889684415343840012011-04-02T03:46:00.004-05:002011-04-02T04:21:28.153-05:00

These hands onceHeld waterFingers gave pleasureCalluses wereProof of good workThese hands onceCupped soft breastsAnd fragile birdsThe scarsWhisper storiesBest forgottenThese handsConveyed loveOnceEmpty nowHelpless* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-10446469485559027452011-04-02T02:13:00.003-05:002011-04-02T02:24:23.156-05:00

Draw that knifeAcross this throatI’ll make it easier for youI’ll throw my head backHere’s my jugularIt is, after all,Just a veinNothing moreCall it DestinyTo be the scapegoatThe sacrificial lambI close my eyesI throw my head backDo your worstDo your bestHere’s my throat* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-65181606221289733032011-04-02T00:02:00.003-05:002011-04-02T00:07:38.597-05:00

If all it took were a tear or two(no matter how bloody)I’d be redeemedIf all it took were a razor across a wristI’d find peace at lastBut it takes moreLots more Than tears, razors, glass shardsor eviscerationTo redeem a soul * * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-10513906504794028332011-04-01T22:00:00.001-05:002011-04-01T22:05:16.466-05:00

Yeah. It's that kinda night.* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-11534475458768455992011-04-01T21:08:00.001-05:002011-04-01T21:12:38.247-05:00

Because this dark night...these shivering, rain-soaked, tear-stained hours that straddle the infinite between winter and spring...demands to be heard. * * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-16828439018190470452011-03-28T16:30:00.003-05:002011-03-28T16:41:39.468-05:00

It began innocently enough. An exchange of opinions regarding spiritual beliefs. And in the course of that discourse, I dug up the link to this particular video of “Lightning Crashes.” And so it began. I’ve been listening to the song (watching the video, occasionally) all day long. Over and over and over and over again. Floodgates open. Torrents of tears. The lyrics are sufficiently ambiguous

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-88088428735097570822011-03-23T23:24:00.002-05:002011-03-23T23:26:42.064-05:00

Isn’t it true, for most, that what pleases most is when another truly desires to know?To know what intrigues, scares, humors, hurts, enchants, disgusts, inspires, disappoints, excites and defines the heart and soul?Do we not all thirst for intimacy?* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-73115542303862341182011-03-23T21:49:00.002-05:002011-03-23T21:55:08.802-05:00

Although I understand this song was recorded a few years ago, I just discovered it the other day:I like the sensibility, the optimism, the Truth of it.* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-65999776692305742892011-03-19T20:04:00.005-05:002011-03-19T20:42:58.199-05:00

Believe me when I say I’m confused. There was nothing furthest from my mind. Believe me when I say that my intentions were good. Believe me when I say I believe that love conquers all...even if it doesn’t (always/ever) seem that way.Believe me, too, when I say that if I HAD intended to wound, there would be no mistaking. No, there’d be no mistaking that. I’m no angel. I know how to go for the

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-13144007998163586212011-03-17T00:39:00.002-05:002011-03-17T00:45:47.432-05:00

I didSacrificed all for herI didLoved herTruly didBut...Love may not please anotherSacrifice means little“Love” is onlyWhat the “Loved One” wantsGave my allGave my lifeDrove myselfTo near deathBut,Sacrifice means little“Love” is onlyWhat the “Loved One” wants* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-73505281173207858752011-03-13T21:45:00.003-05:002011-03-13T21:49:09.560-05:00

Voices fascinate.Heck, even the word “voice” is a bit of a curiosity, if you think about it long enough whilst in an altered mental state.Voices fascinate and that fascination is reflected in my musical preferences. There are the crystalline, the husky, the gravelly, whiskey-soaked, plaintive, tender, seductive, soothing and mesmerizing.Screeching, shrill, bland or hurried voices tend to drive me

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-7572375434471833452011-03-12T02:43:00.003-06:002011-03-12T03:05:43.861-06:00

It wasn’t loveThat poisoned me soNoThat wasn’t loveThe venom thatInfused the veinsAnd killed the spiritEmanated from:AbandonmentResentmentIndifferenceBetrayalFalse promisesBad faithAnd liesIt wasn’t loveThat did such damageNoLoveCould have beenWould have beenShould have beenThe antidote* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-55122316481871736952011-03-10T00:32:00.005-06:002011-03-10T01:01:58.319-06:00

Shall I pour you a cup of water, dear friend?Wish I could.What I’ve got came from a stream poisoned decades ago by the acids released from a gold mine. Can’t say as I know if it’s toxic or not, but all the trout died.Wait. I kinda get mixed up. It may have come from that river poisoned by the strip mine upstream. The carp died.Forgive me. I sometimes get my poisons confused.I’d offer you sweet

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-2020621570760170982011-03-09T23:14:00.002-06:002011-03-09T23:21:45.467-06:00

Carrie Fisher:"Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die."(Yeah, this is a "stream of consciousness" blog...Confusing, I know).* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-21380539883414422152011-03-09T22:13:00.003-06:002011-03-09T22:24:27.875-06:00

If I recall correctly, the first time the lighting struck was when my Dad and I were driving to Wisconsin and I studied intently his right hand on the steering wheel. I was young, became dumbstruck, actually marveled, that our thumbs were nearly identical. Well, not exactly IDENTICAL...not then...no. Not quite then. Back then, decades ago before he died, my Father’s thumbnails were far more

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-15359200561866454372011-03-08T01:46:00.004-06:002011-03-08T02:01:11.223-06:00

Felix n' me go back a long, long way. Back to 1970 if memory serves.He kinda clambered off the parallel bars (gymnast that he was) to shake my hand. He kinda wandered over to my room to bare his soul at odd hours. Kinda revealed a bit.Kinda not.Kinda became a friend through sheer persistence.But friend, indeed, he did become. He was the one who wrapped a blanket around my head and shoulders when

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-73481373506444376762011-03-06T23:43:00.005-06:002011-03-07T20:49:09.718-06:00

Your heart's on the looseYou rolled them seven's with nothing to loseThis ain't no place for the weary kindYou called all your shotsShooting 8 ball at the corner truck stopSomehow this don't feel like home anymoreAnd this ain't no place for the weary kindThis ain't no place to lose your mindThis ain't no place to fall behindPick up your crazy heart and give it one more tryYour body achesPlaying

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-32671403573516362322011-03-05T02:15:00.002-06:002011-03-05T02:22:41.516-06:00

Thugs ‘n muggers broke a fewSteel-toed boots handy adjuncts to the enterprise.Cracked me a few careening into an immovable object (at 40 mph)Gotta say, it hurt to breatheLaughter cost plentyGod bless compression tape.Even so...Nothing hurt quite so badAs the damage inflictedWithout a flick of a fingerOr the momentum of a toe.* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-64004967548347305382011-03-04T23:40:00.002-06:002011-03-05T00:05:01.272-06:00

Lightning flashed and thunder crashed. Windows quaked in fear.Histrionics surrendered to steady rain, tears and memories...Eric’s SongStrange how you know inside meI measure the time and I stand amazedStrange how I know inside youMy hand is outstretched toward the damp of the hazeAnd of course I forgiveI've seen how you liveLike a phoenix you rise from the ashesYou pick up the piecesAnd the

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-33430826375513453342011-02-26T22:26:00.003-06:002011-02-26T22:34:57.152-06:00

(from a man’s perspective)Spring’s your crazy girlfriendTells you she’ll arrive at nineDoesn’t show‘Til three weeks laterNo point in poutingYou know the way she isDazzling, wild and uninhibitedAllergic to calendars and clocksAnd when she comes?She’ll wear a low-cut dressFlash a bit o’ thigh, andMake you swoon from her perfumeThen disappear againKeep you lusting, pantingAching to embrace her,

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-71994448205030305242011-02-23T20:14:00.004-06:002011-02-23T20:31:08.738-06:00

Yo, Brother C!Many, MANY thanks for the music suggestions. Seriously.That's one of the things I miss dearly, that circle of friends who offer up thoughts, suggestions, quips, critiques and provocations that meant (and mean) so much. My world has grown quiet. P, on occasion, will direct my attention to a "shredder" of considerable skill. I bless him for that, but one can't live on power chords/

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-22183120923074557422011-02-19T00:45:00.003-06:002011-02-19T00:57:12.537-06:00

I killed Bubba. I surely did. On winter nights like this, when all is dark and hushed (‘cept for train whistles in the distance), I’m haunted by the memory.I had built a bin for compost. Felt it was my duty to return carbon life-forms to the earth from which they sprang. Besides, I’ll admit I rather like working with biota and loam. Kinda like having dirt on my face and forearms.And I had me a

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-73491477293784548382011-02-13T20:43:00.010-06:002011-02-13T21:23:57.468-06:00

As St. Valentine’s Day draws nigh, I reflexively reach for Ted Kooser’s collection of poems aptly titled: Valentines. Ted Kooser is an American Poet Laureate and Pulitzer Prize winner. He is a prairie son and, most endearingly, a hopeless romantic.He began sending valentines to his female friends more than twenty years ago. At first there were fifty lucky recipients. As word spread of Kooser’s

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-88693069265756335832011-02-11T23:31:00.001-06:002011-02-11T23:32:19.589-06:00

...and still counting. Gawd, I do so love this song! Lots.* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-57010388464705455742011-02-08T00:39:00.002-06:002011-02-08T00:42:51.713-06:00

Methinks she’s afraidThat’s why she’s quickTo find flaws in others.Bet she’s been kicked around a good bitSo much so, in fact,She’d rather throw the first punch.Bet she loved too hardAnd lost too much.YeahMethinks I get it.Been that way myself.* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-2610080484161354842011-02-02T21:22:00.001-06:002011-02-02T21:24:52.902-06:00

* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-56912038117966958322011-01-29T00:50:00.003-06:002011-01-29T00:59:40.476-06:00

With the curve of her hip.Slashed my wrists in despairOver sweet lips.Smoldering eyesSet me afire...Reduced me to ash.I gave my allFor a snaggle-toothed smile(that, literally, drove me insane).I kissed lips rawBoiled my own blood dryFor Love* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-33462301684328276902011-01-28T22:37:00.009-06:002011-01-29T01:17:19.112-06:00

Looks gruesome, actuallyBlood-red rivulets dripping down white painted wallsNot as bad, I suppose, as holes punched in drywall by bloody fists...or skullsIt’s all relativeWhat’d been bottled up inside came uncorkedMayhem ensuedWhite walls bledSheltering confines collapsed indentedWalls brought to ruin by ruined soulsSpilled wine cascadedBlood flowed* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-64842726576142948512011-01-28T18:57:00.006-06:002011-01-28T19:43:54.521-06:00

It appears it’s finally gonna happen...I’m planning to fly to Lithuania this May with my cousin and my uncle. Three Dikinis men traipsing about in a foreign motherland. Alone/together. Kinda blows my mind.This trip will be quite the adventure. My cousin, D, and I are easily mistaken for brothers. Here’s proof (from decades ago...I’m the dude on the right):So, yeah, D’s one year younger but the

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-1004393687738264282011-01-24T23:46:00.004-06:002011-01-25T00:06:49.997-06:00

For whatever reason, I’ve been experiencing incredibly vivid dreams lately. Trust me, this is quite a departure from the norm. A great many years have come and gone with nary a dark night dream noted.Nothing worth remembering.Something’s changed. Or maybe not.Maybe, just maybe, I’ve grown aware.Be whatever as it may, I’ve experienced a great many incredibly complex dreams lately.Most revolve

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-73747145707532086202011-01-20T21:56:00.003-06:002011-01-20T22:10:10.046-06:00

I’m a work in progress, as we all tend to be. I was bit further along a few years ago but sometimes, sadly, erasures happen. One stroke forward, two strokes back. Even so, and so be it, the work never stops. Best to wear a hard hat. * * *Thank you Gabi for the inspiration. Always when judgingWho people are,Remember to footnoteThe words "So far."~Robert Brault* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-9317506862890048482011-01-16T10:46:00.002-06:002011-01-16T10:50:58.435-06:00

I woke startled. Confused. Someone was knocking on my front door. The bedside clock indicated it was the darkest hour before the dawn. I fumbled about trying hurriedly to slip on jeans and a tee-shirt.Three more knocks.They didn’t sound desperate, a rushed banging. Just three sharp, insistent raps.Somewhat dazed, I rushed to the entry and opened the door. Nothing.The thin veneer of fresh snow on

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-12012201755124598902011-01-14T00:47:00.008-06:002011-01-14T01:31:18.778-06:00

Parts of me really, REALLY liked her. She was smart. She was funny. Wicked funny. She spoke in a husky voice guaranteed to set pants on fire. She was generous. And when she moved? Well, believe you me, she could put most pole dancers to shame.There’s more: She loved to cook. She possessed an aesthetic sense that left me breathless (we loved the same poems). AND, she had crazy hair, was freckled

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-65096090296071775222011-01-13T20:29:00.003-06:002011-01-13T20:38:55.071-06:00

I believe most souls experience moments of tendernessMoments to live for. Moments we remember...Rare moments when Ego genuflects humbly before HeartWe can’t plan on any of thisTenderness simply happensAnd when it does....we experience Heaven* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-85322264408576686732011-01-11T01:55:00.004-06:002011-01-11T02:41:19.118-06:00

Long past midnightA peek outside to revel in soft whiteSnowflakes drift and tumbleSquirrels dream deliciouslySafely high on mastHearts blessed* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-1694622866345407172011-01-10T22:17:00.005-06:002011-01-11T02:59:44.822-06:00

No, this is not about the Zodiac.It’s about the basal cell carcinoma that made a home for itself inside my temple.As cancers go, this isn’t fearsome like most.It doesn’t kill.It scars.Scars I can handle. I gots me quite a few.Mostly on the inside.Never had me a pretty face anyways.Ain’t getting any prettier.* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-75062754944587504252011-01-04T20:33:00.004-06:002011-01-04T20:47:36.514-06:00

The doctor is duty bound to proffer options. Hippocratic Oath and all that:I swear to fulfill, to the best of my ability and judgment, this covenant:I will respect the hard-won scientific gains of those physicians in whose steps I walk, and gladly share such knowledge as is mine with those who are to follow.I will apply, for the benefit of the sick, all measures [that] are required, avoiding

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-8549920343165253742010-12-31T22:00:00.004-06:002010-12-31T22:19:12.169-06:00

I’ve touched on this subject before. You can read about a particular knee-jerk reaction of mine here.Well, now I’m acutely aware of yet another: my reaction to a perceived lack of appreciation. It’s a topic I’ve touched on before (you can read about my toilet paper conundrums here), but recently I experienced it at a whole ‘nother level.I won’t go into the details, ‘cuz they’re really not all

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-4556192191198168312010-12-24T19:00:00.003-06:002010-12-24T19:15:57.458-06:00

I’ll be spending Christmas alone, a not atypical circumstance for me in recent years.I mourn the loss of family. I miss seeing Christmas through an innocent child’s eyes. I ache for the scents, sounds and tastes, the blessings and the hugs. I cling to my reveries, clutching them reverentially to heart. They grow ever more magical and precious with each passing year.Time and loss change the

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-16312084967022990772010-12-12T11:29:00.003-06:002010-12-12T11:37:13.875-06:00

Because this day begs to be expressed as music...and this is the song.* * *They graciously invited me to join them to view the Winter Lights at Seneca Creek State Park. It’s a holiday tradition in Gaithersburg. The park is festooned with lights beyond count. As night embraces the forest, cars enter the park and slowly wend their way through a glowing wonderland.I was sprawled across the back seat

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-43697040050529317822010-12-11T16:03:00.005-06:002010-12-11T16:23:26.924-06:00

It’s an awareness that grows within me. This notion of “Ars Longa Vita Brevis”.I find myself astounded by the brevity of life. There were days, in early youth, that seemed almost infinite. There were seasons, years, that felt akin to lifetimes. No more. No longer.I peer forwards and glimpse the truth of mortality. It’s just around the corner.I felt immortal once. So mindless was I that I did my

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-45959007510864430892010-12-05T03:54:00.002-06:002010-12-05T04:01:13.154-06:00

The trip odometer registered 2,170.9 miles when I parked my car in the driveway Friday night. That’s a fair distance...almost enough to require an oil change. More to the point, more than a few shabby, desperate years had come and gone since I had ventured alone that far afield. 2,170.9 is a number with a bit of heft, and my car’s odometer counted each mile with a pure digital dedication to

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-21028604434020248432010-11-17T02:26:00.005-06:002010-11-17T02:58:07.511-06:00

Granted, I don't look all that happy. I rarely do. Hell, that's just me. The past decade has taken its toll. Be that as it may, I feel a bit o' glee all the same. This evening, my hair "stylist" informed me I still have enough follicles that no bald spot is visible.That may not mean that much to many/most.It certainly means little-to-nothing to the vibrant young.OK.Vanity reigns in the province

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-25371479902164162442010-11-16T23:12:00.006-06:002010-11-16T23:39:06.128-06:00

I had grown complacent. There had been a time (decades ago) when a certain farm dawg would give earnest chase as I cycled by. I knew the specific farm well and would begin accelerating a coupla hundred yards before I reached the (ever) open gate. I’d get me up a good head o’ steam and pedal past the hound on the fly. That was then. The dog was old and I was (relatively) young.But I’d grown

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-38608584683648416762010-11-14T01:42:00.004-06:002010-11-14T02:19:21.173-06:00

Skull full o’ musicGlass o’ wineToo manySmilesTunes and musingsHappy dreams?Discoveries* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-41309265768726963032010-11-13T20:20:00.005-06:002010-11-13T20:37:32.629-06:00

The week after next, I’ll clamber into my cluttered, poor neglected car (I’ll change the oil first and fix the brakes, I promise). I’ll buckle up. Shift to “Drive.” Roll east and farther north, then south ...to visit loved ones. To see my sister, cousins...and hug the dearest of dearest hearts along the way. I got half a continent to traverse and that’s OK by me. It’s been waaaay too long since

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-56392337699435278932010-11-08T21:06:00.004-06:002010-11-13T16:46:21.100-06:00

Today was an absolutely gorgeous day. Perfection incarnate. Well, OK, OK, not exactly perfect. I had to contend with strong headwinds for half my ride. Even so, it was as near perfect as any soul could have desired.I have a favorite twenty-mile loop for my cycling sojourns. It takes me past a number of farms where cattle and horses abound. I rather enjoy them. Some, in turn, find me a curious

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-44120524432537247702010-11-06T19:22:00.003-05:002010-11-06T19:52:50.524-05:00

Zenyatta is a racehorse. She's lost only once in twenty races. Her claim to fame is her trait for winning high-purse stakes while starting slow, hanging off the back of the pack, then sprinting to the finish. Yeah, she's a show-off. She's magnificent and she knows it.Then, of course, there’s this: Zenyatta imbibes a goodly quantity of Guinness stout for breakfast. Plus...she’s damn good

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-47915193049082882682010-11-02T19:43:00.003-05:002010-11-02T19:57:43.595-05:00

Perceptions are funny things.I’ve taken to falling to earth quite a bit these last few months. It’s been kinda weird considering that I haven’t crashed all that often for decades.It wasn’t always that way. As a child, I fell often. Quite often. Most children do. Most urchins sport band-aids and plasters because, well, children are ever exploring possibilities. And, in the process, they learn

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-41195394834350938412010-10-28T20:18:00.004-05:002010-10-28T21:03:45.441-05:00

I was riding east on a nameless country road. Wind at my back gently nudging me along. Nothing much to see on either side ‘cept stubble fields. Combines had combed the terrain just days ago.Nothing much to see else this undulating ribbon of weathered asphalt bisecting endless brown with a few scattered shards of corn leaf offering modest punctuation. Except...a bit farther ahead...I noticed

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-30167757264426663242010-10-20T22:42:00.004-05:002010-10-21T00:09:27.914-05:00

Is it good to know...one’s Fate?I dunno.I’ve never been one to consult a fortune teller, paw at entrails or study tea leaves. Never had my palm read or stared at Tarot cards. Just wasn’t my “thing.”But then there’s the matter of blood tests, genetic markers and sundry empirical indicators of perils to come. We’ve only just begun to identify Fate’s harbingers.Science marches on.And Science has

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-66523185853005407162010-10-15T02:38:00.004-05:002010-10-15T03:16:19.733-05:00

It’s well past midnightI gots blues and tangos in my soulI gots me reveries:Of that turkey vulture I admired on my ride todaySoaring like a James Dean.Of the young ‘possum that ventured a bit too far afield...And paid the price.The north wind hints of hard timesI dab the gash on my elbow where that rascally roadside branchdrew blood.I sip my blood red wineHungering to cradle beauty between

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-48086846399299415382010-10-14T23:35:00.008-05:002010-10-15T01:03:29.662-05:00

To tangoSlowlySlowly* * ** * *And for those who are wondering (all...well...none of you)...yes..., I danced as a member of a Lithuanian folk dance troupe for many a year.(But I always yearned to dance wearing blue suede "Cuban heels")* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-8727832016514822002010-10-14T22:05:00.002-05:002010-10-14T22:11:54.154-05:00

***Gratuitous Non-Sequitor:Post's "Blueberry Morning" cereal smells better than any other.* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-47199277439515838492010-10-07T02:49:00.005-05:002010-10-07T03:44:29.876-05:00

The weather this weekend veritably snarled. I shivered along with the freeze warnings. Slanting rain beat incessantly on glass. Prodigious numbers of brittle leaves came to huddle in gutters. I flipped the thermostat to “HEAT” and inhaled the scent of crisp-fried dust for the first time in a long time (a solemn, once-a-year event that elicits myriad feelings).But today was an “Indian Summer”

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16586949.post-3381622764611655712010-10-02T00:05:00.003-05:002010-10-02T00:22:39.066-05:00

This song hits a spot. Me likes. Lots.Me likes this, too:* * *

Jonashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04262851315471933295noreply@blogger.com4