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Am I On A List? Is This A Test?

Yesterday morning I had a robot call me and ask inappropriate and intrusive questions about my plans for voting in the upcoming Federal Election. After a few questions, I hung up.


This morning, an early morning call (too early) informed me that whilst I was at innocent slumber between the sheets,  someone had made two BIG purchases using my credit card. These two BIG purchases exceeded my limit (which I assumed could not happen in the first place).  This time an actual human voice wanted to “assist” me before the charges went through and I ended up paying for everything. I was left in NO doubt I’d end up paying for EVERYTHING. I was in deep shit. Warning as clear as a bell.


But first, the actual human voice wanted some information.


Go and get your card, I was instructed.

No, said I.

You will pay BIG, said he. Get your card and give us your account information.


I did not point out, though I was tempted to do so, that they must already have all my information, since they called me with this DIRE warning. Perhaps, I pondered to myself, they themselves could cancel the card. Wipe out the BIG debt. Chase the perpetrator across hill and, er, dale , and throw them in the clink.


Get your card. Get your card. Give me the numbers.

No.


Then he hung up on me.

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I’ve Been Around The Block A Number Of Times Yet I Still Seem Innocent (If Not Young)

I answered my phone this morning – too early for a Sunday –  and had a voice who (I’ll swear upon any religious tome) sounded like Prime Minister Justin Trudeau, informing me that I was being contacted by a Survey/Research company.

The topic was the upcoming Federal election.


The company had a name I recognized, which has the reputation of being legit and reliable.


But there was that “Prime Minister voice”. Such a thing can not be random, and if it was random, then the outfit is inept.


So I was talking to a Robot.


The first three or so questions were about where I live. Now, I figure even a robot, if it already has my phone number, should know where I live. But I was willing to tap the numbers on the phone keyboard to let them figure out where I was. Had they asked my postal code, I would have balked.

I was then asked, if I wanted to have the process they go through to form their opinions, explained to me. I declined. In for a penny, in for a pound.


THEN, I was asked to tell them which party I was planning to vote for.

Gotta say, expecting to tell how a citizen votes is a violation of the rights of the citizen of that country. I was surprised. But I went through the “Press number if” list, so I could decline. There was no avenue given to decline.


Rude or not, I hung up on the Robot.

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Is The Ocean Playing Silly Buggers With A Hurricane?

I was roused from among
My quilts and linens

In my narrow –
Though comfortable –

Bed

In my lightkeeper’s house

Near the Lighthouse

On Partridge Island,

By a smell.


The smell of the ocean.
Which I smell every day,

Except – not like this.


This smell was rich,

And solid,

And fresh,

And churned-up.


So I went out

In the early early dawn,

I walked carefully

Along the rock face,

And smelled 
An ocean,

Churning hundreds of miles

From the south,

And knew that

A hurricane

Is on its way.


There are preparations

To be made!

{I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}
DE BA. UEL

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Sandpipers Love To Hover And Soar And Take Over The World

I was roused from my bed

Tangled in the quilts of the bed

In my lighthouse keeper;s house

Close to my lighthouse

On Partridge Island

In the Bay of Fundy

By wingbeat

A storm of wingbeats

Thousands of wings

Beat beat beating

From thousands of birds

Sandpipers

Twisting in large circles

Around my lighthouse

Hiding my lighthouse

Whirl

Whirl

A  “bind” of sandpipers

A “contradiction” of sandpipers

A “fling” of sandpipers

A “hill” of sandpipers

A “time-step” of sandpipers.

That’s the best

“Time-step”

Because

With every twist

And tun

That flock makes,

They step

They SOAR

Out of time.

{I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021/ A lot of stuff have I seen/A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

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Hell Opens A Door In Afghanistan

There are so many horrors to point to. And there will be so many horrors yet to come.

What is so startling is the terrible incompetence of the attempt to have the American military leave the country. The experts seem to know nothing. The Intelligence Community knew nothing about the real state of affairs.The US Military were being withdrawn BEFORE the Afghan citizens they were suppose to re-locate were removed from the country.

Planning – what planning?

A dire situation – for the USA was eventually going to leave regardless – was turned into a disaster.

Afghanistan, historically known as the Graveyard of Empires, took another one

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Franz Kafka Ponders Friday 13th

In my novel, Kafka In The Castle, I fill in the missing entries of his actual diaries.  There are many days to fill, as he either did not write during these days, or he destroyed the record.

I do give him a brief recognition of Friday 13th. In reality, the Swiss Girl haunted him (pleasantly) all his life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

13 April 1917

I almost wrote down the year as 1913. That was the year I met the Swiss girl. And I remember her joking about Friday the thirteenth, and how we had missed it by just a day. She was superstitious – Christians seem to be. I wonder what precautions she is taking today. It will be three years and seven months since I saw her. Yet some of the things we did could have happened last week. I think that memory must be made of rubber.  You can sometimes pull it toward yourself – and sometimes it snaps away like a shot. Causing as much pain.

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Razzle Dazzle, Oh Mighty Monarch of the Sky

{I’m The Lighthouse 

Poet Laureate of Partridge Island

1821 – 2021

A lot of stuff have I seen

A lot of stuff to report}

I opened the door

At the bottom of 

My spiral staircase

Twisting

Beside the wall

Just white-washed

In the Spring.


And


Oh! And!!

Came out into 

A sea

A forest

A  cacophony

Of orange

And black

And white-spotted

Brilliant-winged

MONARCH butterflies.


They covered the edifice

From Light

To Entrance steps,

Soaking up


The heat

Of the stones.


I grabbed my trusty

Bum-worn

Wooden chair

And moved it

Distant enough

To watch the

Whole structure at once.


I’m still sitting.


~ DE BA, UEL.

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Fog Shrouds Hides Protects The Ocean And The Island

{I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021/ A lot of stuff have I seen/A lot of stuff to report}

I see three ships

Saw three ships

see/saw

sea/saw

Come sailing in

Come sailing in

Though I didn’t (really)

Because of the fog.

Partridge Island fog

Saint John Town fog

Hides everything

It damn well wants to

Christmas Day 

Or not.

~ DE BA UEL

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The Poet Laureate of Partridge Island 1821 – 2021

{I’m The Poet Laureate of Partridge Island 

1821 – 2021

A lot of stuff have I seen

A lot of stuff to report}

I see the sea

I see the land

For these 200 years

It’s all been grand.

(Not Grand Manan

(That’s another place

(Far closer to the sea)

Today I wait for a bus

To roll into Saint John Town

A motorized bus

No horse to be found

Such new things I see

And have seen

From my lighthouse perch

Between the flashing beam.

Gotta Girlie on that bus

Cute as a button

And smart as a tack

Old Saint John Town

Is lucky to

Have her back.

~ DE BA UEL

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