When mail delivery resumed, in the two weeks since that time, I have received six (6) pieces of mail. Four (4) of them were filers (for pizza, etc); one (1) was a plea from the Red Cross; and one (1) was a Credit Card statement.
I do not want Postal Delivery to homes stopped, but I wonder if daily delivery should be reduced.
DE
It’s easy enough – and takes no planning.
You decide to take a walk in the sunshine in the afternoon, and plan to sit on a park bench. You do have a reasonably simple route, where you make a circuit of your neighbourhood. There are not many park benches, but you aim for one, fifteen minutes away. You sit, but it is not really in the sun, and even if it were your would not really be warm. So, you sit a short time, and continue on your way.
You are in a residential neighbourhood, Placid streets. Upscale houses. Not much traffic (except for one major thoroughfare, where you cross with the help of a pedestrian light. Then you are in a different neighbourhood, and continue on your way.
However, you come to one corner, and realize it is crowded with what appears to be white utility vehicles. There are many folk with armbands, helmets, and Walkie-Talkies. There are folk directing traffic. After turning one corner, the people, vehicles, and mounds of equipment increase. There are also a notable number of onlookers. There are also (quite a surprise) soldiers in uniform. However, there seems to be no alarm, no urgency, and next to no noise.
Upon turning onto another street, it becomes obvious that there is a film being shot in front of a particular house. There has been no attempt to stop pedestrians, so it is difficult to tell who might be there doing a job, and who are there attracted by the situation.What is most unusual of all is how quiet the whole scene is.
I do approach one lady with headset and Walkie-Talkie and clipboard. She is happy to talk. There is a murder mystery being shot for the streamer, Acorn TV. A series called “You’re Killing Me” starring Brooke Shields. I am asked to walk on the other side of the street. I am told to be careful walking through the leaves piled next to the curb, They are hiding the equipment cables. The show is to appear next year.
I did not (as far as I know) see Brooke Shields.
Later that night (to be accurate – very early the next morning), I awoke from sleep. It was around the time of a radio newscast, which I turned on, mainly to see who won the World Series Game. The news about it was that it was still on. So, I turned on the television, and got to watch the last hour of the longest baseball game. I was rooting for the other fellas.
DE UEL
Congratulations! Your site, kafkaestblog, passed 50,000 all-time views.
10/24/2025
The ground has been kissed by the harvest moon.
They put their hands into the rich earth – dark, moist loam, which clung to the vegetables while it caked under their fingernails – and dug at the hills of firm potatoes. They pulled the limp stalks – were satisfied when the bulky vegetables came out of the ground and rolled to a stop by their feet.
They shook the roots, loosening clods of earth and any remaining potatoes, then threw the dead plants onto a pile at the end of the row.
They scraped the excess dirt from the vegetables, placing the large ones into a barrel, and the smaller – even tiny – ones into a basket.
They wasted nothing.
They dug further with a hoe to make sure none were missed.
They paused by the remaining tomato plants, and picked the full fruit. Perhaps over-ripe, yet the sun warmed skin was firm
enough, and they ate the red flesh with pleasure, letting seeds and juice gush to the ground.
They smiled at each other as they ate, wiped the back of their hands across their reddened lips at the same time, and dried their damp, muddy fingers on the legs of their pants.
They stood and pondered by the onions, which they had been taking from the field for months. They plant and replant, but there are few left with tops that have not fallen over. They pull about half, but leave the rest for a couple of weeks and the whims of the gods.
They loosened the earth and marvelled in the strong, healthy smell which each carrot released from the good ground. They left the green leaves on the crown to feather from the tops of their baskets.
Occasionally, one of the orange vegetables would branch into a pair of walking legs. Or even form a strange, running monster which clung fast to the earth.
Some were so thick, that forefinger and thumb could not encircle them. Each was carefully drawn from the nourishing land, so slender tips would not break and mar the beauty of the perfect whole.
They brushed against the brittle leaves as they checked upon the pumpkins growing among the corn stalks. They tapped the largest of the full, orange fruit, and were pleased at the hefty girth. They saw some could ripen further, and plotted when the time would be best to gather them.
They broke one medium-sized pumpkin free from its dying vines, and put it aside to have with their evening meal.
As they walked through the withered corn stalks, they were surprised to find an occasional ear that – although small – was ripe and full enough to eat. Overlooked when the others were plucked, they had struggled to a humble maturity.
These were also gratefully gathered, and together would afford them one last taste of sweet corn. As they husked their unexpected bonus, they listened to the wind rustle through the dry corn plants.
DE
The ground has been kissed by the harvest moon.
They put their hands into the rich earth – dark, moist loam, which clung to the vegetables while it caked under their fingernails – and dug at the hills of firm potatoes. They pulled the limp stalks – were satisfied when the bulky vegetables came out of the ground and rolled to a stop by their feet.
They shook the roots, loosening clods of earth and any remaining potatoes, then threw the dead plants onto a pile at the end of the row.
They scraped the excess dirt from the vegetables, placing the large ones into a barrel, and the smaller – even tiny – ones into a basket.
They wasted nothing.
They dug further with a hoe to make sure none were missed.
They paused by the remaining tomato plants, and picked the full fruit. Perhaps over-ripe, yet the sun warmed skin was firm
enough, and they ate the red flesh with pleasure, letting seeds and juice gush to the ground.
They smiled at each other as they ate, wiped the back of their hands across their reddened lips at the same time, and dried their damp, muddy fingers on the legs of their pants.
They stood and pondered by the onions, which they had been taking from the field for months. They plant and replant, but there are few left with tops that have not fallen over. They pull about half, but leave the rest for a couple of weeks and the whims of the gods.
They loosened the earth and marvelled in the strong, healthy smell which each carrot released from the good ground. They left the green leaves on the crown to feather from the tops of their baskets.
Occasionally, one of the orange vegetables would branch into a pair of walking legs. Or even form a strange, running monster which clung fast to the earth.
Some were so thick, that forefinger and thumb could not encircle them. Each was carefully drawn from the nourishing land, so slender tips would not break and mar the beauty of the perfect whole.
They brushed against the brittle leaves as they checked upon the pumpkins growing among the corn stalks. They tapped the largest of the full, orange fruit, and were pleased at the hefty girth. They saw some could ripen further, and plotted when the time would be best to gather them.
They broke one medium-sized pumpkin free from its dying vines, and put it aside to have with their evening meal.
As they walked through the withered corn stalks, they were surprised to find an occasional ear that – although small – was ripe and full enough to eat. Overlooked when the others were plucked, they had struggled to a humble maturity.
These were also gratefully gathered, and together would afford them one last taste of sweet corn. As they husked their unexpected bonus, they listened to the wind rustle through the dry corn plants.
DE
As the Lighthouse Keeper on Partridge Island,
I have to make a monthly inspection
Along the shore of the whole island.
Of course, I make reports, and haul the
Moveable trash off the shore, and put it
Above the tide line (which is high),
So it won’t set sail again.
All this is true,
But,
What I’m really supposed
To report,
Are the bodies I find.
There are generally three or four a year,
Mostly beyond recognition.
I can spread out this chore if I desire,
But – generally – I prefer to do it over a
Couple of days.
Paw, my cat/kitten,
Black as deep tide pools
With one white mitten,
Always wants to come along.
He always regrets it,
When we reach the ocean tip,
Where he is surrounded,
On three sides,
By water.
He doesn’t like that.
And he always complains,
But he soldiers on.
Today was no different.
Although the day was beautiful,
With clear sky and pleasant wind,
The ocean had an odd, opaque shimmer.
It was like looking at the coated side
Of a mirror.
Paw – who has been known to step
Over a dead body to see what
Was on the other side –
Avoided the shore,
And stayed above the
High tide mark.
I guess he didn’t want to see
Something he couldn’t see.
He was impatient for me to haul ass.
And he let me know it.
{I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2025 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}
DE BA UE
This is a Test
But not “the” Test,
If it were a real
Test,
It would need an
Answer,
Or two,
Or even Multiple choice.
But It isn’t.
It is a
Test
To announce
Something,
Or,
To warn about
Something,
Or,
To warn
About a warning.
A Test to basically say,
*IF*
This was a Test.
Then get your shit together,
Or bend over and
Kiss your ass good-bye.
THAT IS ALL
It is
That type of test.
Do with it as you will.
An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure (even in metric).
I experienced over two months of writer’s block many years ago.
I literally sat at my desk for hours.
To this day I can accurately describe that desk. Its vision is before/behind my eyes as I key. It had a red leather top.
I have devised a scheme which I find is 90% successful in combating writer’s block.
Do not complete your thought on page or screen.
Make sure it is solidly in your mind (make notes if necessary).
But, do not write it down.
If it is a description – don’t finish it.
If it is dialogue – don’t complete it.
If it is a line of poetry – don’t end it.
The next day, read the preceding page.
Then slide into the phrase you would have ended with yesterday.
Put in those final words.
The odds are excellent you will continue on your way.
The Saint Louis Atheists have started to follow me on Bluesky (which pleases me to no end).
Their quote is: “If you wish to make apple pie from scratch, you must first create the universe” ~Carl Sagan
Which pleases me even more.
Of course, I follow back.
kafkaestblog 