BY Davey H

07/01 Direct Link

Hi! Well, I
just got to thinkin’
on the first of July
how to type without blinkin’.
But five hundred words
beset, behind;
milk with vinegar curds
on my work assigned.
So tardy, oh yes
but one surely can see
with no need to guess
no one’s watching but me!

Can I keep these here digits
a little bit spry
when they’re twisted midgets
in this torrid July?

I’ll grasp what this hundred words
thing is about
and clasp simple pencils
when power’s gone out!

Then turn in my work
with a shit-eatin’ grin


07/02 Direct Link

Those brave souls
cooked in foil tents
now wisps of ghouls
‘oer residents
of crisps and coals
in present tense
and flame-licked shoals
beyond all sense.

Yes, we only get to hear
of those who brave the flame;
calling and hauling heavy gear
and battling to tame
a wall of fire without fear
the ultimate perilous game
their big courage will endear
those sheltered just the same.

This tragedy will underscore
our truly puny size;
the fires rage just like before
and blacken many skies.

Here’s a big shout-out to the first responders, those indubitably aptly-named ‘Hot Shots’ who perished!

07/03 Direct Link

Getting well past the end of June
and I need to call that Mike.
Is he stalling
or falling
or playing a tune?
Just hope it’s a song we all like.

He had some oak trees
on a hill
and said: “Cut them, oh please
if you will!”
So I estimated
‘round what it would cost him
then got belated
and thought I had lost him.

Having driven by his place three times in three months since the initial estimate, I, or even the most imbecilic observer could plainly see that Mike should rethink the removals due to erosion issues.

07/04 Direct Link

Hot as a friggin’ firecracker,
this Fourth of July
under bright sunny sky
saw Davey an indolent slacker!
So try as he might
he’s a pitiful sight
and neglected his hearty out-backer.
A hot fuss to deplore
thus this seven/four:
lemonade for tart/sweet lip-smacker!

But regarding the heat
Davey won’t weep and wail
Polar® seltzer’s so neat
hey, looks like it’s on sale!
So grab me a 12-pack
and let me go guzzle
when my butt gets back
pull this can from my muzzle!

Dusk update: the customary incendiary consumables fusillade decreased this year, with John’s annual bash well attended.

07/05 Direct Link

Today Davey H once again trots out a commemorative paean to his late acquaintance simply named ‘Tuck’.
Who knows where he got that nickname?
But no matter; he was remarkable in his own right, and Davey will chronicle some details in Davey's own write.

Gunned down while running for his car – no doubt to escape the bloodthirsty cretins chasing him – Tuck perished from small caliber gunshot wounds to head and body on July 5th, 1985.

The pieces of shit who murdered him were never brought to justice, though police had a pretty good idea from which sewer they had crawled.

07/06 Direct Link
Ten or fifteen years after Tuck’s murder, Davey received a hometown newspaper clipping in the mail.
It chronicled nearly 100 unsolved murders – a macabre cadre of cadavers in which Tuck was included.
The friend who sent said clipping
made note of the possible police progress
in the case, but didn’t wax overly enthusiastic.

Yes, at that point, it looked like the cowards would get away with it.

With this news in hand, Davey phoned up the County Police on a whim, lapsing into a surprisingly stimulating discussion with an officer – something Davey never would have considered previously! It went, well……
07/07 Direct Link
The last thing I’ll say regarding this Tuck case really underscores the cowardice of his killers: Tuck had been hobbled for many years due to an accident which left his legs permanently semi-functional.

The mishap occurred in1978, as Tuck was walking along a snow-lined road.
Due to fate and icy conditions, a driver jumped the curb and ran over Tuck’s legs.
Hells bells, he was lucky he didn’t wind up paraplegic!

He didn’t have much family, and no grieving hullaballoo ensued post-mortem, save for a few column inches in the local paper.

We, the few, closed book on him too.
07/08 Direct Link
Back to the present:
may I present this ostensible gift?
Ahh, those multifarious merry maxims!
You know, fellows – the one that bellows:
“The past is gone, the future’s not here;
what’s NOW is ON, that much is clear!
Now we don’t mean to cause a rift;
this here’s the present – that’s why it’s a GIFT!”

Well, you get the idea.

And in keeping with Murphy’s adage that:
“Where you stand depends on where you sit”,
the view from here JUST LOOKS LIKE SHIT!

Yep, folksters, after Nature vastly exceeded
our annual allotment of rainfall,
mosquitoes are WAY out of control.
07/09 Direct Link
Disease mongering or “managed” care;
for a fellow like Mike,
NOT standard fare.
Out on that track,
he’s not a plodder;
shooting back with cannon fodder!
Minding neither why nor where;
a healthy Mike will fare!

Indeed, through no accident but by due diligence,
Mike maintains good speed, of fetters freed.

As an aside, Mike’s Dad is well into his 80’s,
and definitely a bit surprised thereby.
As Mike quips:
“nobody in his family has ever lived that long.”

I’d venture Mike’s Dad doesn’t do crazy shit
like pedaling UP Mount Washington
or religiously running10 or 12 miles each day.
07/10 Direct Link
The shocking sad news came slowly at first,
then fast in a blast as we feared the worst.
For just as we feared
bad omens had reared
and we wondered if it was rehearsed.

M's staid hubby John
had stayed, lingered on
stating she'd left her cellphone and purse;
and now she was gone
bloodhounds sniffed all the lawn
but the outcome was looking accursed.

Her good name don't besmirch
Four days came of the search
Empty-handed, police were not gloating;
when down in the water
they finally got her
Indeed, she had turned up dead, floating.

Miss you, M!
07/11 Direct Link
On that dismal, fateful day
pulling out our calling card
we called her hubby right away
chewing up the minutes, oh, this was so hard!

I could tell from his voice
as soon as 'twas spoken
that not by choice
his spirit was broken!

What would they do?
Who would care for the horses?
This day they would rue
these dull grim evil forces!

Thus for him begins
these doldrums and ache
quite the slam to the shins
a harsh blow he did take.
For reality bites!
This is real, not a fake!
Let's hope for some closure to make!
07/12 Direct Link
Of course we didn't – and still don't – know what to think. Who does in these situations?

When the now-deceased give no prior indication of pending actions, then do themselves in, adding salt on the wound by not leaving any wisp of explanation for their motivation nor desires for disposition of their possessions in the hereafter, what's a person to do?

Speculation will no doubt ensue
as to cause and condition
that led this loved one over to
her own self-made perdition.

She severed her cares?
Oh, no, not quite.
Will she be in our prayers?
Yes, we all start tonight!
07/13 Direct Link
Things You Didn't Say:

“I am leaving,”
would be first and foremost
now we are grieving as sorrow plays host.

You didn't say,
“this is WHY I am leaving, away I will float.
And know that I'm leaving, not leaving a note.”

You could have said:
“goodbye to my dearly beloved two dogs
no more will I hear Jersey's singing tree frogs.
Yes, I leave you behind,
my dear hubby and birds,
as despair that engulfs me
leaves me without words.”

You neglected to mention
and left us no note
in this sad declension
we'd hold dear what you wrote!
07/14 Direct Link
JR was in tatters, that's for sure.
And the 'Vette, you can bet
would soon gather dust
no, JR couldn't believe it, oh, grief, it's that just
if only she'd walk through that door.

He did yard work. “That was stuff she used to do,” he said, voice wavering slightly, then trailing off.

The flow of well-wishers and purveyors of condolences had probably slowed to a trickle, and work was a foggy memory.
But he had gone in Sunday. Emergency, they said.
JR had heard THAT one before – oh, emergency like when hapless underlings rang him up during V's memorial?
07/15 Direct Link

JR was a strong man, though he smoked. Perhaps that was his only permitted weakness.

Even now, in his darkest hour, he would no doubt maintain a stoicism unequaled in the world of hominids; a rigidity well-honed through years of knuckle-bustin' working class ardor.

He had handed over all her computers to the cops – a curiously trusting act in these times of hyper-surveillance – hoping against hope that they would find some clues as to M's disappearance, but nothing turned up. Nothing at all. It's as if she had been whisked away by extraterrestrials or some such.

JR will slowly recover.

07/16 Direct Link

I would love to write to JR but he hasn't done email – ever. Friggin' amazing for a guy that once fixed the shop's computer when nobody else could!
Which leads to the following tangent: JR’s dormant skill – indeed discovered quite by accident and forged in the crucible of urgent necessity – led to a side line of sorts, and now he overlooks almost an entire division's worth of machines.

So yet another mailing is in the offing, replete with pricey handcrafted condolence cards, but more than likely no flowers, and another memorial to attend, being proposed and slated as we speak/write.

07/17 Direct Link

Some final entries in what could have been JR’s personal diary – had he been so disposed:

A day of existence
as I turn and toss,
and keep on with persistence
despite the huge loss.
An ex-wife with ex-life
such demons removed her
so she severed her strife
as she thought it behooved her.

What anguish reduced her?
As a fool such as I
had so failed thus to boost her
and maintain her so spry!

Family, yes, oh we never will part
but always be together
sewn by blood and heart:
an eons-long tether!
Pray tell, where did it start?

07/18 Direct Link

Back to the grind, oh yes we find
and the heat, so beat, leaves us falling behind.
I bleat, wipe a sheet, peel a grapefruit rind.

Must Do List
(not to be confused with the ‘To Do List’:
Clean and oil the trailer hitch,
then preen and roil – hey, life’s a glitch!

House, part 2 – for me and you:
It’s looking like we have to wait;
booking a hike toward closing date,
but it must fit in, despite sputter and spin,
for we’ve way too much on our plate!
Resource/mineral rights:
That’s all well and good, we keep the wood!

07/19 Direct Link

Head for the ice cream stand?
No, please wait!
First, it’s off to Walnut Hill Farm so grand
without hesitation and with jubilation
for that variety they call 'Temptation”®
Yeah, that would be great – a grand stand!

So on with the seat belt, off with the blinders!
Your windshield the stones pelt
Hah! Keepers, finders!

Oh, w-Hell, that’s the whey of the whirled,
so fine vegan non-dairy a topic to broach
as we come upon that ‘CORN’ flag unfurled
a delectable thing to approach!

Yet in summation, we may find
that they’ve sold off Temptation®….
So what’s the next kind?

07/20 Direct Link
One Store For The Road

Advertising just pounds the brain
And caps it with swill’s bonnet;
Caterwauling, with senses slain,
We splay our thoughts upon it.

Ads give us twenty pounds to gain
As though we’d not enough;
Lends palliative Band-Aids®
Quells the pain
Offers pleasure and STUFF.

Whilst flapping lips of talking heads
Posit with any luck it
will drive us to stuff thus our homes and sheds
And fill up our Homer Bucket®!

Thus ends another day in the life
cruising with squawking radio on.
Aye, left in its wake psycho-physical strife
Yakk! This boy is totally GONE!

07/21 Direct Link
Un-Word Introductions

“ROFIRE” could be the next frig thing; a snazzy new acronym culled, mulled and fired off the cuff, being proudly presented here from a ‘virtual’ un-dictionary unformed by none other than the semi-crazed Davey H.

‘Rofire’ has not heretofore been utilized.

Citing this glaring insufficiency, Davey H exults in the pompous act of inserting it into our bumptiously burgeoning lexicon forthwith.

Hence, ‘ROFIRE’ shall come to be applied to any and all “Right Of First REfusal” cases in which recitation of the full phrase would result in tongue-twisting excesses and take three seconds longer to expatiate than necessary.
07/22 Direct Link
Next up, “JAW” popped out of Davey H’s par-baked brain one day as he replied to a buddy’s work gig RSVP. Again, noting his penchant for not only declension but short span of attention – that far-reaching, ubiquitous and rampant phenomenon among Web-stuck “smart” phone users (aka, “PHUSRS”), Davey H offered no plausible explanation to the recipient, surmising, “Hell’s bells, he’ll figure it out.”

Moreover, Davey H presumed the recipient gullibly guilty of the selfsame lexico-shrinkage acronym mania, AKA, “ACIA”, though said recipient had not previously run afoul of English wonks by utilizing the profoundly ridiculous “LOL” in his workaday phraseology.
07/23 Direct Link
Your horse, of course, likes eating grass.
A tour de force – oh, horse’s ass!
With no remorse, I tip my glass
And in due course it comes to pass
Crawling from this heat’s morass
BE STRONG, oh working class!

Breaking free, as now, as then
We’ll come to see what flows from pen
Lord ‘oer the sword, ‘tis mighty when
They Occupy
Give force a try
And get things going again!

Despite all the whooplah, Whupsteen wasn’t buying, nor would he get involved in occupational shenanigans.

“F*##in’ morons,” he sniffed, miffed. It was as if he had a paradigm shift.
07/24 Direct Link
The most prolific of fuelish fools
recalcitrant, yes, in plump mainstays;
they burn boatloads of fossil fuels
whilst reveling in their ways!

Davey H sauntered up to pump # 6
or maybe 7 – one sultry summer day
and was shaded out along the way.
For over yonder at pump 2,
‘twas quite the scene, he’s telling you!

He hadn’t seen a hulk this big
for most of that torrid summer;
it damn near tore leaf from his fig
Gawd-dayum – a friggin’ HUMMER!

That thing would take 2 lanes of average road.
He couldn’t resist hollering:
“Dayum, what’s that – a HOUSE?”
07/25 Direct Link

Another Splay In The Shed

An arduous day to play, I guess
Scrub up the splay of awful mess.
Weeds with seeds, grass and red clover;
which tools we needs? Those we trip over?

Alas, a trip out to the shed
No need to flip out, though I dread
The aforesaid mess I so abhor
Tools lost, I guess, tromped ‘cross the floor.
Things really needed, so get fishin’:
A shed spelunking expedition!

Skulk and sulk amidst the mire
Exult in the hopes that it won’t catch fire!
Piss and cuss, complain and shout
Longing thus to straighten it out!

07/26 Direct Link
We begin and slosh in the spittin’ rain
then try to gloss over the simmering pain
whilst neither of us could be called bums
her back in a fuss, and me with sore thumbs.

We hand’ly ignore the Zimmerman trial
and its floundering folly
drummed in all the while
wrong outcome, by golly
many minds to defile.

Meanwhile, being at least several days behind
at a pop, Davey H struggled
to meet non-financial obligations,
as punctuality and time constraints
pulled his coattails in a most annoying way.

He was never one to lull lunches,
and strove harder in his hunches.
07/27 Direct Link
Rounding the corner of plans
in regard to that southward trip,
Davey purged his glands
and struggled to get a grip.

Now granted, supplanted
his whole life spanning,
though his life somewhat placid
his gland for planning
had become severely flaccid.

Meanwhile, stack at the branch,
Whupsteen had seen a ‘No Trespassing’ sign
where he had been.
He destroyed it,
then snorted the following stanzas,
showing his true livid colors:

”Trespassin’, my ass!”
He yelled in a snit.
”On that anal dude’s grass
I just let the dogs shit!
Don’t care what comes to pass
and away I will flit!”
07/28 Direct Link
Large truck behind me had big hook and ladder.
Bigger truck behind that one
sported bulky bin-box,
and might well have said,
had they been fighting cocks:
“oh, big hook and ladder,
your size doesn’t matter;
I’ll pummel you into my box!”

But the poor box had rank rust
and much peeling paint;
“Recycle or Bust!” it may well have said;
that big box truck would run
with oxide its taint
‘til the DOT declared it dead.

So what was that boxy-assed truck’s sad taint?
Well, aw, shucks
I’d bet ya ten bucks
It was covered with LEADED paint.
07/29 Direct Link

”Cut that corner, Warner!”
This phrase could have emanated from one of several film crew roadies so disposed and ensconced in tribulations surrounding “The Judge” and its ancillary filming operations, when, in what was perhaps a fit ‘o pique, one of them stepped on, or rather, tripped over, a dangling wire that led to an overflow switch, which, while still functional, was not properly positioned to be automatable, because, as a matter of course (not intercourse), in so tripping over the aforementioned wire, the aforementioned hapless roadie had rendered null and void any semblance of switch efficacy.
07/30 Direct Link
After the overflow switch had been tripped over, which, by definition, defines the irony in the situation, the tripper – in this case the roadie mentioned in yesterday’s post – picked the switch up, puzzled briefly over what it was and where it went, and then, being on his task hell-bent, realized ‘twas not time well spent, did not relent, and placed it on top of the A/C-equipped air handler vent.

For a week, Nature blasted the entire area with one of those ‘Bermuda highs’, which meant the air handler worked overtime, producing copious condensate and summarily filling the unprotected catch basin.
07/31 Direct Link
Closing out the month of July, Davey H, with humor wry, sprang into action spry whilst keeping dry, acting at the behest of that guy McMike, proprietor of the building that housed the air handler unit with switch-challenged catch basin that overflowed and spilled water into the ceiling cavity leading to nearly catastrophic results in the room below, which meant desks, chairs, chair runners, computers, mice, USB cords, scanners, printers, pens, pencils, pencil sharpeners, lamps, and all ancillary implements of officious construction caught plaster-laden shrapnel, Davey H handily scored major Brownie points for appearing auspiciously, initiating timely cleanup of same.