BY Davey H

01/01 Direct Link


According to some of the braggadocio trickling in to Davey’s various inboxes, a bit ‘o summer is merrily manifesting in the Sunshine state – and Golden state, if you will, with temperatures in the 80’s in the latter. Hah! Not jealous here; time to whip up some buckwheat batter!

This turning over a new leaf – you know, New Year’s resolutions and all that tommyrot – would not, for Davey H, be a walk in the woods. In fact, were it to be so, Davey would encounter unsavory likelihoods, such as stepping in dogshit.
THAT’S life, to wit!

01/02 Direct Link
Stencil with pencil.
Blob of clay.
Muscle prehensile; two brew convey.
That night, not right
they felt no pain
Ethanol blight hit home again!

Here’s yet another wintry day
Talvinnen Paivaa, so says they.

Brisk, and a good time to clean now
The wood stove flue, oh yes, and how!
A flush with the brush:
Whoosh! A pile of black flakes;
but not in a rush; some time it takes.

Smoothly now, slide the brush down through
and try not to get it stuck in the flue.
But damn! Of all the dumb-ass luck:
That friggin’ brush indeed got stuck!
01/03 Direct Link
1-3-14: Now here we are,
and we’ll come clean by foot or by car.
Some thought we would never get this far
oh, coffee bean by cookie jar!

I just recalled one of those fundamentalist pamphlets – the likes of which you find in men’s urinals for some strange reason – that prognosticated the ‘End Time’, circa 1987 or so.
End result? It didn’t.

But that was a year with a whole hell of a lot happening: Ray ‘Boom-boom’ Mancini KO’ed Korean boxer Du Ku Kim, supposedly after a flurry of 52 unanswered punches; a horrific fight with an ultimately grisly outcome.
01/04 Direct Link

Oh, we could speak in teraflops
about what graces our woodstove tops!
What sits upon it is always good
excited with the heat of wood!
It props our tidy home’s jostlin’ joints
and prose with exclamation points!

Cook and look: the box is full
beneath the flue that will deftly pull
a bit o’ ash from ‘oer the coals;
let’s burn some trash – one of our goals!

Scratch that:
seriously now, we do NOT burn anything
that good little country girls and boys shouldn’t;
just newsprint and white paper,
especially stuff with our name or #’s on it.
01/05 Direct Link
Within the context of experiential wood burning phenomena, Davey has been known to incinerate many a local ‘Arts & Entertainment Weekly”, noting that it performs fire starting tasks with splendid aplomb, though pesky binding staples are better pulled than left in.

Yet those two beefy staples bespeak a human loss story:

It seems the parent company – that prints this weekly waste of paper – had laid off one of their staff writers or copy editors, citing “financial reasons”, thereby insinuating that the upgrade – coming in the form of not one, but two staples where none were before – had been the reason.
01/06 Direct Link
Thus in this chilly life we chose
against foibles rife if our pipes froze!

FYI: here’s thinking back in this word foray:
not keeping track – no write today!
Thus Davey admits so factually
that today is the 7th, yes, actually.

Be it heretofore known that the liquid precipitation of yesterday – not mentioned, however, in Davey’s January 5th post – did in fact freeze in comportment with dire predictions that it would do exactly that.

So we, at the drop of a hat,
put on a load ‘o wood,
then left the flat,
confident, feelin’ good,

then helped feed L her supper.
01/07 Direct Link
A whole day thus shot, not being contrite,
no pen begot, Davey did not write!
Now this is something he won’t fix,
that chance was gone on January six!
Worse, this has been seven days, that’s clear,
well-versed in the ways
of this damned new year.

Amid the cacophonous clatter he
lamented: another dead battery!
But that was okay, with more on the way
it would be decided that he
could plug in the jug with a
And work off of friggin' AC!

We did, despite various electric utilities' admonitions to the effect that folks
“use less juice.”
01/08 Direct Link

A Wednesday just like any other, this one would see the deep freeze continue with verve. But no matter; to a pink flesh sack acclimated to such environs, all is par for the stinkin’ course.
Much bitching continues, though, and sand/salt filth grit that gets into everything tops the list of gripin’ topics.

Roads have taken on eerie white fuzz since ambient dryness prevails, and a passing tractor trailer whips up a noxious salt fog through which he hightails.

At that point, I non-enthuse,
it is good while you cruise
to close up your vent
lest to salt-hell you’re sent.

01/09 Direct Link

Davey broke free from his usual bind
of being, see, eight to ten days behind,
and plumbed the dappled shade of his mind
for limericks or tweaks he would verily find.

He felt prompted, in a fit ‘o gall,
whilst feeling the crunch of impending dates,
to rattle the pen from e-quivering stall
and scribble upon the slates:

”Please listen here
as I come clean,
and will unaccompanied tout it;
I loathe, don’t fear, the Debt Machine
and make no bones about it!”

But somewhere, somehow
a mother breastfeeds
it is back in vogue now
and advice that she heeds.

01/10 Direct Link

Out here, here now, it is wondrous how
the red rooster’s crow
that thing which you know
has a shrill mournful sound
that bounces around
in the dusty, fresh fallen snow.

Well, at least this here time
on such a morning sublime.
So what plight, pray tell, has he found?
Yea, one thing is sure
he emits hearty roar
when a rare and bright sun does abound.

A little discernment is all that it takes
to observe the different sounds that he makes.
No, they’re never the same
in his loud crowing game
while he trumpets his sturdy beak shakes!

01/11 Direct Link

Quick! Move that friggin’ couch out of the way!
Andalé, andalé, andalé!
‘Nuff said, I’d say; whilst working alone today!

The Boss-man had figured out an ingenious method of squeezing yet another – imagine ONE MORE desk where no room exists – workstation in an already cramped corner of the ‘break room’, next to the copier/fax/paper cutting table.
So now, when we lower the staircase leading to the incredibly cluttered attic, it barely squeaks by the tiny desk’s edge enroute to the floor.
Cellulosic insulation dust is everywhere. It spews out from under each boot’s fall and becomes airborne in an instant.

01/12 Direct Link

The average person would most likely blanch
and see their mood worsen at the ‘Wrinkle Ranch’
whilst their flow of dark dread
at the sight of each bed
on which lies a bod that appears halfway dead
would not very easily stanch.

Dan The Man that acerbic term coined
and I questioned him verily, watching him squirm
for although now
it is obvious how
he, too will be easily purloined
at a similar site in long term.

After he’d said that, I left, lightly humming
and thought of poor Dan
that term-coining man:
for his day is most definitely coming!

01/13 Direct Link

Oh, the trees and the flowers
in deep freeze lost their powers!
They’re shrouded in ice
so clouded – not nice
walkin’ in a winter blunder land!

Maple syrup we’ll be tastin’
on Facebook, time a-wastin’
don’t mean to be snide
but we’re stuck inside
talkin’ in a winter blunder land.

In the shadows, sun ain’t gonna show, man
so don’t pretend that it will get too warm
maybe later we’ll take in a show, man
or a matinee before the swarm.

Icy ears, can you listen?
Shun your fears, wind a-hissin’
we’ve run out of room
glimpsing the gloom

01/14 Direct Link


Here, oh, dear, I'll hem and haw
and snag a leer at the junkyard CLAW.
It grabbed some piles, then flung and flitted
I couldn't resist; risked the man getting pissed:
then took pix though they were not permitted!

You should have seen the piles of shit they had!
It gave this farmboy such a thrill;
magnets and cranes and loaders big and BAD
all moving upon the mud swill.

I hastened my tail
and got on the scale
for the requisite weigh-in;
then disgorged the load
in the place I was showed
happy to just be a-playin’!

01/15 Direct Link

Today was their 59th anniversary.
Many folks don’t live that long,
let alone put up with each other.

As a point of reference, the illustrious creator of that stellar poem entitled “Trees”, none other than Joyce Kilmer, lived only 32 years, but no word on whether he was hitched.

“In 100 years, who’s gonna care?” you might have bitched.

But these modern-day seniors stare at the cusp of their ninth decade, anticipating shunting themselves over to ‘the next step’, which bills itself as ‘assisted living'.

The next step– or move after THAT, however you moniker it – means ‘last STOP.

01/16 Direct Link

Meanwhile, back at what Dan the man called
‘the wrinkle ranch’:

Folks’ mouths cave in
as they lie supine;
no shit-eatin’ grin
on this face of mine.
4 once dentures are plucked out of the face
not much remains to hold lips up in place.
Gone are the lissome, the sexy, and the youth
and in their place will be something uncouth.

Mashed potatoes most days,
on the plate they are laid,
wheel yourself through the maze
you will soon be afraid
for as these conditions
are what you might rue,
don’t get to wishin’
it won’t come to you!

01/17 Direct Link
“Ever seen a picture of the late Lewis Powell?” A rhetorical query was posited.

“Just a skeleton with age-spotted skin stretched over it and some fuzzy hair sprouting out.” is the first snide assessment that came to mind.
He was, after all, friggin’ human.

Whatever was in his cranium at the time the photo was taken got forever indelibly imprinted on film, or ‘flim’, as in flim-flam.

It seemed the good old boy network of the 1% at the time of his now infamous Powell Memo was interested in running things even more vociferously than they had up until then.
01/18 Direct Link
Davey managed to stay up until 2 a.m. on January 18th, 2014, and had not watched the horrific documentary ‘The Cove’ on this particular occasion, although for all intents and porpoises, he had, as those bloody images would be forever and indelibly singed into his cerebrum.

'Flipper' was one of his favorite shows
beneath the Big Dipper as any child knows
through summer rains or winter’s chilled snows
autumnal breezes, oh, how the wind blows!

He had respect for the Japanese
and post Fukushima, much pity;
for they had been stalwart warriors these
who aghast, won’t return to their city.
01/19 Direct Link
The admirable persons who had just moved
are hopefully not dejected;
as per logistics that would them behoove,
their phone was disconnected.

Some emails were sent
no, we didn’t relent
and spared not the ‘Option’ key;
much effort was spent, to wax reticent
the number came eventually.

Back to the music:
When turned to ‘on’
and to no one’s surprise,
much tune-age was gone
to ‘initialize’.

Thus the CD player,
yes, it is said
by many a naysayer:
the CD is DEAD.

But I popped the disc in anyway
and did plead thus “oh, CD, PLAY!”

Did it see D?
01/20 Direct Link


Whatever happened to Martin Luther King Day?
Was it lost at a cost, frazzled in the fray?
Why no, ordinary Joe; please join the late MLK:
jump-start the skills you know
DIVE in both feet and play!

Today was the signified celebratory date
for that GENTLEMAN so great,
and none other than our President brother
will ask of us a spate:
"From your post you shall not swerve
make the most @ United We Serve!"

It had this farmboy wondering
at ‘our’ hoi polloi’s stark blundering
with fannies on the couch
we’d better get up – and ouch!

01/21 Direct Link

This farmboy had always thought
that 'till' meant just that.
So 'til he gets acquainted
with his own syntax tainted
he'll wonder and blunder, clumsy, alone
until those proverbial cows come home.

He had seen others far above his ilk
writing and writhing in lexicographical passion
spitting out mothers of symbols in silk
ardent, in arresting fashion.

Take for example, those fiery editorials
by none other than William F.
– a highly educated gent
whose name shall remain anonymous
within the context of this post:
he THROWS DOWN, and gives it the most.

To his words, we all drink a toast.

01/22 Direct Link

Just thought of something:

Say you have a fan, and that fan is running.
Its blades are spinning, and motor is humming.
It produces sound; the air is thinning.
What have you found? You might be grinning.

And on its blades, sliced air is IT
not meeting up with any shit
but rather, oh, dear girls and boys
this fan produces some ‘white noise’.

Yes, that oddly named ‘white noise’, or ‘white sound’ is well known within both lay and scientific communities, so can any geeks within the latter please tell us if ‘black noise’ exists?

01/23 Direct Link

Never in the history of DLIPFFarm
has this ever happened.
Well, actually we shan’t say “never”;
it actually has occurred more then once
and then at that
at the drop of a hat,
it made me feel like a dunce,
and that is where this crap end.

1/18’s orphaned entry:

Up until two we had such a to-do!
Then come the a.m. – I put on one shoe.
Amidst evening mayhem,
I wore amber hue;
such goggles as they are good to look through,
and boost melatonin so one will not rue;
yet up late, got raunchy; had nary a clue.

01/24 Direct Link

Gabor Maté’s scintillating talk on the topic of ‘Is capitalism making us crazy?’ was a game changer.
Listening further, not much in the way of a naysay got in the way. The dude has a way with words, and spells out irrefutable facts.
But to this occasional Big Box shopper, the thought occurred: ‘we need a BLAME CHANGER.

Living under the system, Davey had succeeded as much as a farmboy of his persuasion could expect to.
No, he wasn’t crazy – at least not yet – but the nameless statistics and persons chronicled by Maté certainly seemed to state his case persuasively.

01/25 Direct Link
Davey just now went back to more thoroughly peruse January 23rd's entry – mostly to avert a possible redundancy of entry, or reentry, if you will – and noticed a glaring typo he wished he could kill.

But such is the case
with these words in our face,
indeed, once they have been posted;
they're out in the wild
whether pure or defiled
if they're lame, you are game to get ROASTED.

So anyhoo, Davey tells you
whilst attempting to be a good man;
the typo he laid down
of which he now does rue
was a “then” instead of a “than”.
01/26 Direct Link

But in purple prose, as anyone knows
such gibberish, they will not heed it;
so throw in the “no’s” and leave the typos
because you know no one will read it.

Thus, didactic Davey will leave behind
that prosaic puffery fluff
then scrounge up some verbiage quickly to find
he accomplishes this on his DUFF.

This post is continued from what was already chronicled and perhaps posted – after the ‘black noise’ query:

Here’s a little anecdote, as if anybody cares:
Here, oh dear, and sooner than later
the ever-available stairs
are freer than that elevator
although more slowly one fares.

01/27 Direct Link

Spar date – maybe yesterday: The most recent visit to one extraordinarily expensive but oh, so necessary nursing home meant witnessing the undergirding necessity of elevators which exist for the less fortunate, namely the residents, who, for better or worse – usually and mostly worse – cannot get up or down any other way. I mean, like, can you imagine a wheelchair banging down the stairs?

Dat sh**’s undeniably dangerous – even for the most ambitiously ambulatory or bone-crazy.

So let’s have patience,
forsaking the elevators in favor of stairs, allowing for the residents, who could be more properly identified – and served – as ‘patients’.

01/28 Direct Link

Any given visit to one of these horrific institutions will send any proverbial Tom, Dick or Harry scurrying the other way – preferably out the nearest exit – with or without their respective dicks.

That being said, it stands true,
even for us backwoods hicks.

So off to ‘bigger’ and more youthful things, such as two folks who, having years ago exchanged vows and rings, now feel compelled, and not compunctious in moving on to other things:

Amanda and Jerry, well, they broke up,
and neither one is bitchin’.
He likely got that bigass truck,
and she got that slick dream kitchen!

01/29 Direct Link

Slowly, unsteadily, on your feet;
ice and snow make need for cleat!
Use the ‘springs’ that stretch over shoes;
it’s a safe bet those things are safe to use!

Recently, mysteriously, the local venerable farmer’s supply store began carrying magnesium chloride pellets for deicing purposes – a much friendlier alternative to the highly corrosive and unhealthy calcium chloride.

So why can’t the highway department follow suit?
Is this oxidization point moot?
As salt rusts our rust-buckets,
Do we give a hoot?
And what about those horns?
Can we hear a toot?
At salt we heap our scorns
corrosion at the root!

01/30 Direct Link

More thoughts on the formerly intoxicated:
Grasped in sobriety treatment, not idly mired,
who prior to propriety were excoriated
whilst attempting to get rewired:

Yes, the “they” may have cajoled you
or maybe even firmly told you
“never get too Hungry, Angry, Lonely or Tired”.
To which we might rightly add into:
“Try your stinkin’ level best
though you may be put to the test
whether hungry, angry, lonely or tired,
try not to ever get FIRED!”

That would help one’s self esteem
by making this good point;
for things are lonelier than they seem
at your hungry, angry joint!

01/31 Direct Link

Hug that warm hearth if you may
you will impart a better day!
But out and about, I’ve this to say:

Please don’t harangue me re:
how much protein I should consume!
Just leave it alone; I’m gristle free,
oh ghastly, gaseous plume!
Bloodied corpse on plates, you see
are not what I’ll consume!
Your methane belching bothers me
so giddy up – go zoom!

If this SHORT life
or more accurately, ‘existence’,
in this scarcely fathom-long body
can be lived
while shortening as few other lives as possible,
then that is and shall be
the long and short of it!