SATURDAY EVENING SERVICE @ C.T.K.

I dropped the Bread of Life
The Monsignor picked it up,
Placed it back on his tray
Said calmly, quietly, “it's okay.”

He placed another piece,
Looking identical to me,
Continued on with the gathering
As if nothing amiss had happened.

Sunday Mass is tomorrow.
What will the end results be then?!?
My prayer's beg for a kind appearing
Turmoil.
   
           Scott Thornhill

WHY I DON'T FLOSS MY TEETH

No, I didn't enjoy it, but . . .

I'll happily do it again, and again.
I just can't say no.
I often wonder if her husband knows
what she does to me at work.
Allow me to describe for him (and her)
and myself
My obsession.

Six or eight months ago
I was, so expertly, delightfully . . . cheated,
left hungry for more
hours more,
A masochist would appreciate this.

She began emotionless, with a 10mm probe
and a foot or two of dental floss
the unwaxed kind.
I braced for the intense discomfort,
usually a significant part of these
encounters.
She used my own cheek to steady her weapon,
Then heartlessly sunk the unwelcome thing
down to “seven with bleeding”.

The pain, however was nondescript,
in fact . . . it went nearly unnoticed.
Her own brand of anesthesia . . .
TOTAL COMPLETE DISTRACTION
had taken over at twelve inches.
The perfect distance needed to mentally sketch
. . . to study
the subtle lines and enticing contours of
her wonderfully, not quite closed, thin,
exquisitely provocative . . . and most probably
DELICIOUS lips!

A veritable fantasy . . .
perpetually poised for an erotic kiss . . .
only a foot away . . .
Rinse! . . . and she was finished . . . NEXT!

She says if I don't start flossing,
she's going to have to spend more time with me.


           Scott Thornhill

HOPEFUL ROMANTIC

I read your letter to me again tonight.

All the words written . . . but mostly
those unwritten, between . . . and after . . .
Again

I checked the mailbox (twice) again today
and again, considered a keen mystery. . .
Your words may
mask, – unspoken, shy affection –
just encode a simple hint, meant only to
encourage this . . . romantic or worse . . .
conceal nothing.

The mystery's end reads all too clear, now in kind . . .
Because in fairness to the shy,
the simple lack of a sequel reveals some
overanxious improvisation . . .
on the part of this, hopeless, romantic's
hopeful mind.

          Scott Thornhill

WHUT AM I POSTA DU?

 

Evree time I seee ya

I get stoopidd!!

I ferrgett hou to rite.

Spellen, ferrgett itt!!

I sstartt sttudd-udd-uddurrenn.

Itts gotta bee mi faaultt.

I juss donoo hou to fiksitt.

I waantt ya tu thennk Imm kooll

Onn akkowntt ah yurr perrtee!!!!

Ann smmaartt !!!!

Ann uuuhh. . . .

Inn cummpleett kunntroll!!!!

Howw du ya do itt???

Lemmee kno summtiime

Yu mite liike mee

Iff I kenn fiigurre it owwt

Maabee thenn wee kann ssmooochhh!!!!!

Thenn I wonnt sttudd-udd-uddurr

Probblee onn akowntt ah I 

wontt bee aible tu tokk!!

Scott Thornhill

SAD OLD LOVE SONGS

All those old love songs
they keep playing on the radio,
All the mournful ones
about My Baby Done Left Me,
She Don't Love Me Anymore,
I'm All Alone Now,
all that sad stuff.

Why do they keep playing
all those songs?
They play them for me.
They're all crap
unless they're for you.
Then they are the saddest 
truest things in the world.

All those sad old love songs.
They know just how I feel.

            G.W. Bill Miller

CYCLE

When summer's burning heat at last is over,
and autumn rains again refresh the earth.
There is a burst of life which like a nova
hurls out the light that precedes icy death.

The wind boils leaves in heaven's flashing cauldren
an endless stream of color swirls and falls,
and reveals Seurat's dappled vision,
a patchwork quilt that flows and covers all.

That which spring began and summer nurtured,
at autumn's end must safe be stored inside.
With winter's cold the cycle's finally ended.
Tender life digs deep, flies south, or dies.

At last comes winter's quiet time which brings
All life's return in resurrection spring.

             G.W. Bill Miller

PARKING LOT DUST-UP

The other day I was sitting in my car waiting for my wife to  return from the shopping mall. As I watched, a drama began to unfold just one lane over.

A little blue Honda approached a handi-capped space in the crowded lot. The driver had a handicapped parking sticker hanging from her rear view mirror. Just as she began to turn into the parking space a large green van nosed in front of the Honda.

“This is mine,” snarled the lady in the van, “I saw it first.”

“No,” said the Honda lady, “I was here first, and I have a handicapped sticker. Besides, you are going the wrong way. You will have to back up to pull in here and by then I will be parked.”

“You better back up and let me in there or I will get out and kick your butt,” the van lady shouted. She appeared to be very angry.

The lady in the Honda thought to herself. “If I can get into the parking spot it will be very difficult for her to extract me. I can honk to make noise, and if she keeps yelling we should attract some attention. With enough people watching I don't think she can do much to make me move.”

The Honda lady cracked her window and said. “OK, move back a few inches so I can get past you.” The lady in the van gave a little smirk of victory, slipped her car in reverse and backed up just enough so that the Honda whizzed into the parking slot with a blast of her horn. Grabbing her purse, she locked her doors and limped off toward the mall with her cane flying.

The van lady roared her disapproval. Honking her horn she began to curse loudly. By this time a few people had stopped and begun to watch the angry woman who shook her fists and shouted a barrage of insults.

She turned to the laughing crowd to direct her anger at them and noticed that a police car had just pulled up to see what the ruckus was about. “What seems to be the problem ma'am?” the officer asked.

“That little witch just stole my parking place.” she whined, as the crowd burst into laughter.

“I see.” said the policeman, “Would you care to go down to the police station to make a complaint?”

“Uh, no, no that's OK,” she said with a scowl, and began to back away.

Meanwhile, from a short distance away the Honda lady watched with a smile and shook her head. “Thank you Lord.” she whispered.

           G.W. Bill Miller

CANADIAN COUNTRY SPRING

Spring time at the Barn
The sight of the Lake is grand.
All the Flowers' colors so beautiful
Just makes me want
To hold them in my hand.

Will this be the
Season of Corn or Bean seed?
The Farm already is ploughed-land
Waiting for the rain
To quench its thirst.

Trees stand firm,
Mighty, tall and green,
Swaying from side to side,
Dancing to the wind.

The Farmhouse overlooks
And soaks it all in the Neutral.
Chicken-house,
Right by its side
Almost as if
Holding its Hand.

          Patrick Cheptiony

IT COULD BE WORSE

are you seeing a nurse?

is there something you must rehearse?

just remember this verse'

it could be worse

over the ages people have feared

what shouldn't be so highly revered

they run and hide or shout and curse

but it could be worse

disasters will always happen

as long as this earth is here

but we must always stand firm

let there be no fear

so even when you face death

and being whisked away in a hearse

just be thankful

it could be worse

Vaughn

SCROOGE

darkness surrounds me

i'm not a merry stooge

watch out world, don't get in my way

i've become a scrooge

don't ask for money

because i don't even care

you won't get one red penny

and i don't have time to spare

don't hassle me with your deluge

i've become a scrooge

don't ask why

because you won't get a word from me

in my darkest hour

you couldn't set me free

i spent three years in a strange city

and each day i thought of you

i planned to return

as soon as my plans went through

most people would appreciate

someone being so true

but not you

so i've stopped wasting my time with you

and everyone else

and if you ask me why, i'll tell you

you've created a scrooge

Vaughn