Quirks and Quarks

The Batspit Chronicle 09 Jan 2021

Today, I realized 10 months of mask-wearing in public has messed up my resting face. This got me into a couple situations (that I can remember).

The first, in response to a question I evidently misunderstood, I snarled and blurted profanity, which wasn’t all bad because people let me cross the street ahead of them. Such nice people. Profanity rhymed with duck poo.

The second, I smiled when I greeted a person as we entered the gym, which she interpreted as “Please, you must ask me out for a date.” Which she did, after following me around my circuit. In response to her query, I snarled and she went away, so that worked out because she was hogging the hip adductor/abductor anyway.

I might be having a bad day but I can’t be sure until I review my copious notes. Per my notes I have so far, the day seems about today-ish.


The Fall

My notes tell me this poem aspires to be a roundel. Aspirations be damned, here it is!

The Fall

On the first day there was art,
on the second, marble, clay,
then the reed, string, and heart.
On the first day it was good

until one day
we saw dancer and dance apart
knew potter from the clay,

found player playing the part,
forgot no chorus, note, refrain
were printed on any chart
on the first day.

Quirks and Quarks

The Batspit Chronicle 12 Jan 2021

Local man reportedly blurted profanity at yet another person he sees along his regular walk. First responders treated bystanders for shock and awe but no serious injuries were sustained.

When asked what provoked his outburst, the man shrugged “No clue, but wasn’t it awesome?”

Now uncorked, he continued, “cussing is more fun today than it was during my Catholic high school days.”

“It’s not for everyone” he admitted.

Although nobody asked or cares, he advised aspiring cussers, “with study, practice, and not a little cortical disinhibition, you too can weave glorious threads of filth into the dull tapestries of daily conversations.”

For tips, training programs, and self-defense tactics, check out his podcast “What The Hell Are YOU Looking At?!”

Quirks and Quarks

The Batspit Chronicle

10 Jan 2021

Local authorities responded to complaints of a middle aged man dancing salsa to the 1970s hit Sweet Emotion.

Asked why on Earth he would commit this atrocity in the kitchen, he shrugged, “This is the way?”

He received a verbal warning and was released to the basement.

He was last seen wearing headphones, and he appeared to be dancing foxtrot with a broom.

Poetry Quirks and Quarks

Concluding Remarks

to sum up,
on the whole
the results suggest
we are
in the final analysis,
in a word,
and in the end,
a phenomenon
that warrants further study



We don’t notice how silence
comforts and conceals,
fractures and heals,
until one voice
bridges chasms
dividing the silent,
reveals what was,
what remains among us.

Silence is not absence.
Silence is ether compressed
before an echo,
in the moment between
lightning and thunder.

The echo grows
from one voice.
from one bright
lightning bolt.


A Poet’s Resolution

Of means, none silent as the candle

greetings, none soft as dawn

causes, none grand as the moth

to weave moonlight each night.

Of words, make mine such steel

that I too would render

wonder from darkness.


The Gift

What comes each dawn                                      
I do not know

Dawn knows no reason                              
Keeps its own season

Buds at budding time                                
Ripens at harvest time

Dies in its prime                                        
Leaves one fresh gift

To confound the clever painter            
Blending at their palette.


The Pursuit of Happiness

Happiness is not yours.
A guest in our home,
It arrives warm, bright, generous,
Leaves quietly before its time.
Happiness is not mine.
It lives untamed
In wilderness between our hands
But not in our hands.
A tide between our shores,
Happiness is not yours
To keep, not mine to give.
But it may be shared
As you swim beside me,
The wake trailing your body
Gently joining mine.


On Memories and Dreams

John 1:3

If through You
All things were made
And all things are possible

I know why
Lilacs smell like rainbows
And antiseptic

Winter wind
Stings like steel
Needles in my vein

I remember one summer
Sweet as lemonade
Sharp as a scalpel blade.

In my dream 
I taste warm cinnamon

I kneel beneath
Watercolor skies

Fold my hands
Round this tiny wren

Its injured wing

Like its
Trembling heart

I unfold my hands
But I will not wake 

Until my dreams 
Become memories

And I keep my memories
To do with as I please.