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-- word biscuit --
-- stories god told me edition --
-- ray heinrich --
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god works in mysterious ways (like most people i know)
-ray
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< sarah >
had just taken the money to mr wentworth at the bank
and mr wentworth
(as always)
had offered her candy
but
(as always)
she took the gum
on the way home
she met a witch
(much taller than the last one)
who said:
"i'll give you a wish for that gum"
but
(as always)
she kept the gum
---
< mr. johnson >
talked to the furniture
a tired stool
a new couch
and a cupboard indifferent to its contents
"but once"
the cupboard thought
"there was this jade vase... "
---
< little john thorington >
waited for his school-mates
today
had not been one of his best
caught
by the assistant principle
while breaking into ginger's locker
(all those bananas... why?)
and he was late for detention class as well
but still
he'd found what he wanted
---
< dr. gimli >
his formula for the pounds of poodle fur in a bijon frieze / poodle mix
(commonly know as poofrieze because bijondle doesn't sound as nice)
was off by at least three cat's whiskers
"the problem"
he thought
"must've been a false assumption"
("aren't they always!")
and three days later...
he found it!
(it was the fourth assumption, to be exact)
---
< major tom >
pressed the third red button from the left
and thought
(in the very next instant)
"was it the third red button or just the third button?"
(which happened to be blue and also tom's last thought)
---
< jeffery >
was the first to notice the balloon
blue
and drifting low above the pale green leaves of his favorite spring tree,
a tulip poplar
(of course, in summer, he preferred oaks)
the balloon
bobbed in the light breeze
and as he watched
it settled over the meadow
the white envelope
(hanging from the blue balloon by a red ribbon)
kept running into the yellow dandelions
setting them weaving like the upside-down pendulums
of some tiny clocks buried in the earth
"clocks!" jeff thought
"it's time for supper"
and ran home
---
< humphrey >
the chair
was being sat
a knock-off of eileen gray's famous bauhaus design
(and a rare left-hander's version at that)
but
(as he refused to acknowledge even to himself)
upholstered in naugahyde instead of leather
humphrey
was an expert in butts
(but what chair isn't?)
and he could
(of course)
tell fat from lean and dry from sweaty
but not every chair
(he prided himself on)
could tell the squeeze of tight jeans
from the loose push of bell-bottoms
the thick of winter wool
from the thin of tropical
and the rub of nylon
from the delicate press of silk
today
however
he sat the cat
---
< ginger's locker >
held what ginger prized
stuffed frogs
finger paints
notes from her friends
(each and every one of them from the last three years)
a picture book of paris
(she'd be an art student there one day)
many many many books about horses
(most from the library, slipped out over the last three years)
a watercolor of lilies by aunt ruth
a duncan rainbow yo-yo
(stolen from that wretched thorington boy)
all those hated bananas her mother always packed in her lunch
(each and every one of them from the last three years)
bracelets made from rubber bands
(red ones and blue ones and green ones and yellow ones and purple ones)
and a photo of her dad
(away at war)
---
< missy >
the mouse
munched a white envelope
the glue
an old-fashioned paste of gum
(not the hideous urethane of fed-x)
licked by a woman
who had
(just recently)
sipped a spanish brandy
(whose maker escaped her at the moment, a domecq ?)
and
(not as recently)
kissed a man wearing aqua di parma
---
< george >
a hawk
silent
(as ever)
swooped low
his talons ready
(as ever)
as the red ribbon
(a bit too bitter for missy's taste)
looped around her foot
staying her
from a famous leap
but
as george had her within his grasp
the blue balloon
enveloped his head
and sightless
he tumbled
as the red ribbon
pulled missy
from his grasp
---
< manny >
the mushroom
fantasized he was a morel
not a common crimini
(at least he sang in choral)
but there he was by jiminy
fruiting in a field
his wished this damn blue balloon
had not his face
concealed
---
< Jeremy >
Jeremy was a geranium who craved Capitals.
And today, Jeremy was jittery.
"Those kids are visiting today", he said to himself.
"All those fidgety fingers, all that fervid fingering."
He was concerned, of course, for his blossoms.
Which, as we all know, turn brown when bruised.
Then Frank showed up.
"Not Frank!", he shouted.
And if geraniums could jump,
then Jeremy would have jumped.
But jeremy could only gesticulate
as a wee wandering wisp of wind waved his branches.
"Not Frank!"
"Frank is the most fantastically fanatical of the fervid fingerers.
Frank has browned blossoms from Brewster to Bristow,
from Broadwater to Broken Bow", thought Jeremy,
nonplused that Nebraska didn't begin with a "b".
"Brewster!" he babbled,
where Jane and Janice Geranium
and their sisters Sarah and Sally
had psychologically succumbed to Frank's fanatically fervid fingering.
"Not Frank!", he said.
But Frank,
walked right past,
his fantastically fanatical fervid fingers fascinated, fevering, for forsythia.
- - -
< manfred >
the sorrel grass
had turned into a ginger
with pungent taste
and bulbous root
enough to spice a meal
(to satan he had sold his soul to codify the deal)
---
< melanie >
hopped merrily
cotton tail and all
through a field of fresh spring greens
"so early this year"
she thought
as the warm sun promised her the wild onions she loved so much
and the dandelions' yellow heads bobbed in the wind
as she considered the lilies in ms. ruth's garden
how beautiful
and yet
how poisonous
not good for food or anything
and yet
how beautiful
---
< peter >
the lost dog
(proud he'd made it on his own)
imagined his ancestors
small asian wolves
hunting mastodons in packs
bringing them down in a symphony of howls
(in truth, they ate mice, but ...)
then
under a light green tulip poplar
he saw a brown mushroom covered by a blue balloon trailing a red ribbon
and a chewed-up envelope (white)
peter flipped the envelope with his good paw
and a note (beige)
spilled out
and he read
(another thing he'd learned from his years on the road)
of the second coming of christ
and it said it was eminent
and we should all prepare
following his nose
he trotted away
(the red ribbon smelled of fresh mouse)
though he couldn't help wondering about the note
since christ
came every day
usually by 8 am
---
< ruth >
looked
from her kitchen window
past the garden
and out into the field
"all the life out there"
she thought
"in here it's just me and the dishes"
but the dishes loved her
the feel of her gentle hands
the soft bubbles of soap
as she washed them
and never
ever
dropped a one
---
< kathy >
looked
over the bridge
just a small one
a single lane
passing towards the village
"if i jumped from here"
she thought
"it wouldn't kill me"
"a few bruises, and at worst, a broken arm"
she decided to wait
for the golden gate
---
< fred >
backed his back-hoe
dug his ditch
the earth
it's smell as the blade took hold
delighted him
as the water ran in
clouded
became the color of dirt
and swirls of it
(with tiny flashes of sun)
filled his ditch
---
< joan >
filled her blue baloon
tied her red ribbon
around her white envelope
enclosed her beige note
and set them adrift
into a sky the color of her balloon
with clouds
that matched her envelope
---
< tim >
the tulip poplar
(had never wanted to be anything else)
and the spring
oh!
how he loved the spring
the feel
as his sap filled him
as the sun warmed him
as his leaves
folded out
---
< the squire >
loved how his skin felt in the morning
stinging from the splash of old cologne
loved the evening
as it settled
with the help
of a fine spanish brandy
but most of all
he loved jone
---
< the jade vase >
had been part of the earth
for a billion years
had felt the hands of a craftsman
reveal him
the eyes of an emperor
admire him
the pride of aunt dotty
as she bought him for 10 dollars at a yard sale in east orange new jersey
but the best
was that old cupboard of hers
and the life they had shared
---
< the assistant principle >
(they're always the hatchet men)
was tired of coaching football
but
it was the only way to become a principle in texas
so
he had many on his list:
thorington
was a problem
and jeffery
was close behind
and elise
(the possibilities were endless)
and sarah
(always chewing gum in class)
and phillip
(always with two l's he shouts)
and ginger
(so obsessive... )
and tom
(potential serial killer?)
and kathy
(the weirdest one... just where will she end up?)
and just where
were all those library books?
but every day
has its end
and at least
this was a beautiful place to be
he admitted
(but only to himself)
consider the lilies
of ruth's garden
---
< the lily >
so beautiful
and so lazy
just growing
and looking splendid
and why not?
"when you're arrayed like me
there's nothing else you have to do"
but such confidence was expected
knowing
(as she did)
that anyone who ate her
would soon die
---
< the blue balloon >
never asked for this assignment
(but then, balloons are never consulted)
red ribbons
and white envelopes
and beige notes
were a bit much!
on the other hand
he liked the helium
liked its wonderful lightness
liked it's fresh feel
(so different from the smelly breath of humans)
and he loved to soar
up into the clouds of a crisp spring day
to bob and float
(as god had intended)
to view
the bridges and fields
the lilies of someone's garden
the mouse in the field
the hawk
circling above
the tulip poplars
their leaves
starting to unfold
---
< the bridge >
happy to be of service
never trembled
under the heavy trucks
loved to be walked on
even by sarah
(whose gum left black spots on her deck)
her motto was
"a crossing but never cross"
(it was cast in her concrete for all to see)
but today
she was cross
"that damn fred and his back-hoe"
she steamed
"muddying up my clear water with another of his damned ditches"
(and the brook agreed)
---
< jennifer >
another hawk
loved george
and
(as these things often work out)
needed to feed her kids
"another year
another mouth"
she thought
"and the mice
are getting faster"
(she'd never admit it was her age)
still
the days were beautiful
up here in the soft air
to see for miles the life below
the lilies of the garden
the tulip poplars as the rose to meet her
(and the occasional blue balloon)
sometimes
(using her still keen eyes)
she'd make sure the other hawks weren't watching
and dine
on roadkill
---
< miss billingsly >
gently laid her pistol on her grandmother's mahogany table
the tv sat mute
a small hole in its screen
"right in the center" she thought proudly
(but with a little disappointment)
she'd expected an implosion
a huge shower of glass
and maybe a cut or two
"like dueling scars"
she imagined
but no
just a little hole
"now what"
she wondered
"had i been watching?"
---
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stock bio:
ray heinrich is an ex-texas technofreak and hippie-socialist
wannabe who lives on the outskirts of washington d.c.
he writes poems for thrills and attention. over the years
his work has appeared in many small, insignificant publications
both in and out of cyberspace. in real life he fools with
computers, has always been married, loves dogs, remembers
a BLUE fish and four BRONZE frogs, and has taken to planting
some wild grass seeds in various places around a forest where
all his loves and desires reside.
copyright notice:
all this is copyright 2005 by ray heinrich and the free
state of dogs. comments are VERY welcome (send to:
ray@wordbiscuit.com ), ALWAYS read and LOVED as proof
that someone out there acknowledges my existence, but
not always responded to which is a greedy, selfish act
on my part which i seem to keep committing but at least
i'm not wearing any pants and the shirt i used to say i
was wearing had a quote on it from noam chomsky and some
chew marks left on it by a small, obstinate poodle who
was curled up, sleeping, resting his head on my feet a
few minutes ago but is now upstairs barking at a squirrel
and now he's back and now, a month later, he's back again
and now, another month later, he's upstairs barking cause
he wants me to come up and walk him which i'll have to do
so i'll be back in a minute, well, it's been a month and
he's watching the baby raccoons again and there's no living
with him until they stop catching and eating the moths on
the screen door and you'd think they'd be scared of him
but no they're just ignoring us and two months later
they're lots bigger and we finally got some rain and three
months after that it's finally getting cold except for
my happy feet beneath a warm and still obstinate poodle
and more months later he's asleep in the other room and
my feet are cold and i have every intention of getting
up and doing something about this but not quite yet and
even more months later he's started up a .com with Ilane
to sell virtual cat and mouse jerky and a little more than
a month later he's back having burned out on e-business
and ready to get back to barking at anything that moves
which, months later, is a five foot king snake that thinks
it's warmer in here than outside and i grab the poodle
before he can chew on it and try to catch it but having
warmed up in the house it's REALLY fast so i explain to
it that it's welcome and all but i'm not about to feed it
so it will just have to fend for itself and, by the way,
watch out for the poodle and if you should ever get up
to massachusetts, say hi to Ilane for me and four years
later the damned poodle is even worse but likes to lay
his head on my feet again and three months later he's
chewed up my wallet again, but this time he not only
got my credit cards (they were all maxed out anyway)
but $25 in cash which i'm now trying to piece together
all the while thinking that life must be a metaphor
for something complicated.
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