I just bowed my head
in reverence
to the many moments
that I have had
burrowed deep inside you
and wordsmith that I pretend to be
I have no words
for your magnificence
and I damned well wish that I did,
because such words,
if they existed,
would make for one hell of a pome,
just like the sound of my tears,
as I miss you forever,
would make for one hell of a song.
July 19, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
7/19/10
a white dress shirt
I want to buy
a white dress shirt
not because I need one
worthless poets and bums
don’t need one
but I want one
just so I can have
Your lipstick stain
prominently
on its collar
that's not too much
to ask for,
is it?
July 19, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
a white dress shirt
not because I need one
worthless poets and bums
don’t need one
but I want one
just so I can have
Your lipstick stain
prominently
on its collar
that's not too much
to ask for,
is it?
July 19, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
7/18/10
the fat lady next door
she makes me nervous,
and I'm not the itchy type
archetype;
but the way she eyes me
from her perch
on her deck,
makes me feel like
I am on her menu;
dammit, what a meal
I would make,
to maintain her girth;
then again,
maybe she doesn't want
to barbeque me,
maybe she just wants
to screw me;
even worse:
I'll take the fire.
June 29, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
and I'm not the itchy type
archetype;
but the way she eyes me
from her perch
on her deck,
makes me feel like
I am on her menu;
dammit, what a meal
I would make,
to maintain her girth;
then again,
maybe she doesn't want
to barbeque me,
maybe she just wants
to screw me;
even worse:
I'll take the fire.
June 29, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
reconsideration
death, palpable,
as the air thickens
and breaths quicken,
with thoughts awry
regrets multiply
as visions past
fly by,
too quick
to ascertain
what remains
hope's flower,
quickly devoured,
as needs' hour
refuses to reply
sleep's peace
eludes
and no release
exudes,
as a lifetime
of vicissitudes
consume me
slumber, sleep,
these dark passages
I cannot keep
as regret, remorse
and illgotten course
overcome me
no repair
for the irreparable,
only despair
for the irreplaceable,
this night
come silent,
come quick,
despicable one,
and take me now
before the sun.
July 18, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
as the air thickens
and breaths quicken,
with thoughts awry
regrets multiply
as visions past
fly by,
too quick
to ascertain
what remains
hope's flower,
quickly devoured,
as needs' hour
refuses to reply
sleep's peace
eludes
and no release
exudes,
as a lifetime
of vicissitudes
consume me
slumber, sleep,
these dark passages
I cannot keep
as regret, remorse
and illgotten course
overcome me
no repair
for the irreparable,
only despair
for the irreplaceable,
this night
come silent,
come quick,
despicable one,
and take me now
before the sun.
July 18, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
7/17/10
the cardinal
the cardinal is visiting right now,
perched on a branch
of the white pine cluster,
visible to me
through the screen of the patio:
his arrival
has greatly concerned
the wren family,
whose hatchlings cackle in their nest
on the other end of the patio;
friend or foe, they chatter,
Mr. and Mrs. Wren,
flitting from branch to branch
of the lilac,
studying the larger bird
for clues;
you can't be too careful
these days, wren or not.
June 29, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
perched on a branch
of the white pine cluster,
visible to me
through the screen of the patio:
his arrival
has greatly concerned
the wren family,
whose hatchlings cackle in their nest
on the other end of the patio;
friend or foe, they chatter,
Mr. and Mrs. Wren,
flitting from branch to branch
of the lilac,
studying the larger bird
for clues;
you can't be too careful
these days, wren or not.
June 29, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
mel gibson
my heart beats
for many things:
my daughters,
the Wifey
and her children,
my planet,
my people;
but not for what
mel gibson said
to his mistress,
nor how many times
he cursed her;
not for what he said,
what he didn't say,
what he should have
said, or to what sea
of troubles his
anger issues have led;
I have my own
bag o' regrets
that I can rummage
through, if need be;
so please, please,
just let mel and me be.
July 17, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
for many things:
my daughters,
the Wifey
and her children,
my planet,
my people;
but not for what
mel gibson said
to his mistress,
nor how many times
he cursed her;
not for what he said,
what he didn't say,
what he should have
said, or to what sea
of troubles his
anger issues have led;
I have my own
bag o' regrets
that I can rummage
through, if need be;
so please, please,
just let mel and me be.
July 17, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
if he loved You
if he loved You,
as much as You thought he did,
if he loved You,
half as much as I do,
he would never have done
such injustice to You,
never would have
betrayed Your allegiance,
never would have
left You alone
for this last dance;
no worries, then,
mi amor,
as he shuts that door,
I am here,
unworthy of You,
but standing
next to the open window,
forever,
Yours.
July 16, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
as much as You thought he did,
if he loved You,
half as much as I do,
he would never have done
such injustice to You,
never would have
betrayed Your allegiance,
never would have
left You alone
for this last dance;
no worries, then,
mi amor,
as he shuts that door,
I am here,
unworthy of You,
but standing
next to the open window,
forever,
Yours.
July 16, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
crazy as hell
the next time
you think about
the impossible,
remember this poem:
the story of the Wifey
and I is crazy as hell,
and if you had told it
to either of us,
two years ago,
we both would have
pissed ourselves laughing;
nothing is ever
impossible.
June 29, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
you think about
the impossible,
remember this poem:
the story of the Wifey
and I is crazy as hell,
and if you had told it
to either of us,
two years ago,
we both would have
pissed ourselves laughing;
nothing is ever
impossible.
June 29, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
7/16/10
garden delight
trim your hedges?
hell, yes, I will level them,
and all your hostas,
hydrangeas, and hollies;
I will uproot all your mint,
and lemon balm and
woodruff;
dig up your chives,
and grind up your sage,
and not one Douglas fir
will survive;
I will come for your lilacs too:
and chop them up small
for kindling;
and your mountain laurel
will be history, as will
your emerald arborvitae,
and your precious Kousa dogwood
will become a fine
walking stick;
your azaleas will make a
fine start to the bonfire of all
bonfires, on which
to roast you slowly,
very, very slowly.
June 29, 2010. From the forthcoming collection, Spoken Rage 2.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
hell, yes, I will level them,
and all your hostas,
hydrangeas, and hollies;
I will uproot all your mint,
and lemon balm and
woodruff;
dig up your chives,
and grind up your sage,
and not one Douglas fir
will survive;
I will come for your lilacs too:
and chop them up small
for kindling;
and your mountain laurel
will be history, as will
your emerald arborvitae,
and your precious Kousa dogwood
will become a fine
walking stick;
your azaleas will make a
fine start to the bonfire of all
bonfires, on which
to roast you slowly,
very, very slowly.
June 29, 2010. From the forthcoming collection, Spoken Rage 2.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
Mrs. Freshley's honey buns
six,
individually-wrapped,
in a long box,
at the Dollar Tree;
they can sustain me
for three days:
two-a-day;
thank you,
Mrs. Freshley,
wherever you are.
June 29, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
individually-wrapped,
in a long box,
at the Dollar Tree;
they can sustain me
for three days:
two-a-day;
thank you,
Mrs. Freshley,
wherever you are.
June 29, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
my prayer
walking in these
mocassins
would have killed you
long ago;
and I pray that
you are given
all of the mercies
that you have denied me.
June 29, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
mocassins
would have killed you
long ago;
and I pray that
you are given
all of the mercies
that you have denied me.
June 29, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
the only chapter
hey, hey, sista
I'm not just anutha mista,
I'm the one who loves ya,
spins the world for ya,
takes ya to the edge
and brings ya,
who knows what swings ya;
you're no shorty,
you're the only chapter
in my whole life's story
that matters to me;
hey, hey, sista
sure am glad I kissed ya,
I'm the one who loves ya,
spins the world for ya,
takes ya to the edge
and brings ya,
who knows what swings ya;
you're no shorty,
you're the only chapter
in my whole life's story
that matters to me.
June 29, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
I'm not just anutha mista,
I'm the one who loves ya,
spins the world for ya,
takes ya to the edge
and brings ya,
who knows what swings ya;
you're no shorty,
you're the only chapter
in my whole life's story
that matters to me;
hey, hey, sista
sure am glad I kissed ya,
I'm the one who loves ya,
spins the world for ya,
takes ya to the edge
and brings ya,
who knows what swings ya;
you're no shorty,
you're the only chapter
in my whole life's story
that matters to me.
June 29, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
7/14/10
singularity
my love comes with no price
and it comes not once
nor twice, but however often
it is needed;
a million times over
it has no cost
it seeks only to
please You, to give You
what You need
not just gibberish,
like all those words
strung together, relatively
meaningless turds
June 29, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
and it comes not once
nor twice, but however often
it is needed;
a million times over
it has no cost
it seeks only to
please You, to give You
what You need
not just gibberish,
like all those words
strung together, relatively
meaningless turds
June 29, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
singularity
my love comes with no price
and it comes not once
nor twice, but however often
it is needed;
a million times over
it has no cost
it seeks only to
please You, to give You
what You need
not just gibberish,
like all those words
strung together, relatively
meaningless turds
June 29, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
and it comes not once
nor twice, but however often
it is needed;
a million times over
it has no cost
it seeks only to
please You, to give You
what You need
not just gibberish,
like all those words
strung together, relatively
meaningless turds
June 29, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
7/13/10
not much room
left on the page;
only enough to tell You
that as I age,
You are the only One
that I desire,
as my Love for You
goes higher.
June 28, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
only enough to tell You
that as I age,
You are the only One
that I desire,
as my Love for You
goes higher.
June 28, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
priorities
never, ever, about stuff,
on account of when
I buried him, just over
five years ago;
I saw what went into that box:
not much, really;
no cars, or stereos,
or fine wines, or works
of art; pretty much
just him, in a suit,
with a photo or two,
and his glasses;
so I have reset
my priorities:
it will never be
the stuff,
it will be only
the hearts that I touch.
June 28, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
on account of when
I buried him, just over
five years ago;
I saw what went into that box:
not much, really;
no cars, or stereos,
or fine wines, or works
of art; pretty much
just him, in a suit,
with a photo or two,
and his glasses;
so I have reset
my priorities:
it will never be
the stuff,
it will be only
the hearts that I touch.
June 28, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
ever on
soon will come the night,
where mosquitos implore me,
and spiders mostly ignore me;
the night, so blessed,
that the wax on my back
holds my wings steady,
as I sit here dreaming
of Your timeless beauty,
married to my eternal duty,
to love You like no other,
out in the open, all at once,
no cover, no blindness,
only the juices of
lovingkindness,
bathing the aches
of certain illness,
what we carry, what
makes us plead to tarry
in this life just a bit more;
pipe dreams galore, and
so much more in store
for those of us who
keep marching up that hill,
well or ill,
hungry or filled,
ever on, mi amor,
ever on.
June 28, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
where mosquitos implore me,
and spiders mostly ignore me;
the night, so blessed,
that the wax on my back
holds my wings steady,
as I sit here dreaming
of Your timeless beauty,
married to my eternal duty,
to love You like no other,
out in the open, all at once,
no cover, no blindness,
only the juices of
lovingkindness,
bathing the aches
of certain illness,
what we carry, what
makes us plead to tarry
in this life just a bit more;
pipe dreams galore, and
so much more in store
for those of us who
keep marching up that hill,
well or ill,
hungry or filled,
ever on, mi amor,
ever on.
June 28, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
beauty and the rest
we suppose that
if we surround ourselves
with enough things
that are beautiful,
that we might seem somehow
less ugly by comparison;
enough sonnets,
and the brazen entreaties
of the drunken lecher
will seem less unseemly;
enough marble, tooled,
will draw attention away
from the dysfunctional
family backstory;
enough of the right
cosmetics, applied judiciously,
will render the most porcine,
breathtaking;
the more beauty
that we pile up around us,
perhaps the less we will
see ourselves, and be seen,
as the vile bloodsuckers
we really are.
June 28, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
if we surround ourselves
with enough things
that are beautiful,
that we might seem somehow
less ugly by comparison;
enough sonnets,
and the brazen entreaties
of the drunken lecher
will seem less unseemly;
enough marble, tooled,
will draw attention away
from the dysfunctional
family backstory;
enough of the right
cosmetics, applied judiciously,
will render the most porcine,
breathtaking;
the more beauty
that we pile up around us,
perhaps the less we will
see ourselves, and be seen,
as the vile bloodsuckers
we really are.
June 28, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
the soundless windchime
it still stands straight
and
soundless,
hanging
from
a lower branch
of the emerald arborvitae: and
I'm sure that he thought
he had come upon
an enormously clever idea:
flatten a tablespoon,
and bend four dinner forks,
hang them
from a tunafish can
with fishing line, and, voila:
windchime!
if only it had ever made one sound
in forty years.
June 28, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
and
soundless,
hanging
from
a lower branch
of the emerald arborvitae: and
I'm sure that he thought
he had come upon
an enormously clever idea:
flatten a tablespoon,
and bend four dinner forks,
hang them
from a tunafish can
with fishing line, and, voila:
windchime!
if only it had ever made one sound
in forty years.
June 28, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
7/6/10
a soft boom
the whole sky bleeds
as the giant plops of rain,
thunderous, victorious,
conspire to take my attention
from You, Your scent,
Your silver lining:
they will lose,
as Your entwinement with me
is now complete,
one soul embracing the other.
June 28, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
as the giant plops of rain,
thunderous, victorious,
conspire to take my attention
from You, Your scent,
Your silver lining:
they will lose,
as Your entwinement with me
is now complete,
one soul embracing the other.
June 28, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
eternally true
with You, it is never merely
an afterglow --
it is an everglow --
the thing that
let's me know
that I will never let
You go,
what tells You all
that You need to know;
what set apart
the still from
the flow;
what will always be,
and always grow;
You into me,
and me into You,
all that lasts eternally,
and all that is
eternally true.
June 26, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
an afterglow --
it is an everglow --
the thing that
let's me know
that I will never let
You go,
what tells You all
that You need to know;
what set apart
the still from
the flow;
what will always be,
and always grow;
You into me,
and me into You,
all that lasts eternally,
and all that is
eternally true.
June 26, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
all three
today, you all looked
so beautiful,
so serene,
so self-assured,
so damned grown-up,
that I stopped,
and wondered
where the hell the years had gone;
I saw three sweet,
smart, lovely young women,
charged with an extra dose
of life, and possibility;
and I was then immediately
held captive
by my legacy;
I love you, all three,
much more than
I am able to express
adequately.
June 24, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
so beautiful,
so serene,
so self-assured,
so damned grown-up,
that I stopped,
and wondered
where the hell the years had gone;
I saw three sweet,
smart, lovely young women,
charged with an extra dose
of life, and possibility;
and I was then immediately
held captive
by my legacy;
I love you, all three,
much more than
I am able to express
adequately.
June 24, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
Rianna
you looked so beautiful today,
your excitement
and nervousness
completely masked
by that radiant smile;
you stood tall
(the tallest of my three girls)
and proud,
but no one
could have been prouder
than me,
at how wonderful
you have turned out:
lovely, smart, gracious,
and still with
"a heart of gold" --
now a young woman,
ready for the next steps
in the orchard
that will be your life --
I hope that I will be around,
to see you
harvest those apples;
way to go, Riri,
way to go!
June 24, 2010, on the occasion of the high school graduation of Rianna Susan Pursley.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
your excitement
and nervousness
completely masked
by that radiant smile;
you stood tall
(the tallest of my three girls)
and proud,
but no one
could have been prouder
than me,
at how wonderful
you have turned out:
lovely, smart, gracious,
and still with
"a heart of gold" --
now a young woman,
ready for the next steps
in the orchard
that will be your life --
I hope that I will be around,
to see you
harvest those apples;
way to go, Riri,
way to go!
June 24, 2010, on the occasion of the high school graduation of Rianna Susan Pursley.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
Jihane Haddou
she spoke earlier today at her graduation
from Yorktown High School
in Arlington, Virginia;
she was at the podium,
on the stage of D.A.R. Constitution Hall
in Washington, DC;
only 18, but so eloquent
in her praise of an America
that offers opportunity to all;
she arrived in Arlington
in June 2006, from North Africa,
and spoke only Arabic and French;
in the fall of 2006,
she enrolled as a freshman;
her moving address today
was delivered
in perfect English;
and that, in the true sense of the words,
is remarkable
and incredible.
June 24, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
from Yorktown High School
in Arlington, Virginia;
she was at the podium,
on the stage of D.A.R. Constitution Hall
in Washington, DC;
only 18, but so eloquent
in her praise of an America
that offers opportunity to all;
she arrived in Arlington
in June 2006, from North Africa,
and spoke only Arabic and French;
in the fall of 2006,
she enrolled as a freshman;
her moving address today
was delivered
in perfect English;
and that, in the true sense of the words,
is remarkable
and incredible.
June 24, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
7/4/10
bacon number 2
possibly the best food
ever created,
and too much of it
is bad for you:
bonus!
June 22, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
ever created,
and too much of it
is bad for you:
bonus!
June 22, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
on the upswing
on the plus side,
I haven't yet
had to resort
to eating rats
or roadkill,
as this life tries
to cause my
exsanguination;
not my tradition
of good home-cooked food,
but the Dollar Tree
is keeping me alive;
if only they carried
little bottles of
Hope,
things would really be
on the upswing.
June 22, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
I haven't yet
had to resort
to eating rats
or roadkill,
as this life tries
to cause my
exsanguination;
not my tradition
of good home-cooked food,
but the Dollar Tree
is keeping me alive;
if only they carried
little bottles of
Hope,
things would really be
on the upswing.
June 22, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
the moths
the first one arrived,
moments ago, as if
sent from a casting agency:
body too large for wings,
struggling mightily
toward death.
June 22, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
moments ago, as if
sent from a casting agency:
body too large for wings,
struggling mightily
toward death.
June 22, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
the best of fortune
the robins
and the purple martins
are having a big skirmish
over worms
as I think of You,
too far away,
but still beneath my eyelids
and nestled in my heart;
the bickering birds
are making a lot of noise,
as I consider
how fortunate I am
to have a seat
in the temple
that is Your love.
June 22, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
and the purple martins
are having a big skirmish
over worms
as I think of You,
too far away,
but still beneath my eyelids
and nestled in my heart;
the bickering birds
are making a lot of noise,
as I consider
how fortunate I am
to have a seat
in the temple
that is Your love.
June 22, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
my list
a pretty short one,
since it includes
You,
and maybe some
hot sauce.
June 22, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
since it includes
You,
and maybe some
hot sauce.
June 22, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
depravity
here to say that
I have thoroughly
plumbed the depths,
and they are quite
deep.
June 22, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
I have thoroughly
plumbed the depths,
and they are quite
deep.
June 22, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
bad clams
"whaddya doin', big fat neighbor lady?"
I call out late at night;
she does not reply, of course,
since her windows are closed,
and I am only whispering;
the light in her bathroom
stays on for over fifteen minutes,
and I am guessing:
bad clams.
June 22, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
I call out late at night;
she does not reply, of course,
since her windows are closed,
and I am only whispering;
the light in her bathroom
stays on for over fifteen minutes,
and I am guessing:
bad clams.
June 22, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
moths
there are now seven
mendicants,
staring at the light:
stockbrokers,
waiting for the payout.
June 22, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
mendicants,
staring at the light:
stockbrokers,
waiting for the payout.
June 22, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
capitalism to the extreme
the current U.S.A. national debt
of 13 trillion dollars
is enough money to
buy nine iPhones
for each of the approximately
6.8 billion people
currently on the planet
alternatively, we could just buy
everyone
one iPhone,
and invest the rest
in BP
or Goldman Sachs
or we could just put all the money
in a big pile,
and set it on fire
June 22, 2010
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
of 13 trillion dollars
is enough money to
buy nine iPhones
for each of the approximately
6.8 billion people
currently on the planet
alternatively, we could just buy
everyone
one iPhone,
and invest the rest
in BP
or Goldman Sachs
or we could just put all the money
in a big pile,
and set it on fire
June 22, 2010
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
7/3/10
Lunch Is on Me
"Lunch Is on Me"
My latest visit to see the Wifey found me on her home turf. Normally, we meet at a location halfway between where we both live, making it easier on both of us in terms of driving distance.
This visit found me returning from Washington, DC, where I had gone for my youngest daughter's graduation from Yorktown High School in Arlington, Virginia. The trip was a long one, about nine hours, which found my Chrysler PT Cruiser quite sick when I got there -- to the tune of $775.06 -- but the graduation ceremony, held at D.A.R. Constitution Hall in Washington, was magnificent, and Rianna looked beautiful. It was a very proud day for both of us, her two sisters, and her mom and stepdad.
Since on my return I would be passing the Wifey's location, we made reservations for two nights at a hotel about 30 minutes from her home, so that we could have our monthly visit. My departure from Virginia was of course delayed from my original plan: instead of leaving about 2:00 p.m. after having lunch with my three daughters at Ghin Na Ree (the best Thai restaurant in metro DC) on Friday, June 25, I did not get to hit the road until after 6:00 p.m. That fact, coupled with a four-plus hour drive in an area that I was completely unfamiliar with, most of it at night, turned that leg of my travels into a six-hour marathon, finally arriving at the hotel after midnight.
As planned, we had been in touch on the phone as I traveled, and as soon as I checked in, I called her.
"Hi, baby. Room 131. I am so wiped out."
"Oh, thank goodness you are finally here," she said, "I have been so worried. I'll be right there. I'm at the 24-hour diner across the street."
"Excellent. I can't wait to see you, baby."
When I walked the length of the hotel's first floor to Room 131, I was tired, but elated once again to spend some time with her. I inserted the keycard, saw the light turn green, and grabbed the lever handle, pushing it all the way down. Nothing.
I tried the keycard again, and pushed again. Not a budge. Slowly, I retraced my steps back to the front desk. The night clerk, an old Indian man, seemed uninterested.
"This key is not working," I said, "and it feels like the door is locked from the inside."
"Oh, when you inserted the card," he intoned in a very serious way, "did you push the lever all the way down?"
"Yes," I replied proudly, "I did push the lever all the way down."
"Oh, but you should have pulled the lever all the way UP, very firmly," the night clerk said, smiling.
"Great, thanks," I mumbled, certain that immigration reform is just around the corner. I returned to the room, and shortly after, the Wifey arrived. We spent a few lovely minutes greeting each other.
I then began what the Wifey calls "the unbelievably laborious process" of unpacking my car with all that I have brought -- which always includes food and drink for the one- or two-night stay, plus my clothes and other necessities. But this time, owing to my exhaustion and the lateness of the hour, I took only what we absolutely needed that night, resolving that the next day I would get everything else. So it was mainly toiletries, smoked oysters and crackers and hot sauce and vodka. Ready, set, go.
We had what I will only describe here as a marvelous night, and the Wifey rose before 6:00 a.m. to go to work. That left me with the opportunity to enjoy the free breakfast at the hotel and then to get some more sleep. The breakfast was not what the chain is known for because this location's restaurant was closed for renovation: so no eggs or sausage, just bagels, mini-muffins, orange juice, apples, and yogurt. Disappointing, but adequate.
Then, after about three more hours of sleep, I rose and shaved, showered, and dressed, and began "the unbelievably laborious process" of unpacking my car. The Wifey was due to return from work at 2:00 p.m., and I wanted all the grunt work done when she returned, so that our time would be well-spent, focused on each other. Well, actually, I was supposed to go out for more vodka and some wine, but I already told you about "the unbelievably laborious process." Although I did find the time to sit down in the lobby and log into my email from the hotel's desktop computer. Which was, of course, where the Wifey found me when she called.
"Where are you?" she said. "I've been here for nearly a half-hour, and assumed you were out getting beverages, but then I looked in the parking lot and saw the PT."
"Hi, baby. Sorry, I didn't get out to the store. I'm in the lobby checking my email."
"Stop that and come to the room now."
"Of course. I'll be right there."
Luckily, it turned out that she was not angry at all, she was amorous. I love that woman.
Later, we left in her car to head to a liquor store. As she started it up, she turned and smiled at me.
"I don't think, in our nearly a year-and-a-half, that you have ever been the passenger, while I drove," she said, still smiling.
"You know, baby, I think you're right, as you usually are. Should I just buckle up and close my eyes?"
"Eh, don't make fun of my driving. I've never been in an accident that was my fault," she said.
I buckled up, and as she left the parking lot, she gunned the engine, laughing, and I closed my eyes. The electrifying ride to liquor store took only about fifteen minutes.
"Okay, we're here, Mr. Scaredy Cat. You can open your eyes now and pretend to be a man," she said.
"I will, let me just let my stomach stop doing flipflops," I said.
"Oh, stop it and come on. We should be in and out of here in less than ten minutes," the Wifey said.
"I know. I'm just stalling, because when we are in and out of here in less than ten minutes, we will then be back in this car, with you at the wheel," I said.
"Eh, with that 'tude, you can walk, dude," the Wifey said. She often rhymes her sentences.
"Okay, okay, here I go," I said, wobbling alongside the car.
Sure enough, we were in and out of there in less than ten minutes. And I resisted the urge to close my eyes for the return trip, along with the urge to take a drag on the vodka. We survived the return trip to the hotel, and got out of the car.
"Wow, look at that, we are still alive," the Wifey said, smiling.
"Yes, baby, we are, but I think we only have eight lives left now."
"Shut up, and open the hotel door," the Wifey growled. She always smiles when she growls, which makes it appear to the casual observer that she is fawning over me instead of ripping me a new one. She's got talent.
The rest of our afternoon, evening, and night went fairly predictably, by our standards: we ate, drank, laughed, watched movies on HBO and loved fiercely and often. Each visit that we've had, beginning in August 2009, has been different, but each one has been wonderful, and has solidified a deep bond, that has grown despite much misfortune suffered by both of us in the rest of our lives. We usually laugh our way through dark moments.
This morning, she woke me at 8:45.
"Hey, dude, roll out of bed. I've showered, and sex makes me hungry, so let's go get our breakfast and bring it back here," she said, smiling.
"Of course, mi amor," I said as cheerfully as I could manage. I could have slept for another year.
"And do not complain to me. I got up to tinkle at like 3:00 a.m., and you were watching HBO and drinking vodka," she said, smiling.
"Oh, baby, you must have dreamt that," I said, lying.
"Eh, move it, old man," she said, smiling.
So down to the lobby we went, and returned with full plates and full pockets, and my obligatory coffee, fortified with sugar, Splenda, hot chocolate, hazelnut creamer, and regular creamer. Each cup should come with its own insulin syringe.
"You know, baby, you should try my new coffee creation," I said, hopefully.
"Dude, I do not like coffee," the Wifey said, "and you know that. Let me have a sip," she said, smiling, "hey, this is pretty good, dude, but I have to have a Coke."
Our breakfast went uneventfully, unless you count the Wifey scolding me to eat.
"You eat so slow, baby," she said, smiling, "and if you were a mom you would eat a lot faster. Someone is always trying to get their fork into my plate."
"I've always eaten slow, baby. It lets you digest better, and you only eat until you are full."
"Whatever, dude. You know why I want you to hurry up and finish," she said, smiling.
I did know, that's for sure. If my unpacking the car truly is an "unbelievably laborious process," the reverse, of getting all my stuff packed up and back in the car before check-out time is "the equivalent of watching paint dry in a rainstorm," according to the Wifey.
But this time it went well, at least by my estimation, and we had nearly 30 minutes to spare.
"Wow, you're done," she said, smiling, "that is a record."
"Just trying to please you, my love," I said, feeling proud.
"Well the key is not working in the door," she said, smiling, "so we have to walk to the front door of the hotel."
So off we went to get the key reprogrammed so we could get back in to our room to get the last of our things and have a few "goodbye" romantic moments.
Once we had cleared out of the room, the Wifey suggested that we just take her car and go to the mall to hang out for an hour or two, since she did not need to be home until 3:00 p.m.
"Well sure, baby, that sounds like fun," I said, not sure how I would handle another round of being her automobile passenger.
"Yes, it will be," she said, smiling, "and lunch is on me."
"Wow, thanks, sweetie," I said, "that's very sweet of you."
And so off we rocketed to a local mall, where she parked at a location that seemed like there was no actual entrance to the mall.
"I always park here," she said, smiling, "because this is where there is the pharmacy, the photo place, and a hairdresser. You can always get a close space here, because people are in and out all the time." It was true, we were only about twenty feet from the hidden door, and into the mall.
We went in through a JC Penney store, with the Wifey pausing a bit to check out the children's clothes on sale. We window shopped our way through the sprawling mall, and then the Wifey announced that we would have to go upstairs to the food court for lunch. As we stepped on the escalator, a little girl playing on the first level caught my eye, and I turned to watch her as we rose, putting both hands on the handrail.
"Are you afraid of escalators?" the Wifey asked, smiling.
"No, baby, I was just watching that little girl."
"Oh, okay, I was just worried that it was more unmanliness. No worries," she said, smiling. I felt less than adequate.
We emerged into the bustle of a gigantic food court, with at least two dozen little storefront eateries ringing a sea of tables and chairs.
I should mention at this point, for context, that the Wifey is legendary for her frugality. She has taken being a frugal, careful shopper to an art form not previously seen in modern America. She never pays full price for anything, and her coupon-clipping skills are without equal in the western hemisphere, at least.
"Okay," the Wifey said, smiling, "this is how The Boy and I do this: we start here on the left with the sushi place. The server will offer you one, and you will take it, even though you don't like sushi. You will just hand it to me as we walk. Then we zigzag along, and we finish with the sandwich guy. The bourbon chicken is the best," she said, still smiling.
And so we worked our way through, sampling food from over a dozen of the eateries. By the time we reached our starting point, I was full.
"There," she said, smiling, "now a little car ride back to the hotel to settle your lunch."
I really do love her.
June 27, 2010.
My latest visit to see the Wifey found me on her home turf. Normally, we meet at a location halfway between where we both live, making it easier on both of us in terms of driving distance.
This visit found me returning from Washington, DC, where I had gone for my youngest daughter's graduation from Yorktown High School in Arlington, Virginia. The trip was a long one, about nine hours, which found my Chrysler PT Cruiser quite sick when I got there -- to the tune of $775.06 -- but the graduation ceremony, held at D.A.R. Constitution Hall in Washington, was magnificent, and Rianna looked beautiful. It was a very proud day for both of us, her two sisters, and her mom and stepdad.
Since on my return I would be passing the Wifey's location, we made reservations for two nights at a hotel about 30 minutes from her home, so that we could have our monthly visit. My departure from Virginia was of course delayed from my original plan: instead of leaving about 2:00 p.m. after having lunch with my three daughters at Ghin Na Ree (the best Thai restaurant in metro DC) on Friday, June 25, I did not get to hit the road until after 6:00 p.m. That fact, coupled with a four-plus hour drive in an area that I was completely unfamiliar with, most of it at night, turned that leg of my travels into a six-hour marathon, finally arriving at the hotel after midnight.
As planned, we had been in touch on the phone as I traveled, and as soon as I checked in, I called her.
"Hi, baby. Room 131. I am so wiped out."
"Oh, thank goodness you are finally here," she said, "I have been so worried. I'll be right there. I'm at the 24-hour diner across the street."
"Excellent. I can't wait to see you, baby."
When I walked the length of the hotel's first floor to Room 131, I was tired, but elated once again to spend some time with her. I inserted the keycard, saw the light turn green, and grabbed the lever handle, pushing it all the way down. Nothing.
I tried the keycard again, and pushed again. Not a budge. Slowly, I retraced my steps back to the front desk. The night clerk, an old Indian man, seemed uninterested.
"This key is not working," I said, "and it feels like the door is locked from the inside."
"Oh, when you inserted the card," he intoned in a very serious way, "did you push the lever all the way down?"
"Yes," I replied proudly, "I did push the lever all the way down."
"Oh, but you should have pulled the lever all the way UP, very firmly," the night clerk said, smiling.
"Great, thanks," I mumbled, certain that immigration reform is just around the corner. I returned to the room, and shortly after, the Wifey arrived. We spent a few lovely minutes greeting each other.
I then began what the Wifey calls "the unbelievably laborious process" of unpacking my car with all that I have brought -- which always includes food and drink for the one- or two-night stay, plus my clothes and other necessities. But this time, owing to my exhaustion and the lateness of the hour, I took only what we absolutely needed that night, resolving that the next day I would get everything else. So it was mainly toiletries, smoked oysters and crackers and hot sauce and vodka. Ready, set, go.
We had what I will only describe here as a marvelous night, and the Wifey rose before 6:00 a.m. to go to work. That left me with the opportunity to enjoy the free breakfast at the hotel and then to get some more sleep. The breakfast was not what the chain is known for because this location's restaurant was closed for renovation: so no eggs or sausage, just bagels, mini-muffins, orange juice, apples, and yogurt. Disappointing, but adequate.
Then, after about three more hours of sleep, I rose and shaved, showered, and dressed, and began "the unbelievably laborious process" of unpacking my car. The Wifey was due to return from work at 2:00 p.m., and I wanted all the grunt work done when she returned, so that our time would be well-spent, focused on each other. Well, actually, I was supposed to go out for more vodka and some wine, but I already told you about "the unbelievably laborious process." Although I did find the time to sit down in the lobby and log into my email from the hotel's desktop computer. Which was, of course, where the Wifey found me when she called.
"Where are you?" she said. "I've been here for nearly a half-hour, and assumed you were out getting beverages, but then I looked in the parking lot and saw the PT."
"Hi, baby. Sorry, I didn't get out to the store. I'm in the lobby checking my email."
"Stop that and come to the room now."
"Of course. I'll be right there."
Luckily, it turned out that she was not angry at all, she was amorous. I love that woman.
Later, we left in her car to head to a liquor store. As she started it up, she turned and smiled at me.
"I don't think, in our nearly a year-and-a-half, that you have ever been the passenger, while I drove," she said, still smiling.
"You know, baby, I think you're right, as you usually are. Should I just buckle up and close my eyes?"
"Eh, don't make fun of my driving. I've never been in an accident that was my fault," she said.
I buckled up, and as she left the parking lot, she gunned the engine, laughing, and I closed my eyes. The electrifying ride to liquor store took only about fifteen minutes.
"Okay, we're here, Mr. Scaredy Cat. You can open your eyes now and pretend to be a man," she said.
"I will, let me just let my stomach stop doing flipflops," I said.
"Oh, stop it and come on. We should be in and out of here in less than ten minutes," the Wifey said.
"I know. I'm just stalling, because when we are in and out of here in less than ten minutes, we will then be back in this car, with you at the wheel," I said.
"Eh, with that 'tude, you can walk, dude," the Wifey said. She often rhymes her sentences.
"Okay, okay, here I go," I said, wobbling alongside the car.
Sure enough, we were in and out of there in less than ten minutes. And I resisted the urge to close my eyes for the return trip, along with the urge to take a drag on the vodka. We survived the return trip to the hotel, and got out of the car.
"Wow, look at that, we are still alive," the Wifey said, smiling.
"Yes, baby, we are, but I think we only have eight lives left now."
"Shut up, and open the hotel door," the Wifey growled. She always smiles when she growls, which makes it appear to the casual observer that she is fawning over me instead of ripping me a new one. She's got talent.
The rest of our afternoon, evening, and night went fairly predictably, by our standards: we ate, drank, laughed, watched movies on HBO and loved fiercely and often. Each visit that we've had, beginning in August 2009, has been different, but each one has been wonderful, and has solidified a deep bond, that has grown despite much misfortune suffered by both of us in the rest of our lives. We usually laugh our way through dark moments.
This morning, she woke me at 8:45.
"Hey, dude, roll out of bed. I've showered, and sex makes me hungry, so let's go get our breakfast and bring it back here," she said, smiling.
"Of course, mi amor," I said as cheerfully as I could manage. I could have slept for another year.
"And do not complain to me. I got up to tinkle at like 3:00 a.m., and you were watching HBO and drinking vodka," she said, smiling.
"Oh, baby, you must have dreamt that," I said, lying.
"Eh, move it, old man," she said, smiling.
So down to the lobby we went, and returned with full plates and full pockets, and my obligatory coffee, fortified with sugar, Splenda, hot chocolate, hazelnut creamer, and regular creamer. Each cup should come with its own insulin syringe.
"You know, baby, you should try my new coffee creation," I said, hopefully.
"Dude, I do not like coffee," the Wifey said, "and you know that. Let me have a sip," she said, smiling, "hey, this is pretty good, dude, but I have to have a Coke."
Our breakfast went uneventfully, unless you count the Wifey scolding me to eat.
"You eat so slow, baby," she said, smiling, "and if you were a mom you would eat a lot faster. Someone is always trying to get their fork into my plate."
"I've always eaten slow, baby. It lets you digest better, and you only eat until you are full."
"Whatever, dude. You know why I want you to hurry up and finish," she said, smiling.
I did know, that's for sure. If my unpacking the car truly is an "unbelievably laborious process," the reverse, of getting all my stuff packed up and back in the car before check-out time is "the equivalent of watching paint dry in a rainstorm," according to the Wifey.
But this time it went well, at least by my estimation, and we had nearly 30 minutes to spare.
"Wow, you're done," she said, smiling, "that is a record."
"Just trying to please you, my love," I said, feeling proud.
"Well the key is not working in the door," she said, smiling, "so we have to walk to the front door of the hotel."
So off we went to get the key reprogrammed so we could get back in to our room to get the last of our things and have a few "goodbye" romantic moments.
Once we had cleared out of the room, the Wifey suggested that we just take her car and go to the mall to hang out for an hour or two, since she did not need to be home until 3:00 p.m.
"Well sure, baby, that sounds like fun," I said, not sure how I would handle another round of being her automobile passenger.
"Yes, it will be," she said, smiling, "and lunch is on me."
"Wow, thanks, sweetie," I said, "that's very sweet of you."
And so off we rocketed to a local mall, where she parked at a location that seemed like there was no actual entrance to the mall.
"I always park here," she said, smiling, "because this is where there is the pharmacy, the photo place, and a hairdresser. You can always get a close space here, because people are in and out all the time." It was true, we were only about twenty feet from the hidden door, and into the mall.
We went in through a JC Penney store, with the Wifey pausing a bit to check out the children's clothes on sale. We window shopped our way through the sprawling mall, and then the Wifey announced that we would have to go upstairs to the food court for lunch. As we stepped on the escalator, a little girl playing on the first level caught my eye, and I turned to watch her as we rose, putting both hands on the handrail.
"Are you afraid of escalators?" the Wifey asked, smiling.
"No, baby, I was just watching that little girl."
"Oh, okay, I was just worried that it was more unmanliness. No worries," she said, smiling. I felt less than adequate.
We emerged into the bustle of a gigantic food court, with at least two dozen little storefront eateries ringing a sea of tables and chairs.
I should mention at this point, for context, that the Wifey is legendary for her frugality. She has taken being a frugal, careful shopper to an art form not previously seen in modern America. She never pays full price for anything, and her coupon-clipping skills are without equal in the western hemisphere, at least.
"Okay," the Wifey said, smiling, "this is how The Boy and I do this: we start here on the left with the sushi place. The server will offer you one, and you will take it, even though you don't like sushi. You will just hand it to me as we walk. Then we zigzag along, and we finish with the sandwich guy. The bourbon chicken is the best," she said, still smiling.
And so we worked our way through, sampling food from over a dozen of the eateries. By the time we reached our starting point, I was full.
"There," she said, smiling, "now a little car ride back to the hotel to settle your lunch."
I really do love her.
June 27, 2010.
7/1/10
my history
thought about
writing a whole lot of different shit
maybe the who, what, when, where, why
and how of it;
and discarded that vacant,
used-up bit,
an over-employed twist
of a whatchamacalit;
settled on laying down
most of my history,
including the parts
that heretofore
were more or less a complete
mystery;
but Hell's bells,
I'm an enigma to myself,
so most of that crap
needs to sit up on that shelf:
the one I polish,
but never touch,
the one I relish,
but not too much,
the one that tells,
but never fells
the truth tree,
the total expiation of me,
the one that quietly
sits in the corner,
all fucking Jack Horner,
with a bright purple thumb,
as if I might become
someone that you might
want me to be,
maybe just a little more free,
more than locked up
in an old cast-iron bathtub,
making a Viagra commercial
to endlessly run on the tv;
so, anyway, the truth is
that my history runs back
as far as the is is,
back to the beginning of
what was me, what is me;
and frankly, recounting it
is way more than I can handle
like lighting a fuse
with a one-inch candle;
suffice to say,
there have been many roads,
some of them populated
with angels,
and some with
toads;
but not one damned thing
in all the songs that I could sing
would mean one damned thing
about how much I love You:
my history, my Dear,
I relive with mostly fear,
and I pray every day,
that most of it is never repeated,
except for the good parts,
the ones that were superheated;
I've done some bad,
but I think mostly good,
and who I am today,
is how I want to be understood.
June 12, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
writing a whole lot of different shit
maybe the who, what, when, where, why
and how of it;
and discarded that vacant,
used-up bit,
an over-employed twist
of a whatchamacalit;
settled on laying down
most of my history,
including the parts
that heretofore
were more or less a complete
mystery;
but Hell's bells,
I'm an enigma to myself,
so most of that crap
needs to sit up on that shelf:
the one I polish,
but never touch,
the one I relish,
but not too much,
the one that tells,
but never fells
the truth tree,
the total expiation of me,
the one that quietly
sits in the corner,
all fucking Jack Horner,
with a bright purple thumb,
as if I might become
someone that you might
want me to be,
maybe just a little more free,
more than locked up
in an old cast-iron bathtub,
making a Viagra commercial
to endlessly run on the tv;
so, anyway, the truth is
that my history runs back
as far as the is is,
back to the beginning of
what was me, what is me;
and frankly, recounting it
is way more than I can handle
like lighting a fuse
with a one-inch candle;
suffice to say,
there have been many roads,
some of them populated
with angels,
and some with
toads;
but not one damned thing
in all the songs that I could sing
would mean one damned thing
about how much I love You:
my history, my Dear,
I relive with mostly fear,
and I pray every day,
that most of it is never repeated,
except for the good parts,
the ones that were superheated;
I've done some bad,
but I think mostly good,
and who I am today,
is how I want to be understood.
June 12, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
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