Grandpa’s Weather

Happy December 1, everyone!

Image: Hans Benn — Pixabay

I wrote that it snowed Sunday night and most of Monday. Well it snowed again yesterday evening for several hours, fine fluffy stuff. I went out this morning and cleared a space where I could sprinkle birdseed. Now I see it’s snowing again. As usual we’re happy to have precipitation, though we wouldn’t have minded this as rain in late September. Anyway, digging around in my DropBox I unearthed this poem written in Jan 2015.

Grandpa’s Weather Vocabulary

Grandpa never gripes at weather
he observes when we’re together.
Some’s “unique” and some is “curious”;
some is “needful”; some is “serious.”

Some is “cheery”; some is “better”;
some is “warmer”; some is “wetter.”
Yet he finds it all relaxing
though we others call it “taxing.”

Haiku Moments

Posted to CG2 – Nov 28, 2022

Since my mind is on haiku today, I’ll revisit and polish some of my verses posted a few years back. Hope you enjoy them.

moments of my days
trickle past — raindrops
slipping down the pane

time tunnel
take my body back
about thirty years

spindly poplars
beside an old grain bin
the dream and the drought

Star Trek travels
aliens all spoke English
incredibly

tall pines bent
almost double in the wind
since time began

the old moon
a ball of blue cheese
over-nibbled again

Lost & Found: Poem

When dark clouds start piling up across our sky, when the wind picks up and the trees start shaking, when the clouds overhead start to boil in a peculiar way and we start getting warnings about possible tornadoes, I start to think about my computer — with all its precious files — being fried. Or worse, being tossed, along with the rest of our home’s contents, across the next five miles of grain fields. So I open up my files, and my DropBox, and start transferring files to that safer cyber-place. Off they go: multiple files with half-polished verses, thoughts I hope to someday clarify and post.

Alas, for me it’s truly “Out of sight, out of mind.” Several years later, (like this week) searching for poems — I’ve been invited to read some of mine at a local coffee shop tomorrow evening — I come across verses I’ve written, hastily filed in cloud storage as the clouds churned overhead, then forgotten about. Here’s one I came across in my search for verses to read. I wrote this as a children’s poem; it may not be brilliant, but I hope it’s passable. I debated leaving the last stanza off, but will rather ask for your opinions.

Image: Alain Audet — Pixabay
Caterpillar Caution

The caterpillar reached the road
checked triple, left to right,
fearing rumbling man-machines
that made his life a fright.

He hurried across the pavement;
his dozen feet all speeded
to get him across in rapid time
by danger unimpeded.

One thing that he never saw
the foe he never heard,
above him, hovering hungrily,
a caterpillar-eating bird.

So when you lock your back door
and double-lock your front,
do check out the upstairs, too,
or you might end up lunch.

Widgeon Woes

Our Ragtag Daily Prompt word this morning is DUDGEON. Perhaps my new header has inspired this verse?

Wigeons not Pigeons!

One day a curmudgeon went hunting for duck
he hoped he would bludgeon a widgeon, with luck.
He spotted a flock–sitting ducks on a lake
and imagined the golden roast widgeon he’d bake.
But our aimless curmudgeon just left in high dudgeon
taking with him the pigeon he’d hit by mistake.

Hope you like my bit of whimsy. Now for a historical note.
To me DUDGEON and BLUDGEON sound like Old English words, so I looked up its origin in the dictionary, along with several other -EON words — and mostly got “origins unknown.” Probably a lot of word origins have been lost in the historical hodgepodge of English.

I once thought of the original British as a mix of Anglos, Celts, Scots, Saxons, and later Normans. However, last winter I read a book, The Faded Map: Lost Kingdoms of Scotland by Alistair Moffat. I soon had my mind opened to just how many kingdoms, tribes, and languages there once were in the British Isles centuries ago. So who knows what words may have persisted even though their original users have long been forgotten.

The local tribes skirmished regularly; some royal son was in high dudgeon because of a crown that wasn’t bestowed, and had to start a war over it. The Roman army marched over the land; Irish, Jute and Viking invaders sailed up the Firth of Forth to plunder and carry away slaves – like the lad who later became St Patrick. Saxons pillaged, bludgeoned, and massacred their way across the southeast, reaching what’s now London. Locals lucky enough to escape fled across the Channel, taking their language into Brittany.

We tend to associate slavery with Africa, but the slave trade has been carried on all through history, and it’s mostly been tribal rather than racial. Legionnaires brought conquered Angles & Celts to be sold in Rome; the Vikings carried slaves to all ports along the Mediterranean. My impression now is that early Europe was a huge mishmash of genetics and linguistics.

People should read more History. Would we hear as much wailing and high dudgeon over current politics if we all realized how good we have it today?