The Axeman at the Cowboy Poetry Open Mic

Jeffery carried a guitar slung on his back. He did not know how to play it, not really. Although, he could strum enough to accompany himself singing “Red River Valley.” It might be noted that saying Jeffery sang “Red River Valley” is somewhat of an exaggeration. He played the four or five chords he knew … Continue reading The Axeman at the Cowboy Poetry Open Mic

Dinkum Thief

This Montana boy is dinkum apologetic because "dinkum" does not appear in his poetic aesthetic For, though a dinkum shameless lingual thief, He’s ashamed, as a dinkum fly-over American inlander, (O, let us in dinkum shame be brief) to never have pilfered "dinkum" from any dinkum New Zealander!  

A December Twenty-First Argument

“It’s the Win’er’s Solice today,” Bert Osburned said. “I think. Isn’t it?” He pulled his heavy brows down over his little eyes, a serious frown, which is about the way he made all his proclamations. He wore a wide brim hat and scuffed boots and had been a history teacher at the high school. Since … Continue reading A December Twenty-First Argument

Re: the RPD Writeup on ‘Fleek”

Upon reading the tag for the Ragtag word of the day, and after looking at the Urban Dictionary invective referenced therein, I just—JUST—could not resist the following diatribe on one of my fav hobbies-hosses (trying to grave our vocabulary in concrete tombs) which also includes one of my pettest peeves—undervaluing the full, social, historic, and … Continue reading Re: the RPD Writeup on ‘Fleek”

How Delmare Wrote his Next

“Saloon was a fancy name for the place. Saloon had associations by etymology that suggested class. This was not a class place. The squeak-hinged door had squeaked the same tune for forty years—opening-to-closing, six days a week. (Closed Sundays, except for select parties and football games.) A twenty-four inch, dust-dimmed TV hung from the ceiling … Continue reading How Delmare Wrote his Next