winery night and bouncing balls

“…don’t you know that I gotta get outta here, ’cause New York’s not my home” –Jim Croce

mind not with me for quite some time
body went out though
knee-high grass parking
set back in dark pasture land, maybe once a cornfield
my nose like a basset hound’s
I catch grape bouquets
imagine sweet dark berry assortments to be offered
the tiny sample glasses make me feel more giant
this makes me giggle
got wedges on, I’m flirtin’ with six feet but not the moon
paper lights strung around blowing in the delicious breeze
yellow hair walking everywhere looks white in the fading light
bright spots like sparkles on the ocean
my friend–one of my best, we’re out for a chat and a drink
I’m thinking about a decadent red, only one
I’m designated this eve
we made a pledge to get together more often
and sample different places
what a blast driving the Explorer through the long grass faster than I should
sparkly sandals and tight white pants aplenty
relaxed postures not worried about making first impressions
most are comfortable in their own skin by now
love that benefit
this is a relaxed crowd
laughter filtering off wine bottles on wooden tables
it’s a gorgeous night
all night spots should be outdoors
you can look at the stars when you don’t want to look at faces
the band starts blowing
this is going to be thick brass
four horns at a winery
and there goes the music
these folks are jammin’ more than I thought they would
a giant ball bounces into the air
it takes out one of the stage microphones
that’s as rowdy as it gets
these types of cover bands usually play, Brown Eyed Girl
most caramel irises believe the song was written for them
it calls them in droves to the dirt floor dance area
not too many songs pine over brown, it’s usually crystal blue or sea green
but always red lips
the wine does not disappoint
we chuckle something fierce at the wide breadsticks
yes, sometimes we get a little dirty-minded
the indoor bar area has a copper surface
I can’t take my eyes off the gorgeous reflections
we get our wine to go, adult-size plastic for our walk back out
it was a wonderful night
I don’t have a pen but I’m punching phone buttons
all thumbs
so I remember this

winery“Well, things were spinning round me
And all my thoughts were cloudy
And I had begun to doubt all the things that were me
Been in so many places
You know I’ve run so many races
And looked into the empty faces of the people of the night
And something is just not right” –Jim Croce

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sweating glass

it took an old southern rock bar band
a switch from wine to gin and tonic
and the recollection of a childhood memory
to swallow a dream starting to slip slide on thin summer ice
chilled to near perfection once, the dream
the gallant aspirations striking a spark at one’s heels
“why”
love
always there, the love
passion–an over-used word, I call into service here
I want to write about me (without you knowing)
I want to write about you (and think it’s me)
I want to create boulevards and labyrinths,
defeat, victory and the people that fall to both
friends, lovers torn apart, maybe connected in twisting alleys
plain flat features and sculpted bullshit
forbidden denizens
I want to go down the creepy hall and
have my right hand make the left open the door
but the most honest excuse
I’ll place here (bear in mind I got in very late last night)
if I don’t sit beneath the light at 4 am with a pen
I won’t be any good to anyone
so many of us have this story
we happily summon up this creative nightmare
it is not a bad dream but a wickedly feisty journey
across dark boulevards
sipping my midnight refreshing gin and tonic
the sweating glass slipping in my hand a bit
listening and watching the band
they were decent as bar bands go
around people drinking, laughing, texting
four band members
wasn’t a gig worth the pay
wasn’t worth the hot lights, sweat and beer stench
(and there’s that Jackson Brown song)

and the token rude person or two in the crowd
they–the magnificent four, simply loved what they did
not the hot lights, sweating, drunkards, texters, talkers, laughers
and
there was the flash memory of a childhood diary
a little worn book “accidentally” left out for my five sibs
so they might read
my words

Oscar E. Hornse

the other thing I adore–monsters, this guy drawn last year
happy Sunday:)

cloud dancing

april 21
three am
her spirit smashes the institutional window
the glass doesn’t shatter
what is left behind
the peace in knowing
her suffering is the only thing that has died
let it stay dead
on she goes
dancing with her petite feet
pain no more
glenn miller is in the mood
upper teeth biting her lower lip as she spins
she’ll use those teeth when she laughs
she laughs backwards, sucking in lots of air
the clouds are sailing across the sky today
nina must be on a roll

Winged

Winged

Keep those clouds moving, beautiful nina…xoxo


nina2012 (left to right) big son, aunt dee, giant husband, aunt nina, uncle bucky, sis dolores, delicate daughter

 

Glow Little Glow Worm

Here’s  a little something sure to lighten your heart. I love 1940’s-50’s music and I adore the Mills Brothers. My dad would often play his Mills Brothers records when I was a kid. Their clear harmonious voices made him smile, they made me smile too. I hope you enjoy Glow Worm as much as I do. Below the boys’ video, you’ll find another friendly glow worm (well, okay – he’s really a snake – sshhh – please don’t tell him) 🙂

Sss

Sss

May your dreams be bathed in warm moon glow and happy glowworms 🙂

SSS done with Prisma a few months back – previously posted

The ‘Ugly’ Friend

Dear Friends,
I don’t get out much, at least to places with bars and bands. Last night, a good friend and I ventured out to one such establishment. We had lots to chat about and enjoyed much girlish giggling. The band wasn’t half bad. Groups of guys and dolls braved the small dance floor. Back in my twenties I did a great pelvic thrust, but alas, I now have pride .;-)

During the evening, my friend excused herself to the ladies room. I was left alone to either: A – make pretend I had lots of text messages, or B – crowd watch. I was observing a few minutes when ‘they’ or rather ‘she’ walked in with two others. Without getting too cliché, she ‘resembled’ Sandy (Olivia Newton John’s character) from the movie, Grease with a few exceptions: She too rocked a black spandex ensemble, but was showing a heck of a lot more cleavage. She was lots older. She enjoyed whipping her long, bleached hair around. Her companions were of the subtle variety. Their clothing had air-pockets. They walked in behind ‘her’ and maintained wing position regardless of the continued hair lashing.

Flapping

Flapping

 

Without knowing any of the three ladies and having a mojito under my belt, I concluded, which one was the ‘ugly’ friend.

Thank you. May you dream of giant dance floors and spinning on your toes.
Long Lady created with Prisma, August 25, 2014 with a mild headache.