Dreams & Nightmares

012812

2012-01-28T07:57:00.000-08:00

water heads east
from the cracked plastic tray
cactus has enough

012712

2012-01-27T05:10:00.000-08:00

hibiscus flower
loves cold southern window
scraggly back

written a few days ago -- warning: contains cats

2012-01-26T20:01:00.000-08:00

when I was writing without an internet.

So last night (January 24, 2012) I'm on the phone with Debbie Kolodji and I start hearing a thumping sound from over by the dining room window. We were talking about Science Fiction Poetry Association kerfuffles. The thumping goes on for a few minutes. Finally I look over to see Simon playing with something on the Duncan Fife table. Something green. A dog toy? (Forgetting that we have no dog toy that color green.) Finally he tosses it on the floor and it rolls across the room. He jumps down and follows it, batting at it like he would a half dead chipmunk. It's an apple. A Granny Smith apple. For several minutes he whacks it one way, runs after it, whacks it another way, runs after it again, thumps it on the top with his paw, tries to get his mouth around it (he can't), and so on. He has it trapped against a table leg at one point, so he rares back on his hind legs like a grizzly bear and falls on it with all 6 pounds. It almost escapes by darting under the dining room table at one point, but he's too smart for it. In the end, it appears to be slain, but he still can't get his mouth around it, so he just walks away. It mysteriously returned to the Duncan Fife table this morning. Has it lived to fight another day? Round two is eagerly awaited by all potential spectators.

Now, I have seen him playing with a chipmunk, and there is one difference. He saunters after the apple. He moves so fast going after the chipmunks, you almost can't see it.

012612

2012-01-26T05:11:00.000-08:00

stay on the leaf
fat raindrop
root-drowning moat

012512

2012-01-25T05:45:00.000-08:00

Redneck Rebellion

Chuck discovered that
Carlene had used the last
of the Earl Grey

gunrack tube stash
manifold wire-strapped kettle
cracked-mug relief

012412

2012-01-24T07:04:00.000-08:00

potted plant
raises its middle leaf
clouds glower

012312

2012-01-23T07:17:00.000-08:00

110 years
& 12 days of wisdom
it don't show

012212

2012-01-22T06:44:00.000-08:00

clean desk confirms
alligator lost its head
hope dies

Sample poem from "Brushfires"

2012-01-22T06:36:00.000-08:00

Salad Days

Drop out of space-time,
Brushing fragments of your last relationship
From your back and arms
Divergent echoes of her
Spilling from your weary trail
Exhausted, yes, but
You're going to try again.

The intrinsic knot of nine
Microscopic dimensions:
Therein lies the key
The grooves that record reality
The underbelly of existence --
In one sense vanishingly thin
But with so many dimensions to play with
You can assign six of them to time
And still move in any direction you can perceive.

So take stock: what happened this time?
Everything was going so well
You aced every test
Graduated second place from the Academy
(wouldn't do to be too conspicuous)
And hooked up with the Vegephiles
Just as you planned.

But then things started to go wrong
Charlene was no pansy;
She was all tongue, and
For a while that seemed to be a plus.
She introduced you to new modes
Of stimulation – intellectual and sensual,
Of which you had not conceived.
Not since the Venus flytrap incident had you learned
So much from a woman or a plant.

But then you blew it,
I mean your paper about temporal interleaving
Laid it all out. She confronted you,
She understood poly-dimensional re-threading
Like no vegetation ever had
"I'm not your first!" (blades quivering
With suppressed rage, thinking of all those
You had put down roots with;
It didn't matter they had all had her name.)
"Baby, you are always the first!"
You pleaded with her to stay,
But you weren't watering any beds
With that line.

Then things really got tense.
She sicked Passionflower on you
Her unfurling tendrils racing you to the door.
Barely had you got free of the greenhouse when
Ivy burst through the sidewalk
Coiled around your ankles and
Crushed you in her toxic embrace
Bamboo palisades didn't just
Impale your flitter,
They hoisted it 50 meters in the air,
Ripped it apart..
The toad lily barked at you
When you got home and you almost
Didn't get in the door, the carpet needed a shave
And when you looked at your face in the mirror
It looked decidedly greenish.
In the end you had to call in the Goat Squad
And retreat from the world to try again.

The end

Another & where to order

http://dreamsandnightmaresmagazine.blogspot.com/2011/10/poem-reprinted-from-brushfires.html

Sample poem from "The Tin Men"

2012-01-21T09:55:00.000-08:00

A collaboration with Kendall Evans.

DYSON SPHERES

Detailed maps of heat signatures
showed millions of them
Dyson spheres radiating at
no more than 30° kelvin
shells of stabilized neutronium
skeined force fields
Möbius fabrics
things whose composition
eluded our analysis

At first the only one we could enter
was broken, long abandoned
a cinder at its core
nothing we recognized as habitations
on the inner surface
save, possibly, a field of geometric figures
covering three orders of magnitude in size
and a few trillion acres

Abandoned structure/ lost civilizations
Where had they gone?

Then, when we did figure out
how to open them
it was like cracking geodes

Dead stars in their Dyson shells
All-In-A-Row

Each Dyson interior the equivalent
In surface area
Of thousands of planets
All structures empty
No evidence of corpses
A mystery of scope beyond
That of the Anasasi
The Marie Celeste
The Flying Dutchman
Mad-tea-party-service
Inexplicably abandoned

Radiometric dating indicated
they were at least
10 billion years old
which meant the builders had achieved
this kind of technology
in the amount of time we'd
evolved and learned enough
to open their front doors

When their suns died
was there anybody left inside the spheres
did they move on to something new
did devolved descendents freeze to death
or starve?
(If so, what happened to the corpses?)

Perhaps they have moved on
or no longer exist
except as a myriad scattered atoms--
yet they may await our arrival

somewhere beyond Time and Thought

the end

Another example, and how to order http://dreamsandnightmaresmagazine.blogspot.com/2011/10/poem-from-tin-men_06.html

Sample story from Nursery Rhyme Noir

2012-01-21T09:49:00.000-08:00

R.I.P., Easter Bun

I have my soft, sensitive side, just like anyone else. I don’t show it to just anybody who walks in off the street, but it’s there. That’s why my last assignment really hit me hard. I caught the dirty rat who did it, but nothing can bring back the Easter Bunny. The fact is, life is just like that sometimes. Especially in my business. Men call me Deadbolt, Hasp Deadbolt.
I’m a private eye. It started like this….

I was leaning back in my desk chair, feet up on the desk, reviewing my notes from the Muffet case, when my keen ears detected a knock on the door.

“Come in,” I called, after shoving all the crap on my desk into a neat pile.

In walked the Easter Bunny. I knew who it was. You know how sometimes you just have a gut reaction that slips you information you didn’t know you had? Well, this was like that. Plus, she was wearing a fur-tight pastel jumpsuit embroidered with Easter eggs, and a baseball cap with the words “Easter Bun” embroidered in pink and pastel green thread. She moved up to my desk and put her hands on it, leaning forward until my face was just 3 inches from her cleavage. “Mr. Deadbolt,” she breathed (her chest expanding alarmingly), “I need your help.” I eased back from her decolletage and got up to open the window. It was getting pretty warm.

“Care for a drink?” I asked, as I manhandled the sash in its cheap aluminum frame. I turned around and she was right behind me.

“Please,” she begged, putting her hand on my arm, “I don’t know where else to turn!”

Anyone who’s read my reports in the past knows that I’m not
species-centric, but business is business. I cleared my throat and escorted her to a chair.

“Miss Bun,” I began, “why don’t you tell me all about it?” I got out my notebook, she took a few more deep breaths to settle her nerves and unsettle mine, and told me the following story.

It seems that a large dog or wolf had been hanging around the hutch for the past few weeks. Every time she went outside, he was waiting for her. She wouldn’t necessarily see him right away, but he was always there. Sometimes she’d see his tail sticking out from behind a bush. Or maybe a shadow would dart behind one of the painting sheds. She could feel his eyes on her, undressing her, possibly even skinning her. He seemed to have designs on her person, she said, that had more to do with the kitchen than the bedroom, if I caught her drift. I sure did. She couldn’t work, she continued, Easter was coming up very soon , and she had eggs to harvest, sort, and paint, not to mention all the candy chicks and so on that had to be prepared. She was way behind her schedule and losing ground fast.

“I’m afraid for my life,” she concluded, “won’t you help me?”

I promised her that I would give her problem my undivided attention. “You can rest assured I’ll find out who this wolf is and see that he stops bothering you,” I told her, and she seemed relieved.

“I’ll take that drink now, Mr. Deadbolt,” she said, and I mixed her a stiff one. I was on duty, so I went easy on mine. We talked for awhile, or rather, she talked and I listened. She talked about her business, how she’d inherited the job from an aged pika who wanted to move back to Mount Lassen, how she really loved making little children happy. I asked her about the hat. She’d made it herself and she hadn’t had room for the last two letters. She thought it looked OK and I assured her it did. She’d made the jumpsuit too, and done a fine job, I might add. By the time her drink was gone she seemed to be a lot less nervous.

“I think I’ll be able to focus on my work now,” she said, setting her glass on the credenza, “it’s so nice knowing you’ll be protecting me.”

We’d been chatting a while, and I’d almost forgotten how good she looked, but when she turned and picked up her purse, I saw that, just as her hat had made accommodations for her slender ears, her jumpsuit had had to adjust to her tail. I had to do some adjusting myself, so I quickly saw her to the door, telling her I’d get right on her case.

A few minutes later I was out the door and beating the street. I didn’t know who this wolf was who’d been stalking my client, but I knew how to find out. In half an hour I was downtown, leaning up against the bar in The Jumping Cow. The Cow is located in an old warehouse, and minimal efforts have been made at decoration. The bar is the nicest piece of furniture in the place, and it looks like it fell off the back of a truck. The tables and chairs
were probably picked up from the dumpster outside another bar in a better part of town. I’m certain the Cow doesn’t contain a broom, a mop, or even a rag. It’s not an ideal spot for a classy date, but it’s the best place to find the Weasel. The Weasel knows all the low-lifes and tough guys around, and if this dog or wolf had been in the area long, the Weasel would have the scoop. The Weasel would squeal, too, for the right price.

“Gimme a draft,” I told the ox behind the bar, and when he brought it to me I pumped him. “Seen the Weeze?”

He nodded and glanced over to his left. Sure enough, the Weasel was sitting alone at a table in the corner. “Thanks,” I said, grabbed my beer and headed over there. I slid into the seat across from him and shoved the beer into the middle of the table.

The Weasel took a sip. “Long time, no see, Deadbeat,” he hissed, “whatcha need?”

“That’s Deadbolt,” I told him, “I’m looking for a big dog or a wolf, been stalkin’ the Easter Bun. You know anything about it?”

“Yeah, whatever,” he said. “I know something.” I knew that’s all I’d get without the green, so I slipped him 5 twenties under the table. I had to give him another 3 bills before he spilled the beans. He knew the wolf alright. Went by the handle of BB (the Weasel didn’t know what it stood for) and he was one bad-assed dude. Wanted across the state line for all kinds of thievery and violence, and maybe murder. It seems he’d been under suspicion
in the case of three young swine who’d been killed and devoured right in their own homes. In fact, the homes had been pretty much destroyed by the unknown assailant. He was evidently one tough customer. Nothing had ever been proven, but the Weasel said BB had been overheard bragging about some “bacon” he’d “cooked.” At this point, I started to get worried, and I headed out to see my client. I wanted to make sure she was safe. She might need to move to a safe house until I could apprehend BB.

The Easter Bun lived way out in the country, and it took me quite a while to get there. She had a big ranch, with chicken houses, dormitories for the staff, painting and decorating areas, huge warehouses, a fleet of trucks, and more; it was a busy place. I was almost as impressed with her operation as I had been with her configuration. I pulled up in front of the main office and strode in. A spring chicken was behind the desk, chewing gum.

“I need to see the Easter Bun,” I snapped, “and make it snappy.” She blew a bubble and it snapped in my face.

“She’s back there,” the desk hen told me, “but she don’t wanna be
distoibed.” I pushed on past and opened the office door. I knew right away that something was wrong. The bunny that had embroidered more than 100 eggs on her jumpsuit would not willingly leave her office in this condition. Plus, the window was broken. I looked out in time to see a sorry-looking black Chevy pickup disappearing among the Easter-egg trees in a cloud of exhaust. I ran back out to the front, hopped in my Nova, and took off after the truck. The car took a beating going cross country, and I couldn’t make good time no matter how hard I pushed on the gas pedal. “Damn!” I slammed my hand on the wheel. Why hadn’t I bought an SUV!

I found the truck, finally, parked in front of a weather-beaten shed up against the big woods at the back of the Easter plantation. Smoke rose from the chimney. The license plate of the truck read “YUM YUM.” I had a sinking feeling in my gut as I slammed the Nova to a stop, jumped out with my gun in my hand, and ran for the shed. I took a deep breath, kicked the door hard,
and the whole place fell in.

And there he was. Seated at the table. Napkin tucked in. Red checked table cloth, white china plate, and the clean-picked bones of my client, as graceful in death as she had been in life. “Want some?” he asked, holding out a bloody tibia in his paw.

It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, not shooting him down in cold blood, but I didn’t do it. He’s doing 10-20 for consuming a mythic figure, and when he gets out, THEN I’ll shoot the bastard. In the meantime, there’s a new Easter bunny, a bright young fellow named Raoul. I’m sure the kids are happy, but I’m not. I’m just sitting here, drinking carrot juice and waiting for another case that might serve to draw a temporary veil over my painful memories of the best thing I ever saw in a pink jumpsuit.

“Here’s to you, Easter Bun. I’ll always remember you the way you were when I first saw you, and not the way I saw you last, a litter of white curvilinear elements, blood-spattered, dotted with clumps of fur, your little jumpsuit in tatters by the fireplace … Oh, God!”

END

Here's another, and a link to the e-book sale page on Smashwords.

http://dreamsandnightmaresmagazine.blogspot.com/2012/01/from-nursery-rhyme-noir.html

dn 91

2012-01-21T09:48:00.000-08:00

To be mailed when I get paid.

012112

2012-01-21T09:46:00.000-08:00

mixed bills and zines
I wish I could pay light bill
with a haiku

Butterfly photos

2012-01-20T13:18:00.001-08:00

Painted Wings: Southern Butterflies

An exhibit of butterfly photographs by Larry Herr and Dr. Andrew Rindsberg

There will be an opening reception for the exhibit on

Wednesday, January 25 in Webb Hall Parlor from 1:00 p.m. until 2:00 p.m.

The exhibit will be on display through March 23.

Many of these pictures were taken on the University of West Alabama campus,

especially at the Black Belt Garden and the Lake LU Nature Walks.

Sponsored by the Center for the Study of the Black Belt

For more information:

centerforblackbelt@uwa.edu

012012

2012-01-20T05:44:00.000-08:00

rosemary blooms
and gardenia buds
welcome to winter

011912

2012-01-19T07:58:00.000-08:00

oxygen
will have to go
venusforming
a methane atmosphere
will warm things up nicely

Evolution film & lecture next week

2012-01-18T13:36:00.000-08:00

We are so lucky to get them here!

January 26 2012
“No Dinosaurs in Heaven” documentary screening with National Center for Science Education director Dr. Eugenie Scott & filmmaker Greta Schiller.
7:30 pm, 127 Biology.

http://as.ua.edu/evolution/speakers-2011-2012/

011812

2012-01-18T05:13:00.000-08:00

does devil hearse
scare my god-fearing neighbors
steal it please!

or this

2012-01-17T05:11:00.000-08:00

chapbooks huddle
betwixt potboilers
do you love me?

011712

2012-01-17T05:09:00.000-08:00

three days is short
enough for procrastination
no reviews

011612

2012-01-16T05:33:00.000-08:00

after the clouds
the rain of fire
methanosphere

011512

2012-01-15T05:09:00.000-08:00

uneasy rests
the head upon the throne
*roll* *thud*

011412

2012-01-14T05:11:00.000-08:00

blue tarp ribbon
flashes the winter sun
storm lingers

011312

2012-01-13T06:57:00.000-08:00

present from spouse
is buy myself some books
chocolate too

tanka today

2012-01-12T07:51:00.000-08:00

I have a tanka in @7x20 today on twitter.

011212

2012-01-12T05:03:00.000-08:00

our main weapon
an endless supply of acid jelly
flammable

No Dinosaurs in Heaven

2012-01-11T10:50:00.000-08:00

See this film, and meet the filmmaker and Genie Scott, head of the National Center for Science Education, in Tuscaloosa on January 26.

http://www.nodinos.com/

http://bama.ua.edu/~evolution/alleleindex.html

but does it make sense?

2012-01-11T08:28:00.000-08:00

We only mock the things we love.

My only regret

When the stars are right
He who must not be named will return
And great will be the lamentation therefrom.

A certain star, 1,000,000,000 light years from Earth
Will have reached the position from which
Its baleful radiance gleamed
One billion years ago.

He who waits dead, or a semblance thereof
Shall arise and drive men (and some women) mad.

Other stars, roughly 17,000,000 light years from Earth
Will have reached their fateful positions etc.
Roughly 17 million years ago
But not at exactly the same time.

She of the myriad Young
Will at last turn them loose to devour the populace
Beginning with the inhabitants of
Rural New England.

Yet another star, a mere 57 light years from Earth
Will have reached a position from which
Havoc may be wrecked
Just three years before my birth.

It of the multitudinous pustules
Each of which...

Oh please,
This is even more confusing than General Relativity
And there are not even any equations
That most of us can't understand.

We'll know when the stars are right

We'll know when our time is done

Or if we don't
Someone will tell us

A tendril will tap us on the shoulder
And in a sepulchral voice
Someone will say
"Yo! Humans, you're out!"
Or words to that effect.

End

011112

2012-01-11T04:55:00.000-08:00

the squid moths
drew aside the plastic veil
another veil

Inverted Folk

2012-01-10T06:48:00.001-08:00

I have assembled a three-fold pamphlet of my favorites of my own scifaiku from the list year or two. It might be of some slight interest, and is available for $2 or comes free with a subscription or subscription extension to DN.

DN 91

2012-01-10T06:45:00.000-08:00

The issue has been printed and is ready to mail. I get paid at the end of the week, and it should go in the mail at the beginning of next week. My wife, an honest critic, said this is the first issue ever for which she has really liked every single poem. I can hardly wait for reviews from critics who will be seen as less biased.

011012

2012-01-10T05:42:00.000-08:00

Georgia trip when she
should pack or finish dress
in the rain

010912

2012-01-09T05:50:00.000-08:00

which plans
have I already forgotten
due yesterday

Read these today

2012-01-08T11:17:00.000-08:00

"At the Duck Convention" -- see www.strangehorizons.com poetry archive

"Taking it Slow" -- ideomancer.com Dec. 2011

"Doing Free Time" -- http://www.dailycabal.com/2008/04/doing-free-time/

Folks laughed & one fan wanted the paper I read from! I'm a * now!

010812

2012-01-08T06:53:00.000-08:00

rain before planting
means a drab spring
allium chills

Really?

2012-01-08T04:53:00.000-08:00

I support the Move Your Money movement. I agree with its premises. That the multinational banks took huge bailouts from us, United States taxpayers. That they are keeping that bailout money for themselves instead of lending it to those who need it, which is what they were supposed to do. That one highly appropriate response is to take our business elsewhere. I would do just that, except my business already was elsewhere.

But, it is difficult to resist a grammatical and conceptual smackdown. Particularly when the (linguistic) subject has almost literally been in our faces for months.

So I was listening to "interfaith voices" this morning on the radio and I almost literally jumped out of bed and did the dance of semantic rage on the bedroom floor. Maureen Fiedler was interviewing a Seventh-day Adventist minister from California about the participation of faith communities in the move your money movement. She fed him one of those straight lines (you have to imagine her opening her eyes very wide and pretending to be 15 years old) "What is the moral component of taking your money out of banks that have caused many people to lose their homes and starve to death etc.?" He referred to the parable of the unforgiving servant. A servant owes his King 10,000 talents, which is probably the modern equivalent of about a billion dollars. The king forgives him, whereupon the servant goes home and chokes his own servant who owes him a much smaller amount of money. Isn't that the way it goes! But then the guest speaker said that major banks were literally choking their customers by refusing to lend them desperately needed money. I wish they were! They might go to jail if they were literally choking people to death. Almost literally robbing almost literally millions of people so that they almost literally starve to death seems to have no punishment at all. At least if you are the kind of "person" who happens to be a very big bank and a major congressional donor.

So keep on fighting the good fight. I am almost literally right there with you. But I almost literally experienced faith healing through my reaction to your unwarranted expansion of the meaning of the word "literally." That would have been nice.

010712

2012-01-07T05:25:00.000-08:00

open the important
envelopes on time
bank in rain

"No Dinosaurs in Heaven"

2012-01-06T09:36:00.000-08:00

January 26 2012
“No Dinosaurs in Heaven” documentary screening with National Center for Science Education director Dr. Eugenie Scott & filmmaker Greta Schiller.
7:30 pm, 127 Biology Auditorium, University of Alabama, Tuscaloosa.

Free and open to the public.

http://as.ua.edu/evolution/schedule-of-talks/

010612

2012-01-06T05:04:00.000-08:00

From -2 to 18 today, Celsius; TGFGW!

birthday trip

salt-water fishing
from a dock in Kansas City
so
Cretaceous or post-human
this plastic trash hath
not a dromeosaurid look
so we won't
need that mosasaurid
hook

Global climate changeth

2012-01-05T07:02:00.000-08:00

The IPCC is the international group responsible for the best information/science on climate change, but the U.S. has a large federal research initiative independent of the IPCC. The "United States Global Research Program" has hundreds of scientists and policy-makers from many different agencies. Their assessments (last 2009) are published. Here are some links. Note also under Key Findings the following:

"Global warming is unequivocal and primarily human-induced.
Global temperature has increased over the past 50 years. This observed increase is due primarily to human-induced emissions of heat-trapping gases. (p. 13)"

You can download the 2009 report.

http://www.globalchange.gov/

http://www.globalchange.gov/publications/reports/scientific-assessments/us-impacts/key-findings

http://www.globalchange.gov/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=417&Itemid=401

http://www.globalchange.gov/publications/reports/scientific-assessments/us-impacts/download-the-report

Thanks to Leslie Rissler for summary and links.

010512

2012-01-05T05:04:00.000-08:00

appointments
missed because he's gone
measure

010412

2012-01-04T05:55:00.000-08:00

vamps on holiday
McMurdo pickins are slim
but the weather!

scifaiku at 7x20 today

2012-01-04T05:07:00.000-08:00

By me. Go to @7x20 on twitter.

010312

2012-01-03T05:56:00.000-08:00

2 days in
and big fight tears etc
I offer hugs

From _Nursery Rhyme Noir_

2012-01-02T05:25:00.000-08:00

The Purloined Letter

My name is Deadbolt, Hasp Deadbolt. I’m a P.I. I try to stay away from family disputes, but somehow that is the kind of sordid crime that people persist in bringing me. I have to eat, and I’m not comfortable living off of Alma’s largesse. Fortunately for my bank account, this year had been very busy. In fact, I hardly had any time to pay the bills and buy groceries. For instance, I returned from my last court appearance in connection with the pumpkin murder case, to find a handsome young woman sitting on the bench outside my office door. “Good afternoon,” I said to her, “are you waiting for me?” She indicated that she was hoping to speak to Mr. Deadbolt about a potential case, and I invited her in to discuss it. It seems that she had mislaid a letter, a rather steamy love letter, and it had fallen into the wrong hands.

“My lover sent me that letter, Mr. Deadbolt, and I’m not ashamed of it. Unfortunately, his wife probably would take a dim view of the intimate nature of our relationship.”

Blackmail. One of the oldest tricks in the book. Not that there really is any such book, but if there were, blackmail would be covered pretty near the beginning. She wanted me to find the blackmailer and steal the letter back.

“I can’t break the law Miss...?”

“Daw. But you can call me Marjorie.”

“And what about your friend?”

“His name is John Sprat, but everyone calls him Jack. His wife is horrible. She’s this domineering, fat, selfish...”

“I get the picture Miss Daw. Let me do some scouting, and I’ll see whether I can find a satisfactory solution to your problem.” So it was agreed. I got a little more information from her, she thanked me and left, and I immediately got to work. It didn’t take long to find out where both Marjorie Daw and the Sprats lived. The problem was, Marjorie hadn’t had much of an idea of where she lost the letter, so I didn’t have a good lead about where to look for the blackmailer. I spent some time casing the neighborhoods where Marjorie and the Sprats lived, and nearby parts of the city, but I didn’t get any ideas. I decided to try a different approach. It was time to pay another visit to the Weasel. There might be word out on the street about who the blackmailer was, and if the word was out, the Weasel would know about it.

I slid into a seat at the usual place. When the waiter came over I ordered two drafts and asked about the Weasel. A few minutes later, the Weasel dropped onto the bench across from me.

“What is it this time, Deadbeat?” he asked.

“Information. I need information,” I replied. “Marjorie Daw had a letter in her basket, but she dropped it.”

“The basket?”

“The letter.”

“What color was the basket?”

“Green and yellow. Where’s the letter?”

“A little boy picked it up. He put it in his pocket.” If I wanted to know any more, it would cost me, the Weasel said. Soon I had all the information I needed. Next stop: the Pumpkin Eater house.

I walked up the four steps to the front door and rang the bell at a rundown brownstone in the old part of town. The whole neighborhood was dilapidated, but this house was the worst on the block. It looked like it was owned by someone who either was down on his luck or didn’t care enough to maintain it.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Pumpkin Eater? Peter Pumpkin Eater?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like a word or two with you.”

“What about?”

“Home maintenance. This place is about to be condemned. But I can help you.” Oldest trick in the book, but he went for it. Okay, maybe it’s the second oldest trick. Anyway, it got me inside, and that’s what counted. Once I made it through the door I confronted him about the letter. “Blackmail is a serious crime, Mr. Pumpkin Eater. You could go to jail for a long time. What’s it gonna be?”

“It’s my wife, it’s not my fault,” he wailed. “No matter what I do I just can’t satisfy her. It takes more money than I have. I already had to move into town and neglect my farm but it hasn’t done a bit of good.” I had an idea.

“I have an idea,” I said. “If I solve your problem, will you return the letter?”

“Mr. Deadbolt, if you solve my problem I’ll be forever in your debt.” He was actually wringing his hands. “I’m at my wits’ end.”

“Here’s what you’re going to do,” I said. “Put her in a pumpkin shell. There you’ll keep her very well. Trust me. Women go for that kind of stuff.” I was flying by the seat of my pants here, but he seemed goofy enough to go for it. Sure enough, he did.

“A pumpkin shell? Why, I have plenty of those on the farm. Thank you, thank you!” He gave me the letter, promised to never blackmail anybody again, and thanked me so many times that I started to feel guilty. But I had what I needed.

Marjorie Daw was very grateful. Almost too grateful, considering we both had other romantic attachments. But that’s another story. As for Peter Pumpkin Eater, I ran into him a couple of months later. Everything was fine between him and his wife, he said. Best advice he’d ever received, he told me, and he said I could have all the pumpkins I wanted every year at Halloween, free. Go figure. I guess if the P.I. business ever gets too low I could hire out as a marriage counselor.

The end

If you like this story, you might want to know that there are plenty more where it came from. You can get the whole book (Nursery Rhyme Noir) as an e-book for less than $2.

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/42875

my great aunt visits

2012-01-02T05:18:00.000-08:00

My Great Aunt ____ (my mother's mother's older sister) used to visit us without warning. She lived in New London Connecticut and we lived in Charlottesville VA. This must be about 10 hours by car. She would call from the train station on a Saturday afternoon and tell us to come pick her up. One time we weren't home when she called, so she took a taxi to our house. We came home from shopping or something like that, and met the taxi leaving. We talked about how odd it was to see a taxi on our road. Only 4 families lived on it at that time, and none of us got many visitors. Most of the people who came down our road, other than those of us who lived there, were couples who wanted to neck in their cars at the circle a few 100 yards past our house. Even the mail carrier didn't come down; the mail boxes were at the outer end of the road. Anyway, when we got home, there was Aunt ____ on the porch. "What if we were away for the weekend?" Mom asked. "I would just have gone back." This would have been after a quarter-mile walk to the nearest house; no cell phones in the 60s. Mom always told her that she should call in advance to make sure we'd be home, but she never did. And I don't think she ever came when we were out of town. She probably visited us less than once a year. I remember one time we took her out to the swimming pool near Ivy. She didn't swim, just sat at the picnic table wearing dark glasses, reading and talking. She probably weighed less than 90 pounds. She'd always help clean up in the kitchen after meals. Mom hated it, because Aunt ____ put things in the wrong places. But after we grew up, Mom did the same thing.

010212

2012-01-02T05:12:00.000-08:00

she comes in
as I leave for work
the east in blush

010112

2012-01-01T06:32:00.000-08:00

the house licked its lips
nothing like a party
to start the year

tanka for the old year

2011-12-31T12:35:00.000-08:00

they celebrate
the Founder's birth
he brought the Word
that's him
mounted in the Square

fiscally conservative politics

2011-12-31T07:03:00.000-08:00

Really; not poetry

Here’s another great action suggested by Warren Buffet, one of the few noble rich billionaires in America willing speak up on behalf of the people of this country and the world.

Warren Buffet is asking each addressee to forward this email to a minimum of twenty people on their address list; in turn ask each of those to do likewise.

In three days, most people in The United States of America will have the message. This is one idea that really should be passed around.

_ *Congressional Reform Act of 2011*_

1. No Tenure / No Pension.

A Congressman/woman collects a salary while in office and receives no pay when they're out of office.

2. Congress (past, present & future) participates in Social Security.

All funds in the Congressional retirement fund move to the Social Security system immediately. All future funds flow into the Social Security system, and Congress participates with the American people. It may not be used for any other purpose.

3. Congress can purchase their own retirement plan, just as all Americans do.

4. Congress will no longer vote themselves a pay raise. Congressional pay will rise by the lower of CPI or 3%.

5. Congress loses their current health care system and participates in the same health care system as the American people.

6. Congress must equally abide by all laws they impose on the American people.

7. All contracts with past and present Congressmen/women are void effective 1/1/12. The American people did not make this contract with Congressmen/women.

Congressmen/women made all these contracts for themselves. Serving in Congress is an honor, not a career. The Founding Fathers envisioned citizen legislators, so ours should serve their term(s), then go home and back to work.

If each person contacts a minimum of twenty people then it will only take three days for most people (in the U.S. ) to receive the message. Don't you think it's time?

THIS IS HOW YOU FIX CONGRESS!

123111 redux

2011-12-31T07:00:00.001-08:00

Oh snap! Six-inch tree is now three. Maybe it will sprout in spring.

dn 91

2011-12-31T06:41:00.000-08:00

labels made & envelopes bought. print shop on vacation till tuesday.

123111

2011-12-31T06:40:00.000-08:00

a gigantic
nuclear furnace turns
unremarked

123011

2011-12-30T06:39:00.000-08:00

I will never
use those packing peanuts
toss them when I'm dead

Holiday cash burning a hole in your pocket?

2011-12-29T05:53:00.000-08:00

Try Nursery Rhyme Noir.

http://dreamsandnightmaresmagazine.blogspot.com/2011/11/stumped-for-holiday-presents.html

Hasp Deadbolt hunts the killers of Pussy in the Well, Wee Willy Winkie, and Humpty Dumpty. Who burned Ms. Ladybug's home? Stole Bo Peep's sheep? Who you gonna call?

Mythos flash, in a way

2011-12-29T05:22:00.000-08:00

In His House in Suburbia

That is not idle, which can eternal strive,
And in new seasons, strange broods may thrive.
--Jaaq al Coustou

One morning a Vespa was parked in the carport of the old Wilson place. I caught a glimpse of my new neighbor the next day. He was mowing and I was on my roof replacing some shingles. His face was a mass of tentacles, with a huge eye on each side. That seemed a little strange, even for SoCal.

I saw him again while raising money for the orphanage down the street. He had finally put his name on the mailbox. Instead of Wilson it now read "Phnglui." When I got to the door I thought I heard chanting inside, but it stopped as soon as I knocked. A few minutes later the door opened. Mr. P. stood there blinking. He was wearing a Miskatonic University T-shirt and jeans with holes in the knees. I couldn't help noticing that his bare feet had webbing between the toes.

"Hey man," I said, "I'm selling raffle tickets for the orphanage. They're a dollar. You could win, like, a big screen TV, or dinner for two at Steamers." After I mentioned that one I wished I hadn't. He might be a little uncomfortable with the idea of seafood, being a sort of human calamari.

"Oh, uh, sure. Hold on." He went to a little table that was covered with papers held down by a green soapstone statuette. He picked up his wallet. "I'll take five."

"Thanks man. Say, could I borrow your mower? Mine quit working last time I used it and it's still in the shop. This time of year they're so busy it takes forever."

"No problem. I already mowed."

I saw Mr. P pretty regularly after that. I got the feeling he'd been keeping a low profile until he found out how the neighbors would react to his appearance. I even saw him jogging in the park, and ran into him at the grocery store. He was buying shrimp, so I guess my seafood restaurant gaffe hadn't been a problem. When it came time for the neighborhood's annual Fourth of July picnic, I made sure to invite him.

"You may not be American, but you're welcome to party with us. Plus, we're going to do the drawing. For the raffle." I couldn't place his accent.

"I'm from Massachusetts," he said. "A little town near Arkham. Innsmouth; you probably haven't heard of it. Got kin up that way. And I'll definitely see you Saturday. I'll bring some crabcakes."

*

Everyone agreed the crabcakes were awesome. A couple of people asked for the recipe, and he promised to e-mail them. I don't know why, but for some reason I hadn't expected him to use e-mail. He noticed my expression.

"I can't afford to call my relatives long distance; I use Skype. I have some cousins near Ponape. Aquaculturalists."

About then, Missy Langston sat down next to Mr. P. She was wearing a very brief bikini, and she draped her arm across his shoulders. This made him a little uncomfortable, if the frenetic writhing of his tentacles was anything to go by.

"Oh Mr. P," she said. "I hear you have all kinds antique statuary in your house. I would love to see it." She leaned over and whispered in his ear. He turned bright red. I got up to get another beer. It was a while later when I noticed the two of them had gone. I also didn't see Missy's sometime boyfriend Chuck. Seemed like Missy had been fighting with him a few hours earlier, before she started talking to Mr. P.

About then Missy came running out of the darkness, screaming that Chuck was killing Mr. P and we needed to make them stop. She had lost her bikini top. A couple of us ran back the way she had come, to find Mr. P on the ground. About a third of the tentacles were missing from around his mouth and he was bleeding from a cut above his eye. There was no sign of Chuck. We got Mr. P upright and half dragged him to his house. I asked if he wanted to go to the hospital, but he shook his head. At the front door he waved us away, and closed and locked it behind him.

The next morning I checked on him. He didn't answer until I shouted that I was going to call 911. I heard a faint whisper from just on the other side of the door.

"I'll regenerate. Just go away. Please."

That night I took him some chowder. He didn't answer the door, so I left it in a cooler. The next morning the cooler was empty. A week later he was out trimming his hedge, sporting a set of bright pink stubby tentacles that replaced the ones Chuck had torn out.

In the meantime, no one had seen Chuck at all. Missy tossed her head and said "I'm glad! All he ever gave me was a black eye."

A few days after that Chuck turned up... floating face down in a canal, partially eaten by fish and crabs. He had been in the water for days, and his face was completely gone.

I was one of the few who showed up at the funeral. Missy arrived right before he was lowered into the ground, riding behind Mr. P. on his bright yellow Vespa.

It was about a month later that Missy started to show. Mr. P bought a used Accord. Missy announced that she was carrying quadruplets, and I bought them one of those fancy four-seat strollers. A couple of humorists down the street chipped in and bought a 100 gallon fish tank. I didn't think it was funny.

The end

122911

2011-12-29T05:12:00.000-08:00

the paisley movement
recruited the faded bolt
fade to white

second visit

2011-12-28T06:56:00.000-08:00

They know us too well

The burrows were long abandoned. The natives must have gone soon after our first expedition returned to Earth.

122811

2011-12-28T05:51:00.000-08:00

DN 91 to the printer today. Anybody want a pdf for review? And now, today's monostich

rolling into fog Schrodinger's light

DN illustrations

2011-12-27T08:27:00.000-08:00

I could use filler & cover illos for upcoming issues (beginning w #92, dated May 2012).

122711

2011-12-27T05:15:00.000-08:00

texting and cards
do not mix well
your! turn!

1 moar chance to finish holidy cards

2011-12-26T05:11:00.000-08:00

Got _most_ of them done....

happy holidays
rings with cavernous joy
bee-tree day

122511

2011-12-25T05:24:00.000-08:00

Beneath the Irrigation System of the Farm of the Planet of the Raised Bed of the Living Vegetarians

twas the night b4 brocfest
and all thru the beds
florets were atremblin'
fraid for their heads

122411

2011-12-24T05:05:00.000-08:00

who wants cards
and who will be annoyed
longer list

don't want to miss it

2011-12-22T06:54:00.001-08:00

When is the day
we look around and say
this is where we want to be
we relax
and speak of
deep matters
while concentrating intensely
on everything important

122211

2011-12-22T05:44:00.000-08:00

some went so far
as to harm other life forms
then I woke up

solstice

2011-12-21T05:50:00.000-08:00

cold
grows
but so
does sunlight
back to seasonal
roots and sacrifice an ice cube
to the primary, that fusion bomb of hope and love

122111

2011-12-21T05:45:00.000-08:00

not a baking year
no time for my winter friend
who slices nicely

DN 91 contents

2011-12-20T14:30:00.000-08:00

Dreams & Nightmares 91
January 2012
CONTENTS

Randy Moore ………………………..……............... cover
From the Brain Stem …………………………………… ..………... 3
assu, untitled ........................... 3
CEE, ...and all I got was this lousy cherub 4
Robert Borski, Humphrey …………….............. 5
Chris Friend, illo ....................... 6
Joshua Willey, Gone ....................... 7
Wade German, In the Hollow of Sleepy Legend 9
David Lee Summers & Kurt MacPhearson, Pulsar Prospectors . 10
Chris Friend, illo ...................... 11
Ruth Berman, The Vampire’s Wedding ....... 12
Neal Wilgus, Unkiltered ................. 13
Denny Marshall, illo .................... 14
FJ Bergmann, Derived Inference .......... 15
Alexandra Seidel, The Tally of Forgotten Dreams Kept by Morpheus 16
Marina Lee Sable, This Haunting ......... 17
Chris Friend, illo ...................... 18
Timons Esaias, Notable Deﬁciencies ..... 19
Steve Cooper, illo ...................... 19
CEE, You Know, With Songs by Survivor and Loverboy ... and Stuff... 20

DN 91

2011-12-20T05:55:00.000-08:00

Contents, yeah. Haven't mailed holiday cards or presents either. But I'm working on it!

Hic tardium est.

the birth of L

2011-12-20T05:52:00.000-08:00

The desertification of the Midwest was a boon to the humble purveyors of paper homes.

121911

2011-12-19T05:14:00.000-08:00

birthday and
Chanukah coincide
how many candles

121811

2011-12-18T05:58:00.000-08:00

after 32
years he starts keeping track
cards to right house

Rhysling nomination time

2011-12-17T11:52:00.000-08:00

These are poems, by me, eligible for the Rhysling award. You may nominate if you are a member of the Science Fiction Poetry Association. Poems published in Dreams & Nightmares 88, 89, & 90 also are eligible.

David C. Kopaska-Merkel
1300 Kicker
Tuscaloosa AL 35404
jopnquog@Gmail.com

23 poems eligible for Rhysling, first published in 2011

poems available on request; pdfs of The Tin Men chapbook on request; pdfs of Dreams & Nightmares magazine from 2011 on request.

poems from my blog (http://dreamsandnightmaresmagazine.blogspot.com/) eligible, but not listed here

SHORT POEMS (20)

all folk have legends of her, 5 lines
Scifaikuest, May, print

At the Duck Convention, 19 lines
Strange Horizons, Feb. 21

bare feet, 3 lines
Scifaikuest, Feb., online

captain stares, 3 lines
Scifaikuest, Nov., print

continents raise fresh, 3 lines
7X20, Sept. 14

from the saucer, 3 lines
Scifaikuest, Aug., print

holiday greetings, 5 lines
Scifaikuest, May, print

humans, 3 lines
Eye To The Telescope, May

iron wings melt, 3 lines
Scifaikuest, Aug., online

Pumping Up the Local Economy, 19 lines
Star*line, July-Sept.

ran away, 3 lines
Scifaikuest, Nov., online

sealed tomb, 5 lines
Scifaikuest, Feb., online

Strange Oblivion, 19 lines
Strange Horizons, Oct. 17

Taking it Slow, 36 lines
Ideomancer, December

The End of Captain Argoyle, 36 lines
The Tin Men chapbook

The Observatory Door Was Open, 27 lines
http://www.cosmopoetry.ro/expeditiontoelgrantelescopio/3therealmoftelescopes/

the time traveler, 3 lines
7X20, Dec. 2

they say it tastes like chicken, 5 lines
Scifaikuest, May, online

Umbral Valleys (with Kendall Evans), 30 lines
The Tin Men

worms of all kinds, 3 lines
7X20, Dec. 13

LONG POEMS (3)

Divergent Quanta (with Kendall Evans), 110 lines
The Tin Men

Dyson Spheres (with Kendall Evans), 54 lines
The Tin Men

El Dorado Asteroid (with Kendall Evans), 103 lines
The Tin Men

121711

2011-12-17T08:15:00.000-08:00

the pink elephant
shifts its feet nervously
brittle pine creaks

DN 91

2011-12-16T05:38:00.000-08:00

The issue is laid out and will go to the printer next week. I will be able to post the table of contents this weekend. I didn't have time last night. I can say this. DN 92 (May 2012) is full of poetry and I have a cover, but I need interior illustrations. And I have nothing for the September issue.

I realized belatedly that I published my 25th anniversary issue a year ago next month. So I guess I should do something special four years from now. Assuming the global economy hasn't collapsed by then.

121611

2011-12-16T05:33:00.000-08:00

oak leaves huddle
but no raking for me
apres le vent

121511

2011-12-15T05:06:00.000-08:00

the time lords
sold each hour time after time
late payment

my latest e-publication

2011-12-14T10:21:00.001-08:00

http://www.innsmouthfreepress.com/?p=15742

faux news.

121411

2011-12-14T05:14:00.001-08:00

star on my tree
too heavy and collapsed
there goes neighborhood

121311b

2011-12-13T05:49:00.000-08:00

the books of my youth
no longer for sale
even used

2011-12-13T05:43:00.000-08:00

"'Momma isn't stirring
Since my daddy's been in stir.'

"Natural, this was a wench I used to spoon with."

Conclusion of the ditty begun earlier this morning. (From memory; may be a bit off.) And Pogo is back in print!

http://www.fantagraphics.com/browse-shop/pogo-vol.-1-of-the-complete-syndicated-comic-strips-through-the-wild-blue-wonder-pre-order-10.html?vmcchk=1

haiku in 7x20 today

2011-12-13T05:41:00.000-08:00

by me!

121311

2011-12-13T05:22:00.000-08:00

"Whence that wince, oh wench," quoth I,
She blushed and said "Oh sir,"

You know the rest, I hope. If not, read Pogo!

Call for Rhysling nominations

2011-12-12T13:09:00.000-08:00

http://sfpoetry.com/ra/rhysnom.html

Can't nominate till Jan. 1 & must be an SFPA member. Soon I'll post my list of eligible poems, but every poem published in Dreams & Nightmares 88, 89, & 90 is eligible. I've got pdfs of those issues if you want to peruse them with nominating in mind.

ICFA 2012

2011-12-12T06:00:00.000-08:00

Orlando, March 21-25. A reeeeeeeeeeeeeeel SF conference. I'll be doing a reading & hob-nobbing. Hope to c some of u there!

121211

2011-12-12T05:25:00.000-08:00

what is it about
paper towels and dishtowels
subtle distinction

New twitter anthology

2011-12-11T17:39:00.000-08:00

I'm in there

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006KLYF8G/

121111

2011-12-11T05:00:00.000-08:00

for each new knick-knack
a trillion photophiles die
welcome to shelf night

121011

2011-12-10T09:20:00.000-08:00

who was that friend
in the photo with you
happy birthday mom

nano nano nano

2011-12-09T11:33:00.001-08:00

Shouting it three times didn't help either, Losa realized, sinking ever more swiftly into the putrid pink muck. He took a deep breath and held it.

120911

2011-12-09T06:33:00.000-08:00

it seems
so much warmer here
Fahrenheit scale

it's beginning to sound a lot like spring

2011-12-08T12:17:00.001-08:00

Spring 2012 evolution lectures in Tuscaloosa

http://as.ua.edu/evolution/schedule-of-talks/

120811

2011-12-08T04:59:00.000-08:00

under the stair
roach and spider met
viva Uniramia!

Warning: semi-explicit

2011-12-07T19:43:00.000-08:00

The Girl with the Octopus

Leon's ardor cooled somewhat when he discovered that Harriet kept a squid in her basement. She was up against the wall beside the washing machine and he was all over her. It was a strange place to have sex on a first date, but Leon believed in letting the lady choose. He felt he got laid more often that way. He had just gotten her blouse off when he felt something cold and damp curl around his calf. It was long and rubbery, and it clung to his skin as tightly as if it were glued Then the intruding member, whatever it was, got considerably more intimate. He broke away to look down, screamed, and backed up against the wall next to Harriet. The concrete was cold and clammy, and he felt a flicker of remorse for pressing Harriet up against it. But the wall was no clammier than the muscular arm, mottled green with small red spots and bearing a double row of suckers, which had forced its way between the two of them. The arm thickened from a couple of inches at the tip to three or four times that where it vanished into the gloom beyond the reach of the single 40-watt bulb. The arm raised its distal portion, for all the world like a questing snake, and more of it slid into view, bunching up under the light and, incidentally, blocking them off from the stairs.

"That thing is at least 40 freaking feet long!" Leon screamed, pushing himself back against the wall, and it became very clear that fear had displaced lust in his physiology. He pulled Harriet to him and held on tightly, but she coolly pried his fingers loose and slipped out from under his arm.

"Oh, much longer than that," she said. "I was hoping it would wait until we were finished." She gave a "you can't have everything" shrug, and tugged on his hand. He followed her away from the wall, into the brighter area under the light. She let go of his hand. The light went out. He didn't hear anything, not anything at all, but a few seconds later the door at the top of the stairs opened, Harriet slipped through, and the door closed again. The darkness was absolute. He trembled violently, but only whimpered when the arm, or another just like it, curved around his waist and begin to squeeze. He did scream, finally, when the mouths inside the suckers opened and began to feed.

End

He was a good cat

2011-12-07T16:32:00.000-08:00

Orpheus in Ulthar, in Nehwon

Some say
cats rule in Ulthar,
that their strong-paw tactics keep the streets
clear of zoogs & other riff raff.
Maybe so, and perhaps, with sinuous leaps
they can clear the gulfs
between universe bubbles
in vengeful hordes.

But I can't see it.
My cat doesn't come
when I call, and no special whistle
is going to change his mind.
No purr pressure would make him
join any Ultharian gang;
he is a solitary fellow,
if always ready for a scratch.

I do wonder, though,
where he goes for a day or more
Now and then.
I swear he never leaves the house.
But those curious bones
he was playing with
after a long absence, they
fit together for me only one way.
When I remember
I'll show them to my anatomist friend.
I'm sure he won't end up joining
two pelvises, one set of shoulder blades, six limbs,
and an impossible number of vertebrae
to a single oddly holey skull.

The end

120711

2011-12-07T04:59:00.000-08:00

books and cards
wait for my attention
desk held hostage

Wednesday charity fundraiser deadline

2011-12-07T04:54:00.000-08:00

Last day of fundraiser for East Tuscaloosa Community Soup Bowl. Check back a few days in this blog for details. The ETCSB serves a part of Tuscaloosa devastated by the April 27 tornado.

fundraiser update

2011-12-06T06:53:00.000-08:00

$140 raised so far. Items remaining are four lifetime subscriptions to Dreams and Nightmares for $90 each. Each includes all available back issues (about half a dozen). All proceeds donated to the East Tuscaloosa Community Soup Bowl.

120611

2011-12-06T05:03:00.000-08:00

Kelly and Chuck Jones
made a bad Pogo video
good tho

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZyutnmdDwsg