Month: July 2021

Tableware abuse and rescue

Ian Hunter4 Comments

He loaded the dishwasher

but did not run it

soon after the door closed

they started talking

the plates complained of not being rinsed

you can tell when she is away

he leaves all that food on us

I hate feeling so yucky

the forks joined in

he just throws us in randomly

but she always puts us tines up

I hate being upside down

the cups were crying

he never wipes off the tea ring stain

it won’t come out in washing

he will put us away stained

the plastic cups were inconsolable

we shouldn’t even be in here

she always hand washes us

we will melt and die they screamed

after many uncomfortable days

the overloaded dishwasher finally ran

thank goodness said the knives

soon we will be back in the drawer

when the drawer closed they chatted more

the spoons were furious

we don’t live in this drawer

quiet everybody!….I can hear she is back home

the drawer opened

she apologized profusely to everybody

as they all went back in the dishwasher

they were all tines up happy again

Silent Moon

Ian Hunter4 Comments

I woke up in the middle of the night

no recollection of a bad dream 

no restless thoughts filled my head

not woken by a storm or a strange noise

I was simply wide awake and at peace with all

soft moonlight spilled through a crack in the curtains

something urged me to step outside and explore the night

the back door creaked like the reluctant bones of an old man

cool intoxicating night air filled my lungs

I held my breath for an eternity

fearing that I might wake up sleepwalking

I pinched myself to verify I was truly awake

the golden moon was low on the horizon

silently conducting his nocturnal orchestra

a light breeze propelled invisible dancers across the sky 

rustling leaves provided a choral backdrop

a flute soloist floated aimlessly down the the creek

twinkling stars plucked the harpsichord strings

wispy clouds played violins as they drifted across the moon  

a solitary owl performed a horn solo

the flock of geese joined in with their clarinets

bass drums from a startled deer crashing through the forest

playful mice pianists tickled the ivories 

beautiful calming sounds filled my ears

the entire orchestra fixed their gaze upon the conducting moon

waiting for his signal to play their piece

adjusting the tempo at his command

throughout the performance the moon remained silent

no need to express his thoughts 

his orchestra said it all

Trees are not PC

Ian Hunter2 Comments

they say that palm trees are not really trees

without bark or growth rings they are not real trees

palm trees are apparently a type of grass

one that its really hard to trim with a lawn mower

palm trees can live for hundreds of years

I wonder if other grasses can live so long

who will be mowing my lawn in 2519

probably some kind of robotic device

while the householder mines old youtube archives

laughing at me pushing a lawnmower around 

I wonder where palm trees go when they get really old

no need to retire to a tropical place when you already live there

do real trees look down on palm trees

calling them names like fake trees

yelling things like show us your growth rings

the palm trees start shouting back

you trees have a cold wooden heart 

you are all jealous because we make the coconuts

I think its starting to make sense now

real trees grow in communities called forests

palm trees grow side by side in clumps

the two groups rarely mix together

because they just cannot get along

trees can be so politically incorrect

perhaps we should force them to change

by building communities of mixed palm and real trees

lecturing them on diversity and tolerance

forcing them to hold democratic elections

punishing the badly behaved ones

with public executions by chain saw

will these experimental communities thrive for hundreds of years

most likely nature will just take over after the human species becomes extinct

future palm trees will still grow in the tropics

real trees will still make fun of their grassy neighbors

Grand times on Grand Lake

Ian Hunter4 Comments

A modest sized lake

Alongside the tiny town of Presque Ilse

Nestled close to the giant Lake Huron

A few dozen small islands entice exploring kayakers

Early nineteenth century cottages decorate its shores

Frozen in time but aging with grace

Children playing in the safe shallows

Creating memories that run deep

Tracing the footsteps of their great grandparents

Preserving its beauty for future generations

The low sun rests in the early evening

Its time for cocktails on the lawn

Tall glasses sipped and tall tails told

Grand times on Grand Lake

Tuesdays

Ian Hunter1 Comment

I never really liked Tuesdays.

Too far from the end of the week.

It often rains on a Tuesday, well probably no more than any other day but Tuesday rain is more annoying for some reason.

You need plenty of motivation to fight off those Monday morning blues but by the time Tuesday comes that motivation has worn off.

There are no great sporting events on Tuesdays so there is nothing exciting about TV on a Tuesday.

Things never seem to get done on a Tuesday. Work deadlines are mostly by the end of the week or first thing Monday morning.

Tuesday is not very romantic. How many lovers declare they met on a romantic Tuesday? No great novel starts by describing a glorious Tuesday.

Tuesday dinner at home is usually the worst of the week. You forgot that you finished all those tasty weekend leftovers on Monday and you are too tired to go grocery shopping. Tuesday cuisine is usually canned food or that frozen meal you would never eat by choice.

The best time on a Tuesday is 11.59pm because its almost over and the next Tuesday is a whole week away.

50,000 sheep but no burglars

Ian Hunter5 Comments

The body is weary but the mind is active

3.30am is no time to be suddenly wide awake

Thoughts tumbling in the dead of the night

Eyes open or closed its all the same

Sleep has abandoned me for this night

Refusing to come back like an absconded child 

Rejecting my pleas and ignoring my resting poses

I succumb to the pull of consciousness

Dressing in the dark is a real challenge

No way to verify if my clean underwear is inside out

Feeling my way through the hallway

Trying to remember where the furniture is

Rooms become infinitely big when unseen

Furniture senses me near and deliberately blocks my path

Bruised shins serve as my proximity sensors

Fumbling for the kitchen light switch

At last I find the devilish thing hiding higher up the wall than usual

An explosion of bright light almost blinds me

I squint intensely while making a cup of tea

Telling myself I must fit a dimmer to this kitchen light

It has enough lumens to serve a small town

Sunglasses are donned to ease the squinting

Hot tea tastes so good as the warm liquid is ingested

The warmth gently wakes my dozing stomach

My mind and body are now both officially deemed awake

I make my way to the desk to rudely wake up my laptop

Catching a brief glimpse of my reflection in a mirror

Images of a hung over aging rock star spring to mind

Sporting nocturnal sunglasses and wearing odd socks 

Yes my underwear is on inside out

The T-shirt is on backwards to complete the crazy outfit

I consider going back to bed to count sheep

I calculate my speed of counting

By 7am I could reach well beyond 50,000 sheep

That is a huge flock to be wandering through the pastures of my mind

A bevy of barking sheepdogs will be required to herd them

The sheep and dogs would make so much noise that I could never sleep anyway

I decide to keep the hungover aging rockstar look until dawn

If a burglar broke in right now he would surely be terrified by my image

Walloon Lake waves

Ian Hunter2 Comments

Walloon Lake

Calm clear water

Soft sandy bottom

Summer residences adorn the hillsides

Piers and jetties decorate the banks

A boating paradise

Some come to sail

Kayaks paddle in silence

The more athletic ski and wakeboard

Party barges full of happy people

Each passing boat carves a path

Through the calm waters of Walloon Lake

On a beautiful July evening

Leaving a trailing wake

Waves travel to the shore

Waves kiss the bank softly

Rhythmic lapping waves

Gentle soothing waves

Waves of summer fun

Waves that embrace your soul

Memorable waves

Slowly fading waves

Walloon Lake waves 

The pebble

Ian Hunter1 Comment

she picked up a pebble on the beach at dawn

it was heart shaped

holding in in her open hand

she could feel the heartbeat

she put the pebble in her pocket

walked back to her waterfront home

her husband was still sleeping

placing the pebble on his pillow

she got back into bed

drifted off to sleep

dreaming about being loved

being held tight

a loud noise woke her

her husband was sitting up

somebody put a rock in the bed he yelled

he threw it against the wall

she decided not to own up

her husband got up and dressed

there was no good morning kiss

he left the house soon after

she got out of bed

found the pebble on the floor

holding it tight in her hand

no heartbeat

it was cold and dead

it was time to move on

she packed a bag

made a few calls to friends

took a taxi to the airport 

she left a note on his pillow

I gave you my heart

but you threw it away

I am not made of stone

Living on the sun

Ian Hunter2 Comments

Living on the sun

Is not much fun

Too hot to get anything done

You never get to put your coat on

Hell on sun is an excusable pun

No nighttime to come

Hot endless days for all not just some

Inhabitants always on the run

Sit down and you burn your bum

Shoot the breeze with your hot air gun

All the snow has melted on the ski run

No need to put the heat on

Impossible to give the cold shoulder to anyone

Every sandwich is made with a toasted bun

Hot affection to be won

Fresh chicken roasted on the chicken run

Not worth it in the long run

Your dreams will all come undone

I am not the only one

Who will never move to the sun

Certainly not in 2021

Finally safe

Ian Hunter2 Comments

Oh leave me be

To my own thoughts

Please no more words from you

I need to clear my mind

Purge all the bad memories

Refill my head with unpolluted ideas

Fresh clean images

Pleasant soothing sounds

Melancholic aromas

Sensual sensations

A complete spiritual cleansing is complete

Your ghost has been exorcised

Its safe again to close my eyes

To look deep into my minds eye

Knowing that you no longer haunt me

I can once gain walk miles alone in my sleep 

Content that you can no longer follow me

Its safe again to choose any path I desire

Safe to open any door in front of me

Safe to greet strangers

Safe enough to risk falling in love again

Without fear of being hurt

My heart has stopped spilling rejected blood

It once again beats strong and fast

Finally safe