Friday, April 18, 2014

Do you?

Ever read poetry. If so, why so? If not, why not?

Sunday, April 6, 2014

Candy and stuff

A Modest Sweet Tooth

Milk chocolate is good,
It’s even better with almonds
but, it’ll never compare
to pit roasted pulled pig

Strawberry twizzlers are nice
I like them fresh and chewy
but, those sugar confections
can’t compete with spiced up fried fish

I’ve had painted candies
but marzipan won’t do it
when instead I can get
roast chicken with herbs

Take spices and green leaves
mix them in soups and sauces
lard them with meats and veggies
and keep your candies and cakes.

Sunday, February 23, 2014

Free Book

Still on sale.

The Carbon Steel Caress< February 24-28

Remember, Starts Monday 2/24

Wednesday, February 19, 2014

Tuesday, December 10, 2013


Fishin’ in the Gulf Stream
By GC 

The gas gauge reads below the half way mark
maybe enough fuel left to get back to home port;
the storm’s howling winds and the currents and
the battering wave action dictate fuel consumption
and headway made toward safety or lost toward death at sea

Our boat’s deep vee slices through turmoiled sea,
we hang on as its bow rises, climbs the back of huge rollers
and then it dips as the boat slides from this giant wave's apex
and crashes to its trough only to climb again on the next wave 
and the next, and the next and the next, and the never ending next

An ice packed blue marlin shrouded in a plastic sheet
lies dead on the deck, its huge inert eye stares and admonishes
our searching for adventure and foolishly challenging nature’s Gods.
Eerily, it is as if the murdered sea creature could judge and render guilty 
we puny mortals who would take to the sea with temerity to challenge the fates 

But wait, in the distance a slice of blue shows against storm skies,
a break in the weather that has tossed our twenty foot center console
like a child’s toy boat or a rubber ducky whirling in the jets of a Jacuzzi.
The storm abates and giant waves begin to settle as wind’s current slackens
the prop digs as I throttle back to swing the boat west toward home and safety

At the dock we take the scale to weigh our trophy marlin,
it is a large one but not quite enough to challenge the local record.
Still we slap each others backs and raise our beers to toast our catch
to toast our skills with rod and reel, to toast undying friendship forged in peril,
swearing one to the other to go out again to the stream and catch the record fish