Happy Thursday! Crazy weather. Since we are speaking on the matter of toilet time stories, here is some toilet time poetry. I know I can at least make it in that particular market. I have written a few pieces recently. This one was written today and remains the only piece I would feel comfortable sharing. Thank you so much for reading!
The descending minor journey; A flooding matter of sorts
By Rick Taylor
The descent downward is an experience in itself Flooded storage units, slight pissed off folks assessing the damage Continuing down the road, I feel it, hear it, smell it, visualization comes into view Here is a fine corner to walk off to the side Now that the passing cars have subsided; the flood gates open Hold on to your breakables, this mother is coming to a theatre near you
It is not an easy task, that is to write about a sound that remains unexplainable, letís let the reader/listener decide. Is it more effective to stand on the side of this ridge and ponder or to gather deep inquiry into this unidentified sound? So there is this strange sound, when I say strange, hear is the final analysis; Toad croak rhythm- Eight croaks to be exact Synthesizer style reverberation, laser show explosion, a mash tank bubbling
Sounds of Appalachia on vinyl, rodent being swept up by an eagle; the track is skipping, the needle has dust on it. Travelers, beings who have transported very far distances, fond of this particular piece of earth Quadraphonic approach does not even begin to explain the mysterious nature in which the sound transported up the side of the mountain. This spiritual element could have flown up the ridge and engulfed my very existence. Why not? I may open the door to my neighbors, the orbs, perhaps if they bring a side dish. The curious attracts the curiosity of the ennobled few; to whom I pay homage through my rhythmic offering. The law of attraction comes crashing through in waves of high hat saucers, riding the wave of Z Sounds of past, native ,stretched skin fills in the gap of time Until it all comes crashing in around us, the sound of the floor is all that remains now, that is until the creation of the next wave
Thanks for the approval on the post and much welcomes! Many folks from the Great Generation penny pinched and conserved wisely, although it was a humorous observation as a child. When I was 13, after school I walked my brother and sister home from the next door elementary. We were to head straight to grandma and grandpas after school. On schedule, the same time everyday (around 4), I would feel an explosive case of the ****s come on. I blamed the rectangular- shaped, processed cheese pizza from school that I consumed everyday for lunch. Grandpa used to say, "If you have to **** and use the turret, you **** at school. Toilet paper doesn't grow on trees!". I recall responding that paper does in fact come from trees. I would love to hear any similar flashbacks! Thanks everybody!