Friday, June 26, 2009

In her own words

My mom has a mountain of gripping and amusing stories she loves to share. Most of the best stuff will remain private, something for my nephews to see someday. She would drop a heavy pot on my head if I ever let some of the really juicy gossip get out.

There is so much that she has seen that I am eager to know more about. This clip is rather silly, she has a habit of laughing at herself midway through her stories. It may be hard to catch what she means, but to sum up... she is talking about some fellows who used to enjoy their moonshine.


Janifer said...

Awesome. ^__^

acereporter73 said...

My mother has some stories about people walking around drunk off of her Aunt Betty's dandelion wine... when she was a kid, my mom and some other youngins would gather up the dandelions for Aunt Betty.

Last month at a local wine festival I came across some dandelion wine from a New Jersey winery. Gave it a try, not something I was likely to buy.

But you can BET I am going to have some reference to kids picking dandelions to make wine in one of my stories.

Flame and Bone

When I was made from fire
Poured into the tender vessel of caution
That keeps my smoke from rising
Quickly did I discover that apart from crisp drizzles or falling snow
The world chilled my touched
Walking the narrow cornered gap between girders and cut stone
One learns to tuck his shoulders in or risk
Jostling a neighbor passing by rapt with want
For a clear path without the distraction
Of another man's boiling eyes
The tip of a finger
That oldest of all weapons
Grown deadlier and pristine in its invention
Gathers a mote of a cinder on its bare flesh
And turns pondering how best to scratch the impious itch
Prying open the tender seam
Where the oil of thought dews
Offering a new wick to ignite
Squirming alive as a salamander of mischief
That yearns for a taste of air it is so ready to devour
The steam of breath betrays me
Before the glint of orange spreads
In popping bright waves
Eroding the fibers feeding it
Leaving naught but ash
As my shell of quietude falls away