Sidetracked Charley

Mardi Gras Adieu  Mardi Gras never thought of herself as a dog let alone a poodle. When she first came into my life 16, almost 17 years ago, I had Mariah, an alpha German Shepherd. She immediately appointed herself boss. And after my head injury, even my boss. She raised Magique, the labradoodle, and trained her to my unspoken specifications. After all, Mariah had trained her before her departure. Together Mardi and Magique became my photography dogs. They hopped joyfully in jeeps or trucks. They knew not to chase and to stand quietly when I stopped on a walk and raised my camera. They ran through the woods but always returned when called. Four years ago Mardi seemed to lose it. Episodes of not coming when called or seemingly getting lost on walks signaled a liver dysfunction. Our vet prescribed vitamin e and milk thistle. She immediately responded and for the remaining years of her long life became the dog she had been. But still there were occasional bouts of disorienta

Wars depend upon the  monuments. The dead remembered by the survivors with cemeteries. Grave stones and statues to continue the myths. Plaques which declare victory real or false The survivors must label it a noble cause. The few who remain bury the dead. Declare the dead have not died in vain. What if there was no one left? Who then  would kneel before the monuments? Jacqui Binford-Bell August 2016

A wronged witch of the south and A wretched fool of the north. Side by side behind the dais stood Toe to toe Nose to nose. Arguing their differences before a hired audience  fools Questions and answers all scripted in double speak. This cannot end well The commentators behind the scenes whispered One is losing his sanity The other her mind. And so as the disenfranchised watched in growing  horror helpless To find a way out of the capital the nation for which it stood burned. Ashes, ashes it all fell down. J. Binford-Bell August 2016

Euphorbia take over First it was the dying geranium which took over my small pullman kitchen in my studio apartment my final year of college. It won me over by living and even thriving on my neglect. What can you expect from a senior in college? And then Aunt Zelma turned me on to African Violets. Small things which bloom all the time and come in infinite color and variety. But easy to move in boxes in the back of the camper shell on the pickup. She had shown me how to propagate new ones from a single leaf and so I became a leaf thief. In North Carolina I had over 75 African Violets. In the summers they lived on plastic shelves on my wonderful south facing veranda and I watered them with a garden hose. Something my neighbors never grew tired of telling me would kill them or at the very least spot their leaves. Never did either. Came time to move I only took ten or so. One for Aunt Zelma and the rest I gave away to those friends and neighbors which promised to raise them right. 

Sheep from the Goats When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his glorious throne. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will put the sheep on his right  and the goats on his left. Matthew 25:31 Butt, baaed the Goat Why don't we count among the good? Please, bleated the Sheep I thought he made that perfectly clear. It is arbitrary, cawed the Crow Watching it all from his lofty perch. Black is evil And the pure white Dove A saint. I know things about the doves which are not so pure, he cackled. Sheep, Goat Black, White Red and Blue Please give me a clue. The shepherd pleaded Left or Right. It matters not, spoke the Raven Others have chosen You do not count. J. Binford-Bell August 2016