I Killed a Squirrel (A Poem)

It was the morning before Sunday Service, / My wife and I, the children with us. / There two playing all in a whirl, / One I killed, it was a squirrel.

"How sad," was what the mom had said, / It is indeed there lying dead. / An inquiry came from the rear, / "It's just a squirrel," said John sincere.

"True indeed," said I in haste. / "Yet, not even a squirrel's life should we waste." / "Not even if we needed food?" / That question, I thought was really good.

For how teach I our first born son / that life is important, everyone's? / Yet when it comes to what I like to eat, / I enjoy spinach, chicken, ham and beef?

Of course we are different from all other creatures, / and we all have many different features, / Yet we are not just to kill for fun / and we sure are sad when our pets lives are done.

One more lesson to teach our kids, / while we drive to places from where we live. / More things to think and stuff to unfurl, / all because I killed a squirrel.

Inspired by the drive to church, Sunday, June 2, 2013. Based on a true story.

Ghosts in the Bottle

John boy is a pretty hard boy to trick. He has a Mickey Mouse magic book that I read when I was around his age and so I thought I would show him a trick our two. He had already figured out how to make a magic wand using construction paper. He had actually looked at the book, "read" the picture instructions and then put the book away and made the wand. It was pretty impressive.

So, I borrowed his wand and said that if it was real it would float. I put the wand against my left hand with my fingers open and wrapped my right hand around my wrist and the wand was floating! (Mystery revealed below). He was pretty amazed. He picked up the wand and opened his hand and the wand fell to the floor. I explained that since he was eating pizza, maybe his greasy hand couldn't make the wand stick. He accepted that and went on eating.

After he ate I was made to show him again. This time as the wand floated he realized that one of my fingers on my right had was not wrapped around my wrist as the others. Yup, I was holding the wand against my left palm with my right index finger. Busted. 

Later in the evening I did something John boy can not explain away. I took a glass Coke bottle and put it in the freezer. After the boys bathed, I took out the bottle, set it on the table and put a penny on top. The whole evening I was telling John that we can catch a ghost in the bottle in the freezer... because that is where they hang out. While he took a bath I told him that ghosts were not real. He would ask how he would see a ghost later and I would say they are not real. Then he would ask how we could trap them in a bottle if they were not real, to which I would respond that he would have to wait and see. Fun times.

After the bath, the bottle in place, a ghost was mysteriously hitting the bottom of the penny trying to escape! I took a video... but it did not work for some reason. Maybe I will record it tomorrow night. Over and over again the ghost would hit the penny trying to get out. The boys thought it was pretty nifty. 

For A Father

Mr. John Clarke is a genius. If you do not know who he is click here. He read a poem on ABC National Radio on February 14, 2012 called For A Father by Anthony Cronin. I recommend that you listen to Mr. John Clarke read it aloud because of the way he describes it and so forth, but I have conveniently copy and pasted it here for you to read for yourself.

With the exact length and pace of his father’s stride
The son walks,
Echoes and intonations of his father’s speech
Are heard when he talks.

Once when the table was tall and the chair a wood
He absorbed his father’s smile
And carefully copied the way that he stood.

He grew into exile slowly
With pride and remorse,
In some way better than his begetters,
In others worse.

And now having chosen, with strangers,
Half glad of his choice
He smiles with his father’s hesitant smile
And speaks with his voice.

This is probably my favorite father poem, but I do not read much poetry.