Author: richwrapper
First, a caveat: there is a writer/songwriter/artist/musician going by j kirk Richards out in Salt Lake City area. His first name is Jere. Mine is J. He got the j kirk Richards registered before me. We are Facebook
Friends and I told him I harbored no ill will about the name-biddness. He's a good guy. I am a writer/editor/photographer (and, gulp!, former public relations tiller and teller - but never a seller - who excretes some poetry, takes photos of his hometown and shares some of same on Facebook. A former active-duty U.S. Marine Corps Combat Correspondent (1967-72), sports writer/editor/photographer/columnist, editorial columnist, investigative reporter, government (city/county) beat reporter, court reporter, and much else in that particular patch: magazine editor, freelance book editor, publicist, short-order cook, slayer of freshwater fish and eater of same, oyster shucker, bluecrab catcher with few peers, hammock test pilot (both sober and tanked), reader of almost anything and re-reader of the better or at least entertaining, Libertarian-leaning conservative with personal responsible anarchistic tendencies. An total geek for the haiku of Bruce Jewett and his earlier poetry (circa 1969) and his esteemed underground mag Jo. A fair loser to good chess players. A gardener of some success earned by ignoring common cant and seed packet instructions. I am found at WordPress.com as richwrapper and drive two of my four blogs there: richwrapper, and commentary, outrages, prose and poetry.
Say Goodbye Arthur Miller
“The Piles Of ‘Milty’*” Tanka 6690
(October 14, 2024)
the piles of ‘Milty’s’
debris give me back title
and use of front yar
“cheated” on stacking refuse
in gutter, with rain-drain space
*(Last time the city of Sanford, Seminole County, Florida, had such a storm debris pickup, the “claw” equipped six-by truck gougede out a foot deep furrow in my front yard getting to the debris which then filled the open field across from the former Sanford (then Seminole) high school athletic practice fields and now a parking lot across from Sanford Middle School – when I went there it was a 7-8-9th grade junior high – with paid crossing guards to protect the learner-tykes-no-more as their privileged parents chariotted their kids to prison – ooops, school – instead of filling up two and often more residential streets to t he school’s south with a collection of big wheel pickup trucks, wide-body style of course, pricy and also big SUVs based mostly on pickup truck chassis and all other manner of autos parking on both sides of a too-narrow street which used to have “no parking” on both sides of the street signs which found demise at the bumpers of said big rigs piloted by those who would not think of having their progeny walk any further than across busy 18th Street fronting the school’s southern side which also has cars and trucks lining up (some trying to use my driveway as a parking space) and often as not disrespecting private driveways and front-droor walkkways as perfectly fine places to park. The kiddies have to walk in t he streets at least part of the way. On my street there is no sidewalk nor crossing guard. Yet drivers’ convenience dictates when the devils drive cherubs to class, neh? So with almost all of my three lots’ worth od debris and the usual collection of recycle and garbage and the some of a neighbor or five, I get to feed my feral black neon-green eyed cat whilst I shade-sit and read, quaffing good ole Snaffurd allegedly tainted city water. At my parents’ house I drank from a shallow well pump’s hose end when outside and thirsty -just a slight minerally taste with a hint of sulpher I still miss. We all used to drain our used motor oil back in the yard near the alley and we all – okay, mostly boys and sometimes their dads – quenched a non-beery non-sweet tea-ey thirst and not a one of us had three eyes of horns hidinginthe hairline – leastways not recently revealed. Go back and park in the big lot once Sanfor4d has evicted softball, football and, yes, cricket players (once even kickball enthusiasts) to stage all the debris, though Hurricane Milton (of as I prefer Him-A-Cane “Milty”, finally has been hauled off to more appropriate dumpsites, Has none suggested using county prisoners to sort t he trash from the trees and feed the good stuff to incinerators to provide power and valuable potash for community gardens and thus while polluting pristine? air reduce by a large margin an overstressed state existing with our trash dumps? Naah. Nebber Hatchee Hank or Helene, some eco-freakin’ lawyer will put a stop to that!. I go now to get back to my front yard to watch t he trash and recycle trucks went their way trough a probably mostly deserted street, as God and I intended._
richwrapper 