One-Eyed White Rabbit - POEM of the MONTH!

 One-Eyed White Rabbit

 

I don’t see the man in the moon

But a one-eyed white rabbit

Hopping across the dark sky

Into the deep blue of imagination

With a raven at a writing desk

Flying on the back of a cow

Who stopped counting sheep

On hills of green and gold

 

Who leaps across creeks

Of dancing fish and frogs

And tip their hats my way

Taking granted for nothing

 

They all wink with approval

Like a sunrise on a new road

As I grin out the window

Across the country of dreams

 

Daydreams shift by illusion

Once again, then gradually gone

Until all the clouds magically

Appear like the man in the moon

 

And the one-eyed white rabbit

Even on cold winter nights

With a bounty of endless dreams

Fills another early morning

 

A morning of snow angels

Who kissed my lips

When I was born

Born to dream

Lantern Rouge - a short story

Based upon true events. Some artistic license was used to accomplish the theme. Written permission obtained by two of the persons to use their real names. This story is dedicated to you, Darryl and Maurice (also known as "Mo" or "Cricket"). 

Thank you!

~

Lantern Rouge – a short story

The 20^th century novelist William Saroyan once said, “The bicycle is the noblest invention of mankind.” Though a humble machine, the bicycle screams of being noble. It is simple in design. A frame. Two wheels. A chain and gears. Handlebars and a saddle for the rider to guide the machine through the air on the many paths that provide the euphoria of freedom.

Bicycle racing is a team sport with individual glory. The lantern rouge is a term used in bicycle races that references the last rider or last group of riders in the field. Many times, it’s a result of working for the team leader until all is exhausted. This is one story of many about an avid cyclist named Aaron who began his amateur career of racing in his mid-30s. The podium inspired him. And winning was the ultimate goal, as it was for most riders.

One afternoon, after a long bike ride with friends on his 67^th birthday, they listened to a young man in his 20s carry on about his goals to win races. His stories laced with “dude.” Winning was like calories; he had to have them. He ranted to the point that it soured everyone’s beer. It was difficult to find a pause in the young man’s stories like a respite in a fiery criterium. But finally one of Aaron’s friends interjected. Maurice, or Mo – also known as Cricket, relayed a story of a past race.

Cricket told them about a teammate who sacrificed his own ambitions so he could reach the podium. You see, in amateur racing, at the lower Categories, a high majority of riders sought only the win. Even though riders were on teams, it wasn’t like the Pros. But Cricket had a teammate who raced with that attitude – albeit not at first.

Early on in his amateur career, Cricket’s teammate sought individual glory, but gravity was not his friend. Even at his lowest weight he was not able to reach the podium when climbs were his obstacle. So, he focused on races with a typical sprint finish. Before many races, he’d hammer on about tactics that would get him a win. But, when the final kilometer of a race quickly approached, he had difficulty maintaining or finding the right position. When the last 200 meters came, he could not find that sprinter’s edge. Season after season resulted in several top-10 finishes and countless top-20s. But never the win nor a podium finish.

Cricket continued to tell them about one sunny afternoon on a training ride over several rollers, Cricket’s teammate was talking with a mutual friend named Darryl. They had raced together, but Darryl quickly upgraded to a Category-2, and they no longer raced in the same field. Cricket overheard Darryl give his teammate some wisdom. Of course, at 25 mph it was difficult to understand what another rider was saying in the wind. So, when the ride was over they stopped for a pint downtown.

Darryl pointed out that they all enjoyed the thrill of cycling, of racing, and the comradery they shared. There was something singular about suffering together for hours on two wheels. Aaron listened. For the first time it appeared something clicked. A new edge appeared in his eyes. Darryl had a way of filling the gaps for others including those on the road.

The next season, Cricket and team awaited the Official to start the race. It was a 60 mile road race with flats and rollers. After the two-mile promenade, one of Cricket’s teammates went to the front and hammered it. He strung out the field for the first 25 miles which caused half of the riders to fall off the back. The field was now down to around 25 riders. His teammate was exhausted. He settled into the peloton. His work was complete. Cricket’s other teammates sheltered him from the wind and kept him near the front to minimize the chance of a crash. Over rollers and through tight corners they protected their leader. Cricket was known by his nickname because in a sprint he could jump like a cricket.

With two miles to go, to his surprise Cricket saw his exhausted teammate come up alongside him – he appeared recovered. He looked at Cricket through his mirror-shaded sunglasses and said in a deep – and almost commanding voice, “Yo Mo. Get on!”

Cricket knew exactly what to do. Immediately, he grabbed Aaron’s wheel and used his draft. Another of his teammates joined the lead-out. Over the roughest section of the course and into a strong headwind, his teammates hammered it. The other teammate and Cricket on his wheel. For over a mile his exhausted teammate held the fast pace until 200 meters to the final corner. Then he peeled off and Cricket’s other teammate took over. As they exited the final corner, Cricket launched into his sprint for the last 200 meters for the win! His exhausted teammate came in at the end of the pack – nearly last place.

The young rider had listened intently. But then, to the disappointment of those around him, he said, “I can do that without teammates!” He laughed as he took his last sip of beer.

Cricket said, “Aaron, please tell our young friend what ‘clicked.’”

The young boastful rider’s eyes widen in surprise.

Aaron waved off the request.

Cricket insisted.

“Dude! Let’s hear it.”

Aaron quietly looked down at the ground and then up at his friends until his eyes settled upon the young rider, “I found my place in the peloton.” He gently nodded with satisfaction.

The young rider was quiet. A blank stare came over his face – like that of an empty road. A road that needed to be filled with a noble machine and a humble word. Perplexed, he asked Aaron, “You never won a race?”

Aaron shook his head— “But I did.”

“Dude, I don’t understand!” He stood abruptly.

Aaron looked at Cricket with a reminiscent smile, “When my teammate won the race.”

Haiku Acre Wood - Special Edition

 Haiku Acre Wood

 

Don’t be an Eeyore

It’s better to be a Pooh

And hard to be Owl

Original Artist, E.H. Shepard
Public Domain Since Jan. 1, 2022

In honor of A.A. Milne's birthday.

No One Says “Alas!” - POEM of the MONTH!

 No One Says “Alas!”
 
No one says “Alas!” anymore
Not since, I can’t remember
Not that I was, we were alive
When people, books used it
When poems rhymed, smelled
Of jasmine on a hot afternoon
When mommy shouted, “Iced tea!”
And grandpa rocked back, “Alas!”
 
But it was further back than that,
Grandpa just mocked an old novel
And he didn’t use the word right
Though rewarded with a shot
To numb the pain in his back
His claim held up the world
With ideals slowly crumbling
“Alas!” He lifted his hand
 
Then great grandad awakened
Just long enough to whisper
As a few listened but most …
Most missed his last words,
“What fell should have remained
What remained should have fallen
And rain fell on every generation,
Alas! Even on those before its use.”