SpearPoint Publications

Two cents, two shoes, two books

Equals a lotta stuff

Twice as much as one a piece of each

Lucky is the soul who has a shoe to fit left as well as right

And a penny to spend should the need arise

Plus, another one for saving, just because, just because…

 Rainy days will surely come - consult your weathervane

Unless someone cooks the books away too soon 

They say… It’s written in the pages – of the tome of good advice

For those who spare two minutes or more to read 

Two cents, two shoes, two books

Equals a lotta stuff

Twice as much as one a piece of each

It happened in Boston one sticky hot night

A shot in Fenway under stadium light

The guy at the plate was Gentleman Ted

Late as games go…it wasn’t that late

No score in the sixth, then the Sox went ahead

Ted creamed a high fly lofter to deep left centerfield

Two fielders scrambled eying his smash

The fans in the stands were certainly lit

He rounded one base then rounded three more

Back at home the concourse still roared

Cheering the run upping the score

As everyone rose in pure disbelief 

The announcer exclaiming…

“The ball refuses to fall

Above the Green Monster,

It hangs high above!”

It must be a stunt, a prank, or a fluke

“Some say…it’s Malarky as simple as that!”

“But how does gravity allow such a stat?”

“All that goes up must surely come down”

There was such a commotion - a ghastly delay

The umpires agreed to finish the game some other day

Soon headlines erupted in Beantown it read

“Leather and Stitches Stall Once and For All 

-The Ball Refuses to Fall!” 

By, Lois Lane - the Boston Globe

Mass speculation, mass spectators too

Scientists flock to settle the stew

Sure, as shooting that ball rests in mid air

Like an unmoving globe in Earth’s atmosphere 

But its orbit has halted somehow

As a relic you really ought to see now

That froze into history, as…

“The Ball That refuses to Fall!”

When winter comes it coats in snow

The spring rain rinses it clean

Some folks say it’s a perfect perch

For birds to pause and preen

It will not budge in the nastiest winds

The darndest puzzle unsolved

Pot shots may wish to shoot it

But why make a fuss or that call

Just let it remain as a known mystery

The Ball Refuses to Fall 

When the words don’t come

Do we sound an alarm?

Has vocabulary ceased, has this well gone dry?

If word fall is likened to raindrops…

And storms refuse to storm

Is this any concern at all?

Or a hiccup lapse in time

Perhaps a change of scenery is the best idea

Yes… something new might do!

We all leave a desk at some point

Then, nomad’s shuffle on 

Two hands groan with aching 

Please excuse the writer’s point

A respite could be the healthy solution

So, nomad’s shuffle on

Until new themes and beams arrive

After lofted views resign 

If a pizza went on vacation

Where would it likely go?

Probably not to some hot spot

Like an overactive oven or a barbeque cooking show

Nor the north or southern pole

Where there’s any chance of becoming stiff

Somewhere in between I’d suppose

Let’s imagine a coastal cliff house retreat

And maybe a beach filled afternoon

You know, go skimming over surf and sand

Like flimsy sorts of wannabe, frisbee’s can

Then land within the waves as an interesting kind of floater 

Rescued by a lifeguard because of a quick-thinking boater

So goes the well-rounded, sinking, non-swimmer guy

Who suddenly returns to life - resuscitated by CPR

And lives on to tell his worried wife

If all this sounds implausible 

You are astute beyond your years

For as far as sandy, soggy, pizzas go

Their bound to only bring us

 Gritty, bitty, bites . . . plus, saltwater, sparkling tears

So, Winters Solstice arrives and . . .

Autumn slips seamlessly away

Did she vaporize?

No handshake, no hug, no regrets to eye

Instead, a regulated, mechanized clock ticks

Finality finalized - where one goes the other stays

While most of us two legged creatures

Exist unaware of such grand proceedings

Immune to natural happenings on Earth One

If we dared ourselves to investigate a pinch more…we’d discover

Societal evidence still exists that our fellow inhabitants 

Recognize the comings and goings of seasonal changes

Within their hearts and souls, they celebrate such mystifying wonders

In fact, it is commonplace to gather, experience and show homage

For everything this natural world provides us  

Do words ever urge us enough to see for ourselves

How connected or disconnected we may be within our humanness

After all, it is our home! 

Dear Mister Hotchkiss, 

Is your door still ripe for knockin’? 

All us woodpeckers wanna know 

The wrapper gag made us laugh a lot 

As bird brainy pranks will do 

A tap, tap here and a rat - a - tat there 

Coupled with a swift escape whenever we felt inclined 

Brought us snickers and chuckles and smiles 

On Halloween we did the Bela Lugosi 

But capes were a bit too much we found 

Plus . . . flying in the dim lit night… 

That’s as hazardous as hazardous gets 

So, we called upon the Owls around 

To escort the caped crusaders in 

We knocked and knocked and knocked some more 

But no one answered your door 

Hell, we knocked so much our beaks got sore 

Well, I suppose we paid our dues 

So, that was the end to that ruse! 

T’was a tricky, assaulting, bird-neuver 

That broke us from sucking eggs 

They say the proof rests in the texture now 

Your treat, is one truly riveting door 

For all who choose to visit your home 

And ogle at the woodwork style 

Only an avian or forty-two, can do 

What started as a harmless scheme 

Has now become the curiosity spot in all of Woodpecker Ravine

Nickel plate those rails boys, nickel plate those rails 

Then we’ll fix them to the Earth somehow 

Did someone mention wood? 

Find a bunch of loggers now out in the seas of perfect trees 

Who’ll cut and shape and creosote 

To insure our timbers good 

Let’s set the wood in gravel men 

While gandy dancers lay rails upon those bedded ties 

C’mon pass around the hammer’s lads - drive your spikes that stake the bind 

‘Tis the season for connection so, keep the railroad first in mind 

Are you sure it was a love affair . . . that made the steel wheels roll? 

Clean across the countryside from coast to coast and back again 

The zigs, the zags, the spurs, the legs, the switches and the more 

That carried us faster forward than ever we’d traveled before 

Through good, and bad, and steady press 

Don’t forget the almighty weather too 

It’s written in countless storybooks - just how it all began 

An idea unlike any other, t ‘was once such a lofty plan!

Out on retirement road 

Where the traffic never goes slow 

It’s the hustle and bustle the same as it’s been 

For countless years in a row 

No wonder we Seniors plan out our days 

Ignoring the purple haze of it all 

Small in our putt putt cars 

Just so, to get where we wanna go 

And grab what we need in a window of time 

Carved out quite perfectly 

Well before the rush hour flows 

Heaven, forbid we forget this or that 

A Doctor appointment, to visit a friend or 

Secure every item on the list with no end 

We cautiously keep our wants well defined 

Out on retirement road 

Where the traffic never goes slow 

Out on retirement road

Adelaide and Atticus 

Met they did . . . but no one knows how it came about 

It’s doubtful we may ever find a solution 

In our time, cause somethings remain pure mystery 

Whilst others end in rhyme 

Some say they both were wordsmiths 

Who put their quills to page 

Back when fancy printing was simply all the rage 

A well of India each had and the grandest sets quivers 

Calligraphy across page should you catch their point 

On paper more like linen - the likes we seldom ever see 

One of a kind, keep that in mind, as there were no duplicates 

Such fascinating topics to read away and read away again 

More than mesmerizing so . . . one’s tea would turn ceramic cold 

Lord - the biscuits could grow stale around the sunporch in the spring 

Or any other season once we learned about these writer’s flings 

Is there a single compendium left for any curious eyes to, ogle or peruse? 

Those grandiose works of art, authored and affixed by Adelaide and Atticus 

The Higginbotham’s in distant rustic Coventry 

Of course not, that’s absurd!

There are no Buttercup Snowflakes 

That we know of . . . 

Or Naturistic Rings around our Moon 

Nor Cats, that love to do the two step with the next-door Pooch named Spud 

Who tends to thud his way across the stage 

Still, we’ve got a lot of Goodness 

Wafting from our fragrant Kitchens 

From those who don the Aprons in our Homes 

While the River runs and runs 

Always headed somewhere else 

Underneath our trusty Sun, a-blazing…from its far-off point of view 

Until Stars dot the clearest Nighttime Sky   

So Lucky are the Beings here 

Who Cherish this Living Orb in Space 

One Garden Globe within the Cosmosphere 

It’s time to recognize what we hold Dear