Shrouded Shore: The Many Musings of Thom Singleton

  The King of Myself      I am, indeed, a king because I know how to rule myself.                                                                                        Pietro Aretino                                                           Dramatist and satirist                                                           1492 - 1556 The King holds court over all his many, little selves… Couch Potato questions, “Get up this morning? Why? It’s not lunchtime yet.” Over-Achieving Eater partners closely with Ever-Expanding-Elastic-Waistband-Pants Buyer. Perfectionist, a real pain-in-the-butt, looks down on all from his delusional peak. Space Man has his head in the clouds, or rather clouds in his head.  Finger Pointer bellows and blames, “It’s all your fault!” People Pleaser, a timid sort, believes it’s easier to please than to stand up for himself. Procrastinator knows how to make lists, many lists, but doesn’t get around to doing them. Fear Monger screams, “Better hole-up. It’s scary out

  Haiku for April 20th It’s a cold spring day Trees budding and snow falling A northern April

  A Return to Being Revelant I’m revenant (returning) to being revelant (transparent) about what is relevant (meaningful) and reverent (respectful).                                                                                         Young children are revelant, transparent of how they feel. Their cry is very relevant to them, a survival thing to ensure their needs are met. Even reverent to the truth of who they are, though their truth is limited. Mostly what they know is to get gratification. We all grow to the extent that our limiting ego shrinks. We’re all in that growth process. That doesn’t mean we are constrained to hold our feelings festering inside, As long as we don’t express them simply to manipulate others. What would it mean to be a revenant to being revelant as an adult? Growing beyond the ego, and yet letting the feelings flow? Transparent, but not to control others? Perhaps, if we expressed emotions, get them out in the light, We would not be controlled by the inner d

  Haiku for April 19th Big bird on our lawn She did a curious thing Turkey sunbathing 

  Haiku for April 18th Shovel, shovel, dump Shovel through Earth to China Ch’ang an sui hao pu shih chiu liu chih chia (There’s no place like home)

  Terra Firma What were the grounds for digging all those holes in our backyard ground? To gain sixteen footholds for a structure, a deck above the ground. Let me say that the yard’s thick clay almost ran us aground. Even with an auger of high horsepower boring the solid ground, the drill got stuck in the adhesive muck four feet in the ground. That’s until the contractor’s skill, and the juice of the coffee grounds, awakened a solution for the stuck contraption, stuck so far down. He bridged the hole and suspended a winch over the auger run aground, and winched it up, no longer stuck, to cheers all around. We have a new name for our domain, given by my son, the above contractor of renown. He christened the yard Terra Firma, solid as a boulder, except four feet down.