Shrouded Shore: The Many Musings of Thom Singleton

  The American Money-Is-Power Game Corporations give money to political action committees. Political action committees fill the airwaves with political ads. Political ads help elect pro-corporate legislators. Pro-corporate legislators pass pro-corporate legislation. Pro-corporate legislation enables larger corporate profits. Larger corporate profits mean more money for political action committees for the next election. And the game goes on...

  Watery Impressions Water speaks and draws you deep into its ever-changing moods… Mist rises on a shrouded shore, the lowest clouds there are, formed from the tiniest beads of water, shape-shifting all it enfolds. Lake’s surface is calm, then suddenly you can “see” the wind, as a gust plays on its surface. A downpour of rain pounds the Earth and slakes its thirst. Brooding water reflects a darkening sky, and says it’s time to pull the canoe to shore and set up camp. Sparkling waters glimmer and glisten. Sun’s artful rays create a living, moving painting on a liquid canvas. A sheer rock wall on lake’s edge suggests seemingly fathomless depths below.  Raging rapids roil and roar, wild whitewater. Turbid water trickles from a melting glacier, silted brown by boulders ground to dust Crystal clear brook flows from a mountain meadow of new-fallen snow melting in the early spring sun. An ephemeral pond behind our place is the home for a time of a mated pair of wood ducks Sweet water...

  Giving He is no fool who parts with that which he cannot keep, when he is sure to be recompensed with that which he cannot lose.                                                                                                                                                 ...

  This piece tells a tale of our former residence in Plymouth, our home for 34 years until we moved to Fox Crossing at the end of 2019. I pieced together this mostly factual story from an old neighbor’s account. It was a good thing, though, that I renewed my State of Wisconsin Poetic License first. Our house an old woman of secrets, Hidden deep in the grain of her frame. The creaks and groans of her old wood bones Speak volumes of whence she came.    Born of trees from the century before last, It’s said she has led two lives. For from these trees a home was built, First a farm home for a man and his wife. Then the Great Depression came along And forced them off the farm. The empty home didn’t languish long, Before a lightning strike brought great harm. Next a hobo came down the tracks With holes in his hobnail boots. Tired of living in tar paper shacks, He determined to set down roots. Our frowsy wooden girl winked at him, With her window shade half-way down. She inv...

   The Wayfinder What could you not accept, if you but knew that everything that happens, all events, past, present, and to come, are gently planned by One whose only purpose is your good?                                                             - A Course in Miracles Put aside your frantic thoughts. In the end they go for nought. Abide in them and you’re lost for days, Caught up in a bewildering haze, A daze of your own creation. Belay them, stay them, they’re up to no good. Bar them, starve them, give them no food. A diet of anxiety nourishes not, But twists your system into a knot, A clot of emotional exhaustion. . Focus instead on the waves of your breath, The rolling waves o...

  3:15                                                                                                                             272 words Matt glanced at his wrist. It was exactly 3:15, but this was not his watch. Odd, he thought, and worse. As he looked about the room nothing looked familiar. Matt approached a fellow who had a smile on his face. “Hi,” Matt said, taking the smiling man’s hand and shaking it. “My name is Matt.”  “My name is Matt,” said the smiling man. Matt said, “Can I ask you where we are?” The smiling man just shook his head and pointed to another man across the room. Matt walked over to him, a man hazily familiar. “Hi, my name is Matt. What is this p...

  McCargoe A paddling trip in the watery wilderness of Isle Royale... Our canoe route: twenty miles of lakes, portage paths, protected coves, and a couple miles of Lake Superior, the last a bit disconcerting as our canoe was then-untested in open waters. And now loaded down with gear and food for a week, with precious little freeboard.  We were counting on the old saying “red sky at night, sailors delight”, for this sundown was a scarlet vision, and we had Superior tomorrow to contend with.  Broke camp in the morning and put in, the water like glass. As we left the bay and entered big water, though, the glass quickly shattered as large seas broke over the starboard bow. Had to head up into the wind and steepening waves, avoiding rocky reefs, but taking us further offshore. When the chance came, turned quickly to port, broadside to the waves for a time  that seemed forever. Put the wood to the water, power paddling in now quartering seas. Took on more water, but made ...

  Weedy? No, It’s Biodiverse Always the weed returns. The cultured plant retreats before it.                                                                                  -Beryl Markham It’s the greenest on our road. In times of drought, people ask How is it that your lawn is so green? I say look closer, it’s: Dogbane, purslane, shepherd’s purse, and plantain Pigweed, lambsquarters, wild radish, and bird weed Lady’s thumb, curly dock, prickly lettuce, and alyssum. Any grass in that lawn?, they ask. I say yes, of course. Crabgrass and quackgrass. All natural, no chemicals, drought-r...

  For No Good Reason Here’s all you need to know about relationships. A successful relationship boils down to how you and your partner like your eggs. It’s true. Two Soft-boiled people mush together such that you can’t tell one from the other. Two Hard-boileds bounce off each other. A Softie and a Hardie, though, complement and learn from one another. Frieds need a break from each other. Scrambleds need to straighten out their own life first. And Devileds better split-up quick. Most successful? Over-easys. Over-easys have an admirable attitude considering they’re in a frying pan of a relationship. Ask your partner what kind of egg they are, if you dare. Be careful, though. They might think you’re Cracked. I checked out some of my data on a website. My marital status, so it said, was “Civil Union.” Mostly true.  As my grandson, Connor, age 7, says, “People that live near the ocean have to look out for salamis.” The Olde Philosopher, my friend Bruce, spends most of his time in r...

  Here’s a brief springtime poem, conceived on a walk in the woods. A trillium is a three-petaled, white flower, a fleur de lis. A cabuchon is an uncut, but polished, gem. Trillium There is a jewel in the May wood, A cabochon of dew in a three-petaled setting. Earth’s tear shed for the beauty of the day And the fragility of life.

  Wall or Bridge?  Two planes, a wall and a bridge. Same geometry. Different attitude.   One straight up and down. The other laid flat. One separates. The other joins.  One protects. The other connects. One bars passage. The other rises over troubled water.  What do I choose to be today, a wall or a bridge? Walled-off from others, or looking to make connections? Even be a bridge for someone alone. If I am a bridge, there is one less wall in this world. One less wall.  

  Have you ever mixed a metaphor? Check-out this conversation… If Wishes Were Horses, Poets Would Count Them Before They Hatched >I’ve had a roller coaster of a life lately. The rubber is just not hitting the road. I am a tsunami of woe. What fly in the ointment has made you a tempest of despair? >Well, I’ve been feeling as useless as a dealer with a deck of 51, on a rocking horse, moving but going nowhere. Especially at work. It’s either I throw down the gauntlet or punt. As a poet you used to be a pot of sunshine cooking-up velvety verse. Now a canary with laryngitis? >Yeah, but more like a nattering neverland of negativity. I have a new editor. He is a scowl of intimidation, awash with a flood of indifference to my work. Something about mixing my metaphors. Well, I’m not sure what that means. Mixed metaphor? Is that with whiskey or brandy? Try to understand him. He’s probably just a macho marshmallow with a funnel cloud of fear inside. >I think a mixed metaphor is ma...

  Water Man A shrouded presence moves over the water today, Hiding his face in the swirling mist, his mood a mystery. Will he stay tranquil or get tempestuous?  Rippling his muscles in the sinuous seas, Frothing with fury in a raging gale, only to make sky cry.  Or, when the vapors clear, showing his brighter side, Dancing on the wind-blown waves, Laughing with the purling ripples along a cobbled beach,  Then calm and serene under moon-lit heavens. There is a presence in this Great Lake, A body of water. Within it, a depth of feeling. 

  Composed off Wisconsin’s Lake Superior coast… Sea Cave White-crested waves on the greatest of lakes Break and thunder on the sandstone scarps Savage surf for centuries carve caves Sandstone caves in the blood-red cliffs The blood-red cliffs of the Apostle Islands Explore these caves when the lake is calm Pull your kayak into a yawning maw Inside find the work of the graybeard waves The sculpting work of water on rock Carving waves turn cliff into cave Venture not here as the foaming waves rise Superior is subject to seich tides Violent storms arise fast and fierce And the work of the waves goes on and on The work of the waves goes on

  This one came about on a walk with my grandson, three-year-old George, at Peninsula State Park... Little George on Nicolet Bay  Big wind slaps the mouth of the bay Riles up waves of foaming gray Gulls on the wing wafted down the way Borne swiftly to a sheltered cay Protected by a headland on the curving bay Where the water is calm a small boy plays On a beach of pebbles where thousands lay Throws many to splash in the bay A gull perches on a stanchion on a nearby quay Launches and hovers with a slight delay Then plunges in the water and catches his prey Humbles men who caught none that day As grey gauzy clouds swirl and plier A low rainy curtain descends upon the bay Ducks float unconcerned as if to say It’s water off our backs, it can rain all day Small boy wants to stay and play Until all the stones are in the bay Grandpa scoops him up, is heard to say We’ll come back on a sunny day  

  A Mid-Century Modern Love Story (A note from the poet: This conversation includes many references to TV commercials and pop songs of the day, indicated by quotation marks. Many of the products and songs are still on the market. So, use them, and you, too, could have a mid-century modern romance.  For more info, google sites like “1950’s commercial jingles” and “1950’s music hits.”) Peggy Sue, come with me “to see the USA in my Chevrolet.”       Oh, I will, Johnny! “You look so debonair.” You must use Brylcreem in your hair. Yes. Girls “love to run their fingers through my hair.” Want to? Oh, yes, Johnny. And your teeth are so white! “I wonder where the yellow went?” Well, I “brush my teeth with Pepsodent.” Before we go to see the USA, I’d like to bake you a Pillsbury Cake, because “nothin’ says lovin’ like somethin’ from the oven.” Sure. Let’s go on a picnic by the lake. Do you like Oscar Meyer Wieners? Yes! ”I’d love to be an Oscar Meyer Wiener. The...

  Dogs and Their Humans Alike Next month I’ll be 497 dog years old, And I want to stay!, sit!, and speak! About a few tricks I’ve learned. But first I want to shake paw...uh...hands And thank you for the nice bowl of food I had for dinner.  It was nice and meaty and good for my coat...uh...skin.  Also I enjoyed playing fetch...uh...catch with you. The ball is just the right size for my mouth...uh... Paw...uh...hand. Thanks, too, for taking me on a walk, Although I do have a bone to pick with you calling me A heel all the time, especially when Fifi next door walked by. My wife, you know that I’m totally devoted to you. I try to be a good companion. I promise I won’t growl at you so much or fall asleep on the couch. Or leave my muddy pawprints...uh...footprints on the floor.      Aw, you’re rubbing my neck. It makes this old dog just want to roll-over and whimper.