Shrouded Shore: The Many Musings of Thom Singleton

  My Mentor, the Moon My mentor says… I hang here, a mirror. I reflect celestial light. I illuminate the dark time of Earth. Be like me. Be present to the radiance around you. Share your enlightenment. Mirror brilliance for those in the dark.

  The Gas and the Brake Step on the gas: we burn money. Step on the brake: we can’t now, honey. She questions the bills, pays them, and keeps the upcoming ones in mind, but also sometimes considers contractor services. He is the zero-cash-in-the-wallet guy, tries to do it himself or with sons’ help, but also sometimes wants to make bigger purchases. Both look for sale items and shop thrifts. So really both drive our mini-economy, sometimes placing one’s foot on the gas, sometimes on the brake. And, so far, the tank stays reasonably full.

  An Alphabet Soup of Groups      An arc of days      A bubble of friends      A buzz of bugs      A boogie of dancers      A bangle of youth      A corral of naysayers      A chorale of cardinals      A crush of commuters      A crash of computers      A delirium of deadlines      A deadlock of partisans      An exuberance of cheerleaders      A flock of singers      A giggle of kids      A gaggle of groupies      A goggle of tourists      A hotbed of lovers      An inkwell of writers      A junkyard of years      A kowtow of toadies      A looking glass of eyes      A mod of fashionistas      A nod of bored people      An oval of weight watchers      A palette of artists      A pander of politicians       A pod of pop icons      A quad of four buddies      A rod of racers       A slither of snakes      A strut of dictators      A tumble of acrobats      An ulcer of haters       A vise of headaches       A wonder of children      An x of expunges      A year in ten minutes       A zoo

  Work “Weak” Anthill of activity Fog of frenzy Delirium of deadlines Dead on arrival Slither of snakes Blood bath of backstabbing Pointing fingers Mistakes waiting to happen...but not for long Micro-management Macro-mismanagement No vision No accountability No future

  What a Day I Had Today! An easy chair of apathy A funnel cloud of fear A kettle of rage A tsunami of sadness A ragbag of remorse A wink of conspiracy A wall of indifference A twisted leer of evil A scowl of intimidation A neverland of despair Then I had my morning coffee.

  We Love Our Carbon (And Other Attitudes)    Global warming? Bah! It’s way cold in space. Carbon makes a nice, warm blanket for Earth. Air pollution?   We’re Americans. We like to see our air. No pesticides?  You kidding? You like bugs or sumthin’? Covid shots? It’s a lie! Get the horse dewormer instead. Or just shoot me up with bleach. Mandate?  Na-na-na-na-na. You ca-an’t make me!  If you do, I’m not gonna stop at stop signs. Or wear a seat belt. Pepper? No, we love our carbon. Crush coal instead, and put it in the shaker. Mmm, mm!

  Maple Afire Like A Cardinal’s Attire  Our maple was the first to catch Fall’s fire. It ignited this week with the sun’s southerly gyre. Leaves flutter to the ground, red like a cardinal's attire, While others remain on the tree among the feathery choir. The red birds stand-out strikingly in every other season. But in autumn the birds blend-in with the maple emblazoned With scarlet hues, colorful camouflage in which they’re hidden Away from view, incognito, their doings unbidden. But anonymity for cardinals is not in the cards, As the tree its flaming foliage discards. Once the old maple is fleeced of its leaves, Our showy red birds center-stage they seize.      

  Hooray! It’s Isla Kaye! Today is one special day! She is, of light, a ray! Family on two continents clap and say Hooray! Hooray! Hooray! She journeyed a night and a day. Not to rush things, she definitely had her say. Likely took time to practice her plie, For a ballerina, it is her forte. So for poor Mom and Dad there was a delay. Ballerinas can have a temperamental day. Especially when making their debut on the world stage, A most eventful day. For the rest of us, with feet of clay, Fretted and sweated and humbly prayed For an outcome so joyous as today’s. What cheer! What cheer! What cheer! Isla, you’re a miracle of new life, so dear. With parents like yours, they’ve opened the doors Of love to you, now and forevermore. Hooray! It’s Isla Kaye!

  The Sinking of the Battleship Egomania Let’s all put our armored egos aside, Or us and the planet woe betide. It’s our egos that always divide. Don’t get me wrong, it’s OK to take a side, So long as the others you do not deride. Listen to others, let understanding be your guide. Compassion for others is to love them, not their “side.” We all want love, it’s the particulars that collide. Get beyond the ego, there’s a person inside. When you truly see that person, and they see that you do, love abides. When you see what love means to that person, give it to them, full-tide. In the torrent of love, the armor of ego will sink and subside.  

  Bow and Beau Alike      In a perfect union, the man and woman are like a strung bow. Who is to say whether the             string bends the bow, or the bow tightens the string?                                                                                                     Cyril Connolly                                                                                                     Critic and editor                                                                                                     1903 - 1974 A strung bow String and bow Opposing? No Complementing? Yo As bow tightens string And string bends bow Potential does grow Until the power lets go Bow and string empower each other Like two attentive, responsive lovers And with all eyes on the shared target The arrow just can’t miss

  Highway Curling Back in the late 1960’s, I drove truck part-time, and also attended school. One route, a night-time trip, took me from Milwaukee north to Appleton, with stops along the way.  The route, Highway 55, ran along Lake Winnebago for some twenty-five miles. It was here on a snowy and windy night that I ran into the first obstacle of the trip, large snow drifts covering the roadway. My truck quickly got bogged down and finally stopped, stuck with wheels spinning.  Because it was the wee hours of the morning with no other vehicles on the road, and cell phones then were still in the realm of science fiction, I had to put out flares around the truck and wait for help. After a time, as the stormy sky started to lighten up in the east, a big snow plow truck pulled up, the driver put a chain from his truck to mine, and he pulled my truck out of the drift. After thanking him profusely, I followed him in my truck as he cleared one lane of the roadway through the deep snow. I made it

  Juicy Fruit Crunched a breakfast apple An explosion of sweet Tasted so good And cleaned my teeth Then a fruit that felt, at first, not ripe Outside too firm, but, inside, just right Pudding they make of it, a dish so yum It could only be made with a ripe purple plum Lastly a luscious one to further sweeten my day Grapes when crushed and fermented a steep price you’d pay For such a fruit so fine That the appellation I give it, “my morning wine”    

  George’s Latest Little George, age 5, discusses a great American… George: “Did Abraham Lincoln get mad?” Daddy:  “Yes, I suppose.” George: “Did he get so mad his face got stuck on a penny?”

  A Classic Poem The sun also rises,  east of eden, this side of paradise. Look homeward, angel, for whom the bell tolls. As I lay dying, farewell my lovely. Go tell it on the mountain. (Now I’m) invisible, man.

  Every Season Has a Reason Winter sleeps in his cold blanket of snow. And the frosty old man seems to have put an end to all that is green. But Spring awakens life in the seeds hiding in the warming Earth. With Summer’s warm sun and rain, green life returns everywhere. And Autumn reaps fruitful abundance, while its seeds lay ready to renew life again. Every season has a reason, those of people, too. And the seasons say that life springs eternal. Those of us in the winter of our lives know that the end will come, but that life goes on in the children and grandchildren of the world, those in the spring and summer of their lives. Life goes on.

  Sunset on Trout Lake, Northern Highlands, Wisconsin  Quicksilver breezes, veering then backing, blow spindrift across the lake waters. Red streaks the blue in the shining sky while clouds gleam like whipped cream on the far horizon. As the sun nears its nadir in the west, somebody up there spills merlot in the sky, then tries to mop-up with clouds now colored crimson. The frisky winds subside with the lowering sun, as the colors blaze ruddy red and burnt orange, reflected in water seemingly afire. In the end, the bright blue sky deepens to cobalt, and the curtain of night falls, but this sunset will be one to remember.   

  Friends The wind whispers to the trees. The trees wave to the sky. The sky welcomes the sun. The sun warms the earth. The earth grows the flowers. The flowers flirt with the birds. The birds sing to the waters. The waters reflect the moon. The moon lights the night. The night wakes the owl. The owl wonders “who?”

  Sailing Winnebago      “How’s life?” asks the landsman.      “Up and down, up and down,” answers the sailor.                                             Tristan Jones                                           Sailor and author                                                               1929 - 1995 Calm in the cove Past the point, waves glisten in the lowering sun Helmsman holds the prow into the gusty wind Hands the tiller to his mate Hauls up the mainsail Unfurls the jib Tiny boat enters the blow Bow climbs the waves Pounds into the troughs Helmsman bears off to starboard The jib catches the wind with a crack Bow plows forward close to the wind Helmsman tacks back and forth across the wind’s eye “Rock and roll” a better description of sailing than of music Comes about and sails silently downwind to his mooring in the cove A big smile on his face A watery walk with the wind