Shrouded Shore: The Many Musings of Thom Singleton

  Attempting a World’s Record If there is such a thing for the spear thistle, my eleven year old grandson Kai and I are going for it. Kai has his own sports blog, and he is enthusiastic about records, especially those of football.  When I mentioned that I’m going for a record, his ears immediately perked up. When I told him it’s the record size of a thistle, he thought, “Oh, that’s Grandpa.” But we’ll see what he says if our thistle makes the Guiness Book of World Records. Our thistle lives on the edge of the woods behind our meadow-like lawn, guarding, so to speak, what we call the door of leaves.  We call it that because it is an opening in the thick woods through which all manner of wildlife emerges - deer, fox, and turkey to name a few. Our thistle is now close to five feet high with sixteen blossoms.  Besides the dubious distinction of a world record, why, you might ask, would we want to keep this weed. If we dig it up because it’s a weed, then we would need to ...

  A Sleepy Morning The sun rises slowly in the dark, eastern wood. He pours his muted gold through small breaks in the green. A sleepy wind barely bestirs the maple trees. And even the tall cottonwood shows just a flicker of leaves. Our bird feeders, most always a scene of high activity, Hang quietly with the birds’ rare passivity. With the birds today seeming to sleep-in, Only the squirrels chase each other with vigor and vim, And finally a hummingbird buzzes himself in.

  Cool Water Splash and gurgle and boil and bubble Crash and tumble and babble and mumble Water gushes over a rocky ledge Hits the pool with a pip, pop, and fizz I think I’ll sit under the spray and mist To cool-off in the heat is my bliss

  Sun Bird Haiku A small sun rises Below its black, cloud-like wings Northern Oriole

  Real Courage      There would be no society if living together depended upon understanding each other.                                                                                                                                                  ...

 White  Clouds White clouds in the wind run down the blue sky Where they fly no one knows, or why Here and gone without a whisper of sound Indifferent to the forces around them Except, in their own quiet way, to make wind visible

  Anticipation, Then Precipitation Dire weather forecast Towering clouds Distant booms and crackles Flashes of light Suddenly it hits A squally storm Roaring and pouring through the trees Over just as quickly Gust of storm Then breath of relief

  Aging Closer If your aging ears hear with trouble It’s time for you and your spouse to cuddle So you can, closer, steal a kiss And, as well, not be remiss About words coming from your spouse’s lips

  Too Much Time On My Hands Yields This The spender mender (financial adviser) told the lender vendor (loan officer) to send her to him. She was having a problem with her spender sender  (her credit card account) and she was delinquent in her payments. The payments were overdue to a fender mender (auto body repairman) who fixed her car after she had a fender bender (accident). And she lost her job as a splendor vendor (a big event organizer). To make matters worse, she was in the throes of a tender ender (relationship break-up), despite going to sessions with a tender mender (couple’s therapist). Not to mention, she had gained weight, because she hadn’t seen her slender render (exercise leader) in some time. What a bummer!

  It Starts with Each of Us Change the world’s strife? Transform your own life. Don’t blame others. Discover what’s undercover, Hidden in you. Reveal what’s eating you. Get it out of your system, In front of an empath who will listen. Then you’ll excise What’s keeping you from the prize. The prize, a loving you, Who gives others their due. Love and compassion for what they’re going through. The world now a better place For your saving grace.

  It’s Come To This It’s come to this…a poet with nothing of note on his list. Why do thoughts turn to food when I’m in this wordless mood? Well, both are fulfilling, are they not…bon mots and what’s in the pot. So, faithful - I hope - reader, without further adieu, here’s what I have to offer you… I have a hunch that, for brunch or lunch, there’ll be a bunch of food with crunch, washed down with punch. Or maybe something quite quirky, like turkey jerky. Or a caboodle of noodles, and, for dessert, strudel. The left-overs can go to our poodle. I have a kettle of metal to cook them in. Of course, noodles are like petals of nettle before you boil them. I’ll also throw in some peas, if you please, and, when done, top it with cheese. As they said in the old days, “It’s the bee’s knees!” One might ask: is there a reason for this rhyme? Please be patient. I’ll be back on my game in time.  

  Patti’s Birthday, Point Beach State Forest  Great, azure lake mirrors vast expanse of sky. Frothy waves resemble distant clouds on the fly. Sailboat catches offshore wind. Mainsail and jib up, wing and wing. Families leave warm sand, splash in the cold. Pelicans glide over a shallow shoal. Ghostly boats mostly lost in the misty distance. Waves come up at wind’s insistence. A perfect day gifts Patti a warm embrace. The Great Lake puts a smile on her face. 

  Smile Fest I’m blest with jest, though some think me a pest. My quest is to wrest a smile from all I encounter, each an honored guest. At times in life, we’re all pressed, undergoing a test. Fostering a smile can be a start at helping another get something off their chest. Why not give it a rest, and instead have a smile fest. It’s the best!

  Grandkids Are… Suckles and chuckles Giggles and wiggles Snuggles and struggles Crawls and falls Wobbles and squabbles Squeaks and shrieks Tricks and winks Serious and hilarious Curious and contrarious A lot like grandpa

  Conscious Breath Inhale. Exhale. Don’t derail. You will prevail in your travail. Now it’s a heart’s impale. In time, an emotional hangnail. Find a empath who understands and avails. To them, bewail. Just inhale to the pain, and exhale it. You will prevail. Through life, you will sail.

  Butterfly Butter is a good thing, for what is bread without butter. Butterflies are a good thing, too, for they spread pollen from one flower to another, And ensure the species survival. A monarch butterfly flutters by, heading for our flower garden. He likes what he finds there among the lavender blossoms. He’s on a year-long sojourn from Canada to Mexico - well, he and his progeny. For it takes several generations of his kind to make the journey. And they pollinate gardens all along the way. Unfortunately, he and his kind are becoming endangered by pesticides. Remember him when you dine: eat pesticide-free fruits and vegetables. It’s better for you and also for him. 

  Age Is it a cage? As in “I’m too old to do that.” For sure, just a page that all will eventually turn, simply a stage in life. I’ve thankfully earned enough wage, at least by my own gauge, to assuage any fears of want. Time to listen to my inner sage, and, at my age, give back. To me, old age is all the rage.

  Falling Water Plants look brown Rain drizzles down Plants turn green! River's water low Clouds overflow Stream runs full! Sun shines rays Through the prism of the rain Rainbow! Brook cascades Over rocks in a glade Waterfall!

  Fred Met a new neighbor, Fred, today. Small in stature. Looks healthy, but green. But that’s only because Fred’s a frog, Who’s taken up residence in our pond. His plaintive galumps sound lonely, though. He needs to find his fellow amphibians, Or Fredericka.

  The Big, Black Dog The end of roads for cars The beginning of water trails for canoes The Boundary Waters wilderness Car camped here fifty years ago  Before getting on the water Where a bear came into our campsite Many years later at the same site A big, black dog approached Getting closer and bigger  The dog became not a dog, but a bear The earlier bear’s grandson perhaps He turned his head, sniffed into the wind His eyes on us Then turned and moved off into the woods Some  four hundred miles away in Wisconsin Bears are sighted way south of their normal range One only five miles distant from our Fox Valley home Haven’t had one, as yet, knocking on our door Though we have deer in “our” back woods One now gazing at me as I write this As humans expand into the natural world The wild yields space to the tame The tame needs to understand that the wild needs space And that all Earth’s inhabitants must co-exist