Shrouded Shore: The Many Musings of Thom Singleton

  Memory of Moments Walk back Back in time A time tourist Tour the memory Memorable moments Memory of people People and places People on the journey The journey of each moment The journey of the present Travel each moment From beginning to end Then onto another Moment to moment A lifetime of moments Each precious When you’re in it It will never leave you

  Warped Logic People have rights, not responsibilities, as in, “I’m not wearing a mask, It’s my right." We will not require masks to stop the rise of covid, until we have to require masks, which is necessary because we didn’t require masks.

  Small Boat Sailor Sail bender. Tale teller. Boat tacker. Close hauler. Boat heeler. Out hiker. Wave rider. Wind walker. Boat lover.

  A Sailor Reads the Wind A sailor reads what the wind writes…    Cats paws crawl across the water,    Boats at anchor swing into the wind,    Tell tales - ribbons in the rigging - show the wind’s direction,    The feel on his face as he turns, side to side, into the wind    Until the sound of the wind is equal in both ears. All of his senses feel the wind’s direction and energy.  As the wind can be capricious, the sailor lives in the moment, And trims the sails to best capture the wind’s motive power.    

  Onomatopoltergeists Vanoosh! If onomatopoeia is the use of words whose sound, like buzz, hiss, crack, or smack, suggests the sense, here’s a word I coined to suggest the sound of spooks, “onomatopoltergeist.”  We hear these frequently in our house… –In the baseboard heaters, phantoms sound like steps getting closer, clunking into things. –in a bedroom wall, ghosts creak and groan; –behind our fridge, wraiths cry out in the night; –and once the doorbell rang in the night, waking us up, but no one was at the door. These poltergeists, we surmise, are Bernie and Dot, the original owners who lived here for fifty years and passed away years ago. We, of course, don’t know for sure. We do know the origin of this spooky word because I coined it,  “vanoosh,” a combination of “vanish and whoosh.” It is the flying-off-the-plate of still warm chocolate chip cookies into the mouths of our four young grandsons. Vanoosh followed by yum! Could Bernie and Dot be in cahoots with the boys...

  Around the Bend Last fall it was, I took a great fall, Several ribs did I rend. And mulled it over, as I did recover, How to put my life on the mend. Now that I've arrived at age seventy-five Bones don’t just bend They crunch and crack and pop and wrack And separate in the end And, as if that wasn’t trauma enough, my eyes blinked-out, my head concussed, What future does my rocky path portend? Down the road, how do things bode? What lies around the bend?

  Mass Shootings: What Can I Do About It?  We watch the latest school or workplace shooting on TV, as if it were just another episode of a cop show. We blame the mentally ill, guns, gun owners, lawmakers beholding to the gun owners. We wring our hands, and promptly put it out of our minds...until it happens again. Could it be that we are so inured to violence that we are no longer shocked by it? And, if we are shocked, that it is so scary as to be paralyzing? Or do we want to avoid the recognition that we, too, have a part to play in these sad events? For don’t we all harbor anger and indulge in it from time to time, with more or less control? And can’t we all do something to keep our own anger in check, and perhaps help others to do likewise? Shootings, road rage, twitter rants, bullying, and hate crimes are obvious, overt acts of destructive anger. But the more subtle forms also put negative energy into a world that is already saturated with it. For example, an unkind attitu...

  A Poem About Nothing Lost my memory somewhere. Forgot where I put it. That’s where all my metaphors reside. How can I write poetry without them? Metaphors compare something to something else. But my memory has lost  those somethings. How about this: nothing is an empty cup? But, wait a second, there’s air in that cup so it’s not empty. Really then, nothing is emptiness, the void. There is nothing quite like it. If it exists at all, it’s only in outer space. Maybe that’s why they call someone who has memory problems “spacey.” And, maybe, that’s where they’ll find my memory.

  George, Age 6, Coins a Word George: “I’m hungry.” Mom: “George, you just ate. You’re not hungry, you’re bored.” George: “I'm bored and hungry. I’m bungry.”

  What If… …parents communicated with their children mostly in song? …people shared from the heart about what’s up with them? …people gave without expectation of return? …there was no need for competition, just cooperation? …people had war parties but nobody came? …roving bands of poets kept people informed? …there was no need for politics as everyone saw the Light? …police gave tickets, but only to the movies? …people were neither offensive nor defensive, as if they were football players, but supportive? …there was no need for national boundaries, much less, interest in wall building? …the highest ideal for all was not to acquire wealth, but to raise others up? …people hugged, and really meant it? …homo not-so-sapiens evolved into homo happiens? …John Lennon’s song “Imagine” was, again, the theme song the world over? …

  A Few Haiku Leaves have fallen down Fall reveals what summer hid Deer forage for greens Sun shines on white snow Rubies, sapphires, gold dust there Riches of the eye November sun sets Ghost images in the woods Shadowy deer there It’s not just white snow Snow crystals refract the light Reds, blues, golds sparkle Feeder full today Cold weather brings in the birds It’s empty again 

  Slightly Different Takes                  “He who hesitates is last.”                                                       Mae West However…”He who hesitates is sometimes saved.”                                                      James Thurber                  “Experience is a wonderfu...

  Vanilla World It’s mid-November, the mercury just below freezing in the pre-dawn dark. The curtain opens to a world aglow. Eyes adjust: it’s snow, the first of the season to stick. A frosting of white turns the trees, the grass, even the shed into glazey confections. Time to create a snowman eating his favorite flavor - you guessed it - vanilla.

  Dark Not as in dark money or a dark alley, but dark chocolate: more cacao, less sugar. In it, experience the ardor for southerly latitudes, sweet sunshine, and the hard work of the dark-skinned people who grew it. Especially now when sustainable growing practices are being adopted to protect  the Amazon rainforest where cacao is grown, so that dark chocolate does not mean a dark future.

  It’s November The North Wind blows a flurry of golden leaves and white flakes of snow. Clear-glass ice forms on the pond, A lone deer munches our pumpkin offered to him  in the yard. The Sun’s lowering arc retreats ever South to warm the migrant birds already there. “Fall” is an apt name, for it is what leaves, temperatures, and the Sun’s arc all do. Meantime the world turns inward. Animals hibernate in cozy holes, and trees fall asleep as well. They are telling us to do likewise: brace for the cold, rest, look to renew what’s important in life. It’s a time for introspection.  

  Will Power and Fat Chance Converse Will Power and Fat Chance - really two sides of one personality - have their annual, pre-holiday, weight loss conversation… Will Power: “Would you like one peanut with your one sip of beer? That’s all you get, you know. You’re on a diet.” Fat Chance: “Well, Will, I bet my bottom dollar you can’t lose weight. That’s if I can get my wallet out of my tight pants.” Will Power: “You’re on. I’ve decided to live up to my name. I’ve had some ill-gotten goods lately. I ate all the Halloween candy, so I’m fasting on Thanksgiving!” Fat Chance: “OK, well, let’s talk turkey. How are you going to avoid Thanksgiving? You tried that last year. While everyone ate their meal, you began to stare like a zombie, and mumble ‘I live from hand to mouth…I live from hand to mouth.’ Then you grabbed a drumstick and a sweet potato, one in each hand, and gnoshed them down. Next, all the cranberries. A feeding frenzy. So much for fasting.” Will Power: “Well, look at yourself...

  As Climate Change Accelerates Amazon is deforested, and can’t keep up as a carbon sink for the world. Huge floods devastate Pakistan.  Monstrous dust storms in Australia are toxic to life. Coral reef ecosystems die, and predict the collapse of ocean life. Giant icebergs calve from glaciers, causing sea level rise. Many residents of low-lying Venice move away, as waters rise. Florida next? Families gasp for air as wildfires rage in Europe and the American West. Meantime, Wisconsin “enjoys” a 70 degree day in November. At what cost? As climate changes, we need to, or it will overtake us.  

  A L.B.Ache Not a headache Nor a fake handshake Nor a heart ache Nor a bad mistake Nor a toothache Nor a bite by a snake Nor an earache Nor a flu outbreak Nor a bone break Nor a jailbreak Nor an earthquake Nor a warring sheikh Nor a drowning in the lake For heaven’s sake It’s just a low backache

  Election Day Haiku 2022 It’s election day Sunrise shines both blue and red Just like our country

  Spring Forward, Fall Backward Daylight saving time ended with a start. I do it every year. I forgot to turn the bedroom clock back an hour last night before going to sleep. Got up this morning at 6AM? Nope, 5AM. I didn’t remember the old way to remember to turn the clock back: “Spring, forward. Fall, backward.” I fell backward alright, on the couch, when I looked at my phone and realized it was only 5, not 6. Before getting out of bed, I did what I do every morning. I opened one sleepy eye to the clock on the dresser, and it said “6,” my usual rising time. So I got up. Here I am writing this at 5AM. Hope it’s relatively legible. Good thing I prepared the coffee maker last night. Just got to remember the clock next time.

  How to Live in a State of Wonder and Awe - A Reminder to Myself      When we live in a state of wonder and awe, the world reflects what we emit, and creates             more of it.                                                                                                                          ...

  I’m 75 No jive I’m 75 Sakes alive, 70 years plus 5 No time for a nosedive I might not revive Instead I’ll put it in overdrive I’ll gear up and not just survive But continue to strive No need to talk jive No need to connive Into my writing I’ll dive Like a bee in a hive Words sweet as honey, I’ll contrive As a writer to thrive To the depths of experience, skindive As a writer, arrive