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Strangerous  Aug 2022
Gator Bait
Strangerous Aug 2022
One windless evening the bass started biting
just before sunset as I glided along
the bayou in a pirogue with a ******
of the paddle here and there for direction.

I was casting a topwater up against
the bank among the cypress trunks and stumps
and overhanging limbs and shrubs and twitching
and popping the bait until the fish struck.

To see and hear and feel the violent burst
of each strike and to set the hook firmly
in each jaw and each battle kept me out
until the mosquitoes and the gator came.

At first a bumpy head at least a foot wide
and three feet long with big shiny black eyes
inched toward the pirogue and me as if we
were just what he had in mind for dinner.

I dropped my rod and thought I’d better paddle
fast and hard before Wally got too close
but Wally sensed panic and to my horror
I saw the swish of his tail fifteen feet back.

The gator accelerated smooth and quick
and locked its gaze upon the very spot
the paddle broke water to push me away
as the jaws snapped shut and cracked it in half.

I slid away watching as the gator shook
its monstrous head free of the broken splinter
and I realized now he’d be coming again
for me down the bayou with half a paddle.

The pirogue rocked on the wave Wally made
during all the commotion and sure enough
he came again stalking the little boat
now stalled and adrift so I had to act fast.

I untied and lifted my stringer of bass
gasping and wet like a shiny green fleece
and hefted and hurled it aiming precisely
at the slashing jaws of the reptile beast.

The gator struck at the fish with a splash
of his big toothy head and chomped down on three
huge bass and swallowed them whole in one gulp
then snapped up three more that were still on the string.

So Wally was happy for now as the sun
went down and I wondered how to get back
to the dock half a mile away in the dark
with Wally nearby and perhaps hungry yet.

Then I got an idea and picked up my rod
and cast the old topwater past Wally’s head
and chugged it back popping in front of his face
where soon he attacked it and hooked himself good.

Wally went down with a **** and a swirl
and made such a wave I grabbed the boat rail
with one hand while holding onto the rod
which bent almost double as the line stretched tight.

The pirogue took off like a rocket boat
as Wally swam up the bayou to flee
the pressure and drag and the alien hook
underwater and then on top with me.

In no time I neared the dock in the dark
and slackened the line until Wally shook free
then glided right up to the dock and *******
and got out fishless but at least in one piece.
© 1997 by Jack Morris
Marshal Gebbie Jan 2023
It was with considerable sadness to learn of the recent passing of Bass local, Wally Marks.

For many years Wally operated plant-stalls at South Gippsland markets...including Wonthaggi and Grantville. He specialised in the bargain-basement bush business.

He was pushing 90, near deaf, failing eyesight, and could barely stay upright in a stiff breeze. In his lifetime he had the smarts and energy to make a bob or two. So, grafting-away at his advanced age was purely optional. It obviously gave his life real meaning. He enjoyed meeting people, having a chat, dispensing advice, and transacting. It was his opportunity to socially-connect on his terms. Moreover, he was very driven in his endeavours  – perhaps the legacy of a pretty tough childhood back in England.

Inside his living room there was a dust-laden photo of a remarkably handsome pair on their wedding day. His better-half had died long before. Muttering under his breath he once declared this had coincided with the time ‘everything started to go wrong’. However, he was the most stoic of individuals, and not prone to self-pity. His therapy was to busy himself out of his often self-induced loneliness. This was all the more remarkable given significant physical disabilities.

Outdoors, he staggered around like a cat on hot coals. When the weather improved he went native, un-self-consciously sporting nothing more than an unflattering, oversized pair of underpants. Sometimes even less. This gave the rather surreal impression of being in the presence of a venerable Indian mystic. Hobbling along, he would grasp at every approaching physical support within arms length. He would seed, plant and propagate, by which time there was no remaining energy or inclination for the more mundane task of tidying up the accumulating crap. Or perhaps he simply confined it to his peripheral vision.

Consistent with his exceptional stubbornness and independence, any attempt to assist him clear the mounting backlog was met with the most emphatic refusal. He liked it just the way it was, and didn't give a hoot what others thought.

He did not ask for any favours, nor shy away from speaking his mind. Ordinarily, compromise was not the subject of negotiation. Conversely, he was very forthcoming and helpful with advice to his customers. There was a soft side to him, but it could be eclipsed by his exceptional mental toughness, independence and defiance.

Somehow, he would load up his van every weekend and drive to the market de-jour. One expects he was sweating on the advent of driverless vehicles to enable him to continue for all eternity.

Wally had no compelling need to endure all this, and in reality no longer had the physical capacity to do so. However, he purposefully and courageously willed his way through the process until the day his spirit was snatched away. Snatched, but by no means meekly surrendered. His life therefore was one of purposeful struggle. Which made it full of meaning, or conversely as meaningless as those drawn to the fervent building of elaborate sand castles at low tide. Take your pick.

It may be argued his life could have been more comfortably spent. But comfort was not in his lexicon. He was not your born-again Ikea man, and clearly did not treat his home as a pristine retreat from the minor calamity outdoors. Indeed, his inside and outside worlds were indistinguishable, even for his beloved four-legged friends Curly and cat. Socially, this was obviously problematic, but it did not seem to bother him in the least.

If cleanliness is next to Godliness, Wally was certainly not currying favour with Him upstairs for more advantageous treatment in the next life. He could have received any amount of more earthly assistance, but he steadfastly refused. Indoors, he gave the rather melancholy impression of a man defiantly protecting the spirit of his dearly-departed from the unwanted incursions of latter-day intruders. If she was not there to manage it, then  no-one would, not even Wally himself. In so doing, he forged an eerie symmetry between the slow decline in his physical state and his chosen surroundings.

Wally was a man who ran his own race. Unlike most, he was not in the least shaped by the whims and expectations of others. If the measure of a man were the lasting impressions left in the memories of his contemporaries, whether favourable or otherwise, then Wally’s life was a significant triumph.

RIP Walter.  

Pete Granger DDA, Tenby Point, Victoria, Australia
A colourful account of the passing of a local legend.
Written with a high degree of passion by an old ****** Agricultural College colleague of mine, a Brother of 57 years standing, Peter (Piddles) Granger.
Piddles and I spent two years locked together as 24 hour classmates in house. We ate together, studied together, played Australian Rules football together, chased the girls, laughed together, cried together....and we graduated together.
Iraira Cedillo Mar 2014
We heard Wally wail through the whole
neighborhood,
as his mother whaled Wally as hard as she could,
She made Wally holler, she made Wally whoop,
for what he had spelled in the alphabet soup
By Iraira cedillo
Plissé follow me. Will make u more poems
Alyanne Cooper May 2014
He was born in 1924
And at 17 went to war.
Parachuted over Sicily,
Wounded, sent home to live in civility.

One day he met a Ryder,
Tall and elegant and regal.
Married her and made a home,
Though the front lawn lacked a gnome.

He died before I could really know him.
But what I remember is this:
His heart was good and full of love,
Tender, strong and not at all rough.

He pulled quarters from my ears
Whenever I saw him.
He and Shadow walked the beach
For miles before a swim.
He smoked cigars and drank beer
While playing cribbage.
And he was my favorite person
When I was four years old.
Butch Decatoria  Apr 2017
Wally
Butch Decatoria Apr 2017
I barely know much about him,
Just another homeless man
I give my aluminum cans (minus the pop)
"Where's Wallace?"
Got Glad bags full of tin
Look for his shopping carts
If you connect the dots
Within its circumference
You may find him
in the shade
Or sleeping on the lawn
Outside the closed apartment gates
Or between the carnaceria's walls
Alley cat black
A good guy at that...

He's one of many
The growing crew of indigents
Nothing new to city streets
I met the semi permanent fixtures
The regulars that camp out
Here on the boulevard, near the Strip
Know them by name
But barely know who they are
I try not to get that close

Because you know what they say
You feed one pigeon
They all flock at once,
And Hitchcock's horrors are
My own,
Nowadays when it's a luxury
To have a home,
Mine is precarious
We all protect our own,
That's what they say...

Wallace mostly dives alone
In the darkness of night
Or the end of days
When they throw away the food
Rules of expiration dates

With what I give, it's always fresh,
Perishable even for microwaves
Those convenient stores that let him in
But he's burnt most bridges
With his angry mouth
"****** it up" dropping F bombs
Even half asleep
I barely understand him
But I begin to when his wife
Visits the prison of his concrete streets
Brings him the warmth from home
Her petite loyalty bigger than any shame
I notice that she doesn't notice
The looks of blame
From the eyes of disapproving
Bigots and creeps

Wallace becomes someone else
As they sit together
It's more than just being fed
It's an intimate meal.
(there's tenderness I see)

I couldn't come near to understand
How and why he lives
This way, under this desert city's iron sky,
What a fool he is for romancing the night
Collecting minutiae treasure
All with broken worth
A vagabond crusade with the finger to the world,

I can only hope for the best
I have no opinion

But should he decide  
To wake up or realize
Such folly of a life
I say, it's better to grow and get old
Together with his wife

But then again
I barely know much about Wally
Or how the streets are calling

Away untoward
Those nights that're howling
These streets he's prowling
Much ado about

Wally.
Grahame Jun 2014
The Black Faerie beats her sable wings,
And rises into the dark and midnight sky.
Tonight she needs a ******’s soul to live,
Or else tonight a ****** she must die.

Tonight the dark moon rises in the sky,
’Twill be the time the black arts they hold sway,
And so tonight a ******’s fate is sealed,
If the Black Faerie has her way.

She rises high, unseen by mortal eye,
And casts around, a ******’s scent to find.
She starts, and checks, then starts and checks again,
She’s found a ******’s scent borne on the wind.

Carefully she follows the ætherial trail,
Flying against the wind to trace its source.
She hopes, tonight, successful she will be,
And is determined to stay on her course.

After flying for some time she finds
The scent is getting stronger on the wind,
She’s slowly drawing closer to her prey,
And trusts, soon, the ****** she will find.

When then she sees a hut down in the wood,
Invitingly, a window’s open wide,
The scent is overpoweringly now intense,
So, silently, through the opening she glides.

She spies a truckle bed next to the wall,
A young lady soundly sleeps within.
The Black Faerie hovers o’er the maid,
And senses the dormant ****** power within.

The lady on her back asleep does lie,
Clad only in a white nightgown.
The bedclothes, in night’s warmth pushed aside,
On her breast, the faerie settles down.

She waits a moment listening; all is calm.
And then, before the fay can make a move,
A bright white light enters in the room.
A sparkling fairy’s fluttering above.

“What mischief are you up to now?” she asks.
The Black Faerie’s rooted to the spot.
She’s never seen this beauteous creature before,
And knows not what powers she might have got.

“And who are you?” the black fay asks in turn,
“You cannot be a denizen of the night,
You are much too beautiful for that,
You’re so gracile, and you’re much too bright!”

“Indeed, I am a fairy of the day,
I help the flowers to bud, bloom and blow.
I’d curled up to sleep, inside a rose,
When dark and silent past me you did go.”

“And you, in turn, so vagiley you flew,
Darting through the bosky wood with ease.
My heart stood still, my breath caught in my throat,
I’d never seen such a sight to please.”

“The other fairies of the day I’ve known,
Are bright and gay, and flit from flower to flower.
They idle, and they gossip, and they’re dull,
And I cannot stand them more ower.”

“So when I saw you flying past tonight,
Looking mean and moody dressed in black,
I just knew that I must follow after,
And hoped that you might lead me to the craic.”

The Black Faerie recovers from her fright,
The night’s the time her powers are at their best.
She decides to try to play it cool,
So sits herself down on the ******’s breast.

“Tonight’s the anniversary of my birth,
Which was a year ago at the dark moon.”
The Black Faerie then continued thus,
“And to prevent my death I must act soon.”

“The reason why I am a Faerie Black,
Which I believe is rare in faerykind,
Is because the dark moon was at zenith,
Which caused a problem with my mother’s mind.”

“This caused me, when born, to be jet black,
Which wasn’t any fault of my own.
The day fairies cast us out from them,
And thus, we had to live all alone.”

“Although I tried my best to keep her whole,
Slowly, my dear mother pined away.
And then she told me, something she must tell,
As wasting on her deathbed she lay.”

“If a ******’s life I did live,
Then indeed, a ****** must die.
And before the dark moon’s anniversary,
To get this matter sorted, I should try.”

Because tonight’s the night of the dark moon,
I have traced this ****** to her bed,
Now what my mother told me I must do
I will, and soon this ****** shall be dead.”

“Oh no! Please!” the sparkling fairy said,
“Surely there must be another way!
Instead of sacrificing this lady,
Take my life, I am a ****** fay.”

“Would you freely give your life for hers?”
The Black Fay asked, jumping to her feet.
“To save this lady’s life I surely will,”
The sparkling fairy said, “’Tis only meet.”

“Since her parents died, she’s all alone,
Living in this wild forest drear.
Despite that, she still has many friends,
A lot of wild animals come here.”

“To the sick and injured she gives succour,
And tends the crops and plants round here as well.
In fact, she does more than many fairies,
And has helped the flower’s numbers swell.”

The sparkling fay continued, “Oh Black Faerie,
Please don’t do this vile and evil deed.
As I’ve asked, please take my life instead,
Then, in time, I’m sure you’ll get your meed.”

The sparkling fairy then fell down sobbing,
In between the sleeping lady’s breast,
While the Black Faerie stood there sternly,
Considering the sparkling fay’s request.

The sparkling fairy’s sobbing soon grew louder,
And with her hands and feet she beat the maid.
She’d forgotten whereabouts they were,
She was at once both sad and afraid.

The Black Faerie’s voice also grew louder,
The sparkling fay to cow, and make shut up,
When suddenly, to both of their surprises,
The ****** maid awoke, and then sat up.

Both the fairies froze, and tumbled downwards,
And came to rest in the lady’s lap.
She grasped the Black Faerie very firmly,
Her hand, round the Black Fay’s arms, did wrap.

Sitting straight, the lady then spake thus,
“For a Faerie Black, you’re not too bright.
Although you heard what your mother said,
I don’t believe you understood her right.”

The lady’s other hand was much more gentle,
She held the sparkling fairy to her breast,
And softly said, “Don’t worry, it’s now over,
Try to calm yourself, and have a rest.”

“I have been awake for some time now,
Woken by your voices in my ear.
However I kept my eyes tightly closed,
So your conversation I should hear.”

To the sparkling fairy then she spoke,
“Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
I heard you offer yourself in my place,
I appreciate you trying to take my part.”

“As for you, you wretched little faerie,
I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry
When I heard the evil you intended,
And knew, you’d got wrong, the reason why.”

“I am a pagan, as it happens,
And know about the phases of the moon.
And so, though you were born in darkness,
You actually were also born at noon.”

“This probably is what confused your mother,
The reason that it was dark for your birth,
The moon caused a total eclipse of the sun,
And thus darkness descended over the earth.”

The lady put the Black Fay on her lap,
A tear of sympathy fell from her eye,
“And so, poor thing, you lost your friends and mother,
And now, you know the real reason why.”

“Your mother didn’t know what had happened,
At noon, expecting to give birth to you,
Which is why she slowly lost her reason,
And the day fairies did you both eschew.”

The Black Faerie then started sobbing,
And curled up in a ball upon the bed.
“I always felt that I was unfairly treated,
And knowing that, I wish that I was dead!”

At that, the sparkling fairy gave a wriggle,
And asked the maid if she would put her down.
Then, slowly, she went to the Black Faerie,
And gave a gentle tug on her black gown.

The Black Faerie raised a tear-stained face,
And looked the sparkling fairy in the eye,
Who lifted the crying Faerie to her feet,
And chokingly said, “Please try not to cry.”

“You shouldn’t blame yourself,” she told the Faerie,
“You have had to put up with a lot.
Though now you know that you are normal,
I hope, perhaps, you’ll stop your murderous plot.”

The sparkling fay then smiled at the Black Faerie,
Who, through her tears, smiled also,
They then both tightly hugged each other,
And looked like they’d ne’er let each other go.

The Black Faerie turned to face the ******,
And said, “I am quite prepared to die.
I really didn’t want to have to **** you,
I don’t know why my mother said to try.”

The lady said, “You misunderstood her,
She didn’t want you to live all alone.
She wanted you to find a special person,
To be with you, after she had gone.”

“She tried to say, if you lived as a ******,
Then, as a ******, you would die.
Though she left out the personal pronoun,
So on a futile mission you did fly.”

“I don’t know if you really could have killed me,
Though to try, you’d go out of your way.
And I suspect your mother’s time-limit,
Was to make you find a friend without delay.”

“I don’t think that tonight you will die,
On the anniversary of your dark moon.
And now, perhaps, you’ve found a special friend,
So your quest here has granted you a boon.”

Seeing them looking completely right together,
The lady, down upon them both, did smile.
She hoped that they might soon get together,
And to help them, she might have to use some guile.

“You really both do make a lovely couple,
You complement each other in all ways,
Though I suspect, you courageous sparkling fairy,
You won’t be able to both live with your fays.”

“Round my hut I’ve planted many flowers,
Perhaps you two, near them, your home could make.
I would love for you to live here near me,
Won’t you please think on it, for my sake?”

“And now, I am afraid I’m getting tired,
We’ve been awake for most of the night,
And I would like to try and get some sleep,
Before the sun comes up and it gets light.”

“Next to my bed I’ll lay a pillow,
Which you both may use as a bed.
And now I’ll lie down and close my eyes,
I think, by me, enough has been said”

The lady placed a pillow on the floor,
And slowly re-laid down in her bed,
While the fairies, holding hands, flew aloft,
And settled on the pillow, head by head.

She heard them quietly talking to each other,
Though not the actual words that they said,
Then she drifted off to sleep, and dreamed of fairies,
Lying stilly and quiescent in her bed.

She awoke late the next morning,
And wondered what the misplaced pillow meant.
She vaguely remembered something about fairies,
Though put it down to what she had dreamt.

Then stretching and yawning she arose,
Drew back her window curtains and looked out,
When, what she then saw in the garden,
Quite caused her, her senses to doubt.

Every single flower in her garden,
Seemed to have bloomed overnight,
With larger than normal efflorescences,
And overhead, two fairies in full flight.

To her window sill they flew together,
And stood together, standing side by side.
Then told the lady they would like to live here,
While she stared at them with eyes open wide.

It hadn’t been a dream after all,
What happened in the night had been real.
After many years on her own,
She now had two friends who would be leal.

And so, together they all settled down,
The fairies living with her in her home.
She kept a careful eye upon them both
Though sometimes the fays would go and roam

They helped the wild creatures in the wood,
And kept the garden looking nice and neat.
They’d be out by day and by night,
And almost worked themselves off their feet.

Then one day they said to the maid,
That both of them were ever so sorry,
They had to go away for some time,
Though would be coming back, so do not worry.

Every day the lady looked for them,
And kept hoping that they were both all right.
Somehow, she made it through the day,
Then cried herself to sleep every night.

She very nearly gave up hope,
What kept her going was they’d said they’d be back.
She tried her best to keep things going right,
Though to her, things were looking black.

Late one night, she roused from her sleep.
The window ope’d, she thought it was the wind.
Then, irrupting through her casement came,
Her two fays, with two more close behind.

The Black and sparkling fairies lead the way,
Followed by two fairies, very small.
The lady sat, and looked at them in wonder,
From her truckle bed set by the wall.

The Black Faerie settled on her bed,
The sparkling fairy followed close behind.
“We’re sorry to have stayed away so long,
We’ve brought our children with us, please don’t mind.”

At that, the lady looked quite astounded,
“Have you been off with fairy men to dally?”
The two fairies laughed with amusement,
“There are no male fairies, you big wally!”

“We thought, as a pagan, you’d have known
How we maintain our fairy nation.
Female with female fairies manage,
By a process of adosculation.”

The Black Faerie lifted one small fay.
“This lovely dark child is mine.
We’ve decided that we’ll call her Midnight,
To remind us of what’s passed this syne.”

The sparkling fairy lifted up the other.
“And for this blonde beauty I’m to blame.
We could not decide what to call her,
And hoped that you might choose for her a name.”

The lady just sat there in stunned silence,
Quite unable to make any sound.
Oh so happy they had come back to her,
With evidence of the love they’d found.

Once more overcome with emotion,
She let her happy tears flow,
And said, “Please let me think about it,
As soon as I’ve got a name, you’ll know.”

“I’m so very glad you’ve returned,
It was lonely being on my own,
Now you’re back here with your children,
I won’t ever have to feel alone.”

The lady dried her tears, and then smiled,
“I should never have felt so forlorn,
This is a new start for us all,
So I think your child should be named....Dawn.”

Then they all started to laugh and cry together,
Each fairy contented with her child,
And they all lived happily ever after,
In the middle of the forest wild.
*
Grahame Upham
February 2014.
jeffrey conyers Sep 2019
We, all have friendship with others that many can't comprehend.
Some which many think about be a bad influence.
But only if your weak-minded does their ways affects you.

Upon Leave It To ******, you saw something worth assessing.
When Eddie Hassell came around the Cleavers?
All manners kicked back within him.

What schemes of manipulation he used upon others?
Seem to vanish around Wally parents.
Sometimes Wally ways rubbed off on the mischief Eddie.
But hardly any wickedness upon Wally.

If good only hang with good?
Somewhere you become aware of the wicked of them?
Yes, bad ways step in within the good breed.

There just something about the way we raised.
Some children won't be lead astray in any way.
They know of the price they face and decision they face.
apeitz  May 2011
Timmy Tiny Tail
apeitz May 2011
once there was a worm named timmy tiny tail
he had a very unusual, and very tiny tail
he had but one friend, sandy the snail
who had a very *****, and grimy tail
together they complained about how they had the gayest of tails
but they weren't as bad as the 29 polka dotted ***** whales
who were at the moment swimming around the pacific, eating tiny little krill
till wally the whale got in snappy the sharks grill
then snappy got snippy and tore wally's **** up
and finished it off with some tea from his favorite tea cup
and so the 28 polka dotted ***** whales wailed for their friend
as timmy and sandy ******* about not having a decent looking end
clever
LD Goodwin Feb 2013
Coffee with Wally,
someone who truly gets me.
No cream, no sugar.
Harrogate,TN  February 2013
*For my dear friend Wally*
Brent Kincaid Nov 2016
His mother was suicidal
His father was patricidal
His siblings all fratricidal
They fractured his parietal.
His acumen was impractical
While his mien was didactical
His morals were retractible
And his religion was heretical.

He longed to be a celebrity
And wished for its celerity
To skip the serendipity
And fork over his luminosity.
But it seems that synchronicity
Paired up with idiosyncrasy
In a natural form of complicity
And waylaid him with complicity.

He moaned that he was qualified
And not the least bit mollified
To be so soundly criticized
That they could not recognize
By those who were so glassy eyed
A plenipotentiary, very wise
Who appears before their very eyes
Who they would gladly plagiarize
Even while they ostracize.

He can’t achieve equanimity
When so many hold their enmity
And treat him so outrageously
In ignoring his magnanimity.
After all, is there anyone living
Who is so astoundingly forgiving
Than he by the simple act of giving
And letting them go on living?

— The End —