A Very Haiku

haiku

Mondays can suck so I use low brow humor to help force a smile. In tenth grade my English class was introduced to Haiku’s so my just as warped friend and I worked together to make the following two masterpieces….
I
Lifes like a lemon
So squeeze from it what you can
But don’t let it drip

II
When pigeons fly high
The sound that they make is called
A very high coo

Peace out

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How Ya Gonna Keep Em Down On The Farm After They’ve Cooked Puree

cook

the continuing adventures of J T Hilltop’s Potsink Diary
From pots and pans to rakes and snakes I took to landscaping fairly well. Sun burnt arms instead of grease burnt arms, just as hot as a kitchen, and about as physically as taxing yet still I missed cooking. It‘s been three months since the restaurant closed and fate stuck its fickle finger in my life interrupted my path to culinary enlightenment. Leaving me to care for the property of a nursing home and placing me every day at lunch just outside of the kitchen where the sounds of culinary exploits pounded out a rhythm of longing. It stirred inside of me making me miss working in a kitchen with all my soul. Aware of that fate wasn’t done tossing curve balls at my life because on one Monday I learned just what a practical joker fate can really be. Apparently destiny is equipped with a bag full of tricks containing an abyss of irony and has a knack for playing emotional table tennis with me. Like a ping pong ball I got paddled back and forth hard forcing me out of the restaurant across the net to a field of hard labor, then smashed back into another kitchen. Fred had driven me to Mimi Dee’s early in the morning to manicure the lawn while he ran about town “performing” some chores. Popular belief growing on the rumor vine claimed those chores he performed were for one of the nurses at the Huntersville location. Whatev, not my business and besides it was fine by me as it left me alone to work the property at my own pace.
Left to my resources, my new tools of the trade, and a cheap lawnmower I set out to give the yard a neat trimming and edging. A mani-pedi for the acreages of land. An hour and a half into my solo performance was the moment fate chose to sneak an ominous looking dark cumulo nimbus cloud slithering across the horizon setting up cloud camp above my head. One loud crack of sneering thunder and a few seconds later I was the focus of a drenching downpour. Not a dipping of the toe in the pool, but one soaked to the bone bucket full of rainwater followed by another. The skies blushed dark crimson as if foretelling the twisted new path fate had in store. Having become somewhat intimate with fates and destinies I had to assume that this new path would be lined with irony. “Jesus Christ this shit’s really coming down. Can’t get anything more done here so I guess I should go inside.” I mumbled it to myself to validate it was proper for me to stop work an seek shelter. As soon as I entered the back door a very familiar sense filled the room. The clanging of pots and pans as they jockeyed for position on the stove, plates chattering while being pulled and stacked from the dishwasher, and a general sense of culinary atmosphere called me by name. A private culinary symphony all for me supplied by that devious enigma called fate. The air was full with the smells of a variety of meats and vegetables with wafts of consommé memories from a large pot of chicken infused liquid hoping to one day soon become a soup. The smells and sounds were the familiar frantic state of culinary urgency shortly before service. The aura of intense pressure was reminiscent of Cavalieri’s restaurant, my one time Mecca. It was crunch time even in this institutional kitchen and I was so taken aback by my memories I shook off the rain and blurted out to the Nurse in charge of the kitchen, “Can I help? I know a bit about food.” Without a smile a very attractive Jamaican woman in a not very sexy nurses uniform yelled “I need zeese onions peeled and cut, tink you could a’handle dat?” Nary a word more need be spoken as I rushed over to the table with the onions, grabbed a familiar feeling knife and pulled out a cutting board. In a matter of minutes I had peeled, cored, and diced the onions. “What else do you need?” The Nurse stopped in mid stride and asked “You gotta all dem onions done?” I could tell she was doubting me so I held them up and said “Yup, where do you want them?” She smiled at me with a huge open mouth and I noticed a small gap in her front teeth. Suddenly something seemed more sexy about her despite the uniform. As I looked closer I realized the uniform fit pretty tight allowing me a gratuitous view of her shape. She was in her late twenties or early thirties, slender and very pretty with firm looking curves in all the right places. Her skin was smooth and silky with an exotic ebony glow. She looked at me approvingly with dark brown eyes that twinkled sweetly in contrast to the sharp authority she normally displayed on the staff. “Put day inna pot dare witt dee carrots.” When I asked her if she wanted a mirepoix I thought she was gonna run over and kiss me full on the lips. Maybe I hoped she would but either way she flashed me that huge tiny tooth gapped smile. “You do know your way round de kitchen. My name is Margie and yes, I needa celery in dare too. Tink you canna hanel dat?” Time to respond with my innuendo laced charm, “I can handle whatever you got Margie. My name is JT.” She teased back, “Zhay Tee huh? What kina name is dot, can‘t afford whole name? ” It was feeling good, cooking and flirting again, “My real name is Justin, but my friends call me JT because I am Just Thrilling to be with. It seems we are friends now so I guess you should call me JT.” “Yes indeed it do Mr. Trilling. I tink maybe we work well togetter.” She punctuated her statement with a suggestively tender wink. I won’t tell you my thoughts at that moment but they would make a beet blush. It felt great as I assisted Margie in the kitchen getting lunch together quickly and efficiently while the rain continued to pound on the back door just begging to come in for a visit. I smiled at how great it was to be back in a kitchen cooking and flirting again.
After lunch I helped clean up then went outside to put away the tools I had abandoned in the storm since the rain ended as abruptly as it had begun. As I was surveying the yard deciding what else I could do before Fred got back when I heard someone yelling my name. Margie was calling me from the front door of the mansion. When I got there she smiled a huge smile saying to me “I got some good news for you Zhay. I jus talk ‘a Misser Viero an him say you canna work here wit us inna de kitchen and aroun’ de home full time. We canna use the help and you no have to work inna da rain no more. What jew tink Jussa trilling?” There it was. Right there fate dangled its fickle tickle of decision in front of me chuckling at what ominous repercussions would come of my choice. But was it a choice or had fate already made up my mind for me? If I say I would love to Fred will be mad but if I say no I will be saying no to old man Viero and who says no to an owner? Yes also means no more shit spreading, being back in a kitchen, and the chance to do some more serious flirting. Round the clock nurses aides as well as a kitchen job. It really had felt awesome working in the kitchen with Margie. I could definitely see myself working with her and her crew of nurses. Not to mention all the young chicks who help her which I would be working with. Okay, go ahead and mention it I know I will. True I have a steady girlfriend and all, but like my Mom says, “You can look at the menu as long as you remember what your entrée is.” Not sure exactly what she meant but give her credit for trying to speak restaurantese to me. Decision was made while fate laughed. “I think I would really like that Margie, when can I start?” She looked as excited as I was and told me I should finish out the week with Fred and start next Monday. Once school starts we will work out a weekend and afternoon schedule. My new job would be to maintain the inside of the home, help in the kitchen and whatever assistance the nurses may need. All in all it seemed like it was nothing but gold, at least until I learned what new adventures were in store for me. I neglected to remind myself that things were not always what they seemed but that’s okay, I would find out in good time what new tricks fate had in store for me to tickle its devilish funny bone. As intimate as I thought I was with fate I never realized it was planning to teach me about some new adventures which would include urine stains and enema’s. I still had a lot to learn.
TBC

The Sighted Blind

sighted

So much anger on display
Spewing opinions every day
Don’t realize they lost their way
Rise then fall like an old soufflé

Through a darkness so unkind
Through a world they have maligned
Nose stuck up high yet unrefined
The visions of the sighted blind

Ignorant masses
Acting classless
Living in bliss
Yet always pissed
Creating a storm
The new social norm
20 20 eyesight
But can’t see the light
They need their vision realigned
Show pity for the sighted blind

Voice and vision so distorted
Want their problems self deported

Independent thought in shortage
Think they have life problems sorted

They don’t care to ever listen
Solve with biblical dominion
Thoughts lost in cognitive oblivion
Should sighted blind be forgiven

They believe they have clout but have no doubt
They know nothing about how to sort life out
Just want their views to be on the news
Full of bullshit we can’t use
Want me to help their agenda linger
But I wouldn’t lend my little finger
Nevermind those left behind feeling confined and being defined
What in the Hell is on the mind
Of the esoteric and sighted blind

They act so refined
With the lies they enshrine
They are the sighted blind

Inspiration and The Muse

muse

Inspiration
Inspiration is the air we breath, the sunset we watch
The music of life we feel as our souls dance in the wind
Sounds played so indiscreet it scatters hope along horizons
Songs that only a dreamer could dream
Gently pouring Meade from jugs of hallowed thought
Filling the skies with promises whispered in the shade
But fulfilled in the heart

Inspiration is
Breaking fences to allow passage for the wonton desires
To frolic in the garden of life’s labor found
This garden planted from the spark of arduous hope
Seeds of impulse illuminated glowing in amber beginnings
Awakening the harmonious cosmic perception of spirit
Growing and sprouting glorious rainbows of edible life
Brought fourth by the haughty tango of bee and stamen
Flower and insect wrapped in a dances of passion
Openly making love in the garden of growth

Inspiration is in that garden
I lay humble in its triumphant essence alone to think
To ponder the mysteries of the self
This meal I cook is a poem of sustenance
The aria I sing from the voice of love
Tunes conceived under covers of darkened rooms
These words I write are a symphonies of my inspirations
My gratitude now hangs on the walls of a cerebral museum
Belonging to the muse

The Muse

Let the muse light your fuse
Set your mind afire
You could use to lose the blues
Inspired with desire

They motivate and invigorate
Fan the flames with rapture
First they locate then they rotate
Spin you as their captor

Don’t expire the muses fire
Let your intellect grow
They’ll take you higher above the mire
Your muse will make you glow

Out Of The Frying Pan Into The Fertilizer

field

Last time: “Maybe you’re right Buddy, maybe I need a break from restaurants. Tomorrow I’ll go check out Muncies’s Landscaping.”

By J.T. Hilltop

It wasn’t like I wasn’t used to the fecal matter slamming into the rotary wind oscillator it‘s just I wasn’t thinking the said fecal matter would be literal and figure so prominently in my life. The closing of Cavelieri’s restaurant was a lot to deal with and frankly the furthest thing from my mind was me needing a new job. No longer was I an apostle to a culinary madman, no more waitresses to flirt with, no more free beers, but worst of all no paycheck. I was now saturated with disappointment and disillusionment believing the universe had let me down. All my meditating and chanting was for naught. Maybe what I needed really was new path to follow, a change for the better. Time to seek another avenue of employment, to shed the dry snakeskin of the restaurant industry and molt to another field. Actually field sounds right Ken was right I should get as far away from any kitchen, knife wielding Chef or teasing waitress and do some fieldwork. I need a sacrificial rack of lamb. I should do exactly what Ken suggested and go work landscaping for Muncie and earn some cold hard cash. As fate would have it and timing being everything my brother’s ex boss was in need of one more laborer. Hell man I can labor! So it came to pass that I had became the new landscaper laborer for Muncies Field and Dreams Landscaping. More accurately put, I had become the new lawn mowing leaf raking topsoil carrying shit spreading go boy. I had chosen to become a hard working laborer having my skin scorched everyday by dermal burning threats the sun makes good on while also enjoying the hearty aroma of freshly decayed organic shit. Not just any old shit, but class A number one horseshit Munson got from the stables. Enough about the perks though, there’s also a downside.
Every day ended the same, my arm and back muscles pounding out a rebellious beat building to a painful crescendo. I try and cool the aches and pains with an ice cold beer but it seem as though all my muscles tightened up into ball of overworked subdermal tissues and tendons screaming at every movement. My skin radiates a pinkish aura from hours spent unprotected by those relentless threats of the harsh sun. It left my neck and shoulders feeling like they were rug burnt adding to my misery. As if that weren’t enough there was that omnipresent stench of decaying crap implanting its neverending carousel of stink deep into my nasal cavity. Deep! One of my less enviable jobs was to take compost, decayed animal shit and who knows what and spread the malodorous mixture across a field. At first the smell of evaporating morning dew so earthy and rich comes up off the ground like a wisp of warm steam in a pleasant tease just waiting for its replacement. Breathe deep and enjoy that nature while you can because within seconds the dank aroma of compost rises triumphantly up the nasal passages. Its a blend of some of the most offensive smells I could ever imagine, if dogs smelled that stench when they sniffed another dogs ass the species would go extinct. The steaming stench of a mountain outhouse combined with a quarantined fraternity bathroom joining forces with week old spoiled milk and assorted cheeses creating a cacophony of disgust that slowly creeps up my nose making an all out aerial assault on my entire being. The assault continues for hours even after my work day was done. Like pigpen the stench takes on an identity of its own following me everywhere even stalking me all the way to the shower where it finally meets it’s match and scurries defeated down the drain. A small portion of it sets up camp in my clothing as a rank reminder of my newly acquired hopelessness that was eased but never eradicated by the cold beer.
I began taking diet pills every morning to keep me awake and give me the energy to bust my ass out in the shit fields and then swallow down pheno barbs at night to sleep through the amphetamine rush. An expensive proposition because on days that it rained I would be sent home making no money for the day, needing extra beer and weed to calm me down from the pills. Between the pills, beer and weed I went through all my savings after just one week of solid rain. Penniless I was gloomily staring out Munson’s tool shed listening to the rain wondering how the fuck I got here. As if on cue fate suck its fat foot inside the door forcing its way in. Out of the blue my friend Patrick came by with an offer to become an assistant groundskeeper for a local dude who owns three nursing home properties. It’s a full time job despite weather and Patrick was quitting. The job was open and he promised to recommend me. Think how cool it would be to be able to use my newly acquired skills on three locations where you get paid even if it rains. That’s how it was that I became something different. Now I would be a shit spreader with a title. The assistant groundskeeper of the Vieros Healthcare facilities. I was still in charge of manure movement but now I can add garage cleaner to my resume. Whatever, I was working and making money on a regular basis again. Besides the work wasn’t nearly as exhausting so life was good again. Adios Muncie, now I can concentrate on saving up money to get the Hell out of here. Maybe even look for a new kitchen job come the fall.
I found myself spending most of my time at one specific locations, Mimi Dee’s. That was the nickname used by the staff at the Miriam Deegan Adult Home owned by the Vieros one of the richest families in town. They also owned two other homes but I only worked at each once a week. Vieros Ault Home was a full scale nursing home, and the Lighthouse was a health related facility, which is a fancy name for old folks home. The only difference in the two being that about eighty percent of the “patients” at The lighthouse and Mimi Dee’s could care for themselves. Those at Viernos couldn’t even wipe their asses but that was already too much information for me. My concern was making sure all the properties were well kept, trimmed and mowed so the families of the patients would believe that no expense was spared in the upkeep of their parents dwelling. Mimi Dee’s was sort of their flagship home so most of the attention was bestowed on that property. But I was happy mowing lawns and raking leaves, even trimming the shrubs which I knew by name. Not the Latin names, the names I made up for them to keep me sane while spending hours alone caring for properties. Big Zebra, Burning Bush, Sticks, just weird names to entertain me. One great benefit was not having the shit stink hanging around me all day and night.
So here I was in a quaint little Long Island community called Cool Springs working on a property of a former Pratt Mansion turned Rest Home. Tending to the chlorophyll producing floral zoo of colorful organic plants and flowers busy enjoying their days photosynthesizing away and looking pretty. My boss, Fred drove from property to property and left me alone most of the time. He drove me to Mimi Dee’s, gave me daily chore lists, like mow the two acres of lawn, trim the hedges, or weed out the flower beds, and went about his business. A questionable bonus was being invited inside for lunch everyday. Not the taste bud tingling foods Jimmy made but it was decent and best of all free. The best part about eating inside the nursing home was the company at lunchtime. I sat around the table with two other guys, six cute young nurse’s aides, and two nurses. On most days I was the center of the aides attention and I dug that. The free meal was back, the flirting was back, and the paycheck was back. What could possibly go wrong? Little did I know at the time, but fates fat foot was a mere ten feet away teasing me by tapping out the familiar sounds of pots and pans banging, plates clinging, and sizzles sizzling out a kitchen concerto. How I miss and love those sounds.

The Devine Ride

ride

Every end has a start
Every beat has a heart
Every ghost has a past
Every first has a last
Every tale has a middle
Every answer a riddle
Every wound has to mend
Everything dies in the end

His search saw him travel across the great sea
Flaming oars in his eyes as he rowed to meet me
Wherever shall we venture I wondered inside
He said come on board so I went for the ride

So stealth was his smirk I mistook it a grin
In voice quite unpleasant he begged me come in
I’ve waited many an hour to take you abroad
Tears in my ears as nefarious laughter he roared

Battered and bruised my ghost took a deep breath
I objected to the rowing if it was meant for my death
But we entered the river where no sailor dare tread
I sensed from the beginning the boatman was dead

Every end has a beginning
Every savior’s done sinning
Every ghost has its story
Every angel seeks glory
Every tale has a reason
Every faith suffers treason
Every rule has to bend
Everything dies in the end

My destination arrived it came upon time to depart
The redeemer on shore still laughing pulling a cart
The hearse rolled so easy full of clay, flesh, and bone
I rowed up to the rivers bank where I got off alone

The redeemer then pointed motioning my path
I was sure it was leading to flames of his wrath
I asked can’t I stay to take just one more ride
He answered my query spraying formaldehyde

This time he just pointed to the number six six six
That’s when I knew I’d rowed across river Styx
Abandon all hope ye who enter with breath
Closed my eyes to spiraling nine rings of death

Every last has a first
Every quenching has thirst
Every ride a destination
Every grunt has frustration
Every life leaves its mark
Every fire looses its spark
Everyone has a hand they can lend
But still everything dies in the end

A Tricky Place

tricky

The past lies in a tricky place
Let it die without a trace
Mistaken ghosts will give a chase
Its only life you need embrace
Living life is no disgrace
The past lies in a tricky place
Beware

Traveling the past can be a slippery ride
Full of shadows and forgotten ghosts
Auctions and bargains from souls unseen
Shrill screaming orators of ill-riposte

Treacherous are its forbidden pathways
Paved by misbegotten and sullen mistakes
Don’t hunt for answers hidden in days gone by
Allow them to remain secret for all of our sakes

History’s a steep slope of events best forgotten
Where we camouflage our innermost dreams
The ghosts of our judgments can haunt us relentless
Your scene of remembrance is not what it seems

Some covert discretions are best left under cover
Buried deep in the recesses of a selective recalling
Because once unshrouded and out in plain sight
The new light you shed may shine you appalling

Don’t keep it let it go
No one else needs to know
Rerun’s never as good as the show
No such debt you ever owe
Leave the truth buried deep below

Don’t concede to any condition
Only you can give permission
You’ve shown enough of your contrition
The truth is not a vision
It’s apparition

The past lies in a tricky place
Let it die without a trace
Mistaken ghosts will give a chase
Its only life you need embrace
Living life is no disgrace
The past lies in a tricky place