Chickens, Opossums, and Watermelon

382042_2689351912198_481138585_nMmm, delish! I thought to myself, as I scooted away my empty plate; sitting at the dinner table of my grandparents’ house. My gut was filled with beans and hamburger.

Ricky, the dancing dachshund who was begging on his hind legs (all he needed was a tutu and he would fit into a circus) gave up his futile attempt for food and scuttled away. (I wasn’t as nice as my grandparents, who spoiled him with treats from their plates.—I like food.)

“Who’s ready for watermelon?” asked grandpa, as he placed a huge melon on top of the table, twice the size of a normal melon that you see at the store. It was speckled with yellow dots? I thought it was mold, till grandpa said: “It’s safe. They call it moon and stars. There’s plenty of stars, but I don’t see the moon.” Continue reading

Cafeteria Pondering

I sit, I wonder,
As I hear clanking plates,
Why in caf
are there always tate-
rs?
Ponder,
Why must the white rabbit
always be late?
What use to catch
a catfish—which bait?
Is there a girl here, named
Kate?
As I see salad bar,
Oh so far,
I think,
Why are there no not any dates?
And,
Why is date the fruit,
Spelt samely as
going out on a date?
Perhaps fate?
Or a question that
leaves an open gate.
I do hate
these seeds in my teeth,
I think, swigging a gulp of
milk for relief.
I see an Aussie say,
“G’day mate!”
As I wait, Continue reading

 

The Helter-skelter Pell-mell Davenport Poesy

A writer’s desk

a treasure trove

of unfinished projects, A clattered, unorganized mess

of strewn out papers and uttermost chaos;

A clove of ideas—

A bastion of creative thought,

Wishful

thinking; barnyard eggs that still need hatching;

Infants still need born—

fertilized embryos to be nurtured and matured;

ripened fruit to be plucked. Continue reading

VS. Tomato—Fruit or Vegetable? Pop vs. Soda

100_1358Our world is full of controversy. Full of arguments and conflict; however, I am about to end two of the biggest conflicts on earth (that, or create an angry mob . . . I keep looking out my window to make sure that there are no torches and pitchforks coming my way). I am about to prove: why tomatoes are vegetables, and that soft drinks should be called pop, and not the s.

 Tomato—Fruit or Vegetable?

Before Madam Blueberry, before the Grapes of Wrath or the Peach, the only stars on VeggieTales were vegetables, and who was one of the show’s two costars? Bob the tomato.

Okay, on a more serious note, scientifically speaking, a tomato can be called a fruit. The scientific definition for fruit is, “the ripened ovary or ovaries of a seed-bearing plant, together with accessory parts, containing the seeds and occurring in a wide variety of forms” (“Fruit”). Continue reading

Book Preview: Tales of the Soul: JOPLIN May 22

Here is an excerpt of my novel about the Joplin Tornado, which hopefully will be published soon.

Bedside Angel

Chapter 1

Patients and Patience

48 Hours

White. That was the color of the hospital walls in the room that I was working in. Pure, spotless white. Of course everything in a hospital is supposed to be spotless, clean to keep infection and disease from spreading. We do everything that is necessary to protect our patients here at Freeman, everything that we can to keep our patients comfortable and alive.

I guess this motto had already been brainwashed into me, even though I’m not technically a nurse yet, or it’s just part of my own philosophy. I’m still a busy college student, trying to balance school, work, and a much needed social life. I started interning at the hospital about a year ago.

My patient looked up at me, and gave me a wide, almost toothless smile. He was an elderly man, with a mohawk of skin separating two, white patches of hair. His hands were calloused from years of working in the fields, and they would twitch every minute or so, an early sign of Parkinson’s disease, which he was already being treated for. His name: Sam Scraper, which was written on the clipboard that I held in my hand. He was a kind soul, and one of my first patients that I was able to care for without constant supervision.

“Good evening Mr. Scraper. How are you feeling?” I asked him.

“Pretty good for an old man,” he answered.

I smiled. Continue reading