Posts Tagged ‘relationships’

Hunting Season & Hunting Safety

October 31, 2017

Dad wanted Mom to go rabbit hunting with him, but he only bought her a .410 shotgun. Dad thought of Mom as a city girl, so he didn’t feel comfortable having her hunting next to him with a 12 gauge. When Dad decided that I was old enough to go hunting, he had me use Mom’s .410 for rabbits and he bought me a single-shot .22 for squirrels. Dad was a safe hunter. He didn’t take unnecessary chances.

Bernie & Viola Smetzer

Mom & Dad

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Mike’s Tips for Tipplers

October 7, 2017

 

Lord Culvert Canadian’s 1.75 liter bottle is on sale again in Maine this month for $5 off. So here’s a simple idea every frugal tippler should try.

Get out your double shot glass and pour yourself a good one. Then you’ll need some Torani White Chocolate Sauce, available locally at Marden’s Surplus & Salvage for a very reasonable price. Add a long squirt of white chocolate sauce. Stir well. Delicious! Your Culvert will now have flavor and complexity you never believed possible.

And you can save big time by serving this home-made liqueur to the sweeties in your life. No more buying Baileys Irish Cream or Drambuie at rip-off prices! White Chocolate Culvert is just about the same thing. The classy guy will serve this drink after dinner.  Pour it into liqueur glasses and bring it in on a silver-plated tray from the kitchen.

Silver-plated trays are cheap and easy to find at Goodwill. Be sure to use intimate lighting so she won’t notice those spots where the base-metal shows through. The rest of the evening, my friend, is up to you.

Extra tip: You can make this liqueur as sweet and chocolaty as she likes!

An Unsettling Day at the Store

September 15, 2017

An unsettling day at the store. I was making jokes like usual, but no one was smiling. Like when you are reminiscing to you wife about some really fun thing the two of you did years ago. But she gets quiet and seems to be listening too closely. And you think, oh wait, who was I with?

 

Mike's Truck Starting a Long Decline - photo by Vera Lisa Smetzer

Mike’s Truck Starting a Long Decline – photo by Vera Lisa Smetzer

A Love Poem

July 12, 2017

 

As serious as a colony of bees
to do the Queen’s bidding,
we gather berries wild and fresh.
You won’t let the dog out
of the car for fear she will pee
where we might pick, you want
nothing to spoil your dreams
of dessert tonight.
It is tonight I think of,
under this inhospitable sun
offering myself as a feast
for Maine black flies.
After supper, you’ll add
Alizarin Crimson to your
watercolor painting.
I’ll write a strawberry poem.
We’ll walk the dog and race her
home to the front door.
Later as moonlight shares
our bed, I’ll know you
enjoyed your strawberries,
know this day has made you happy.
I’ll touch you gently as you sleep,
close my eyes and sigh.

 

First published in Echoes Magazine.

Vera Lisa Smetzer on Steps

Vera Lisa Smetzer on Steps

Circling Back

June 30, 2017

 

A long road under thunder.

Deer alert among cattle.
A fox sidling through clear-cut.

Then white clouds shadowing corn.
The grassy in-road through fields.

Cracked melons in the garden weeds.
Toadstools rotting by the barn.

*

Circling back, and back.

A hike through mud under snow.
Then the steep path of loose stones

up through a patch of wintering rye
to the window watched only in memory.

New dogs growl from the gate.
Loud, strange voices shriek from the barn.

 

Copyright © 2017 by Michael B. Smetzer
An earlier version was first published in 2014 by Off the Coast.

Woods Road in Missouri - photo by Vera Lisa Smetzer

Woods Road in Missouri – photo by Vera Lisa Smetzer

Strange New Alchemy

June 26, 2017

 

Strange New Alchemy by Vera Lisa Smetzer

 

Copyright 2017 by Alvera Lisa Smetzer

The Widow Battinelli

June 19, 2017

 

Father Lucarelli consoles me, my speech
falters. Black veiled ladies bring by a meal,

offer to pray with me for his soul, to beseech
God. I tear their prayer card as I kneel

next to Cosmo’s photograph on a pool of lace.
At night, I open the urn by the bed,

scoop cold ashes to smooth across my face.
Our cat circles and cries for the dead,

the familiar lap in the empty chair.
Cosmo’s silver watch beats distressed,

the weight of sixty years I bear.
Coarse links chafe against my breast.

Pregare Dio!” the black veils drone.
My faith gone dry as ash and bone.

 

Copyright © 2017 by Alvera Lisa Smetzer

Angel of Strength - photo by Vera Lisa Smetzer

Strength – photo by Vera Lisa Smetzer

Country Fable

June 18, 2017

 

A matronly pheasant walks into a field
and sees four cows looking down a well.

Flying up on a cow, she peers down at
cock pheasant looking up from the bottom.

“Good!” she says, “Let him stay there!
He can check out the well’s bottom for a change.”

“Know what you mean,” sighs one cow.
“Last week our bull fell in the cistern.”

“Bet he was ugly! Did you get help?”
“Noooo,” answers the cow. “He’s still there.”

“Been sweet and peaceful,” says another cow,
chewing cud, “except for the stink.”

“Hey!” says a third cow, “Come share our corn.
Good shelled corn! Farmer’s wife don’t care.”

“But the farmer!” cries the pheasant, alarmed.
“Fell in the silo,” say all the cows.

 

Copyright © 2017 by Michael B. Smetzer

Bernie Smetzer and the chickens

Dad with his Chickens

 

I Leave at Dusk under Threat of Rain

June 4, 2017

 

Behind me, the disordered duplex,
our tiny yard, its iron fence.
And my wife, who is also leaving,
for someplace we have never been
and will never be together.

Walking out is free air and adventure.
Only when my feet stop am I afraid.

I am catching the bus to my future.
Later, sitting for days as the bus
moves through rain and sun and rain,
my eyes bump down rows of wary faces,
our lips pursed, sour as our feet.

 

Copyright © 2017 by Michael B. Smetzer

Swimmers, Acrylic Painting on wood by Mike Smetzer

Swimmers, Acrylic Painting on wood by Mike Smetzer

Mr. Richards and Cora

May 26, 2017

 

A Sunday couple in a front pew.
Mr. Richards sat full face to the sermon,
aware of the girls batting eyelashes
toward his designer collars,
his careful graying hair. He walked
among us, distant and slightly amused.
Cora paled beside him, forgotten,
like some pressed flower,
like a plaque honoring a career goal
he once set and met.

With colleagues at his club,
he tasted the steward’s Beaujolais,
the chef’s steak bordelaise,
its flavor rich from the marinade,
Crème brûlée with his evening coffee.
In the kitchen at home she
crumbled cornbread into beans,
her mother’s scarf tightened
around her forehead
like a truss.

When Cora visited his office,
Mr. Richards asked her to type.
She settled in, like an oyster
growing pearls. She opened
the clogged arteries of his files,
warmed his clerks and his clients
to smiles. Now she is the candle
at his corporate lunch,
its honey glow, the halo
he always wanted for his crown.

 

Copyright © 2017 by Michael B. Smetzer

Swimmers, painting by Mike Smetzer