Snow white, untouched, pure and chaste, my virginity renewed during the long winter night
I wake to celebrate an orgy of creation
soft petals parting, eagerly
waiting, sweet scent of

Reverse Fibonacci sequence
Tim Blodgett (C) 06/07/20

Don’t you just love Spring? It makes the blood rise a bit!

This is a chromatically, sequentially, attitudinally reversed companion to the post and poem ‘Defiant’ from November 2019. I took the latest photo 6 months after the Defiant photo (below) and meant to post it last month, but I was in a bit of a funk then.

06/10/20: I’m adding this edit because I was caught in a little bit of literary licence by João-Maria. The tree pictured is a Pear tree. But since the title ‘Pear’ would not have offered the proper double entendre, I went with ‘Cherry’ instead! João-Maria is a poet with the heart of a botanist, or a botanist with the heart of a poet, and a good eye for pear trees!

Thank you for reading.

The old man

The old man walks slowly down the path,
his knees are worn from a lifetime of miles,
his aching hips creak with every halting step,
he leans on his cane, his back is bent.
Still, he walks

His clear blue eyes water in the cold air,
he raises a handkerchief to his nose once again,
as he searches the horizon for a sign,
a sign he'll know only once he's seen it.
Still, he walks.

Miles that he once easily strode
are measured now by the familiar pain.
His wills his reluctant feet to continue
though no sign is seen, and the horizon recedes.
Still, he walks.

The solid ground 'neath his worn boots,
long acquainted with his weary stride,
a partner for all his many years,
waits patiently to enfold him in its cool embrace.
Still, he walks.

On the horizon, the old man saw
the sign that only he would know.
He straightened his back, and lengthened his stride.
Gone was the pain, so long his companion.
Ahead a companion, so long departed.

The horizon was not so far after all.
Near the end of the path, he turned to look
back upon the many miles he'd walked.
He raised his handkerchief one last time,
and took the last few steps. 

The old man walks no more.

(C) Tim Blodgett   begun 10/19, completed 04/17/20


I wrote the first four stanzas of this poem October 2019 after my Uncle Charles stopped by my store. He was returning from an apple orchard in Easton, where they had the best Northern Spies. He couldn’t stay long, it was getting late in the day, and he wanted to be home before it started to get dark. He was having trouble with his night vision, I suppose at 87, that’s to be expected. We talked about fishing, he loved to fish. We talked about hunting, he loved that too, but he said he was getting too old to get out anymore. I told him that I would go with him if he wanted get out into the woods for a little while. He said he would like that, but he couldn’t walk very far on account of his hips, and the cold really got to him nowadays. We talked about apples, apple pies, and grafting apple trees. I remembered learning about that from my grandfather in his small orchard back in the early ’70s. We talked the small garden he kept. He was wearing a beat up old hat we had made for our store years ago, he wanted to get a new one next time we had them made.

His voice was strong, his mind and sense of humor were sharp. His eyes were blue and clear. They watered, like his nose, but the ever-present handkerchief was at the ready when needed. (That’s a Blodgett thing, I remember my father and grandfather also exhibited this trait. I have not yet reached the age where that has become a concern for me. Yet.) I looked closely at him. His skin was getting more transparent and spotted with age. He had become more stooped and crooked over the years. He was 87 after all. Still, I thought he had a few years left in him.

I was wrong.

His journey ended April 16, 2020, a little after 6:00 am. It wasn’t Covid that sent him to the hospital for his last few days. He was tired, at peace, and ready to join with Aunt Bev.

I wrote the last three stanzas April 17, 2020, after I wrapped my head around him being gone.

His death caught me by surprise. My sister told me and I told my brother, we were all caught by surprise. I guess we all thought that he would be there, old and unchanging for ever. How childish we can be.

He was a good man, we will miss him.

Whenever I hear the song ‘Band on the run’ by Paul McCartney and Wings, I remember when He and Aunt Bev took me camping and fishing on a lake in the Adirondacks about ’74. I remember hearing that song, it was raining and grey and I was fishing. I went camping with them at the Boreas River also, they had a pop-up camper, I didn’t catch any trout, but I caught a smallmouth bass. The first time I ever drove a car, (13 or 14) I drove his old Jeep Wagoneer. It was standard shift and I had to drive it up a narrow, steep logging road up to a cabin that he helped his father build years before. The steep stretch of the road dropped into a deep ravine a couple feet from the edge of the road. I was terrified, but I did it. He had a revolver, I think Smith & Wesson, chambered in .41 Magnum, that he used to carry when hunting and camping. He taught me how to shoot it when I was much younger than anyone would think prudent nowadays. I remember asking him if it kicked much.

“It kicks like an elephant”, he replied.

I’ll never forget that. I learned about firearms, how to handle them, to respect them and to be responsible with them at a young age. Those were valuable lessons that extend far beyond their original intent. They guide me still in the way I handle any tool, machine, or device that can do harm when mishandled. More people should learn those lessons.

Look, but don’t touch!

Bloodroot (Sanguinaria canadensis)
Virgin white petals
Bloodroot's brief bloom graces spring
Look, but do not touch!

I spotted these flowers growing by the roadside while on a bike ride yesterday. As I sped by, I thought to myself;

“Stop and get a picture of those flowers, they are really pretty, and would be nice to share in my next blog.”

I didn’t. I had a good head of steam going and I was just starting up a hill, so I kept pedaling. This morning, I opened an email from The Dept. of Environmental Conservation and there it was, a picture of the flowers I had seen. I learned that they were Bloodroot flowers. DEC described it as follows;

“As a spring ephemeral, the flower of the plant is visible for just a few days before it withers away.”.

I went back today and took these photos, I didn’t want to miss my chance. Originally, I was going to build a haiku around the phrase, ‘here today, gone tomorrow” because of their fleeting appearance. After researching a little, I learned that these beauties can be quite dangerous if carelessly handled. They were used by Native Americans medicinally, but primarily as a source of red dye. The sap is caustic to and if left on the skin, it will destroy tissue and leave a scar. The sap has been used in salves as a topical treatment for skin lesions, cancers and warts. Use of this salve, commonly known as ‘Black salve’, is a dangerous, ineffective remedy and can have severely disfiguring consequences. Check it out on Wikipedia if you’re curious.

Keep your eyes open for patches of these flowers in the next few weeks if you live in the eastern US and Canada. Depending on your location, you can expect to see them from March to May. Enjoy them with your eyes only!

Low hanging fruit

Image from Wikipedia

It’s day four of NaPoWriMo, so here’s the next installment. I had a busy day doing stuff. I didn’t have much time to compose high minded, philosophical, or edgy poetry. You won’t be transported to an idyllic dreamscape. In fact, you may be dissappointed and un-follow me.

We will take that chance together.

So, without further adieu, I present, for your enjoyment/revulsion…Poem #4

Poem #4

numbers one through nine
arranged in columns and rows
Sudoku haiku

I can hear you groaning, but come on, it was a little bit clever, wasn’t it?

I enjoy solving Sudoku puzzles, it forces my brain to concentrate on something other than the news. Anyway, it helps pass the time.

Thank you, and Good night!

Man, am I out of shape!

Translation: Holy cow! How did I get so fat!

Answer: YER GETTIN LAZY! (and old and you eat too much)

Yup, I’m calling myself out.

Mirrors lie. Pants and cameras don’t. Scales, charts and recommendations are debatable but pants and cameras are brutally honest.

About 13 years ago, I was rapidly approaching 230 pounds. I didn’t feel bad and I was relatively active. I knew I was carrying a ‘few’ extra pounds but then I saw two images that hit me like a cast iron frying pan. The first was a photo taken while I was instructing an archery course. I looked like a frog. The second time, I was assaulted by Jabba the Hut staring back at me from dressing mirrors in a hotel bathroom. When I got home, I started walking. Then I jogged, hating every mile I put behind me. Jogging is not my thing, I pound, get shin splints and I’m just a hair faster than molasses. Then I remembered my bike.

My bike was a Sterling Sportlight SIS that I purchased in 1987 (still have it). I rode it for a couple of years, then I got married, moved, started a fishing tackle shop with my new and current bride and worked while my bike collected dust in the shed. I pumped up the tires and oiled the chain and took it for a spin now and again, but I was busy and I didn’t have time to ride regularly. That’s my story, and I’m stickin’ to it!

Anyhoo…I ressurected it once again and started riding. I used to live on my bike when I was a kid, right up through college, and then, well, you know. The more I rode, the more I wanted to ride, This was my thing. I started riding with groups and got better quickly. A friend I used to ride with in high school lent me his Motobecan racing bike that he had owned since then. It was a few years older than mine, but it rode so much better, it made my bike look like a booger. I rode that for a couple seasons and then I bought a used Specialized Roubaix. No way I could have afforded it new!

My steed, my friend

I went from the Flintstones to the Jetsons in two jumps. My riding improved, my weight dipped close to 190. Another ten and holy cow, I’d be back to my high school weight. Alas, that was not to be. Life changes and new work demands siphoned away my time and I rode less and less.

So here I am, a few years older, rapidly approaching 210 pounds, and tired of straining my waistbands. I had my bike serviced last week and road it yesterday for almost ten miles on it’s first journey of 2020. My performance was what I expected, poor to fair, but that’s okay. It was only my first ride of the year.

Now, come ride with me.

Get the lead out

Kit up
hop in the saddle
and take me for a spin
remember how you used to love 
the wind in your hair
the miles rolling 'neath my wheels
the purr of the chain on my gears
ride me like it's the last time we'll be together
rocket down a hill
feel the thrill
of speed
of danger
of trusting me
race along the flat roads
lean into the turns
not too much, your close to the edge
and gaining speed
power up the hills
I have gears enough
feel the power in your legs
you're starting to flag
draw strength from your core
you're almost there
almost there
you can do anything for fifteen more seconds
you're burning
you're numb
you're gasping...
it's all down hill from here

(c) Tim Blodgett 4/3/20

I hear my bike calling.

Going, going, OH DAMMIT ALL!

Going… 3/22/20 8:00am
Goinnnggg…….. 3/22/20 11:00am

The giant snowbank in front of my store had slowly diminished over the past couple of weeks until it was but a wee speck of dirty ice lying amid dirty dead grass and dirty winter dirt. All that was needed was a quick raking and a little rain to clean it up and let the grass turn green again.

But, NOOOOOOOoooooooo!

Instead, the wind came out of the north and this happened!

DAMMIT ALL TO H*#&!!! 3/23/20 5:00pm

It’s pretty and all, but it could have waited until next winter. Say la vee, or however they spell it, I’m feeling phonetic right now! This too, shall soon pass and spring will return to the stage.


Budding, greening spring
peeping, calling, chirping sing
blooming flowering bling

T.Blodgett 3/23/20

That’s all I’ve got for now, I’ve been brain blocked and time crunched lately. Seems I’ll have a little more time on my hands for a while and will be getting back on the blog track.

Please take care of yourselves, mind and body. Reach out if you need a kind word or or an ear to listen. Be well.

The Break-up Poem

So, I have this friend named Grace. She is part of the writing group that convenes weekly at the local Barnes and Noble. We call her ‘Giggles’, cause she does, a lot, and we love her so.

Says Grace; “My boyfriend broke up with me last night.”

Says I; “Are you alright? What happened?”

Said she; “We were up until 5am on Facebook and he said he thought we should end it. He was having a crisis and couldn’t deal.”

Then said I; “How do you feel about it?

And she replied; “Sad, a little confused and a little mad”

Me; “I’ll bet. Let’s write a scathing break-up poem about him!”

Her; Giggling, “Yes!”

What follows is the tragedy inspired chronicle of the end of a romance.

WARNING!!! Angst and ‘F’ bombs ahead!

And, Don’t mess with my friends!

Erasing Grace

It’s not you, it’s me
He said with self-deprecation
And heavy was his sigh
At least that’s what he wrote
In the text that he sent
Announcing the end of us
We can be friends
You’re special
I’ll call you
See you around
The next day, I saw him
And we nervously spoke
Was that a glint
Or a tear
In his crocodile eye
Either way, he’s toast!
Is there a chance
I’m sorry
It doesn’t have to be this way
I was a little scared
What the hell did you want
When you asked me out
I’m not here to waste my time
If you ever grow a set
And stop acting like a teen
Call me.

Tim Blodgett 2/16/20

That was fun to write and Grace loved it. She doesn’t hate him so the ending is appropriate. Where there’s life, there’s hope. Boy is he lucky that she’s a nice person!

I’ve had a bit of a dry spell lately, sometimes you got it and sometimes you don’t.

Requiem for 178

For the want of a bend, a cotter pin was lost.
For the want of a cotter pin, a retaining pin was lost.
For the want of a retaining pin, the gear shift linkage was lost.
For the want of the gear shift linkage, the transmission was lost
For want of the transmission, a school bus was lost.
and all for the want of a cotter pin.

My school bus, my school bus for a cotter pin!

And, so I sat on Rt. 32, yellow, obstructive and immovable with fifteen middle and high school students eager to get home. Thankfully, I was a mere five minutes from the school and a replacement bus was delivered post haste. A student revolt was forestalled, and the mechanics were able to manually shift the bus into gear and drive it back to the garage.

It’s very unusual for a bus to break down. They are meticulously maintained by crack technicians, but, because they are constructed with thousands of parts and pieces, s*#! happens sometimes. I find it amazing that a 29,600-pound behemoth can be laid low by a part that weighs a gram or two. Just goes to show, if it’s not one thing, it’s another. It’s always somethin’.

My beautiful girl repaired and back in her place!

It always seems like I pay double for taking time off. Last weekend, I was at the Am-Jam Tattoo Expo in Syracuse, New York. Consequently, I had to play catch-up, on work and sleep and I neglected my blog, not that the world stopped turning or anything, but it was on my mind. Like it or not, I’m Baaaaack!

You all write a lot and I’m so far behind, I may not catch up. I’ll try though!

I’m working on another short story project that was ‘sposed to be a long story project. At last week’s writer’s workshop, our assignment was to bring the first page or few paragraphs of a story in progress for the others to critique. I’m writing a dark comedy about the extinction of the human species. It was agreed that in order to keep the pace and comic nature of the story, it would work better as a short 5000 to 10,000 word short story, or possibly as a novella. I’m not interested in trying to justify a scientifically plausible argument beyond positing the possibility that what happens, could happen. Ya just hafta go with it.

The story prompt was, ‘Write an apocalyptic story using an idea that you have never read or heard of’, or something like that. It took me about 3 seconds to come up with an idea. It’s taken me two years to get this far. I’ve got a solid idea though, and I want to finish it within a week or two. I don’t know if I’ll submit it for publishing or share it here, yet. If I share it here, most publishers won’t accept it as a submission.

Once it’s done, I may need beta readers…


Title: Service with a Smile (unless something better comes to mind)

Mortician’s POV

Viral video

♫And the cats shall inherit the earth♫ (to the tune of 2112)


Obvious in the forest

I’ve been actively blogging since last September. My only regret is that I’m unable to keep up with all of the posts that all of you offer. I read quickly but I write slowly, most of the time. Sometimes, though, the words come quickly. That happened yesterday.

With her gracious consent, I’m re-posting a poem shared on IN MIND AND OUT. It instantly reminded me of experiences and thoughts that I’ve had when in the woods. I wanted to offer my compliments, so I wrote the following.

Sylvan magic

This fella is my avatar. I found him in the woods last year.

 The forest embraced you
 and showed you it’s hidden places,
 glimpses of secret clearings.
 You felt the forest’s sylvan breath,
 the sigh of wind through its living leaves,
 so much like your own.
 Instinctively, the forest knows
 why you laid upon its leaf strewn floor,
 to feel its peace with your bare skin,
 to hear its secrets in your mind –
 You see a sapling, its destiny briar entwined
 and with love, you wove a cloak of thorns
 to protect and keep it safe.
 You whispered power with exhaled breath.
 It heard you,
 or was it a dream?
 Like me,
 you understand the forest’s magic

01/08/2020   Tim Blodgett (C)

Thank you 'R', for your inspiration! 
YOU gave voice to the forest's magic, 
i give but an echo

Please visit her blog and read her mind.

In mind and out

The forest sees me,
how I look at it’s empty spaces
in the clearings
I’m sure I hear it’s breath quicken
like wind through lace
Or is that my own?
Needily the forest thinks
I made a bed for us from pine needles,
and felt the imprints on our skin
within my mind –
I see an ancient wall where destinies entwined like vines
and I filled the hollows of the foxgloves with desire,
delicate and dangerous
they exhale their whispers to me
I heard them
or was that you?
Like me,
the forest sees you there

View original post

We can do better

I just started following Cheemnonso, NONSO’S WORLD blog. I don’t know much about Cheemnonso except Cheemnonso has a magic pencil, a big brain and a bigger heart. I checked out the NONSO’S WORLD because Cheemnonso checked me out. I found beautiful art and thoughtful words.

I read one post called ‘A Letter to Humanity’ that struck a chord. I wanted to give it a shout out because it was/is on point. It asks questions that we need to think about. Wouldn’t it be great if thoughtful, intelligent people like you could become the new influencers in today’s social media landscape instead of the inane, insane, super vain, unrestrain (ed), IQ drain, societal bane of greedy self promoting hucksters that are currently leading the charge.

We all have a different perspective on the ills that afflict our community, both local and global. Through our poetry and prose, we share our concerns and offer answers. I don’t know how to make our collective voice heard and heeded by those who are in a position to influence people to be more mindful about how we treat each other. Maybe one of you do…

…or maybe we have to reach people one at a time.

Please read Cheemnonso’s poem, ‘A Letter to Humanity’. If you’ve written in the same vein, post it! Maybe we can find some answers to our common concerns.

I offer this for your consideration and comment.

 We can do better
 Endowed as we are
 by a creator, take your pick,
 with varied ideas of humanity,
 we struggle to make sense
 of the world we create
 in the image of ourselves.
 Naturally, we see others, as other. 
 Suspect, untrustworthy, a threat
 to our own carefully crafted world view.
 Fingers point, blame is assigned,
 civil discourse is discarded
 in favor of venomous vitriol.
 Distrustful and dismissive,
 how are we to advance
 as a society or individually,
 when we try to control
 what the other does, thinks, believes
 without regard for their reality?
 Like magnets, we are
 repulsive and attractive.
 Eternally in opposition.
 We must unite our positives
 and not allow our negatives
 to divide and push us apart.
 Plus or minus, ying or yang,
 both sides searching for truth.
 The peril that is before us,
 lies in the passing of judgement,
 because nothing is as it seems.
 Or is it? 

by Tim Blodgett   summer 2019

One last thing! If you’re clown phobic, DO NOT go to this link!!! If you’re not Then DO go to the link and check out Cheemnonso’s rendition of Pennywise!