Category Archives: Uncategorized

Does the U.S. Need to Establish a Magna Carta????

From Heather Cox Richardson via Letters from an American

Today the story broke that a long-neglected document held by Harvard University Law School, believed to be a cheap copy of the Magna Carta, is in fact the real document. More than 700 years ago, the Magna Carta, or Great Charter, established the concept that kings must answer to the law. (If you wonder what relevance this has to the America of today, please be sure to read the last two paragraphs, printed in bold at the end of this post)

King John of England and a group of rebel barons agreed to the terms of the document on June 15, 1215, at Runnymede, a meadow a little less than an hour from London near the River Thames. After the king had raised taxes, barons rebelled, insisting that he was violating established custom. There were rumors of a plot to murder the king, and the barons armed themselves.

Those two armed camps met at Runnymede, where negotiators for the king and the barons hammered out a document with 63 clauses, mostly relating to feudal customs and the way the justice system would operate. But the document also began to articulate the principles central to modern democracies. The Magna Carta established the writ of habeas corpus—a prohibition on unlawful imprisonment—and the concept of the right to trial by jury.

Famously, it put into writing that: “No free man shall be seized, imprisoned, dispossessed, outlawed, exiled or ruined in any way, nor in any way proceeded against, except by the lawful judgement of his peers and the law of the land.” It also provided that “To no one will we sell, to no one will we deny or delay right or justice.”

The Magna Carta placed limits on the king’s ability to tax his subjects and established the law as an authority apart from the king. Anticipating the idea of checks and balances, it set up a council of barons to make sure the king obeyed the charter. If he did not, they could seize his lands and castles until he made amends. 


For Fibbing Friday, May 16, 2025

For Fibbing Friday, the task at hand is:

1. What is pilau rice?  One grain of your rice
2. What are eggs benedict? Why ask him? I can tell you that they are items laid by chickens to produce more chickens or omelettes.
3. What is a souffle? A slight altercation
4. What is baked Alaska?  Summer in Juneau
5. What is crème brulee? Coffee served with dairy and a flower necklace.
6. What is a victoria sponge? An English birth control device
7. What is a raspberry roulade? Something that helps one set up regulations for Driscoll’s.
8. What is cannoli ? A small canister
9. What is kamaboko?  A security/surveillance system in a library
10. What are sweetbreads? Humans genetically engineered to have kind dispositions.

 

“Tell Me A Story” (New Prompt. Please Participate!!)

I drove up the hill to my house following this pickup. I was so tempted to follow it to its destination to ask what its story was. Now I’m sorry I didn’t. Can you furnish a story for me? HERE is the pingback to include with your post to make sure we all see it.. 

Every Wednesday, I will publish a photo. Please publish a poem or short story inspired by the photo and link to this blog in the comments. 

I loved this song that came out the year I turned 6 years old.  Seems to still be having an effect.

Matin

Matin

What kind of a world
does a bird feel itself a part of
that prods it to such a joyous song
in celebration of her beauties?

Sun barely risen,
air crisp and cool,
not a breath of air stirs the
vibrant golden hibiscus
to cause the fall
of one palm-sized petal
onto the dew-damp grass below.

No clouds obscure
one puff of steam
rising from the distant volcano
that peeks over the
hills above the lake––
not one ripple on its calm surface.

I lie on my bed,
apart from this still morning,
making lists––

only a glimpse
of that bird’s world
on view through my window’s parted curtain,
as I listen to this constant oration
of its joy over being born
into this world.

I somehow in the editing erased the prompt for this poem and I can’t for the life of me remember what it was. If it strikes a chord with you and you think you know of a prompt it might have been written for, please put a link in comments. I am definitely losing it, folks!!!

Divine Providence, for dVerse Poets

 

Image by  Alireza Dolati

Divine Providence

The wings of destiny are stilled, waiting for our play.
Astonished at our slowness, confused at the delay.
Disappointment in mankind by now’s a usual thing.
What new human horror will the future bring?

We’ve poisoned oceans, sullied air and burdened earth with junk.
Enough to put Ma Nature in a perpetual funk.
She balks and sends out warriors to try to curb our lusts,
but still mankind continues to turn shouldn’ts into musts.

She now sees she was misguided in creating human fools,
with all of their excesses flaunting all her rules.
Soon she’ll find another way to try to clear her slate of them
as destiny stands waiting to see what is the fate of them.

For dVerse Poets, we were to choose a Spanish term to use for the subject of a poem. In Spanish,  Divina Providencia means destiny with choices and spiritual interventions. My poem is about how mankind has unfortunately chosen to respond  to that divine providence.

“The Passenger,” for Word of the Day, May 13, 2025

The Passenger

I see her back her car outside.
She never offers me a ride.
I go the same way she is going,
but she passes, still unknowing.

After ten long years, I stand
making no sign with head or hand.
My legs are tired. My back is bent.
My footsteps follow where she went.

It takes two minutes to go by car.
I take an hour to go that far.
If she knew, perhaps she’d say,
“Would you like a ride today?”

She would have rolled her window down
to offer me a ride to town.
I’d dust my clothes and step inside,
grateful, at long last, for the ride.

And at the bottom of the hill,
as though, perhaps, she’d had her fill,
She’d say, “I’m turning left from here.”
And I’d assemble all my gear,

and give my thank-you, even though
I need to go where she will go.
Charity goes just so far,
I think, as I exit the car.

I live about two-thirds of the way up a very tall mountain in Mexico, and often as I drive down to the main road, I give a ride to whomever I encounter walking down the cobblestones—especially the women, most of whom work as housekeepers in the houses in my fraccionamiento. But now and then when I am in a hurry or when I see a man suspicious-looking or dusted by his labors, I drive on by. Then I wonder what he is thinking as I guiltily observe him in the rear vision mirror.

 

The Word of The Day Challenge  today is passenger. Forgottenman found this poem I published long ago and suggested I used it for this prompt. He knows I am exhausted. Sweet, sweet man. Here it is.

Davy Jones Locker, for The Sunday Whirl Wordle #706

Davy Jones Locker: Davy Jones’ Locker is a metaphor for the bottom of the sea: the state of death among drowned sailors and shipwrecks. It is used as a euphemism for drowning. Silver coins spilling from a pirate chest seem to be doing these victims of shipwreck at sea no good at all. I collected all of the shells and sand used in this piece from various beaches in Mexico. Even the plastic cup, once claimed by the sea, washed ashore covered in coral.

(Although I created the piece above for an exhibition 5 years ago,
the poem below is new, created for this prompt:)

Davy Jones Locker

Storytellers tell the tales of underwater realms
where sunken ships lie buried with sand up to their helms.
They lie countless fathoms beneath the emerald foam
of oceans only beasts and serpents of the sea call home.

There saints of the underworld have made more novel choices
other than announcing their presence through their voices.
Silver coins rolled to the beach, bones smoothed by ocean tides,
give hints of those deep regions where Davy Jones resides.

His ship now razed by currents that drew it to its death,
the ocean mist still carries vestiges of his breath.
He has become that element that once he sought to best––
a part of that great ocean that was his lifelong quest.

 

For The Sunday Whirl Wordle # 706  the prompt words are: underworld realm beasts raze maps storytellers saints emeralds hood voices serpent mist

Immigration, Misspelled Inspiration and Soap Dispensers for SOCS, May 10, 2025

Immigration, Misspelled Inspiration and Soap Dispensers

"Southern Icons of the 20th Century" By Joni Mabe

“Southern Icons of the 20th Century” by Joni Mabe

"Travelers" By Larry Walker

“Travelers” By Larry Walker

When I saw that the SOCS prompt for today was “Soap,” I typed “Soap” into the search bar of my blog and found this post from 11 years ago. I couldn’t resist reblogging it:

Yesterday, I arose at 3 a.m. (after just 3 hours of sleep) to be driven by taxi to the Guadalajara airport to catch a plane to Dallas/Ft. Worth where I would catch a connecting flight on to St. Louis, MO. After visiting Mexican immigration at one end of the airport and pulling two heavy bags the length of the airport to wait in the American Airlines line for an hour, I discovered that bad weather in Dallas had caused them to cancel all flights, and would it be convenient for me to come back tomorrow? No, coming back tomorrow was not convenient! Not only was a friend waiting for me in St. Louis, but the additional two taxi fares would amount to my taxis costing more than my airline flight. American was able to schedule me onto a later Delta flight and so it is that at the hour when I should have arrived in St. Louis, I am instead in the Atlanta airport with three hours left before my flight leaves, sitting next to a man who snuffles like a pig every 30 seconds, held prisoner by the electric power strip providing juice to the loyal MacBook Air that is making it possible for me to tell you today’s story.

If you’ve ever gone through your customs and immigration check in Atlanta, you probably already know what I have discovered: that the Atlanta airport has the longest walk and most circuitous queue lines of any airport so far experienced, after which you arrive at an automatic passport check where you scan your own passport, pose for the most unflattering picture possible, then go through yet another maze that is nothing short of an endurance check/ordeal after which you wait in line forever along with 500 other travelers to again be sorted into lines by an immigration employee on the job for the first day (she told me so) who for some reason has a grudge against your line to the point that the other two lines are empty before she sees fit to select people from the pariah line to again get in line to see one of the 4 humans assigned to double check our worthiness to enter the U.S., walk for another 15 minutes to retrieve our luggage and then wait in yet another line for customs.

By the time I actually made it through customs and began my loooooooong trek to where I could catch a train to another concourse, I was as perspiration-soaked as if I had been through an hour-long workout at the gym. You will have guessed right if you are thinking that once I arrived on “B” concourse, I discovered that my gate was the last one on the concourse. Of course it was! There is, however, a fact that mitigates all of the frustration previously endured, for the corridors of the Atlanta airport leading from the plane to Immigration are lined with some of the best and most varied art I’ve ever seen in any airport exhibition and most art museums. Collage, wall sculpture and paintings made me wish the automatic walkways would stall to give me time enough to actually look at the art—with the result that I got off the moving walkway to walk back to do just that. With no hands free to record any of the names of artists, I’ll just have to leave it to Google or airport authorities to give you more specific information, but the art was whimsical, colorful, original, thought-provoking and sometimes naïf. (For certain of those outsider art pieces giving exhaustive social commentary, do not judge the artistic merit by the spelling.)

A $13 pulled-pork plate assuaged my appetite as at that time it had been 13 hours since I arose to drive to the airport and begin my long day’s journey. But it was a trip to the ladies room that assured me that I was in fact back in the good old U.S.A. Spotless cleanliness, two full toilet paper rolls, paper seat covers, a hook to hang my purse, enough room to store my carry-on rolling bag without having to squeeze myself into a corner to do so, a self-flushing toilet that actually flushed and the piéce de résistance—A SHELF TO PUT MY DRINK ON!!!! Upon my easy exit from the roomy stall, I enjoyed an automatic foam soap dispenser installed in the sink next to the warm water faucet, then found paper towels and trash can within easy reach. This of course made me remember (with no nostalgia) the new movie theater in Ajijic, Mexico—my home town for the past 13 years—where only one sink of the eight present actually works and is, of course, the one furthest away from the only towel dispenser. Ah, Atlanta airport. I forgive thee for all other sins.

The RDP prompt is “Soap.”

Favorite Places for SOCS. May 10, 2025

Some Sacred Spaces

I asked women about their favorite places.  These Story Boxes are a reflection of what they told me.  Unfortunately, I forgot to take a picture of my favorite before I sold it.  It was The Artist’s Studio.  These Boxes are all 11.5″ X 8″.

P9090376

The Beauty Shop

P9090367

The Souvenir Shop

P9090365

The Kitchen

DSC00058

Center Stage

DSC00054

The Parlor: A chest of memories substitutes for life: a wedding veil, old love letters, pictures and a solitary bottle of champagne furnish her Saturday night company.

For SOCS the prompt is, “My Favorite Place.”

“School Reunion” for Writers Workshop, May 9, 2025

Class of 1965, Murdo, S.D. class reunion.

School Reunion

He’s an aging “Murdo Coyote” in his ancient football shirt––
remembering past  touchdowns while we’re dishing out the dirt.

Non-Trumper against Trumper, human rightist against bigot,
all the ways we’ve grown apart, gushing from the spigot.

When the debate gets heated, he brings about a shift,
repeating old glories until we get his drift

and switch our conversation way back to the past
to all those high school memories that thankfully still last

and that turn the party back to what it should have been:
turning old friends back to what they all were way back when.

For Writers Workshop, May 9, 2025