Drinking Alcohol taught me how to fly
Then it took away the sky....

Thursday, September 29, 2011


"Night Bird
Find your way
For none may know it
just as you may."

--Jonathon Livingston Seagull by Neil Diamond

And me.
Gazing aloft,
above rails, above sails
intently into firmament.


So lost am I
in lonely
cloud-painted sky
looking for who
looking for you...
or perhaps a vast
past, colored blue?
I do not know.


Looking for God
in sky, decorated
by sun, by moon,
as if I believed
nature and us
Singing, dancing,


Fly bird, in lonely-looking sky
Take me up all the way until I...
until I cry.
Let's fly away from this
what others call bliss.
Let me cry at the lonely looking sky.
There with you let me die
in lonely sky.

Holy, holy, holy
Sanctus, sanctus, sanctus

Circle we, warp time
through Universe
of tinsel, silvery snow,
planetary ornaments.
Sky not alone, nor I...
we have found our God


No longer sky alone
we are also one
we are one


Let us LIVE and LOVE with
Happiness, ending in Joy!
Peace, in final Serenity!
PRAYER climaxing in PRAISE!

Steve E   09/27/2011

"Jonathon Livingston Seagull"
Author: Richard Bach
Music and words
Neil Diamond

Tuesday, September 27, 2011


Written Sept 27, 2011
for dverse Poets Pub


About love? No!
Nor, regarding sex.
Recovery?...hospital stuff.
Trees, or bees? Getting close
to topic: this late-night-post.

Soldiers on the march, I
see their beauty-straight lines
and thin
when in
my world they cadence.

Without a shot
they win! Not
by harming, killing
neither raping
nor escaping.

But look! See?
They're all free
of what keeps
you and me
near brain-mired

Super creatures
carrying away loot,
just as lurkers
I watched, as under foot
their deeds transpired

Suddenly under my pants
legs felt all prickly--
I jumped in horror
through open door
my body in fast dance.

I...slightly sick,
intent, watched
warriors march asunder,
finish their plunder
halt on their way
out of town--my
pants now down.

Ants all over me
on top and under.
The battle, it's late
to end: I win,
it's fate.

Long before dawn
ants were dead
...or gone

Image: Google Images

Monday, September 26, 2011



One Autumn day in 1940, an airplane made a forced landing in the 30 acre field behind the orchard on our farm. Pilot had run out of fuel. He promised me, after asking my mother, that he would take me a spin the next morning at 8 AM. With permissions granted, I was up early, the dream of any boy (like me) to become a reality! The pilot had taken off early. 

I found out later that my mother had said "OK" to me, in order to quiet my exuberance. This was the one of a series of incidents which influenced the rest of my roguish life.

Since that day, I have been obsessed with airplanes, 
 even choosing flights with the most stopovers--
just to experience landing and take-off again
...and again.

"It is not what we said to our children. It is how we made them feel that counts". --Anonymous

First one, of the new Boeing Passenger Jets, the 787 Dreamliner was delivered to ANA Air in Japan today, September 26, 2011 at 9AM EDT. I LOVE this! Watching her fly is a 'spiritual experience' for me. "Move your wings Baby, and fly like a bird!"

Click for a passenger's view...and if you have one minute, click on arrow in upper right of picture.

Saturday, September 24, 2011



Kitchen window, where many of our Vege-
 Peeps spend their formative weeks? 
See those orchid buds in the small photo?
--a complete surprise!
Living life, I took many things for granted. Sitting on a concrete bench, pondering the 'meaning of life' while viewing a favorite tree, another vision suddenly appeared. I could 'see' that tree just a few years ago, when it was barely more than a twig stuck in the ground. Sure, it bore a couple sap-slurping leaves.
Now as I sit here, that Wild Tamarind (below) is my shade. It was only supposed to grow 5-6 feet in height.
These banana plants (below) are missing one pleasure of life--a mate. They will not produce fruit until we find them a wife—and I don't know how to do that. Our farm grew corn and tomatoes, not bananas, which make love on moonlit nights. So, “Yes...we have no bananas...” is my song today.
A short time ago, I shot this, called it “The Trumpet Shall Sound”. Then came a drought followed months later by a storm. Finally I cut the dead pieces away, said, “R.I.P.” (Requiescat in Pace). 
 Now, I sit here and observe (below) that if God brought this dead tree back to life, what more must He have in store for any of us Peeps who have died, either physically, or spiritually

And the fern (below) was 10 years ago, a baby in a pot on our lanai. When it finally threatened the screening we stuck it in that sand we Florida Peeps call earth.

Yes, I've taken many thing for granted. Oh, did I give credit to Anna, my wife? She (Prayer Girl) did some of the work and all the praying, for our yard. Other than that, Peeps, Love, and PEACE!
Steve E

Monday, September 19, 2011


Written Sept 19, 2011


For violinist in
symphony orchestra
memories accrued

like manure piled
outside barn doors
during winter's hibernate

times of both

Six weeks
annual touring
concerts every night
another village

Six months
cows in barn
annual curing
age-old loop.
shovel it, throw it
flowers grow in it

Bringing our art
to Peeps starved.
Living on rails,
train was home
ever we (um!)

Meanwhile, back at ranch
cow dung begun it's stench
Who's a'load the spreader?”
Not none o' us”, said
hireds sitting on bench.

Get that guy with his fiddle.
'Bout time he learned to work.”
(they thought I had run away--
not to play, but to shirk,)

So farm waited, shovels
begged be used--
while huddled on train
in cold top-bunk hovel,
this violin player
followed his Muse

--Steve E

Friday, September 16, 2011


God as I understand Him

A Peep, new in the program of Alcoholics Anonymous, wrote that he was 'confused' about God. Several responses inspired me to write these:

When I am 'confused' about God--it is not God who is confusing me. It is one who does not want me to 'know' God. It is one who is taking over my thoughts. I call him Satan. You may call it whatever is your understanding.”

Sir, you are making progress! I do not have to fret and sweat to figure God. My understanding of Him will change with time. Best is that He slowly draws aside those curtains which hide, so that instant light does not blind me.”

“God reveals Himself to me (this was not always the case) in every tree, every blade of growing grass or weed, every seed blown by a whisper of wind. He is the composer of every birdsong, the Ultimate Father of every child.”

"God is the sending of thoughts person-to-person over land and sea, or throughout the firmament (I love that word!). He is everywhere, everything. He is in you, me, everyone. A part of each-everything is God."

God is inventor of 'reconciliation'. In the very 'first reconciliation' He brought from utter chaos, the sweet accord of the Universe; Galaxies, Planets, stars, etc., so they would not collide in utter disorder. When we choose, we have that same God-Power--to reconcile ourselves with Him and with one another. We have other 'God-Powers' as well: We can cry, laugh, express our feelings. We have same need for love, for understanding, We need also to serve (and humbly be served).”

“Sir, your final line today, describes what we're discussing here: 'I want to stop thinking about God, stop trying to explain to myself what or who he is, and instead, feel it in every one of my Life Moments.'”

--Steve E

in DeviantArt

Thursday, September 15, 2011



About thirty years ago, or so it seems I ordered--sight unseen--a booklet of poetry written by TESS KINCAID. It finally arrived last week. I forgot lie number one having ordered the book.

About to hit the USPS Post Office PLUS lie number two with a return thingy, the book fell onto my laptop computer. Opening some pages, I read some lines, and have since taken this book(let) to bed with me. No, it is not a sex-toy, Peeps!

'Hooked' while reading one titled "SNOW"...about the whiteness blanketing my sins, Nature forgiving, and the final line..."Pure delight of Holy Communion melts on my tongue and makes me giddy in the sacraments of winter."

Tess is at once herself, Queen of the Manor and Poet of a soul--hers. Her artist-self designed the front acid-free cover.

 This is not a Big Book! 28 pages, 25 of the loveliest, descriptive, poems. Some history, a surprise bonus. Actually, nothing is a surprise, when from Tess!. Only disappointment for full of egotistical pride me, is that the book is not personally signed. "To My Friend Steve with great affection..Tess" grin! LOL!!!

Please order PATINA either HERE or AMAZON Tess Kincaid resides in Beautiful Willow Manor, a well-preserved ancient palace and Tess keeps this place maintained she needs the money--grin!!! to perfection!

NOTE: The above is written without the express consent of Tess Kincaid, and this message was not--NOT!-- approved by her. OK, Peeps? Total responsibility is assumed by

--Steve E

Tuesday, September 13, 2011


 This is reworked/reposted
 Open Link Night # 9

Who, With detestable
Pouring water from
ashes of a love
Which all but lost?

Who so charged
With nurture those
future Dreams...of

That love which
Words, Pictures,
mem'ries, Embossed?

Such profoundness--
Mindless, Soundless
--Lasts far more

than time's Eternity
 blest so with favor.

Two savored
til sated

And life goes
As before rated...
Always and Forever

Graphic--Between two worlds 
--by Iardacil in DEVIANT ART

NOTE: I kept the old comments (from May 2011) because 
in my thinking, comments 'become' an integral part of the posting.
There are 18 such 'old' comments.


Grandma at Grandma'sGoulash provides a picture and a word prompt for this Microfiction Meme and the rules are use the photo as inspiration for a story of 140 characters OR 140 words.

Want more challenge? Use the word of the week in your story. This part is optional.

This week's word is METHODICAL here's the picture and my offering using the picture and word of the week  in 140 characters, including spaces and punctuation.

Who could have lined these so perfectly,
other than a methodical Peep?
Then why is one different?
See the slat white,
sixth from the right?

Steve E

Just a little 'd'version' to get me out of 
my funk--spell that correctly, Peeps!

Saturday, September 10, 2011

REMEMBER 9.11.01

When they asked me,
Did you cry?”
I told a lie

Truth would be
if only I'd say
not 'til next day”.

Twenty-four hours
feeling numbness
struck with dumbness

Wednesday I went down
to give blood...
a flood of peeps,
old and young--
thousands in this little town.
Normal smiles turned to frown,
some, too old, sent away
crying, that Wednesday.

And I cried,
And I died—

While in smoke-covered NY,
the city huddled under
blankets of debris

I lived for
days and days
walking streets of Naples.
In daze, eyes glazed, and
in my own special haze,
hidden from the world.

And...OH!!! the meetings
of Alcoholics Anonymous
here and there, everywhere
packed with Peeps. My
other family. Stayed close by
to hold hands,
hug, kiss, cry and pray
together. It wasn't over
but we all stayed sober
whether, or not
together...or not.

Please ask me why
do I say--today

From Steve E

Written Sept 10, 2011

Thursday, September 8, 2011


You special Peep-Friends: 
'Time' (which I don't even believe exists--grin!) caught up with me this week--big time--and I promise to get around to visiting everyone this weekend. 
Steve E


Early settlers of Naples Town
thriving, smiling, some in frown--
either by sheer design or
holy inspiration,
with imagination,
apolitical ingenuity.

Assuring 'in perpetuity'
that all people of the universe
would share in sweet unity
ten miles of sand and surf

From rise and set of sun, 
before and after
claim made by no one
should be  henceforth
honored or scored.

In naming that sandy place
where Peeps forever meet
they voted face-to-face,
platted it...FIRST STREET!

--Steve E

Note: Imagine owning a home on the beach worth $18 million, and the beach in front of your house, is owned by everyone...
What foresight shown by Naples founders, 100 years ago!

I've played more than 100 weddings on this beach.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011



Last week, a speaker at an AA meeting stood before 150 people, and without saying a word, his whole body began to shake, most violently. St Vitus Dance? Epileptic seizure? NO! He explained that his sponsor said, “Never keep a disturbance inside you." Always get rid of it, and that you can do by just loosening up your whole body and mind. Like 'Let go and Let god'...

He gave a GREAT talk. Pssst, shhhh! (whisper) I tried 'shaking it up' several times that day. It worked...for me!

Heard this morning at 7 AM:

"I wish, instead of an alcoholic, I could just be a 'social' drinker. Then I could get my brain 'fucked up' every night!”

"The fact that I'm usually thinking about--planning--for when and where I'll get my drinks...told me I am an alcoholic.”

"Some people have two drinks and go home. THEY don't realize the true PURPOSE of alcohol--grin!”

"I tried to stay sober by using my mind and my will power. Someone told me I can't fix something broken...with something that's broken.”

"I cannot judge whether I am sane...or not.”

"I had two sets of 'friends': those in the bar at 3 PM every afternoon. Then, after I was 'asked to leave'...those people in my other favorite bar at 10 PM.”

"You'd never catch me in the bars...I drank at home, alone There I could not hurt anyone.” (What aboutcherself?)

"Being a 'little bit' alcoholic, is like being a 'little bit' pregnant!"

"I gave up drinking for Lent, and didn't make it through Ash Wednesday!” (Wednesday is bowling night!)

"I'll never know exactly what it was that kept me sober all these years. But I know what it wasn't! It was NOT my own thinking!

"I'm Steve E, and I'm an alcoholic."


alcoholic nightmare by shenik
in DeviantArt

Monday, September 5, 2011

Microfiction: DOWN TOWN

 Grandma at Grandma's Goulash provides a picture and a word prompt for this Microfiction Meme and the rules are use the photo as inspiration for a story of 140 characters OR 140 words.
Want more challenge? Use the word of the week in your story. This part is optional.
This week's word is PRACTICE here's the picture and my offering using the picture and word of the week  in 140 characters, including spaces and punctuation.

 Old City Hall did not mind...nor I.
It was all I could find...(sigh)
My very own private place.
Pre-cyber "My Space"
to practice my violin.

Saturday, September 3, 2011


by Celestial Painter @ deviantart

Time in San Francisco...Saturday 8 PM
Time in Islamabad...Sunday 8 AM

I am a student/proponent of time warping,
bending. TWO 160-character pieces
I'm submitting to Monkey Man for this
Saturday-Sunday game of his. The titles are counted
as part of the 160 characters, if that is allowable:


The topic of 'time'

has been on my mind

since I was a little child.

Years ago, it drove me wild

I discuss this with my wife

She says “Go, enjoy life”



Your tomorrow arrives

before his today has ended.

which implies, that your sweet eyes

would see roses, before they're sended.

--Steve E

Thursday, September 1, 2011


 “Oh, I was born to wander
I was born to roam
And Mister and Mississippi
made me feel at home”


Life during my drinking career (who but an alcoholic refers to drinking as a “career”--grin!) was spent partly on my own houseboat, named Thor. Three years I lived here, became a river rat (Ohio river at Cincinnati). These were some of the happiest (read: carefree!) years of my life.

I had annually to pull the 32-foot, 12-ton boat out of the river, and up a 500-foot ramp for winter--Nov, Dec, Jan, and Feb. Thor sat high on steel drums and I--high on other 'stuff'--spent many a cold night in that cabin, loving the smells, darkness, loneliness...sometimes I could hear the sounds of snow falling on piled dead leaves.

One memorable mid-summer midnight a fellow boater strung out on some hallucinatory substance was shooting his guns, threatening Peeps all over our small harbor. The shanty-boat 'community' all stayed hidden in their (five) boats. Your Peep—me--walked right out there atop all six floats and challenged this crazy man. He was firing two weapons, helter-skelter, one in each hand.

Carrying nothing to defend myself except a quart of dark rum, I walked right up to him, talked him down, took away the guns and walked back to my boat to sleep. Next morning, guess who they called the 'crazy' man? Only one guess per Peep allowed!


Frequently, 2-3 times a week, I'd just set out on Thor chugging along in early morning fog until something on the river bank piqued my interest. Shallow draft allowed me to pull up on the sandy mud anywhere, anchor to a tree, maybe spend a couple days.

Those years I met, ate and drank with literally hundreds of Peeps—strangers, until we talked awhile. If you knew me, you'd realize I'm in my glory when doing that. Living on the river, most of these Peeps were like one big family. Each of these friendships were another story. 

Note: Our harbor—I was one-sixth owner—was named “Friendship Harbor”. It is still there, almost fifty years later. It's marked on Ohio River Charts.

The gunslinger cast off the day after his spree, and nobody saw him after that. He left behind his 40-foot float, which space we rented and split the bucks.

It was on the river I learned the fun of taking chances, how to survive, and finally how to live well, love everything, and be kind to Peeps. The code there was “Do unto others...” 

From then, my addictions began to seriously take over, run and ruin my life

Each hour of living is as a brick laid in the building of a life. And I revel yet in memories--laying those bricks. Thank you for walking with me here. PEACE!

--Steve E