Tuesday, February 28, 2006

for you, a little story

A dolphin calls the doctor's office; the nurse asks, "What is the purpose of your call?"

"Vy, I am the porpoise of my call," says the dolphin, "my vife, she is dead long ago from the nets, and all the little porpoises svim avay; they don't call. I am an old dolphin who can no longer sing."

"Can't carry a tune, huh?" says the nurse.

"Carry a tuna ?!! I tell you I am an old dolphin, I haf no more the strength to carry a tuna."

"Perhaps it's your diet," says the nurse, "have you felt like fish?"

"Gefilte fish ?!! Oy! Already three times a day vit the gefilte fish -- and you vant I should eat more?!!"

"Not so fast," says the nurse, "for best results, I must transcribe."

"Matzos - fast - then schmalts, you prescribe?" says the dolphin,

"Thank you."

"Good bye."

- Ralph Murre

*those wishing to do more research on related topics are advised to begin at the following site > > > http://www.cyber-kitchen.com/recipes/Gefilte_Fish_Story.htm

Friday, February 24, 2006

To the Dogs

for the last time
fetched up in the weeds
no bailing out
- arem


> > > > > http://www.bleidoorcountytimes.com/ < < < < <

So! Come see dis once, Edna.

See? Now dis here iss sumptin to look at, hey. Dis guy sounds like he might know Plum Bottom from a hole in da gound, aina? He sounds dam near like da kinda guy ain't got no real estate to sell. Don't live in no condom. By Gott, ya, hey! He sounds almost like da kinda guy I woot buy a beer. No, no, don't worry Edna . . . I sez he sounds ALMOST like dat kinda guy.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Now Hear This!

photo by Nancy Vaughn

Very excited to announce that five of my poems (well, four poems and a catchy little lyric to an old favorite tune) have come on line at the first-rate literary ezine, Word Riot. Their front page is at http://www.wordriot.org/ , and the direct link to my poems is, I believe, http://www.wordriot.org/template.php?ID=784 . Check it out.

Monday, February 20, 2006

The Elders

photo by Koerner

Of course, I know we didn't ALL have plaid woolen grampas with steel shovels (see previous post) ; some had plaid seersucker grampas with titanium golf clubs. And many had none.

I never really stopped to think how lucky I was to have known, however briefly, all four of my grandparents. I realize, now, how few of us have that opportunity. Families spread across oceans and continents; a generation here, a generation there. Some, wiped out by a war here, a famine there.

We have been, and to a large extent, still are, a nation of immigrants. As such, we always have a huge number of families among us whose elders aren't around. It leads me to wonder if this plays a part in the amount of unrest and, perhaps, elevated crime rates we see in some neighborhoods comprised mostly of recent immigrants. Don't misunderstand me, I'm not discounting the influence of low income, lousy housing, language barriers, or the prejudices of the not-so-recently landed. And I certainly don't think that current waves of recent arrivals are any more crime-prone than their predecessors.

I simply believe that knowing my grandparents had a steadying effect on my life, even though I didn't get to spend much time with them. I know that my sons benefitted from their grandparents' influence.

As the only surviving grandfather of my clan of little people (to borrow a phrase from a friend), I guess I'd better watch how I influence them. I do have a plaid woolen mackinaw, but I attack the snow with a PLASTIC #12 grain shovel.

- Ralph Murre

Thursday, February 16, 2006


Finally, finally, real snow like
when we were all kids and
had plaid, woolen grampas
with steel shovels, and they
talked about back when it
really snowed, and sometimes,
they smoked cigars and
carried small flasks in
their plaid, woolen pockets.

Back, now, from the morning walk with the dog, to visit Mother Lake. Air, choked with fine snow and a hatful of breeze, Nor'east, vis. on lake at about 100-150 yards, and what you can see -- not encouraging to an old sailor. Back in the warm, coffee mug in hand, my thoughts turn to those sailing the seas and those pointing their bows down the concrete trade routes -- have a care -- take a deep reef. Be safe.

- Ralph Murre

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Ides of February

from a photo by Nancy Vaughn

Long have they skirmished;
this head, this heart.
He, with his education,
with his reasoning,
with his penthouse suite
with windows on everything
(but those offices below.)
He with his finger on the pulse.
And beneath,
he not of the expected constancy,
but of the hot blood;
he who races that pulse
without orders from above,
he who works double-time
in mid-February
while the CEO naps;
he who loves mergers.

- Ralph Murre

Thursday, February 09, 2006


The dark fabric of the night,
pulled up from the east and
tacked to the sky with stars,
has fallen to earth;
only this little candle
to burn a hole
where daylight may seep in.

- Ralph Murre

From time to time, of course, I go a-surfing on the net -- blithely hanging ten in the pipeline of blog after blog -- and I must say that there is a great deal of crud in the water. Darkness falling, in spite of this marvelous tool we've been given, this lamp to light the way. Every now and then, however, I see a little candle burning a hole in the dark. My links field -- yeah, over there on your right -- is filled with sources of light. One which is just being lit, and which I expect to burn very brightly, is Mimi's Golightly Cafe ( http://sharonauberle.blogspot.com ) by Sharon Auberle; poet, spirit of the page, of the woodland, and of the shore.

Sunday, February 05, 2006

Saturday, February 04, 2006


The words do not orderly and willingly queue up to walk single-file across a page, like some elder, hopeless, labor camp inmates, going to their rest; but are, instead, third graders at recess, pushing and shoving to get God knows where, in their primary colors and Oh! They haven't buttoned their jackets! and Oh! Come back here you wild, untamed phrases!

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

In the Shadows

Sleep well, you ground hogs, for tomorrow, your day will come. The fate of the world is in your furry, little paws; if you believe everything you hear. Better to trust you, I suppose, than politicians or other shady characters who come out into the light even more rarely than yourselves.