shrimping boats are late today swift mischief or stubborn sea lost beneath the tide
The shrimping boats are late today; The dusk has caught them cold. Swift darkness gathers up the sun, And all the beckoning gold That guides them safely into port Is lost beneath the tide. Now the lean moon swings overhead, And Venus, salty-eyed.
They will be late an hour or more, The fishermen, blaming dark’s Swift mischief or the stubborn sea, But as their lanterns’ sparks Ride shoreward at the foam’s white rim, Until they reach the pier I cannot say if their catch is shrimp, Or fireflies burning clear.
Nocturne: Georgia Coast by Daniel Whitehead Hicky as published in Poems of Daniel Whitehead Hicky by Daniel Whitehead Hicky (Atlanta : Cherokee Pub. Co.: Atlanta, 1975).
sea-born Venus, when rose from out her cradle shell wind out-blows, ’tis blue
Venus in the Morning Sky over the Atlantic Coast – You will have to take it on faith that its there, but it is
That, when I think thereon, my spirit clings And plays about its fancy, till the stings Of human neighbourhood envenom all. Unto what awful power shall I call? To what high fane? — Ah! see her hovering feet, More bluely vein’d, more soft, more whitely sweet Than those of sea-born Venus, when she rose From out her cradle shell. The wind out-blows Her scarf into a fluttering pavilion; ’Tis blue, and over-spangled with a million Of little eyes, as though thou wert to shed, Over the darkest, lushest blue-bell bed,
Except from Endymion: a poetic romance by John Keats, John, 1795-1821 (Taylor and Hessey, 93, Fleet Street: London, 1918).
I cannot drive to work without looking to my left and see Venus bright in the pre dawn sky and not relax.
Since the moment of Creation, Venus has been there as the morning or evening Star.
No one in history, whether they made the history books or not, has not, at some point in their lives, seen Venus in the sky.
Maybe they didn’t know it was Venus but there it was.
My Dad had a way of pointing out Venus whenever he saw it.
Or if we pointed out that bright star, he would correct us and say, “That’s Venus … It’s a planet”.
I do the same thing with my kids and now, my many grand kids.
And when I do, I think of my Dad and I think of the how long people Dads and Grandfathers have been doing this.
A quick look at history shows that not only has Venus been around a long time, the name Venus for Venus goes back a ways in recorded history.
The Greeks had two names for Venus:
Phosphoros (Φωσφόρος, “Light-Bringer”) when seen as the Morning Star.
Hesperos (Ἓσπερος, “Evening”) when seen as the Evening Star.
Eventually, Greek astronomers (like Pythagoras) realized they were the same object.
Later Greek writers used the name Aphrodite for the planet in line with mythology.
The Babylonians called Venus Ishtar, their goddess of love and war—very similar to Aphrodite/Venus.
Venus was extremely important in Babylonian astronomy and astrology.
For Egyptians, Venus was associated with goddess Isis and also sometimes Hathor.
Egyptians noted its dual role in the sky and had separate names for its morning/evening appearances.
In Chinese cosmology, Venus is called “Taibai” (太白), meaning the “Great White” star, it is associated with metal in the Five Elements (Wuxing).
Hard to see in the photo I snapped as I drove over the Cross Island Bridge this morning, but there was Venus.
As C. S. Forester writes in Hornblower and the Hotspur, ” Over there was Venus, shining out in the evening sky. This sea air was stimulating, refreshing, delightful. Surely this was a better world than his drained nervous condition allowed him to believe.”
I see Venus.
I think of my Dad.
I think of my kids and grandkids.
And I think, surely this is a better world than my drained nervous condition allows me to believe.
splish, splash, splosh, slosh, spill end of the morning coffee last sip on the stairs
I had this four cup drip coffee maker in college.
The way it was built, when the coffee was done, the last bit of water in the maker would be blown in out in one big and loud cloud of steam.
‘Coffee’s Ready!’ my roommates would yell when they heard it even though no one else drank coffee.
My roommates could time there day by the sounds it made as I made a pot when I got up, an afternoon pot around lunch time if I was home or later when I got back from class and a third pot after dinner.
And I drank it all.
And maybe bought coffee when I was on campus.
3 or 4 pots of coffee and I still had that feeling of disappoint as I emptied the pot of its last drops and wondered if I should make another pot.
Coffee had to be at the top of my weekly expenses.
At the same time I remember having no problems napping or sleeping at any time (or conversely, staying up all night if I had too).
Now I am down to a pot of coffee in the morning.
It gurgles and gurgles as the timer starts it up before my alarm clock goes off.
Two cups start my day and I pour a third and sip at through the morning.
When I work from home, I work in the upstairs guest bedroom and I bring my cup along and set in front of me on my desk.
At some point I make the switch to ice water in a travel cup and I grab my half filled coffee cup and head downstairs.
Holding my cup I look fondly at the now cool brown liquid and I think of those days of 12 cups of coffee a day.
And I think one more sip.
I raise the cup to my lips and my head steady/
That I am going downstairs doesn’t enter my mind.
I take a step down, I raise my cup and maybe get a sip before the I sloash and splash coffee all over my face, shirt and the steps.
Here’s the point.
I DO THIS ALMOST EVERYDAY!
Why can’t I learn to stop on my way down?
Why can’t I learn to wait until I reach the kitchen?
Will I ever learn?
If I do, will I forget by tomorrow?
Notice my St Jude medallion – Any web developer worth his download speed keeps something handy in reference to the patron saint of lost causes.
courts have to pretend anything normal about these criminal charges
When asked about things that surprise me here in the 21st Century, I hold out my iPhone.
I make the point that in the Science Fiction writing about the future worlds either as projections of our future or dystopian what-might-have beens, no one, not HP Lovecraft, Issac Asimov or even Stephen King predicted a world where almost everyone carried some kind of computer with more computing power of all of NASA when the USA went to the moon in their hands and that almost everyone would be able to be contacted anywhere in the world.
No one saw the iPhone or handheld device.
It was “inconceivable!” (To quote Vizzini from the movie Princess Bride (who was played by Wallace Shawn, SON OF William Shawn, longtime editor of the New Yorker Magazine).
I mention all that to set the mood for my next point.
Remember that word, inconceivable.
There is this line in an opinion piece in the New York Times I read on Sunday, October 12, 2025.
The line reads:
In other words, do courts have to pretend that there’s anything normal about these criminal charges?
The piece is titled, How a Trump Judge Exposed the Trump Con By David French.
I am not here today to debate the points made by the Mr. French.
I am not here today to debate the actions of anyone on either side in the piece written by Mr. French.
All I want to say is that on this day, someone writing in the New York Times about Criminal Charges brought by the current administration against Americans asked the question, “, … do courts have to pretend that there’s anything normal about these criminal charges?“
I am not sure that such a question, in history or in fiction, has ever been asked in such a way about the United States Judicial system.
In fact, I would use the word, inconceivable!
Maybe during the McCarthy era?
Not in any way do I want to be boxed into the corner of DEFENDING the McCarthy Era but at least he made charges that Americans were turning to side with our biggest enemy.
False as it might have been, it was a charge you could understand.
MY GOSH I AM DEFENDING JOE MCCARTHY!
OH my offense is rank.
BOOOY Howdy!
Lets say that one more time.
In other words, do courts have to pretend that there’s anything normal about these criminal charges?
Where does that put us?
In the movie Casablanca, Victor and Ilsa want to meet with Señor Ugarte but Ugarte was arrested the night before.
Meeting in the police station, they are told by Major Strasser that if they met with Ugarte, they “… would find the conversation a trifle one-sided. Señor Ugarte is dead.
“Oh?” says Ilsa.
Captain Renault looks up form his report and says, “I am making out the report now. We haven’t quite decided yet whether he committed suicide or died trying to escape.”
In the Casablanca of that day, the courts had to pretend that there WAS everything normal about those criminal charges.
No Haiku For You 