"It little profits that an idle king, by this still hearth, among these barren crags matched with an aged wife..."

This is a quote I often heard my grandfather mumbling as he would make his way from his old leather recliner to the dinner table at exactly 6:00 p.m. every night. He would always trail off right as he got to his seat, making "aged wife" nearly inaudible. My grandmother would have the table set neatly, exactly the same as she had it set the day before and probably the same way she's been setting it her whole life. Always the same. 

Repetition described my grandmother perfectly. She would make lists and schedules and would abide by them strictly. She was never a minute off, never, and my grandfather couldn't stand it. My grandfather's age eventually caught up with him though. No more working, no more boating, no more fishing, swimming, or even leaving the house for any reason other than church. He was held captive in his household and captive to my grandmother and all of her schedules. 

I can now see how much this bothered him. He had lived the majority of his life unpredictably, going where he wanted, when he wanted and never apologizing for it. He never dreamed of having to spend the last years of his life wasting away. 

He died just a couple years ago, before I ever saw this side of him, and though he made have died an idle king, he certainly will not be remembered as one. 

literary magazine

In last year's lit mag I liked the incorporation of graphics into the text. The theme also helped the flow of the issue and made a smooth transition between the different groups (solid, liquid, gas, plasma). The different graphics, layouts, and fonts kept it interesting, though sometimes the contrast was overwhelming. Some of the photos were fuzzy, and I would hope that we wouldn't have that problem this year. Different from previous literary magazines, the one last year seemed to reach the target audience better. Basically, the older ones looked boring, and I was less excited about reading them. 

Oh, and personally I like the smaller pages better. 

observation poem

It's an uphill street

but that doesn't faze him.

He's done this before.

This may not be a mountain

or even a race,

but it's just as important.

His real cycling days are over

way over

but 

on the small trip from work to home

he relives it all 

the sweat

the pain

the satisfaction

and if only for twenty minutes,

he feels alive.

underneath the rubble (poem)

underneath the rubble

a golden key lay.

rust covered a once shiny surface

its existence is unknown

as are the secret places it dares to unlock

such places

only found in playful minds of adolescents

or wandering imaginations of young souls

such power

could come from use of this key

but it remains hidden

forever 

beneath the rubble

of lost childhood

and forgotten dreams

recipe poem

two slices of bread

opposites

on one, peanut butter

creamy and smooth

never disrupted by "chunky-ness"

the other 

gracefully decorated with jelly

(grape of course)

and when these two sides meet

it's magic

perfect

if only for a moment

the lone tree standing

bare from winter's icy chill

dead 'til spring returns

Decorative

Elegant

Christmas

Eve

Merry

Beautiful

Evergreens

Reindeer

Bigger Mistake Than George Bush

Palin.

I Remember poem

I remember

  your smiles,

  your comfy living room,

  your "homemade" food.

I remember

  your sense of humor,

  your laughter,

  your memories.

I remember 

  sitting on your lap,

  waking up Christmas morning in your house,

  giving you the biggest bear hugs imaginable.

I try not to remember

  your yelling,

  your anger,

  how strict you could be.

But the day you left and how it came too soon, now that's something I'll never forget.