The market place was “buzzing” with activities. Though the flies swarmed around the food stall, that didn’t deter the passers-by to ogle at the delicous sweets. Thwap!!  the owner killed a fly with a fly catcher.

The love birds chirped in unison while little puppies were whimpering in the pet shop.

Some more examples of onomatopoeia

“chirping” birds
“Buzzing” bees
Honking cars
Guzzling waterfall
squeaking rats
splashing water
twinkling stars
“ribbit ribbit” goes frog
“bow bow” “meow meow”
falling with a “thud”
“boom” “clank” “Pow”

Many poets and writers have used onomatopoeia in their poems and books for example Gulliver’s travel. Comic books are filled with onomatopoeialike pow, boom, thwip

 My previous post on onomatopoeia. Here I have tried to sketch a moment of our life with onomatopoeia words.

http://authspot.com/thoughts/onomatopoeia-3/

Someone informed me today that my Coffee Lovers article has been stolen. I would appreciate any information such as who stole it and where it is located. I need to inform Triond. I suppose we will always have this problem and just have to stay on top of it.

It’s hot here in Georgia and I am spending a lot of time in my swing on our deck. I have a fan overhead and I can lay there and hear the birds singing and squirrels chattering. It’s where I am doing my recuperating. I also take a book and sit in the shade by the pool for a change of scenery. I think I have read all the Ann Rules and other books of interest. I still have stacks of reading that I planned to read when I had time.  Now seems to be the time.

Lionel has been very patient. He cooks and does what is necessary when I’m not up to it. He’s a life saver. I sometimes get tired of staying in and he takes me riding around to see the countryside. My children and grandchildren have been a blessing. My granddaughter came yesterday to keep us company. She made a tasty salad and served watermelon to boot.

I hope all of you are enjoying our beautiful spring weather and getting out in nature. Take care everyone and I hope to be back soon.  Your friend, Ruby

“…Choose the right one or pick, pick the kiddies up…” – Outkast’s Big Boi from the Underground Kingz (UGK) record “International Player’s Anthem (I Choose You)”

    At the present time, I have my mind on a Spanish queen who stays with a fresh pair of Jordans to match her immaculate nails.  Let’s call her The N, a title similar to the alias of her favorite rapper Nas.  She is training to be among the women warriors who comprise the United States Marine Corps (USMC).  When she worked as a cashier at that big, beautiful money-bucket Burlington Coat Factory (BCF), she was always sharp, playful, and responsive.

    She can also recall conversations from weeks ago and discuss them as if they were as new as dew on the grass at dawn.  Upon returning from her vacation she promptly asked me whether I had contacted Don Diva Magazine publisher Tiffany Chiles.  (Of course I reached you Ms. Chiles and I know that you are extremely busy working on the next issue but please holla back at your boy).  The N had remembered my plans to start a magazine and without hesitation demanded of me results.  Her dedication (and body dimensions) remind me of a chick I was really digging in 2006.

   I met I. (”eye dot”) in the sleepy mountains of Front Royal, Virginia in January ‘06.  Aside from her proud Indian-like cheekbones wrapped in reddish brown skin and an abundant posterior, this girl had a lot going for her.  I soon learned that this fine little lady from the nation’s capital studied three languages, boxed on the regular, and picked up ballet.  Additionally, that following month she showed off her dancing skills at a talent show held by the non-profit organization that brought us to Virginia. 

    We would get up early to go eat breakfast and attend activities together whenever possible.  We exchanged contact information in hopes of staying in touch while being physically out of reach.  Alas, with this being my first attempt at establishing a long distance relationship, I soon realized that we both were way too busy with our own lives (I was then the president of Brothers and Sisters Student Union (BASSU)).  Also, because we would not see each other for another six months, our little love connection finally imploded.  After not calling me back on several occasions during that time, I figured that the whole situation just failed to work for me.  At a graduation ceremony associated with that non-profit group, I saw her waiting in line to get refreshments.  I walked by her without saying a word; I haven’t seen her since that night.

    With the N, I am starting to sense those same patterns of not being in each other’s company.  Sure, I had bagged for her at times but come on, a few minutes on BCF’s clock is nothing compared to enjoying a delicious Italian feast together. Actually, I still look forward to the day we finally get to share that meal.  Her faithfulness in listening to my dreams is the primary reason I have put so much interest into this goddess.  While I talk to her about the pros and cons of online advertising, she directs her twinkling green eyes toward me as if she could see the words fly off of my lips.

    The N’s fidelity when she faces any person, problem, challenge, or circumstance is unparalleled.  The fact that she has chosen to become a Marine impresses me more than all of I.’s skills and abilities combined. The N knows she can be who she wanna be. 

    As a decider, I have picked the N as a prototype of what attributes any girlfriend needs to have in order to be on my team.  In fact, I’m thinking about her even as my other eye (but not my mind) focuses on a little chocolate girl which has crossed my path. Now, I know that the N possesses more potential in her painted pinkie nail than this cupcake, but the tiny treat might be a boss jumpoff.

    In the end, I’m more inclined to use the head on my shoulders rather than the one which resides in my boxers.  The N simply takes up most of my thinking.  Any item that occupies my thoughts that much must be something special.

                           I choose you,

                           S.S.

P.S. I have great news to share with you.  I’ll tell you all about it on 19 OCT 2007.

P.P.S. What does the ‘B’ in your middle name mean?

© 2009 All rights reserved. No portion of this document can be used without written permission of the writer. Prosecution to the fullest extent of the law will be enforced.

Mom,

I hope everything is well on your side of the world.  Now, to address the message you sent me, I think that I express myself freely every single time (including now) we communicate.  Your motherly love is not in question.  I, though, sit behind my laptop screen in quizzicality as I read lines referring to how we spoke mother to son years ago. 

I realize my position as an elder sibling and a potential agent to direct  Richie towards paths of glory.  Up to this point, I find that I have said everything to you that has needed to be said.  Additionally,  The only situation that might be viewed as ‘unfair’ and ‘a big letdown’ would be if I groveled and whined about my setbacks, slips, jam-ups and petty fiascoes.

Finally, I keep my private discussions (the content and any references to them) with people (like you) I encounter rigidly confidential.  In fact,  it is literally (with all due respect, Mom) none of your business the conversations I might hold with my dad, Lanavia, my Staff Sgt or the new President of the United States of America. As this reality stands, I do afford you opportunities to ask specific questions concerning my disposition.  With liberty, fly queries my way at any time of your convenience.

S.S.

Dear Employees and Patrons of the Tabard Inn,

I impart cheery greetings to you all on behalf of my new companions on our journey to Canterbury.  The travels, I must say, have been quite splendid for a pilgrimage. The frequent April showers are never a bother but rather rain-blessings. The roads are like carpets that smoothly carry our caravan. The ale that I sip from time to time is of good season.  The pilgrims are, of course, the best part of an excellent trip. They are bold and colorful and unique and above all the liveliest bunch I have ever met. I am fascinated at some of the pilgrim-pairs that appear. There are a father and a son, brothers, and two shady fellows nearing the back.  Thus far, everyone has heeded to my story decree, to my delight.  With such a numerous band as ours, roughly thirty or so, we have also wholly succeeded (thanks be to God!) in escaping the disruptions of any thieves.  Fear not such dread, though, for if any devil dared disturb this group, they would first have to answer to pilgrims like the Knight.

This gentleman of the highest rank in our cavalcade takes his noble post most seriously.  Since this expedition began, I have only witnessed his kindness and stately courage.  Whenever he encounters one of the women of our band, he is always decent and displays his noble refinement.  Although I know not much of his past engagements, I can say that he seems severe as if he just arrived from battle.  Even with this solemnity about him, the Knight is actually the humblest of the humble!  Yes, he has fine horses (what self respecting Knight wouldn’t?) but his clothes are rather conservative.  If only I could say the same for the clothes of his son, the Squire.  What flashiness this young man exudes with his embroidered attire, bursting with flowers of red and white. This walking garden of a lad often intones a song or plays a tune on his flute.  Everything, from riding horses to writing poetry, he does (pray not for mere show) gracefully.  He is part pretentious and courteous; the Squire is well on his way to knighthood, and life-long service.  Someone who has an exemplar record of service is the Parson.

With this worthy individual, I sense his sincerity to sacredness.  In him I also find his propensity to show the impious the way to God.  While his finances are all but little, his faith and resolve to do right are abundant.  His pauper’s dress of brown cloth holds no bearings when matched against his richness in teaching. When he deals with some of the “not-so-righteous” pilgrims (myself included) he by no means has his nose in the air.  Never does he vilify a man except of course if he is greatly stubborn.  For example, as he offers the Doctor of this pilgrimage a Bible only to be met by refusal, he gets even; in the holiest way certainly.  He delivers a powerful, verbal Christian reprimand that is altogether concise and sharp that leaves the Doctor with looks of contrition.  A man of this caliber is the ideal Shepard for leading the flock who tour to Canterbury solely for their religion. One of these pious pilgrims is the Parson’s brother, the Plowman.  During the trip, I hear little from him but what I notice at first glance, are his clothes and his horse.  The tabard smock and mare give me the impression that he is just as poor as his brother.  He must be true as he finds it in his heart to give what modest earnings he has to people just as indigent as he. It looks as if he hasn’t the means to provide for himself, excluding anyone else. I bet he is (in his own eyes) only a God fearing worker. As I watch his actions, I find that it is hard work and more hard work that is his genuine strength. He takes the time to not only wash and feed his mare, but also the other Pilgrims’ horses as well. I assume that his plowing must begin at the first sight of the sun until the last view of the same.  He might be the most diligent pilgrim of the trip.  The Summoner, who may not be as industrious as the Plowman, is in fact, a member of the church.

This man, minus the lying to people about the salvation of their souls and the atrocious hygiene, really is not all that bad.  Yes his pimples and whelks look like cauliflower, sprouting from his face. And yes, he reeks of garlic and onions and sin, all of which stink to high heaven.  He is though, one of the funniest (forgive me) drunks I ever did see. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he drinks more than me. I’m thinking about making a VIP section for him back at the Tabard! At any rate, during the trip, when a sea of red wine replaces his humors, he (and this is quite peculiar) tends to shout out “Carpe Diem” and other Latin tags.  To any passing pilgrim he gives the same sign; he raises his goblet, smiles, says the tag, and gulps down the wine. The poor pilgrim who comes his way trots off with a perplexing look on their face.  I mustn’t forget his inconsistencies however.  On the day that he takes away a man’s sin, so does he commit the same transgression.  Even with this fact, I think this man has a great sense of physical comedy.   Maybe if he quits his current profession and finds work as a jester, he may not find himself in such hypocrisy.  Riding along with the Summoner is the Pardoner who should also take interest in a career change.  If you ever do come in contact with this fellow, first of all, don’t accept any relics. Then, take note of what a one-man-farce he is. Flaxen he is and long is his golden hair that hangs past his shoulders.  Only a tiny relic-adorned cap covers a portion of his flowing locks.  He has bulbous eyes that look as if marble stones were shoved in and then were left protruding from his head.  His tiny voice and whisker-free face give me the notion that he is of a more feminine persuasion. He carries with him his false artifacts and finds success in selling them to naïve countrymen.  Indeed, I hear, his bogus cause often nets considerably more money from churchgoers than a parson!  With these adverse qualities, he is a gifted singer and storyteller.  Over a few drinks, I tend to ask of him hearty jokes, which he grants.  When he tells me the tale about how avarice leads to evil, I find it rather amusing coming from him. As far as morals go it’s a bit funny that a man of his shifty ways should tell a story so sound in judgment of right and wrong. Save for his counterfeit practices, I guess, the Pardoner is of fine company.

Of these individuals, do you see how I am able to tell of such merry salutations?  I draw close to these pairs of characters as I see the connection that links each one.  The Squire is essentially his father in his youth added the excessive garb.  Both the Parson and the Plowman are of low class status but are elevated in devoutness.  The Summoner and the Pardoner are clever energetic comedians who have stumbled upon the wrong work.  This pilgrimage has proven to be superb adventure both in tales and in actual life.  So, in closing, I hope you will raise a glass for me at the Inn.  I will be home in good time.  Cheers!

Sincerely,

The Host

you meant absolutely nothing to me. I didn’t love you. I hardly even liked you. I only said yes because I felt like I had to for your sake. Now I’m with someone new. Someone I love. Someone that treats me the way you were too pitiful to treat me. I don’t mention you to people when they ask if I had a boyfriend before my love. I say I don’t count you because you don’t matter to me

Dear friends,

I need better friends than you. For some of you I say I hate you behind your back. For one of you whenever I hear your voice I’m tempted to punch you in the face. You can’t even manage to seem like you know a single thing even on the computer with all those bountiful resources. You act like you’re better than me when really you’re just a train wreck of retardedness and just don’t know what to do with yourself other than push your boobs out, wear barely any clothing, then act like you’re insecure. But for my other friends… I love you guys and you guys are usually there for me XOXO

Dear person I love,

I love you so much and all I can say it that I wish you loved me back right now.We may fight but why do you have to discard me every time. Knock me down. Give me a little glimmer of hope and then take it away. Why?  I just want you to love me like you used to, hold me like you used to, kiss me like you used to, talk to me like you used to! Did I make a mistake? Do you like someone else now? What did I do to deserve so much pain!? I thought you knew me better than that. All I want to do it love you but you give me no reason to anymore! But I still love you. The hurt I feel because of you out shines the love I feel… but it’s there.  I love you. XOXO

Dear future me,

I hope you aren’t as foolish as me… as stupid as me. I hope you succeed and get what you want. I hope you find wealth, love, and joy. I hope you live the high life where your biggest worry is if your clothes match. I hope you are never blinded from the people who were actually there for you opposed to the people who just brought you down. I hope you find true friends and true love and true happiness. I hope these expectations are not too high for you because I can’t wait to be where I hope you are. I mean sure you’ll go to hell because all of the things I’ve done but that’s just more of a reason to have fun now… or then… or there… YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN! XOXO

“Someone once said that two halves make a whole. And when two halves move in together, it makes a whole lot of stuff.” ~Carrie, Sex and the City

            Just when you thought that the world is against your happiness and will forever spend a life being alone…you woke up one morning and discovered the sweetest reality that “there is someone who is destined for you” gives you more than enough reason to look forward to every waking day hoping and praying that in the right time at the right place, a person will stand infront you, bring butterflies into your stomach, look into your eyes and sincerely says “I LOVE YOU”. That changes everything, filling those empty pieces that is within and completes you.

It was on that ordinary day of December when I finally knew I would never eat, walk and sleep alone again. It was on that moment that turned something ordinary to be magical and very special when YOU and I decided to be US. It was then that I found the one who today laughs, cries, sings and dances with me. The one who constantly remind me to eat breakfast and merienda in my busy and stressful working days. The one who makes me feel that I’m a hero like Superman, a heartthrob like Piolo and a popular coffee brand like Nescafe. The one who considers me as SM (I got it all for you),M&M (you melt in my mind but not in my heart) and Goldilocks (you’re the one) to which I replied Mcdo (love ko), Centrum (you complete me from a to z) and Nido (you’re my number one). But as they say, not all chocolates are sweet, so as relationships. Ours was tested by challenges and experienced hard times even at the beginning of it. We cried for days, had sleepless nights thinking if what we have is worth fighting for. We lost those so called “friends” along the painful process of saving what we call “ours” but ended up being happy.

And so I thank you for not surrendering, for not letting go of us. You fill the empty pieces within me. You made my every heartbeat special, and my every breath essential.  I HAVE YOU and that mattered, still matters and will forever matters to me. You are my inspiration, my big one true love, you’re the best thing that happened in my life and will be the most important thing for me today, tomorrow and forever.   Ever mine. Ever my love and my only one.

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way.” ~Pablo Neruda

          Why do I love you? … It must be your tantalizing eyes which cause me to melt like an ice cream, or maybe your captivating smile that flashes like a ray of sun which puts me into high, perhaps your soothing voice that plays like a melody to my ears, or it is your charming personality that captures my attention when you walk by.

          I may list down one thousand and one reasons about one thousand and one ways of how you made me fall under your spell called “love”, one thing I’m very sure of is that… I love you completely. Not only because of those eyes, smile, voice and even your personality. But the whole you. I love the depth that is in you, and not merely what others desire to see. I love the flaws and beauty within you, the light and dark sides that defines you and even your unpleasant past that haunts you. I love you not only as a plain lover, but as my partner, my bestfriend, my source of joy, inspiration and strength. I love you because i know no other way how to express the happiness you bring when you finally came into my life. I love you because I know no other way… than to be deeply in love with you every single day.

          So if you would dare to ask me again “Why do you love me?”  I will hold you in my arms so tight allowing you feel my heartbeat. Kiss you in your lips so sweet letting you feel my breath. And gently whispers into your ears “I LOVE YOU… BECAUSE YOU MADE MY LIFE COMPLETE”.

On the other side of the reserve, beyond the swings, even further than the small ranger cabins, the fence rests. It stands, like a defiant dog, not wanting to move, heartless and bitter. Beyond there are trees. Towering, piney trees, fallen over trees, decaying trees. A duck pond, scummy and unpleasant, lies bare of its future inhabitants. The wind wafts the stench of putrid underwater plant life towards me. The grass, long and uncut, sways softly back and forth. It is dry and dying, the drought had scorched everything in its path. A rabbit springs from below a log cabin, towards the deer feeder that sits on the left side of the enclosure. Food lies about, all willy-nilly from the deer that impatiently feed from the dispenser. It deftly leaks its way under the barrier, with a herd of deer trailing behind wanting a taste of the thick nectarous milk. Uninterested, I turn to the main enclosure, looking for something else.

Standing near the fences binding presence, I notice several brown mounds upon the upper yellow-green hill of the enclosure. A head pops up, and the mounds unexpectedly turn from shadowy figures into deer. I merely see two of them, laying in the shade beneath pine trees lifting their heavy branches of sharp dense needles. It is a doe whose head gradually rises. She is filthy, with skin that appears moth eaten. She gets up, restlessly, and begins to descend from the peak of the hill down gradually approaching the feeder. Her steps are hesitant; as if she is worried she will stumble or fall, as she descends. With a heavy heart, I watch her tortuously coping. She finally arrives at the feeder, tired. The rabbits pay no attention to her as they stuff themselves with browning lettuce leaves. She turns towards me, for she understands that I may have something to offer her.

I meander up to the fence, just as she does. We stand face to muzzle, her with large soulful doe eyes, mine with the eyes of a predator gone soft. She attempts to stroke my fingers, but the fences tight meshing scarcely allows a finger through it. She appears to understand my disappointment. I grab a handful of fresh newly-cut grass. I try to wedge it through the small openings in the fence, and the majority of the abrasive plant reaches the other side. The doe grasps it with her weary old mouth, and chews it with relish. Her eyes close for a moment, as if she were thinking of her youthful years of wellbeing and vitality. She then opens them. Her fur is rather tatty; there are noticeable bold patches where the hair won’t grow. She seems so emaciated and frayed. As I gaze at her turning away, I wonder where the other deer might have gone.

I hadn’t been to that park for a long time.