The Spunky & The Pumpkin Meet.

For those of you who have never met My Pal Spunky, let me introduce you to him.

My little white tiger.Spunky, the little white tiger was the first of his siblings to do everything and without a fear in his snowy pure heart. And thus was born a name.

He learned many things along the way, one of which was taught him by his mother Kitty.

Gray cat with glow in the dark green eyes.You know what you taught him Kitty. Kitty helped me during my early months after my fall in my home. I assure you, she is much more intelligent than this picture would imply.

What did she teach Spunky?

Kat-fuThe art of Cat-Fu.

Kitty In ReposeMomma did not say knock her out, Spunky. but Spunky was trained to face any challenge or surprise encounter that came before him.

Then one day Spunky was roused from his resting slumber.

Spunky_In_Chair.jpgSpunky had never seen the inside of a pumpkin before, let alone one with a light emitting from it. And Spunky, having earned his name decided to investigate.

spunky_pumpkin1 A simple touch and glimpse did not suffice his cattious curiosity. Therefore, he decided to investigate further.

spunky_pumpkin2Exactly what he saw or heard that day no one knows, but from the expression on his face, it must have been something eye opening.

spunky_pumpkin3Not long afterwards, later that evening a mysterious image appeared on the carved tree of the pumpkin, looking oddly enough like a cat with a wizards hat. Striped tail and all.

spunky_pumpkin4

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

2014 © Copyright-All rights reserved by ronovanwrites.wordpress.com

 

Advertisements

Lemon Squares and Stupid Boys

Lemon Squares and Stupid Boys

by: Ronovan

 Lemon Squares

“What’s wrong, Becky?”

“I don’t get it, Jonesy.” I kept my eyes on the people across the street. “Why would Old Chubs kick Mrs. P out? She’s lived here longer than anyone else.” 

“Your dad said her sons won’t help her pay the rent since Mr. P died.”

“Ugh! Boys are so stupid and mean!” 

“Really?” Jonesy asked. 

I glared at him. “You don’t count. You know what I mean.” 

Brown eyes stared at me.

“Besides, who is going to make us lemon squares now? Mom can’t make them. She pretty much sucks at those.” I thought for a moment. I thought so hard my brain hurt. “Wait! Maybe she could sell lemon squares and make money for rent.” I jumped up.

“Sit down, Becky,” Jonesy said. “It’s too late. They’re bringing her out now.” 

I watched a policeman help Mrs. P down the steps. Chubs stood on the sidewalk, and looked up at the window of the apartment. The flowerbox was full and overflowing with purple and yellow somethings. 

“I hate him,” I said. 

“Hate’s one of the biggest little words there is.” 

“Hush up, Jonesy.” I wasn’t in the mood to hear what was right and wrong. I knew people had to pay bills and stuff, I just hated that her sons were so stupid. Six sons and they couldn’t put in a little each to help her with bills? “She did all the nasty stuff for them when they were babies. They should do something.” 

The door opened behind us. “Becky, it’s time for lunch.” I looked up at Mom. She glanced at Chubs and frowned. “Make sure to clean Jonesy’s feet off before he comes in and hang his leash up. You keep throwing it on the floor. He’s yours remember, so you have to do things right.” Mom closed the door.

I looked down and scratched Jonesy’s golden head. “You better take care of me when I get older, Jonesy or no more hotdogs for snacks when Mom isn’t looking.” 

Jonesy licked my face. “Eww … Jonesy, I know where that tongues been!”

 

© Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites©.wordpress.com-June 25, 2014.

Bus Stop Stories: Society Killin’ Villain (A Poem And Commentary)

Bus Stop

You think you know it

What is this neighborhood

But the truth is for real

A truth you’ve never understood

 

There isn’t any violence

We got no old age attacks

Young men were jeans

And old ones Armani slacks

 

You keep just keep on talking

About crime you don’t know

Bring all your cameras in here

Faking like a reality show

 

You’re not from here

Don’t talk like you know me

You’re style is so weak

You have to steal creativity

 

Take no offense

At what I’m deliverin’

Cause you’re just the most recent

Of society killin’ villain

 

You come in here

Trying to make us look bad

When all you ever do

Is play up to some cheap trending fad

 

Who’s the real big man

When it comes to society

The man who spreads lies

Or the one with integrity

 

We may not all have

All the things that you’ve got

But where I’m from

We choose what we’ve not

 

See those two oldies

Those walking over there

When I was born

They gave my mom a high chair

 

That man over there

He just lost his wife

But you know what

We keep helping him with life

 

This is our home

Not some TV stereotypes

It takes all kinds

Even some like you lowlifes

 

So take your cameras

And your promises

Then move your behinds

Off our premises

 

The film crew didn’t really know what to do at that point as Rod finished. The crowd that had gathered was cheering and that seemed to give the crew a clue. They and their slum dressed star slipped away as the bus started to slow down. Rod was a hero. A hero in our small block of the town.

Bus Stop Stories: Crumpled Fedora

Rod and Emerile were laughing. Rod nodded, I returned with a weak smile. He picked it up quickly.

The figure next to me held the brim of a fedora slowly twisting it out of shape. Rod elbowed Emerile. Both went silent staring up the street as if looking for the bus.

Fingers squeezed into fists around the felt. They trembled as they settled upon his knees.

An occasional sigh was cut off by chocking sounds. He placed the fedora snuggly over his knee and gently took his left hand in his right. His thumb barely touched the ring Continue reading

Bus Stop Stories: Margaret and Martin-Choosing Your Battles

Never drive in a big city, you miss too much of life. The bus stop outside my apartment building is located where several cultures meet, makes for interesting observations. Take Margaret and Martin, 45 years married, a lot of life to learn from.

“Martin, I really think we should get one,” Margaret said.

“I don’t think so,” Martin said.

“But we need one.”

“Nah, we’re fine.”

“How can you say that?”

“Haven’t needed one so far.”

“So you say.” Margaret crossed her arms around her purse and stared at the cracked pavement in front of her. Martin sitting next to her on the bus stop bench stared into the distance. I saw his lips moving. “Three, two, one…”

“But dear if we got one we would be so much better off really. All the other girls are getting them. Why, even Phil is getting Florence one.” Margaret thought pulling in one of his buddies would help convince him.

“Phil’s an idiot.”

“Now is that anyway to talk? Seriously, he is one of your best friends.”

“Every group needs an idiot in the bunch.”

“Hmph.”

I could see a slight twitch at the corners of Martin’s mouth. He held back his grin of victory. Martin was a smart man, he had survived 67 years, 45 with Margaret, by knowing when to be quiet.

Their bus arrived and they stood as the door stopped in front of them, Martin holding Margaret’s arm as she stepped onto the bus, and him following behind with their fare. I didn’t know what it was that Margaret thought they needed but I did know if it had been something special Martin would have caved instantly. Martin chose his battles. Lesson learned at the bus stop.