Lost Transition
A stealthy summer segue comes upon us.
Maples launch whirlygigs twirling down
into crispy leaf mounds
that delight shrieking kids
jumping at parasol milkweed seeds floating by.
Patio furniture yearns to come inside for the coming times
along with migrating field mice
seeking warmth from now summer silent furnaces.
There is assurance in knowing we have
an envelope of comfort waiting to shelter us.
Now, amid pumpkins, bonfires, and apple cider doughnuts,
we celebrate change with our harvest of bounty,
a transition stolen from folks in Texas, Florida and Puerto Rico,
who find their reality of change despair
strewn around them as flotsam, flattened trees, and besotted loss.
A seasonal shift with hope berift
.
-Jerry Wendt 2017
All feathered and laced
quite strategically placed
as every girl knew
it was all in the view
for such was the trade of our fabulous Lillian LaDeaux
Those boys far from home
knew Lillian’s aplomb
as she strutted her stuff
baring barely enough
truly studied finesse of Lillian Ladeaux
With her generous buxom
they wanted to reach out and pluck some
as LaDeaux bumped and ground
to the joint’s raucous sound
She loved the attention, our Lillian LaDeaux
With a smile on her painted face
She charmed the whole place
And sent them into ecstasy
with frenzied intensity
all part of the charm of Lillian Ladeaux
They’d stand at the bar
four deep for our star
for the briefest glimpse
they fawned like limp wimps
it was all in apt admiration of Lillian Ladeaux
Dear La Deaux was a power on stage
but it wasn’t primarily her wage
for Lillian always left them below wanting more
but not on the second floor
Where there was barter for the “all” of Lillian Ladeaux
Alas, ladies of certain age
have trouble on stage
in flaunting their stuff
trying to give them enough
It was the end of her run, Dear Lillian Ladeaux
That day poor Lillian was forced out
no more audience left to shout
But you can still go meet her
She’s now "Lil," the local Walmart Greeter
So that is the end of the fabulous Lillian Ladeaux
-Jerry Wendt 2017
The lake bottom was squishy mud
with water plants that wound around your feet,
and sometimes fishes nibbled on toes.
There were ferns under the shady oaks.
If you walked through them you got ticks,
and Mom yelled at you cause she had to stop and remove them
Mostly dinner was cooked outside.
the kids had to set up the grill.
which never met with Dad’s approval
The cottage was tiny,
There was no heat,
and morning dew settled wet into blankets
There was an outside shower,
the water was numbing cold,
and shivers were the everydays’ greeting
We kids ran wild all day,
Baseball, Hide-n-seek, statues,
and you’d think all would be tuckered by dusk
Nightfall brought conclave in Coleman lantern reflections
playing games like Clue, and Hearts, and Monopoly
and sharing scarey stories with burnt s’mores
Bedtime was early
cause daybreak came earlier
and it took two tries to roust us out of bed
Cicadas and lightening bugs ruled the night
mosquitoes plagued finding sleep
and it took a stinky spray to allow slumber
Even with all this rigamarole
bad recollections seem to have slipped away from me
and I remember summers at the Lake as the best times ever.
-Jerry Wendt 2017
Margo and Tilly
Large as a two year old
they sat upon the
hob nail beige chenille bedspread
two home-sewn Raggedy Ann style dolls
Only there was no Andy,
just two similar girls,
Margot and Matilda,
“Margo and Tilly”
They wore black yarn pigtails
and gingham pinafores.
I could play with them
but they had to stay on the bed.
Many times I would crawl up,
a silly seven year old,
and cuddle and fall asleep
with Margo- my favorite.
It was disclosed many years later
asking Mom why she was so sad
every October,
and she finally told me.
Before me there were twins;
girls- I was told were perfect beauties,
but they were premature
and lived only two weeks.
Mom was deeply grieved
but a couple years later went forward
and birthed me
probably why I was so cherished a gift
So I am sure to this day
that those big rag dolls on her bed
were her remembrances of my sisters
Margo and Tilly
-Jerry Wendt 2017
I told Tyler
“When the ice cream truck makes music
it means they are out of ice cream.”
Guilt overcame me
So I called him to the kitchen table
and told him that wasn’t truth.
My son asked,
“Why did you do that to me Dad?”
I said it would introduce distrust
to prepare him to cope in the real world.
But this was my bigger lie,
It really tore the fabric of his innocence,
the very essence of the beauty
we so love in our children.
-Jerry Wendt 2017
“
Now our eagerly anticipated award - best actress in a leading role. The nominees are:
Miss Dahlia Doris (Dee Dee) Monastro in “Maize,” an Iowa woman entangled in a suspenseful espionage mission.
Constance Cummings in “Hearts Voyage,” a sweeping historical saga set in the California gold rush.
Sylvia Barclay in “Desert Passage,” family drama of life in the bleak Sahara. And...
MaryAnn Salisbury in “The Marquesa of Lucca,” an aristocrat defeating blight in Italian olive orchards ,
And the winner is...
Sylvia Barclay !
Barclay (In Voce Udibile) : out loud
“I am thrilled to be honored by the Academy and my peers, in recognizing this work . This is a formidable group of talented actresses I am among today. I hope I give my very best to my fans aspiring to quality entertainment . You have shown me accolades ,and tonight I come to my epitome of acknowledgement. I am ever indebted. I must mention my very talented director, Daniel Bertoli , my Producer Stan Latrobe, for his vision to see the project through , my indispensable assistant Karen Behning for attending to my every need, and special shout out to costume designer Karen Harding who was inspired in dressing me for this film. This was a team ; one I am very proud to be part of. I could not have accomplished it without you. Consider me blessed for the opportunity in making a film that has captured the hearts of so many. My humble Thanks.
Barclay (Espresso Internamente): internally
“Honored; Yeah: especially grabbing ‘Oscar’ away from that conceited bitch Connie, who has so much pancake on , all she needs is some syrup to be a complete meal.
Or that dolt ‘MISS Dee Dee’ who can’t hold on to a man thru a weekend affair. That ‘flower’ has been ‘pollinated’ so many times during her filming they call her “Revolving Doris.” Look at Monastro out there right now- she’s ogling Johnny Weissmuller . I bet she’d just LOVE to wipe her hands on Tarzan’s loincloth; the slut.
Praise be, they finally overlooked Salisbury, telling the tabloids how she was slaving away -Yeah?- in yet another ‘horror show’ filming on a air-conditioned sound stage, when I am sweating my ass off on location in the African desert; where I can’t beg, borrow, or steal enough ice for one lousy gin-n-tonic. Jesus, kill me if I EVER agree to a location film again. Oh, those biting flies. That stupid schmuck kid sent to get stinking ointment from town- didn’t work worth shit- so the ninny stood off camera fanning flies away with a feather duster - limp wristed little fairy !
I care less about all these lackeys. ‘Producer Schlamoosher’- I’m the talent engine bringing in the box office bucks, not those old Jewish monied prep school rejects.
Those friggin costumes?; HAH, that frump Karen would have wrapped me up to the neck in safari drag . Doesn’t she know my tits are my ticket to big audiences? Screw her, I scissored all my wardrobe to show more cleavage. I’m must be nuts for still schlepping in this rat race. This little statue better bring lots more money and damned better picture deals- closer to home and dear little Carlos, my Puerto Rican pool boy. Now where can I get a drink in this dump?”
