If you look across the street from where my Dad’s office was on North Marion Avenue in Washington, Iowa, you will see the office building that houses the staff of The Washington Evening Journal.
It was early in the morning when Sven Svensen entered the Sistine Chapel to clean the floor.
Sven bar Sven swept the wood floors of Bethlehem’s Hanukah Inn, trying to keep pace with the flood of people who had returned to their hometown for the Census.
Big D was the nephew of one of the founders of a company I worked for in the Sacramento area. He had just graduated with a BSEE from Texas A & M and, like a typical 22 year-old Aggie he knew everything about everything, or so he thought. He may have understood a little something…… Continue reading Big D
The autumn had been long and dry. The winds had rushed in from the South, parching the only arable land, leaving a scant harvest. But it would do. The food would last until early summer; and, with a little extra work in the spring, they would survive.
. . . Mr. Tweedledum? Here. Ms. Verbose? Here. Mr. Zeus? Here. Good morning. I am Professor Pooff.Welcome to English 113X: Deepness In the Depths of Poetic Depthosity.Some rivers course broad and shallow,our river runneth narrow and deep.Deeper than the grandest canyon,deeper than the deepest ocean trench,more powerful than a locomotive. We will shroud our…… Continue reading English 113X
When he was young,He’d dreamOf fair ones fewWith far felt mindsAnd locks of sunlight’s dew. And then he spiedThe hourglassWhose sands runAs water flows,And still his dreams wereOf fair ones fewAnd the bitter rose. And as the sunlight dancedUpon the golden waves,He’d stareInto the hourglassAs hours passedAnd left his dreamsTo sufferIn the prison cellsWith golden…… Continue reading When He Was Young