NAPKIN WORDS #91 2011 - Dedicated to my Brother-In-Law Mike Prevor

1. ATTACHMENTS OF A DAY
There are two things that are always waiting
your tomorrow.

One is today.

The other is the day after tomorrow!

2. WHY IT IS
Only the wise can hear a joy of silence, when
amid a crowd that is loud and noisy.

It is not because they are smarter, it’s just that
they know to step outside and take that moment!

3. ECONOMICS 2011
Don’t be a fool, pick up the penny.

In these modern times, the wisest way to amass a
fortune is to save every penny you can, and do it,
time after time, day after day!

4. THE KINDNESS UPSTAIRS
Always remember that you get no credit upstairs
for the kindness of others.

The ledger of your own kindness is the only record
you should be concerned about. For it is the only
record which might be read, both here and there!

5. THE FUTURE WAY
Understand and expect the fear of tomorrow.

Just don’t preach it.

Just don’t practice it.

Face it, whatever it might be.

Then, when awakening tomorrow, just go on.

Remember that fear is always possible tomorrow,
just as joy, love, laughter, friends, family, nature,
adventure, also are possibilities of tomorrow. They
are just another part making up the whole of life!

6. PHILOSOPHY OF EDWARD HUNTER
No matter who you are, if I thought you had less, I
tried to insure that, in the future, you had more.

It is just my way.

It is just my creed!

7. SKY ARCS
I am the path where the moon walks, when
darkness blinds the flesh of eyes, hides the
wonder of cobbled streets conceived from
bricks baked in rainbow kilns, then used
for passage by human kin. Watch, for I am
always bending the air with water and light!

DREAMING SKY

From fear, not contentment, imprints
of our holdings echoes free of
wafting.

Awash in a dreaming sky, dark possibilities
question shade shadows, as nightmares
gallop, stirring inky dust air in
ruffles of time.

In labor, flesh shudders upon beams of time
working hours,
nothing but passing minutes of scalding
tongues, like shredded fog smothering
mushrooms upon a mythical forest floor.

Cursing, so burial bricks of sun listen to laughter,
whistle sounds of calendar pages, makers of
years, breeders of joyous things. Such it is to
stars gone by, hopes of one dancing sky in a
lifetime of darkness, trembles and tremors
of dawns yet to be.


by Edward Hunter