Picture of a Whale in Port of Sacramento Ship Basin

Sacramento River Whale

In 1985 we had Humphrey visit. This month we have a mother and her (now injured by a propeller) calf. Delta and Dawn

Never thought I’d see a 55 ton whale where I used to fish in 30 feet of fresh water 100 miles inland. Better yet, I never thought I’d see two of ‘em.

Wiccan Warriors

Tears fall from flesh made of seas older than beyond dreams, ever dropping to ground, ever gathered and spilled to ocean. Gravity defiant, rising to wind beyond the sky, heated by light yet unknown the mixed tears of child and whale, grandmother’s pie and warriors alike join in scudding tear water clouds. Ever renewed the cycle forms, falling onto cold stone mountains – tricklets into pools and ponds to run and drip to salve dry parched earth. Lakes and rivers of tears swell to rise to my endless thirsty mouth. Rain falls from sky as tears from my eyes. Un-owned they mark our dusty flesh, tracking death and birth, struggle, pain and joy – I cried them last, now they are yours, past and tomorrow they belong to legion. All of life, and death, all of time is found through our tears, emotion’s common mark of the singular well of struggle, shared across worlds by ancestor and newborn. Rain falls from sky, tears from our eyes, drunk by oceans beyond thought, nurturing both spirit and flesh. Always and again mountains breathe warm sunlight – weeping for our fallen and lost.

NB:

This piece wandered around my room in two chunks until the day I found out the VA had approved the Pentacle for use on veterans headstones. It then forged itself and I quenched it in my silly old-man tears. It is dedicated to all of us who have served and more so all who have fallen or will fall on behalf of our sacred oath to the Goddess Libertas.

Vitas, Libertas et apetito felicitas.

Suisun Bay

Due to the fact that Port Chicago was guarded and defended it had an amazing amount of undisturbed wildlife. Puma, possum, fox, owls, raccoons, coyote, Tule Elk, deer, jack rabbit, doves, squirrels, ducks, fat unhunted, unwary pheasant and bugs, lots of bugs. The bug man had a trick for every creature on the place that crawled or slid. Munitions don’t take kindly to slime and webs. They attract dust, grime and then moisture causing rust and decay so the exterminator’s job was endless. We had gone out to the bunkers to move a few pallets of something I can’t talk about when Gams stepped backwards past the open iron doors. “Come look at this thing,” he said. “Come look at this spider.” We both went back in with his flashlight on and in the corner was what I thought was a tarantula. As big as my palm it pulled back deeper into its messy nest and Gams hit it with a fast spit of poison. “I’ve been tryin’ to get rid of these bugs in this bunker for years. I guess they must of ate some of the stuff stored here cause they’re bigger than anywhere. He poked at the now dead Black Widow and rolled it out of its nest. It was clenched tight fisted now, as big as a small plum. Eerie big bug, glad it was dead.

I was counting mules on Pier 2 the next day. We had two inventories every day and the waterfront had to be watched carefully, Marines love trouble and if the aren’t worked hard enough they’ll find it. A more boisterous fun and outrageous group of people to hang out with is very hard to find. One recent Marine on guard had decided to drive acouple of forklifts into Suisun Bay for shits and giggles. It took us a week to find ‘em, well, it took the coast guard diver a week groping around in knee deep mud 60 feet down to find ‘em. As my boss said “Nothing here is ever lost, it’s just misplaced and we’ll find it, we always find it.” It was a quiet early evening just after sundown on the Sacramento Delta moment right after the evening breeze stalls down and the mosquitoes haven’t settled down on your hide yet perfect moment. I was listening to the huge swoowsh…swoowsh…swoowsh of the exposed prop tip of an empty auto carrier moving down the Carquinez Straits and looked down at my feet. A loose bit of two by four was lying on the deck and I reached down and picked it up to clear the deck. As I lifted it a Bombay Canary, as long as my hand, stood up from underneath and looked at me. Yes dammit, that bug was watching me closely as I decided whether I was going to stomp it or simply take a whack with the board. After a moment of quiet decision I decided that discretion was the better part of bug whacking that night because, well – because that bug was so big I was almost sure it could take that two by four back from me and that’s when I decided to wander off, the bug stood its ground and then turned and walked the other direction towards perhaps Mehitabel.

I had come aboard Port Chicago as a young man. Just out of the service and looking for a job the pay and location were what I’d always wanted. I’d done field work and labor as a kid and on fruit farms you could see toward Mt. Diablo and if you looked close you could just see ports docks. The word in our small bayside town was that if you got hired there you were set. The work was good, hard labor, dangerous if you didn’t stay focused. It payed better than anything else we knew and you could retire when you were forty years old. Retirement, while picking almonds or cutting apricots is also known as heaven. You could buy a house and a car and maybe even a boat, you could raise a family and live the dream. Then, when you were only forty years old you could kick back and live on the US gravy train until your maker recycled you. I was still thinking that way on my first evening shift after I got back from the evening count when I walked into the drivers break room. Kurt and his buddy were eating their evening beans. (1lb bacon, 1 lb beans, one large white onion, salt and pepper (lots of pepper) to taste. Soak beans all day, dump in chopped onion and bacon. Bring to boil ‘til the Bacon is done and serve, these beans are really good.) They asked me if I could play Tonk and I just couldn’t help myself, I prevaricated some and said “no, but I’ll give it a try.” They smelled fresh meat and told me it was only nickel and dime so I couldn’t lose much so I sat down and listened to their rules them took them out for a $7.30 cent walk. When we were done Kurt looked at me and said, “You all right, but I’m not playin’ any more cards with you. You sandbagged us, shame on you for takin’ money from old men like that.” I laughed and whistling Bach, punched out. Dollars richer and a bit more respected for my willingness to be a ruthless card shark. Kurt was simply amazing, he had learned to drive trucks with hard rubber wheels and mechanical brakes and could make a semi trailer go any direction, he taught me how to drift a flatbed semi trailer down the road sideways. A complete driving master he never touched the dock, he would just “come close” usually about ¼ inch. Square, every time, just awesome.

The muddy delta’s swampish summer heat wove creosote stink off the tar covered dock as I watched in admiration as the winchman’s intertwined cables flexed and lifted another pallet of liquid fire off the deck and dropped it neatly, deep into the unseen hold of another so called independently flagged rustbucket. Lunch was over and a second ship was due to start unloading cruise missiles, a clever unloading method most of us loved to watch. The missile was brought out from inside the ship on an overhead light rail system. It simply popped up out of a hole in the ship’s deck, a pretty little bomb in the box appearance and then would gently slip level and slide out to a sudden stop. Sailors would lift up a mechanical cradle, disconnect the bird and move it to the dock for delivery to repair. It was timed like a clock and fun to observe.
The second bird made it pop-up debut and slid out to the open air. As it slipped level it yawed suddenly, falling off its front clip. It slapped the deck hard with that might be the last thing you ever hear sound. Everyone around stopped and stared. As the nose hit the body bent in the middle like a cartoon rocket. Accordion folded inner elbowed and broken nosed the (thank god it’s empty) warhead housing came free and rocked a bit on the suddenly quiet dock. Everything had gone to a quiet stop, the hot pier and swamp stink rose up as we stared in wonder and irritation at the instant multi-million-dollar wreck of one of the world’s then most feared death machines.

There’s something about the smell of the waterfront that grounds us all. We watch during a unifying moment of oops while standing right the middle of a thousand tons of explosive on a dock at a port known for ships blowing up as someone makes a possible death dealing error for an entire surrounding countryside. We watch because it makes no sense to run, the philosophy of, “You simply can’t run fast enough to get away so you might as well watch, ‘cause it’ll be the last thing you see.” bonds us as explosive and munitions folk. You can only know that if you’ve lived it. The ever focused winchman started back up, moving his hook back to the dock for another load of hell from above and our clocks started again. The ship’s klaxons rang as fire crews were running for gear and the deck crew wandered over to gather around the now dead bird in a ghoulish mirror of respect. I consciously lost interest quickly and went back to cleaning the dock, I didn’t want to be asked as a witness. Witnesses at that particular waterfront were not well treated by Uncle Sugar, just ask the plankholders. Witnesses knew things about this hard world that you really don’t want to know about. I ran my fork tines under a skip and picked it up to deliver to the dunnage trailer. The dockmaster’s horn began a now expected squall and we all slowed to another sweating halt as the investigation began. The Port Commander’s car pulled right up to the loading ramp, he exited the sedan at a proper formal military walk and moved toward the gangway. The ship’s C.O. was at the top of the gangway saluting his second in command as the port captain came up the plank without a fare thee well, ignoring protocol, and them. He walked forward his heels a slow, solo tattoo dirge on the deck as the crew came to. He stopped next to the broken nosed bird and looked about, taking the overhead track, the now-loosed clip, the wrecked missile and the Sacramento’s Delta’s largest bay view into solemn regard. He looked to the northern distance, across Suisun Bay at the Mothball Fleet at anchor on the north side. Ships waiting for him to load on a moments notice, ships of all kinds, covered in cosmoline, waiting for their last deadly runs. Suisun Bay was his to control, his baby to sit and when a cruise missile fell in his waters it was his problem to fix. The ships captain approached and saluted, waiting for the attention of Port Commander. The Port Commander turned and sketched a salute, as they talked the look on the young captain’s face became one of true resignation, he’d been relieved of duty, a mark on his record that might ruin his hopes of ships command. He left that day to either push a desk or leave the service. The responsibility of a ship’s captain is harsh, unforgiving of errors. The life of sailors is harsh also and, like chess, it is thus that even the lowest sailor can remove a captain. Whether the error was a sailor’s or the Captain’s no one but them will really ever know. The crew paid by more hard work and the captain paid with his job.
We went back to work, loading the rust bucket until she touched bottom. She had to wait for a high tide to wallow out the Carquinez Straight to open ocean and sell to all comers. She’d drift in quiet water outside the 200 mile limit and open her holds to other ships, a camp whore for Mars, the god of war. On an open ocean, beyond all law this method of discounting for your closely held enemies is one of our greatest assets. We sell arms, that’s how your favorite Uncle stays alive. How else would South American and Middle East traders move their drugs for ammunition? And if the ship was swallowed by the ocean and disappeared who would know? Her rusty sister ship would appear some other day and remove more bullets, mines and hand grenades. More poison gas and shoulder held missiles for the endless corporate battle of the wealthy. More RPG’s for a father who just wanted to protect his village and his children from the bad guys.

Domme Mom

Agape.  by Bobby Morgan
I am a devoted slave to my wife. I give her all my time and money and she gives me everything I want. I wake up every morning before she does, preparing her bath and breakfast. I wake her gently with a cup of tea and then start a soft slow foot massage. Life is very, very good. She is totally beautiful and deserving of all this pampering because she teases me with her beauty and like any good wife denies me my pleasure with her words. She has such a straight girl script, I love her madly. I worship her faithfully. We have agreed that I will always honor and cherish her so when she says hop I do so gladly, with joy. You see I’m the perfect submissive married to an incredible goddess. It started many years ago with my family. My mother, bless her soul, was totally in charge of my household. She was a complete femme flirt and I was the only child in the house. Mother and I were very close. We went everywhere and did everything, I mean everything, together. When I was ten we were devastated when my father was killed in the Middle East. He was thirty two and died a horrid death, a hero. The government doesn’t think much of enlisted heros so his retirement was small. We had to move from our home in the city to a more affordable small town. I became my mother’s best friend and confidant, her sort of replacement husband. She taught me all about how to keep care of women and I lived with her until she died just fifteen short years later. I met my dear wife Lily after my mother’s funeral at one of the traditional apres burial meals held in family homes. She approached me in the hallway, gave me a brief hug and took me by the hand. “Cain, your mother and I were dear friends and she has asked me to keep care of you. I have her last requests and it’s important that you come upstairs with me now to receive them.” I was grieving, not able to understand.  “Lily, I’m..uh, last requests? Mother– gave them to you? What did she say?” “Just come along and do what I tell you.”
“No, what did she say.” I demanded.
“She said just come along and do what Lily tells you.”
I boggled as my dear mother’s best friend took my hand and led me along.. “You shall come upstairs with me and I’ll get this all settled right now.” I followed meekly, with some confusion. I had lost my greatest friend and the person that I had loved the most in the world and she had given her last wishes to someone else. I felt betrayed. As we entered mom’s room Lily pointed to a small stool saying, “Sit there and just listen. I’ve got important news for you.” As I sat she moved to mom’s bed, raised her foot onto the corner of it. Then, raising her skirt, pulled an envelope from her stocking top. She handed the envelope to me and sat primly on the edge of the bed. I read the inscription “My Darling Child” and took out my pocket knife to carefully open my last letter from mom. “Dearest Cain, as my last wish you are to marry Lily and do as she says. She knows all about you and is just perfect for you. She has been my lover for many years and you two will make a perfect couple. I am sure you will be able to console each other and make a wonderful life. Lily is to inherit all my worldly goods, including you. I loved you always, and will wait for both of you on the other side. Remember me, have fun. Love Always, Mom.” I was sobbing by the end of it. Sappy, my mother had written a sappy goodbye note telling me she was a lesbian and I was to inherit nothing. I became enraged. “How dare you bring this piece of trash into my home. You bitch, you filthy dyke bitch.” I stood approaching Lily. Standing up she took one step forward and slapped me hard enough to stun me. “You will stop your self– involved sanctimonious mewling this instant.” She looked fiercely and directly into my eyes. “Cain, your mom and I were more than close, we were lovers of many years. Even before your mother’s last husband. I know everything about you. Everything you did with her you shall do with me. Everything. And if you pull this kind of disrespectful behavior about your mother’s wishes again in my presence I will slap you back into last week. You have been raised by one of the strictest most loving women I have ever known, your behavior disrespects all the time she spent raising you and does not honor her wishes. Now what’s it going to be Cain? Become my husband and live a full life keeping a  beautiful wife happy or….?” Lily’s behavior was so much like my moms I was surprised. I developed the sudden and very same erotic turn on my mothers words used to engender and felt a familiar need of guidance. “Lily, If you know everything then you know what slapping my face does to me, or do you?” I challenged.  “Cain your virgin erection means as much to me as it did to your mother but as this may be a prelude to our life together then yes, I do know what all your little reflexes are. And you have yet to answer my question. What’s it going to be?” I was too mixed up, grieving and horny. What was I going to do? I fell back on my old skills, begging. “Please mo…Lily, may I have just a day to think about it?” She bent down and slowly standing, with one hand, began to raise her skirt. Mesmerized, I stared at the edge of it. When the black silk fabric got to the edge of her gartered stocking top she pulled her other arm back and quickly slapped me across the side of my face, very hard, twice. I came, my body bending at the waist. I came right in my pants while saying, without thought. “Yes my darling, my love, I will marry you.” She answered.  “How dare you come without permission, go to your room, right now and get ready for your punishment. I’m sending the guests away and will be up to give you a well deserved lesson in ten minutes, be ready or it will not go well for you.” Humiliated, I turned and went across the hall to my room. I knew what was going to happen next. As I entered my room I hoped with all my heart that my mother told her everything about me. I went directly to my closet and took off my trousers, jacket and tie. Removing my shirt I slowly unwound the tight cloth binding from my chest, releasing my tits. I hated the binding, it made it hard to breathe but in our small town who was to know, except me and my new fiance. I was lying naked on my bed, rubbing the ridged cloth marks with a sense of catlike satisfaction when Lily walked in. She stood there in her long black skirt, nude from the waist up and looked at me appraisingly. Walking over to the end of my bed she sat, legs akimbo.  “Cain. my god, you’re so much more beautiful than I had thought, come over here.” Spreading her legs she pointed to her thigh tops. “It’s time for your punishment. You know what to do.” I went over and knelt between her high heels. She reached down and moved her gaffe aside to reveal her swollen phallus and her voice became gentle. “I will concede one major life choice to you, son. Who’s going to wear the wedding dress? Me, or you?”