THAT’S A MORASS- From Godfrey

Hello, Worzel here- As I have oft mentioned, Godfrey loved to sing, sadly he was no Tom Jones. If he was feeling full of himself he would trim his wispy beard, apply sun-tan lotion or lard to his fine auburn hair and form it into an elegant pompadour.Donning the ancient suit from the depths of his suitcase, he would regale me in public with this song.

We were kicked out of a Sushi Bar, and he was hooked off the stage on Canada Day…still, after three years writing his story, I miss him more than ever..He disliked words like meal and moist, burlap and Maltipoo. He loved words like rip-rap, arroyo, and lichen, as most who dwell in the outdoors do.

I had not seen Godfrey in quite some while, now he scratched at my front door, he stood, clear slate blue eyes, sideways smile, old suitcase full of sass. The first thing the two of us did was laugh- for our little home was a true  righteous morass.

There were papers and pages and projects piled messy and neat. Only my old turquoise chair could be seen through the heap. There were bags and luggage belonging downstairs in the store. There were books stacked six deep, and cob-webs I chose to ignore.

He disliked beets, and words meant to worry or hurt. He disliked words like Whaling, polluted, de-forested, broken, rift, war and Soygurt. He loved words like coltsfoot, bracken, sedge and quackgrass. And he loved to tease me pointing out each thing, as we strolled arm in arm he considered a morass.

Godfrey did sing. A cocoon is a morass of wriggly critters, the bakery a morass of doughnuts and fritters. Observe my dear, Potatoes Au Gratin, a morass of creamy goodness baked in a pan. When I gargle a morass of germs meet their doom, there’s a morass of dust-fuzzies neath the bed in your spare room.

He disliked words flung in anger and rage, or orders barked in a manner unfair. He loved the night sky, The Southern Cross, Orion, Rigel, Altair, familiar friends he would say, such a morass of stars up there. Yes he disliked beets, though as he grew older,said “They no longer haunt me as much when I dream”. Let us this day create a fine morass, add hot fudge and a cherry to our daily delight of ice-cream..a fine morass, raise your voices and sing, THAT’S A MORASS! From Godfrey.


2 thoughts on “THAT’S A MORASS- From Godfrey

    • Thanks Marcia, Webster’s Dictionary defines “Morass” as a swamp or bog. I think of it as that thing in my home that ingests socks leaving 7 single socks and “The Great Paper Work Maw” that spews out what you have mis-placed right back in the first spot you looked. Ah yes, we must form that coffee shop morass again soon. Thank you from Godfrey

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