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Copyright: Fred Robel, and Fritz365 2010-2017. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog's author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Fred Robel and Fritz365 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Friday, August 18, 2017

This is a Holding Title

We were vomited from our graduation
Walking in parade formation
The next class walking in
As we were lock-stepping out

Our tools were shiny
Our ideals crisp
Ironed and creased
By years of expert erudition

A celebratory drink
A nod and a wink
A backdoor deal
Done proper and right

Off to our new careers
To put that sheepskin to the test
One foot after the other
Gravity is working fine

Time will scratch and dent
All those fancy tools
Principles tend to bend
In ways that don't easily mend

Until we look back
All grizzled and grey
Failing to even recognize
The us that once was one fine day

Time grinds the hardest of granite
And not even you
Are more hard-headed
Than that

Wednesday, July 26, 2017

If the Ups Don't Get You, Then the Downs Certainly Will

Alternately floating then sinking
In seemingly endless cycles
Power up
Power down
Gear down
Gear up

In between was the sweet spot
The modulate and cruise
Skipping along the atmosphere
Supported upon arms of flexing metal

No smoke or mirrors
Wires or computer generated effects
Just triple auto-piloted in solid state
For redundant reduced vertical separation

From forty-thousand feet
It feels like I can see forever
From five foot eight inches
It feels like I am blind

I live for the moments I rise
Upwardly mobile at long last
Another mote in the jetstream
Rushing along that-a-way

But the fuel never lasts forever
With scheduled stops growing nigh
Until coming back down to earth
I die a little bit inside

Thursday, July 20, 2017


A favorite song
Taken hostage
By a reverse recipe villain
Held hostage in poor taste
With sour notes
Of collapsed acidic waste

Apple A-flats
Hanging on treble clefs
Bolstered by orange C-sharps
Runs and arpeggios
Dipped in savory gravy
Repeats in ivory cream

A broccoli chainsaw
Attacked the medley
Tearing it apart
Note for note
Forcing four part harmony
From single sweet melody
Poured audibly
Into an ice cream float

Of course I still love it
All split staffs
And mangled notes
Of sweet and savory
Riding high in banana split boats
Spouting soundtrack accompaniment
Jingle jangling guitars
Copper kettle drums
And Grandma's kitchen smells
Giving prescribed comfort
Till the closing credit scroll
Reaches its end

Friday, July 7, 2017

Lawn Boy Grass Bag Kit: $9.99

Walking the polished cement floors of Home Depot
The rectangular green and white box called to me
"Lawn Boy - Grass Bag Kit"!
It loudly exclaimed

And upon a much smaller orange clearance sticker
Explaining its place upon a back-of-the-store end cap
Was almost conspiratorially whispered to me

Acquiring this item would complete my set
Complementing the Lawn Boy mower
With matching chute and leaf bag kit
Which had been given to me by my father

This after yet another phone call half way across the country
Where I had mentioned that I missed our old Lawn Boy mowers
The ones from the 1970's and '80's
Lightweight two-stroke affairs of blue smoke and fury

He had almost made a fetish of them
Always having a couple extra old ones up in the attic
To be used for parts after Supermanning them down
From the twelve foot attic access in the garage

I'd called him in triumph
The day I'd bought my first broken down Harley Davidson
Starting it up and revving it so he could hear
The undoubtedly impressive sound through the phone

I'd called him in wonder
The day I'd discovered carburetor icing
As my truck chugged its way into work on a winter morning
With white frost coating the old small two barrel Rochester

But this news today
Was about Lawn Boy stuff
And just had to be shared!
I knew he'd be so pleased with my ten dollar trophy

Now this last time I called my father on the phone
He lay upon the front lawn
And never said a thing to me
All I heard were my mother's panicked words

"Your father's had a heart attack!
And I don't think he's living......"

After the blur of travelling ten hours back home
To pick out his simple flat topped casket
And drop off his nice suit
So he could look nice one more time

I took a few moments to sit near him when we were alone
So I could tell him what a great Lawn Boy part I'd found
And how it was going to collect grass like gangbusters
Even though that bit turned out to be a lie

As now more than a decade later
You can still walk to the back of my garage
And look up on my top shelf
Where a familiar green and white box resides quietly

Always proudly proclaiming though the years of dust:

"Lawn Boy - Grass Bag Kit........$9.99"

Thursday, June 22, 2017

A Romantic Glow

When I burn this place to the ground
It will be with a rueful smile
A grimace if we are being honest
Mostly from the heat
Since I'll be close by to watch

The flames dance in the night
Popping and chewing up scenery
A couple of mice running in fright
And a couple of things for me and you

A nice plaid blanket and cushions
For us to watch the show
Triangle sandwiches and sunglasses
To feed and protect us from the glow

Crack open a bottle of wine
Something red and fermented
Plucked on a frosty morning from the vine
On a small vineyard in Upstate

We don't need to call the fire department
Since we are the last two people around
Sipping, snacking, and basking
A better partner could never be found

When the day comes that I burn this place to the ground

Tuesday, May 23, 2017

Schadenfreude 2.0

Screams pour out of your handheld mobile device
Thick as molasses
Dark as the Devil's heart
Piercing my ears like mom's knitting needles

As you watch someone's anguish
After they ran over their own dog
As you watch the pain
Caused by a missed skateboard trick
As you watch the fear
From an especially cruel prank

The schadenfreude is strong with you today
With just the tiniest bit of spittle
Catching the sixty watt bare bulb light
And reflecting back in my direction
From where it nestles into the corner
Of your half opened mouth

The pleasure you are sucking in
From all the anguish fear and pain
Shown to you for almost free
Any time of the day
Is slowly filling you up
Pushing out empathy
Drowning the compassion
Kicking your pity right in the ribs

I fear the person that may come out the other side
After the continuous Fail Army video feeding frenzy

Will you still comfort me when I am sick?
Would you help me if I fell?

I don't even fear that you'd laugh at me

A greater worry is the lustful look that may cross your face
Lips slowly parting
Drops of spittle gathering
As you salivate
Eager to take in my pain fear and anguish
As I put on a personal show
Just for you
And your Schadenfreude two-point-oh

Monday, May 22, 2017

Aluminum Foil Influence

There's a thread of conspiracy
Sewn right into my headgear
Over under and whipstitched
In contrasting color
Constantly constricting my thinking
Slowly drawing itself tight
Until the blood flow is just about right
For alternative thinking to take place

It isn't very false
And it isn't very true
It's totally alternative
And tells me what to do

Nine sources tell me one thing
While one tells me another
Logic says one thing
But my gut screams "However...."
That one thing seems to comfort my thoughts
Coddling my mind
In cheap velour
From the bargain bin at K-mart
A blue light special of an idea
So I'll latch right onto that

It isn't very false
And it isn't very true
It's totally alternative
And tells me what to do

My head is now an alternative shape
Thanks to that too tight hat of mine
Made of shiny upcycled tinfoil
And whispering secrets to me all the time
I'll not question its authority
I'm way past that now
Two miles past the military checkpoints
Heading into Area Fifty-One
Helped by the invisibility afforded me
By that low tech high magick
Too tight sparkling custom made
Tightly stitched protective tinfoil hat

It's not very false
And it isn't very true
It's totes an alternative
Telling me what to do