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Copyright: Fred Robel, and Fritz365 2010-2016. 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.

Wednesday, September 28, 2016

Ascension

Carbon fiber flex
As the world fell
Acrophobia attack
Motionless in space
Earth pulling away
Sensation of movement
Gone in the moment
Fallen

Stage after stage
Reenters the world
Captured in gravity well
Arcing to cinders
Ashes to ashes
Thrust to dust
Matter disseminated
Particulate


Wednesday, September 21, 2016

Failure

 
Hands hesitant
Reaching to the page
Through pen, pixel, or mechanical machine
Words fall tritely
Results disappoint
So futile
Much fail


FDR21SEP2016

Monday, September 12, 2016

Faux Food

If you please
I would like some fake plastic cheese
To adorn my inedible sandwichery
All bread and bologna fakery
Any good taste but a tease

Gooey looking ooze
As pretend condiments snooze
Across bread-like buns
That would kill in one bite
But look fresh all damn night


Sunday, August 14, 2016

It Tastes Better When it isn't Yours

The fresh converts are the worst
Chasing me all around with glossy pamphlets
Stirring up the animosity and dirt

The newest diet
The holiest religion
The shiniest car
The latest addiction

From the main road out front
I heard tires upon the gravel
Slowing
Crunching
Turning perceptibly closer

I rose from my recliner
With an urgent throw of the wooden handle
Tossing me forward at an accelerated amble

Squeaking brakes
A car door's mechanical latch
Squonking of unlubricated hinges
Once going open
Once going close
Before the death rattle thunk
Of a misaligned door pin finding home

Our footsteps aligned like fate
That unseen boogey man's and mine
Him fast approaching my front door
Me decreasing the distance to the back

Two hands approach two doors
His to knock
Mine to throw the right angled finangle

Timed to the microsecond
He knocks as I open the catch
Accompanied by a faint voice
"Do you have a few moments to spare for the words of our savior Jesus Christ?"
My door swings open silently and I step outside
He knocks again as I close the door quickly

Nobody the wiser as I make my way back to my house next door
Crunching in the unraked from last fall's carpet of brown oak leaves
That I spend my afternoons while the neighbor is away
Upon the antique green rough cloth-covered lazy boy
Watching his HBO in his living room


Saturday, August 13, 2016

Cruising The Details

Propellers blur with the slurring of a roar
Individual beats too fast to ever count
The WAP of a propeller blade as it butter churns the air
The small explosion in each of the air cooled cylinders

Once lined up and rolling
A dirty grey streak upon the concrete strip
Calloused hands holding us down upon the earth
Until the tires are rolling as fast as they ever dare
With the fear of cord separation in their black rubber eyes

Control arm torques upon flight control
Pushing down upon weighted end
Fabric covered trailing edge soars upwards
Applying pressure downwards
An action-reaction in action

The nose soars upwards at an alarming rate
As the waterline tilts accordingly
Spilling all of its weight and balance secrets
Upon the altar of the fulcrum

Thrust and lift carry ever upward always forward
Are all the lights green?
No
Are all the important ones green at least?
Yes
Ok, let's go

They say that cargo doesn't care
In the way and manner of its handling
But those who say such things
Haven't been trapped in a tube with glittering wings

With all the monkeys in their crates being resigned to their fates
Sliding backwards like the unsecured cargo that they are
Approaching the aft pressure bulkhead at a terrifying pace
Saved only by a sharp downward pitch
Accompanied by unsettling weightlessness

Ladies and gentlemen
We have reached our cruising altitude


Monday, July 25, 2016

One Chef's Special - ISIS Smothered in Bacon Grease

ISIS smelt of the oldest of mummified feet
Freshly unwrapped after a thousand years bound
A fetid stench that spread for miles around
Turning even the most stolid of citizen
Until they crouched like a dog vomiting on the ground

ISIS rolls from town to town
Billowing dust and sand
Till all their asscracks were well packed
Not to be emptied
Till their black coward's headcloth is unwound

ISIS has a goal, they must, don't you?
A goal that an Armageddon can be bought for cheap
With the whipping of the weak
Boxes of surplus military rounds
And an endless parade of white Toyota jeeps

ISIS will be the star of the next Home Alone
Bamboozled by a clever child's tricks
Cardboard cutouts of military assets
Placed carefully in full silhouette
Will have them moving along to an easier target

ISIS reads their Quran with eyes firmly crossed
Understanding every other word at best
Ignoring all the words of kindness
Embracing all the horrid rest
Embroidering their 'kerchiefs with a black and white crest

ISIS days are filled with religious hate fueled madness
ISIS nights are olfactory visions chock full of bacon products
And dreams of drowning in virgins
Revealing that ISIS isn't that much different
Than a cheap strip club bacon buffet on a slow Tuesday night



Saturday, July 16, 2016

Watching the World Burn

Watching the world burn
In twenty sixteen
A Turkish coup de grâce
A nondescript truck in a crowd
Just the latest and greatest
Whose life really matters anyways?

Burning marshmallows on whittled sticks
Just for the cancerous burnt sugary taste
That hangs in the mouth
An aftertaste of Trump
To accompany a sore throat
After far too much cheering for the wrong team

A bomb in a crowd
Is just my favorite thing
Popping popcorn in time with shattering bones
When it stops your snack is done
Remove and enjoy
Don't forget the salt

Looking out the window
From a privileged life
There are no fires burning in my night
Gas is cheap
No outward signs of strife

To enjoy such sights and sounds
Just tune in the local internet stations
To witness a villain being the other side's hero
If you have no skin the game
It's guilt-free entertainment
From the warm glow of all color high def LCD

And if suddenly feel myself succumbing to a sleepy kind of rage
I can text
"I fucking care"
To a toll free number
Auto-donating five dollars to repair my conscience in paper mâché
And fight the power with fists that hardly matter
Striking their chest in a barely audible
Pitter patter

Watching the world burn
In twenty sixteen
With hatelove the latest newspeak
You know what I mean