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© Fred Robel, and Fritz365, 2010 - 2014. 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 22, 2014

Snooze-Mares

Four-oh-one in the AM
And my phone's alarm titters me awake
Right hand swings on the end of a right arm
Finding the wretched thing
Pushing any button it can find
To silence the sleep shattering sound
Starting the snooze cycle
For eight more minutes of rest

That short snooze cycle
Throws one into an almost awake state
Where the dreams they feel real
As next alarm waits at the gate

Laying there in the bed
Early AM darkness all around
I feel my stomach stir
Thinking it could be hunger
But then I hear a voice say, "Excuse me, sir?"

Snapping my eyes open I look down
Finding much to horror something there
Protruding from my stomach
Just above the innie button
A small dark creature
Almost muppet-like in nature

The sock puppet mouth opened and spoke
"Hey, my  name's Barry Bowel
And we need to talk about your diet I think....."

I couldn't take it
My hands went down and tried to push him back in
"Hey!  Wait, don't do that....."
The bowel protested
But I didn't listen as I pushed and prodded at his skin
Back down into his hole

A nightmare tear in my abdominal wall

Four-oh-nine came just in time
The alarm sounding once again
Where my sleeping hand was already astride the phone's form
Pushing the button almost as the first blip and bloop made waves
Making eight more minutes of time for my brain to play tricks upon me

That short snooze cycle
Throws one into an almost awake state
Where the dreams they feel real
As next alarm awaits like a date with fate


Monday, August 18, 2014

Pinocchio's Plea

Take me to your Isle of Amusement
Where dreams can come true
My pen never runs out of ink
And horses never rendered to glue

Take me on a thrill ride
Rollercoasters, motorcycles, and flying things
Strap on the locomotion motivation
Approach the precipice and stretch those wings

Take me and dip me in polyurethane
So as to preserve the moment forever
Beneath a crunchy candy shell
I'll withstand any kind of weather

Take me with you in your purse
So I can peer up at you through a small opening
Don't worry about me getting bored in here
As I've found a long length of string

Take me or leave me as you please
In your hand or hanging in your closet
Without your touch upon my wires
I'm simply a limp marionette pet

Take me
Make me a real boy


Tuesday, August 12, 2014

A Big Hairy Deal

The Big Hairy Deal had been summoned
With ritual and words ages old
With tight wiry hair over his entire body
He moved almost silently
As if the hair muffled everything he did
Interacting with the air somehow
Deadening the sound waves
As each strand moved as if it had life of its own
Creating a miasma of movement baffling to the eye

From within the hair covering his face
Piercing ice blue eyes peered
Taking in everything around him
Just in case he had to stop suddenly and blend in
Which was surprisingly easy for the Big Hairy Deal to do

Moving quickly through the painfully austere neighborhood
A sure victim of over-zealously enforced home owner's association rules
Long legs stretched easily as he loped down the street in the twilight
Silent as a summer breeze past one beige single story home after another
Until he arrived at his destination

710 West Branch Street

The fine hairs upon his lanky form virtually buzzing with movement
The Big Hairy Deal made his careful way up the front sidewalk
Meeting up with the small family dog about halfway to the front door

Ice blue beast eyes met with brown canine for just a split second
Then before the dog could bark, or growl, or anything else
His eyes found the murderously mind bending movement of the carpet of hair
Causing his little doggy brain to spin, his eyes to cross
And making him vomit uncontrollably

The threat dealt with
The hairy beast made the last few feet to the door in two steps
Where he stretched out a hand to the handle
But waited patiently without moving another muscle

Inside the house two children could be heard arguing loudly
"I don't care if you think it was against the rules!!
I just don't see why you have to make such a Big Hairy Deal out of it!"

On that cue
The Big Hairy Deal swiftly opened the door to present himself upon the foyer
Framed perfectly between the open door and the family coat rack

Ice blue eyes met with two pairs of mismatched bratty child
Then before the pair of children could do anything else
Their horrified gazes landed upon his finely fluctuating fibers
Their eyes crossed
Brains spun
And they laid upon their sides suddenly
Vomiting uncontrollably

The Big Hairy Deal was already gone however
Out the door
Past the still sick dog
And cruising down the middle of the road again

Swinging a black umbrella he'd swiped from the coat rack in his right paw jauntily
Ice blue eyes pinched in laughter slightly
Only awaiting that age old call to make an appearance again


Life In Death

Death can truly only claim you
When all that you are has been forgotten

Create, contribute, build
And live on through what you were




Sunday, August 10, 2014

Go Home Thumbs, You Are Drunk

One, Two, Three, Four
Let's start a thumb war

Skin on skin for the begin
Don't fret none
It's not a sin

Let's pit our opposable muscles against one another
At least until someone brings up your mother
Then all bets are off

Five, Six, Seven , Eight
Try to keep your thumb straight

Now the claws will really come out
Directly into your skin
I haven't used clippers to trim
Are you sure you are ready to begin?

Thumbs still stalk one another
Though now those digits are armed
With little knives and attitudes
Sharp as your wit
So not so bloody very

Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve
Into the arsenals we shall delve

Bring up the treaty banned weapons of old
Some gas and nukes from a time that was
Hang on there's some protesters out front
"Here you go Sisters, a donation for your cause"

Now that that's taken care of
Let the refrigerant flow
As this war gets colder
And our brave thumbs fear to have a go

Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen
Don't do that, it's kind of mean!

In the dark of night
One thumb shot another
Only to find it was his brother

Not his opposite
For that would mean two right hands
Which is creepy if you think about it

Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty
Follow Tom Thumb to the land of plenty

Now the loser meets Saint Thumb
Who mans the gate to Thumb Heaven
Which only means that this tale is done
As the thought of that is kind of dumb


Thursday, August 7, 2014

Crazy Mama Jones

Paws in the dishwater
Swirling soapy strains of a water melody
With a note here
And a note there

Mama Jones reaches up and wipes her brown furry forehead
Her head warm with the exertion of an hour's worth of cleaning already
And a full day of the same to come

One paw gripped a pan still caked with last night's supper leavings
The other holding a small scraper
Supplying a steady scuffing sound to go with the water sloshing song

A light pin pointed on the horizon she could see through her kitchen window
Catching her big black eyes
Causing her hands to slow their repetitious work
Until they stopped entirely
Her attention fully captured by the sun slowly rising in the East

Along with it came a symphony of sound
Invading her ears gradually
Causing them to perk and swivel slightly
As if trying to find the source of the music
Though her staring eyes knew from whence it came

From the soft tentative sounds of one or two instruments
The song grew to include the entire orchestra
Thrumming her body with light and sound
As the sun finally detached itself from the dark horizon
Becoming a blazing disk of blinding

Mama Jones couldn't contain herself
And her mouth opened in song
One of a sustained note
Supporting the complex piece being played all around her

As she did so
The other notes and rhythms converged upon her
Massaging her skin and fur
Enclosing her in a living cocoon of touch

And it never seemed to cease
All the sensations only increasing with the height of the sun before her

Her voice raised itself to the heavens in ecstasy

At nine o'clock
The postman came around
Digging envelopes out of his pack absentmindedly
Before showing them into the Jones' mail slot
Located halfway up the kitchen door

Almost missing it
He became aware of someone softly singing

Looking up and through the door's window
He saw Mama Jones laying spread out on the floor
Her puffy tail twitching to some unheard beat
Her mouth open
Singing one long note after another
Eyes glazed over
Surrounded by the sunlight angling in through the paned window over the sink

Shaking his head he came inside and made his way over to the telephone
His paw spinning the crank
Then punching the number for the doctor

"Hello?
Yeah, this is Phil
I've got Gail Jones over here at her house"
He gave Mama another look over
"She looks like she forgot to take her medicine again"

Phil's ear rotated unconsciously as the doctor spoke to him
"Sure, sure
I'll stay until you get here
No problem"

Phil set the earpiece down again
And took off his mail bag
Dropping it onto a chair by the table

He thought of sitting down
But thought better of it as his stomach rumbled slightly
Reminding him that breakfast was several hours ago

"Might be time for an early lunch I think"
He said to himself
As he opened the cupboard to grab a frying pan
With hopes of finding some eggs in the icebox

Behind him
Mama Jones broke into a fresh melody
Inspired by the sun starting to creep every higher in the sky
And the shadow of the window sill just tickling her toes
Beginning a slow march up her body
As the corresponding square of sunlight moved across her and the floor of the kitchen

It occurred to Phil that he'd heard the melody before maybe
And he stopped scrambling his eggs momentarily
Before dismissing the idea

After all
He was hungry


Sunday, August 3, 2014

Siphonaptera In The Shag

White flakes fall through the canopy of our fibrous trunked forest
Making a thin layer of white for us all to trudge through
Lightly dusting the woolly woven egg sacs attached to the trunks

Larry gathers some up in his barbed appendages
Flexes his spring loaded rear legs
And jumps impossibly high
Throwing the clump of white at me when at the apex of his arc

Almost in slow motion I watch it come towards me
Seeming to correct its trajectory as I try to maneuver slightly to avoid it
"Splot!"
The clump disintegrates into a choking cloud of white
So fine that I was coated in it

Involuntarily I breathed it in
Even as Larry ran over laughing his crazy high pitched laugh
The image of my friend falling apart as I looked at him
Until he was just one pixel point of who I knew

Screams all around me accompanied my fall to the ground
Crying out "Poison! Nobody touch this stuff, get away!"
But I couldn't care anymore
As all my nerves short circuited at once

Larry laughing
Screams
The taste of the powder
The feel of the ground upon my side
All merging into one fading static filled input to my brain

Such is the life of a Shag Carpet Flea