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Copyright: Fred Robel, and Fritz365 2010-2015. 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.

Monday, August 24, 2015

Tempered Split Dream

She still dreamed of
The feel of
The fine wood grain in the handle
Running silkily perpendicular to her fingers

The tug towards the floor
From the honed head of the axe
Balanced upon the fulcrum of her hand
Gripping tightly to the belly of the haft
With the knob end angled upwards to the sky

Liquid dripped with a steady beat
Which she sometimes taps out
The memory a catchy tune
One that she often dances to

A waltz through some odds and ends
With a deft foot placement here
Then a half spin to plant a toe just so
Following a red placement diagram
A dance she doesn't want to forget

Those nice bits and bobs strewn about
Were once a very unpleasant whole
Creased and separated with ease
A patchwork assemblage in reverse

And just like that
The world was a much kinder place

Sunday, August 23, 2015

White Shirt Blues

I can never keep a white shirt clean
Be it food dirt or other
Some foul substance will stain it

I blame the weight loss
For if I had not lost those seventy-five pounds
Then I never would have fit into this space

Aluminum walls sprayed with shiny white polyurethane
Covered in brown anti-corrosion coating
In turn bathed in all the greasy oily dirt
That a jumbo Boeing aircraft can kick up with its tires

The ten years passage
Since I had last fit into this vertical coffin shaped place
Had clouded my memory
Erasing the difficulty level of squeezing past the nose landing gear assembly
With the flat wall of the wheel well to your back
While stepping sideways on odd bits of structure
And carefully squeezing one's belly and clothing past sharp edges to the front

First came a crimson smear just below my breast
As the red grease from a fitting pressed hard against me
Slowly making a teacher's correction mark upon the blank white of my shirt
Distracting me so
That I missed a sharp pigtail end of twenty thousandths safety wire
Looping incompletely off of the downlock sensor canon plug
Allowing it to pierce the snowy fabric of the t-shirt
Tearing fibers gently
Until finally pricking my skin
And making me notice its action
Drawing a drop of blood as price of passage

In the confining area at last
Giving the area a five minute inspection with mirror and flashlight
Fulfilling the requirements of my task card
Which clearly state:
"Visual inspection performed within touching distance"
I'm left to ponder my results

A cut belly
Bruised chest
Grease and blood on the front of my shirt
Dirt, oil, and the odd sticky substance on the back

A pressing need to pee
And the validation that I can't keep a white shirt clean to save my life

Sunday, August 16, 2015

Falling Water

"Tap tap tappity tap"
A long nailed manicured hand sound of impatience
Played out upon an old piece of plywood
By drops of water from a metal eave

Straight down eighty feet
Pushed this way and that by the breeze
Almost crystalline teardrops
Squeezed to their ultimate aero shape

Terminal velocity achieved
Target in sight
An Alcoa Aluminum stencil on the veneer
Blue logo paint faded by past sun and storms

Ultimately splashing down
Forming a momentary crater
In the slickly thin watery film
A hazardous place for any strider to skate today

Gone all too soon in steamy rise
Evaporating to invisibility
Leaving the old shipping flat to bake
Fading away in the heat

Sunday, July 26, 2015

The Stone That Skipped - pt 1

The stone lay unnoticed for quite some time
After being deposited upon the lake bed
By the ebb flow and movement of a glacier
Only just today being washed up upon the beach
Soon drying in the soft sunlight
Until it looked like any other smooth bit of limestone

I searched the sand for suitably flat-ish stones
Finding several
I handed half to my son
"It works best if you throw side-arm
Like this"
I said as I demonstrated the slightly awkward looking method
And we were rewarded by seeing the stone skip across the calm water
Four big skips
Followed by an almost uncountable number of mini skips
So close together that the spinning flat stone
Almost appeared to be zipping along the water like a boat
Until the water grabbed ahold of it
Taking it from our sight into the shallows

My son took one of his rocks and mimicked my movements
Though his first try propelled itself into the water at an angle
Like a missile
The water making a 'Gallulp!' sound
As the stone made a fast dive entry

He was not impressed
And made his distressed face at me
To which I smiled and made a 'watch me' gesture with the rock in my hand
Side-arm throw letting the stone spin off the end of my fingertip
Letting it rotate like a spinning plate
Bouncing off the surface of the water satisfyingly several times

My son selected another stone from his small pile
Slowly drawing his arm back to the side
Swinging around and releasing with good form
The stone spinning away from him in an unpredictable direction to the right
But skipping three times upon the clear water
Making us both cheer out loud

A couple more throws by both of us
And our handful of rocks was gone
Leaving nothing else to do but to look for more
With the Spring sun warming the backs of our necks
As we walked the water's edge with our heads bowed
Scanning the sand in front of our feet
Looking for just the right stones for skipping

Saturday, July 25, 2015


Water vapor marshmallows
Towering overhead
Appearing set to smother me in sweetness
But dumping water down instead
With rivulets of ice water
All down my back
Raising all the goosebumps
Carving a canyon track

Until I resemble nothing more than the earth
Cut by weather
Of geological birth

Tuesday, July 7, 2015

Draw Me A Prison

Stabbed in the heart with your cartoon butter knife
The pen is mighty in what it draws
Sharp lines and soft angles
Lengthening infinitely
Shortening my life

Cut by the paper you ply
Shallow by the thousands
Invisible to the naked eye

Peering through a thick lens
Focusing with all your might
Pinpointing the broad orange sun
Burning your signature with the light

I'd tell you to stop
Toss out my safe word
At the top of my lungs
But it would be the biggest lie ever heard

As the pain reminds me I'm alive
And that I love you

Monday, July 6, 2015

Jackrabbit Speed Run

Bored and disinterested Princess
I know just what you need
Something long lean and built for speed
Burning 100 Low Lead blasting Grateful Dead

Bleeding blue blooded royalty out the straight pipes
While floating valves at 8000 RPM
Accelerator flat on the floor by royal decree
Not being nearly enough for her tastes
Her Highness waves her crankshaft scepter
Tossing the ceremonial bejeweled Nitrous Oxide key

Inserted by reflex and rotated two turns to the left
Our soon-to-be queen giggles right along with the powerplant
A steadily rising high pitched consistent sound
One turning her face blue with glee
The other grinding its internals to expensive dust
Entering the flying start timing lights at maximum thrust

One hand pointed down the track
The other a claw upon my shoulder
She is roaring out some sort of command
I can't hear her but I make an assumption
Covering the intervening mile in a flash
Popping the chute
Killing the ignition
Ending in a last gasp low speed wobble crash

Head full of cotton from the change in perspective
A pair of lips and teeth upon my ear
Slowly made themselves known
Followed by a high end brassiere on the dash
And the finely manicured hand from which it was thrown
Beckoning me to turn around
Before the spell the speed had woven
Disappeared in the waves of heat rising from the white hot ground