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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.

Thursday, February 28, 2013

Bookmark

Opening my book
My bookmark fell upon the floor
Got caught by an errant breeze
Danced around and went out the door
Across the yard and into the street
I ran right after it
Brains following feet

If I don't catch it
How will I mark my place?
Whatever should I insert
Into that empty space?
The one between the pages
That's a story in itself

All the things that we do outside of books
In the real world
While the bookmark
Marks our place

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Bully

They poke
They tease
They taunt

What you wear
What you are
What you look like

When really it's all about them


Life of Tie

I'm a wide skinny fish bolo bow tie
When I was new
I smelled like a million bucks
And gosh if I didn't look good on you

Then I got pushed to the back of the rack
Thrown in a drawer
To dream my technicolor silk houndstooth dreams
Another victim of a fashionista war

Snuck out by small hands later on
To play dress up
To be a bandana atop an explorer's head
To make someone look just like daddy and all growed up

Recycled and donated
Cut up and truncated
Finding myself part of a tie quilt
Upon an exhibition wall

Oohed and ahed over
Purchased, gifted, passed down never knowing the what or the why
Decorating necks, heads, warming knees
The meaning of this life of tie


Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Pain

Without the pain
There'd be no pleasure

There'd be no way to measure
All the tastes that wouldn't be as sweet

Without the pain
To balance the pleasure

To slay happiness
And lay it in offering
At your beautiful feet

Monday, February 25, 2013

Mask

Bobby Barry Brice played dress up
He played it every day
With a trunk full of masks
As an excuse to act in different ways

Till he found one that felt good
One that gave him a part he loved playing
So he wore it all the time
He never really took it off at all
Until one day he wanted to be his old self
And found to his dismay
He had forgotten one important thing

That the mask worn too long
Becomes who you are

Sunday, February 24, 2013

Race To The Pole

"Grab the end of this and run!"

And run I did

I ran out of the sea foam green tiled boys bathroom
The one with the too-short-for-adults urinals
With spitballs all over the walls
Dried and solidified lugies hanging from the high ceilings
Like stalactites in a deep dark cave
A testament to the grossness of the prepubescent male

Down the hall I went
As fast as my silly short legs could take me
Hearing shouts in my wake

"Stop! You can't do that!"
They cried

In vain it would seem
For it seems that I actually could

Not stepping on the light colored tiles
That were scattered in the hall in a pattern
With that odd one in the way
A replacement player
Substituted by an uncaring janitor
With far too many light colored tiles for his own good

The doors were coming up fast
And I daren't let go
Their burgundy painted wood getting nearer
Polished brass push bars barred the way
Begging me to time my escape precisely

And like choreographed ballet
I planted my foot inches from the kick plate
Pushing with all my might with my free hand
Swinging that stern old door wide
Bathing in the spring sunlight

Now to make it to the pole
Just up ahead
With the hounds of authority at my heels
Pouring from the brick facaded Elementary

Ants from a prodded anthill
Bees from a batted at hive

I tagged the flagpole
Grabbing it and spinning around
To face the consequences of my triumph

The long white fluttering finger of toilet paper marking whence I had come

A new fourth grade record
For TP on the run

Saturday, February 23, 2013

If I Had Glass

If I had Glass
I'd wear it on my face
But it's not the kind you think
That would leave my features smashed in flat space

It's the kind you wear like glasses
With lots of electronics near your right ear
A crystal eyepiece in front of your right eye
Don't worry it doesn't look at bad as you'd fear

I imagine it giving me directions from place to place
With small maps sort of hanging in space
Symbols to show you that "You Are Here"
With turn by turn directions just in case

I think I'd have one in black
Because I get everything in that color
I've a friend that says that means something deeper
And yet another that argues that black is a noncolor

I drive a long distance every day
To my job working in aviation
Sometimes amazing sights and sounds pass by my senses
Unrecorded and unremarked much to my aggravation

But if I had Glass I could perhaps capture those moments
Keeping the amazing ones for sharing or keepsaking
Depending on the moment
Depending how I feel about the whole thing

This 'If I Had Glass' contest is some intriguing marketing
My hats off to Google for thinking of such a thing
But even if I won
I'd still have no Glass
Because I'd still have to pony 1500 bucks
And to be frank
I aint got no cash

#ifihadglass


LGBT

The little grinch browser trout
Browsed all the best sites
Both in the net and out
But he spent little monies
As he kept that for his honeys
All the rest of his bitches he left out

It's a limerick. Sort of. If you don't care for rules.....

Friday, February 22, 2013

Game Show Memoryento

It's silver

If my fingers can't tell me anything else
At least I know that

Kind of slimy
Maybe something alive
Maybe something not

Shouldn't be a codscrabbler
Those have more legs
Kind of shiny nightmares on legs
All three hundred of them

Maybe a shingleshout?
But nobody knows what those look like
The just make one scream
And leave layered bite marks behind

A red stripe
I sense that too

Fat lot of good that does me
The timers almost run down

I'll have to give a guess

"Bob, I think it's a warbled slighthammer, a male"

I looked to Bob Jobby, the show's host, expectantly

The sad failure music clip played in response

"Oh, I'm sorry Mr Fickshnickle, it's actually a rare silver geet!"
He looked almost genuinely sad for me
"But we have several parting gifts for you
Thank you so much for being on our show!"

And that memory is all I have from my brush with fame

That, and this silver can opener

Frozen In Place

Ash colored icy splendor
Surrounded my chariot of fire
Now encased in frozen fingers
Wriggled into every crack and carved bough

Almost I can make out it's shape
It's form so familiar
From the miles traveled in wide eyed wonder
With the world a splashing whorl of color going by

Gathering a wooden box chock full of tools
Fat dirty fingers pluck out what I need
A hundred year old chisel
And a goats head hammer

Turning once again to my immobile transportation
Chisel is applied carefully here
And not so carefully there
Penetrating the four inches of ice encapsulation

With just the right amount of stress added to the assemblage
I step to the front and pick out one particular spot
Marking it with an imaginary X in my mind
I raise the goats head hammer and let my arm unwind

Upon contact with the chosen spot
Ice cracks chase each other
Racing one another to where I cannot say
What with their racetrack of ice falling away

Left revealed in the sunlight
Sparkling amongst the birch trunks all around
My trusty conveyance crouches
Awaiting a single word

A mouth that feels like mine utters it
Causing gears and compressors to whine
Coming to life in the blink of an eye
Furnace catching fire so bright as to blind

Off we fly into the unknown
Out from this frozen landscape
Into the grey sky above
Till the clouds are below us
Cotton candy landscapes
To follow ever on


Thursday, February 21, 2013

Copy

This is nothing but a copy
An inferior one at that
The original won a Chancellor's Medal
And launched a dozen ships

This one is sixteen lines long
Not really rhyming
Won't make you laugh or cry
But throws in some Latin at the end

Like a sad game of telephone
Played with a QWERTY keyboard
This copy is a distortion of the original
A copy most profane

This copy must be censored
If the censors could get out of bed
For something as delusional as this collection of letters
Hii quattuor exscriptus stantiarum 


Running Cold Always Hot

Chief Running Cold
Was always cold
He was never hot
Even on the hottest days
He wore his thick wool socks
A hat that covered his ears
A jacket ten layers thick
And pants so stout he could barely walk

Princess Always Hot
Was always hot
She was never cold
Even on the coldest days
She would wear no socks
No hat for her head
The lightest top she could get away with
And never any pants when she could

Chief Running Cold and Princess Always Hot
We're betrothed to be married
The matchmaker was wise
Though they thought it a disaster

Never could they comfortably share a house
For one would be always cold
And the other always hot

But eventually came the day
When they said their vows
He in his ten layers of wool
She in the sheerest of gowns

The matchmaker winked as she locked them in
For that was the tradition
And there they sat
In the grandest honeymoon suite
She sitting on one side of the bed sweating
Him on the other side shivering

Finally they agreed to give tradition a go
And held hands for starters
Her delicate hand upon the soft covers
His hand with mittens off shyly in hers

Just then something wondrous occurred
They each felt perfect
At least in those parts that touched

Where her hand touched his
He felt warmth at last
Where his hand touched hers
She felt cool and complete

Things went merrily from there
With more skin touching skin
And both happier and more comfortable than they'd ever been

Nine months later
The matchmaker/midwife helped deliver their first child
As Chief Running Hot held Princess Always Cold gently where she lay
They named her Little Princess Just Right
Who was just right in every possible way


Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Seatland

Welcome to the land of many seats
Where normally you'd be sitting cheek to cheek
But for now they're on the ground
With no legroom to speak
And no passengers to be found


Minky Bear No More

Minky Bear was made of mink
As all deluxe bears are
He was jointed and hump backed
For posing in realistic Teddy Bear poses

Minky Bear had a rabbit skin hat
Not to stay warm
He was made of mink!
Simply to style and profile
Like Minky Bears should

Until one day
Minky Bear's house caught on fire
It was a fire in the flue
Or a sparking faulty wire

What it was doesn't matter
All that does
Is that it's done

Now all of Minky Bear's possessions are turned to ash
Memories
Keepsakes
Hand me downs
All black lumpy piles
In the outline of a house

Minky Bears fur is burnt in patches
No rabbit skin hat on his head
No styling
No profiling

Minky Bear threw himself down on the side of the road
Who would love him now
With hair partly gone
And no things to have and hold

That's when a little boy found him
Picked up Minky Bear
Marveled at how soft the patches of fur still were
Liked how he looked like a War Bear now

And so Minky Bear took to his new name
War Bear defended pillow forts from GI Joes
Explored the forest strapped to a bicycle
Then slept in a little bed
Next to that little boy
Who loved his patchy soft fur
And didn't care that he had no things anymore


Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Snake Oil Peddler

A salesman came a knocking
Upon his regular rounds
Selling his wares to all the willing
Bulk boxes of religion priced by the pound

One unit was twenty dollars
Ten gave a discount of one cent
The rebate was strictly ceremonial
As everything was heaven sent

Faith cost an extra 75 cents
And could be added a la carte
Along with some token redemption
Or maybe forgiveness for a start

To be a true believer
A real commitment was required
He's got a special pamphlet
Showing just how you'll be rewired

Don't worry about a thing
Put everything in the churches name
They'll take care of everything
Even if your faith begins to wane

"What's that?
You don't have any money of to speak?"
He packs up his shiny black case
"I'll just check back with you next week"


Monday, February 18, 2013

Today The Bear Won

A wave of depression
Washing over the soul
Mixing foamy emotions
All across a remote shoal

A place full of bears
Ready to wrestle one down
Eat out your center
Etch a permanent frown

Boats made from rubbish
Scattering the beach
All fall apart in the water
Keeping rescue out of reach

This is no movie
No lit up picture show
It's a deep dark enemy place
Where only those hungry bears do go

Saturday, February 16, 2013

Fly Away Fly Away

A diaspora of children erupted in flight
Away from the school
But not in fright
Rather in celebration
Of the expectation
Of summer vacation

Thursday, February 14, 2013

Valentine Mythos

As with most Valentines past
This one goes out to the broken hearts
Their chests filled with loneliness
Their shorts filled with sharts

You're not missing much I assure
Just some made up holiday
Set up to sell flowers and cards
To make us feel bad in every possible way

But before I shit on this holiday
For the hundredth time
Lets delve into myth and lore
To find out whence it came

Once upon a time
Which is how all fables start out
There was a woman named Valentine
She was a regular sort
As you shall soon see

A regular gal
Daughter of a regular bloke
Following in her mother's footsteps
Baking in their bakery
For all the town

Her best friend was Cupinski
A Polish boy
Who was rather special
Small for his age
But deadly with a bow and arrow

One fine day in the town
Cupinski came into the bakery
With some game for the meat pies
Which he traded for bread and pastry

Valentine greeted him excitedly
News spilling from her lips
She was in love
Though Cupinski's heart broke in the telling

For as often happens
Cupinski had fallen in love with his best friend
And now just as typically
Valentine had fallen in love with someone else

The man she described was impossibly perfect
Tall and dark
Handsome and moderately well off
With a home away from the open sewers of the town

More could not be wished for
At least in Valentine's mind

Just as she was getting to the part
Where she was describing how her heart felt full
With love for her new beau
A cracking sound was heard

Alarmed
Cupinski looked around
To find the source if this loud sound

The cause was right in front of him however
As Valentine clutched at her chest
Her hands scrabbling across fabric
Unlacing her blouse frantically
Eyes on her friend
Screaming silently for help

Cupinski caught her in his arms
Just as her legs buckled
Too numb for the moment
To take in the sight of her half exposed glorious bosom

Looking down he saw her chest pulsing
Growing impossibly large
Bulging outwards
Until it burst open
Showering the small back room of the bakery with blood

Stunned
Cupinski dropped Valentine to the floor
Backing away in horror
As his best friend's heart
Swollen with true love
Kept growing even as it detached itself from her body

It grew and it grew
Devouring the bakery
Cupinsky ran away from it
And still it grew
Gobbling up the village square with it's true love

It approached the love of it's life
The mysterious dark handsome man
From the good side of town
Slugging it's way along the village's cobbled streets

The object of it's desire
The man Valentine had loved
Ran from the pulsing disembodied heart
But the heart was too fast
Fortified as it was by the scent of it's object du jour

Seeing this happen
Cupinski knew it wouldn't stop
He was afraid that it would keep growing
Until it's love devoured the world
In it's muscly bloody Valentine embrace

Cupinsky took up his bow
Nocked his favorite arrow
The one with the hand chipped head
In the shape of a heart
Drew it back
And released it

Straight into the heart of his one love

And so Valentine's heart was slew
Leaving itself on the ground
Awaiting the incident clean up crew

Cupinski went sadly home
To his family's house outside of town
Where his mother greeted him with a kiss

"Hello Cupid, my baby"

For that's what his family called him

"How was hunting today?"

Cupid looked at his mother with tear streaked eyes

"I killed true love today
I drove my arrow into it's heart"

And so the mythos of Valentine's Day was born

A Valentine For My Wife

Valentine's Day
Is NOT about:

Listening to the ice crack on New Years
The first "I love you"'s
That first sweet awkward kiss
Our first home of logs and picket fence
The dreams that we shared
The three children we made together
All the puppies we loved
Crazy happy days
Days spent loving each other in bed

Neither is it about:

Arguments we've had due to awesome "communication"
Unfinished projects
Being woken up by children when we'd rather sleep in
Being woken up by sneezing belligerent Poodles
Big mistakes
Small mistakes
Broken down cars on special days
Getting older, never younger
Smelly cute rabbits that like to hiss and bite

Valentine's Day is rather about all of those things

And more

And knowing that you'd do it all again
The ups
The downs
The sideways
The diagonallys

If only it was with you Heather

Won't you be my Valentine?


Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Autoerotically Bleu

Sweat trickled down my face
Racing down from my shaved scalp
Dripping off the end of my nose
Down my neck soaking into my clothes

My eyes reflected the blue filter I'd put on the screen
So that my black and white porn
Had taken on a blue tinted sheen
I wasn't sure as to the proper hue
So I'd just done my best and attached it with glue

My toes were tap tap tapping
As my hand on my member
Was fap fap fapping
All to some imaginary whore

Drawn to be the perfect hentai
This stuff was exquisite XXX anime
With a little bit of all the traditional perversions
Big eyes, tentacles, maid outfits
In dubbed English or native Japanese depending on the version

The climax was approaching soon
Reaching crescendo with the video
My body was really in tune
A wiggly alien was making hay with two red faced girls

As my body tightened in spasm after spasm
My vision all turned blue through and through
Releasing in the most intense orgasm
Spewing (you guessed it) gallons of goo!

Recovering slowly after such an exertion
The gap between reality and fantasy now a quickly closing chasm
I reflected that it was absolutely true what I'd heard
"Staring at a blue surface during sex
Greatly increases the intensity of orgasms"

Fucking science!


Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Brown Countdown

Waiting on the brown truck
For the man in brown to step out
With a brown box
Just for me

I don't even remember what it is
And I ordered it only a week ago
All I know is that I got a message
Saying that today's delivery is a go

It might be something useful
Or it may be something not
Could be something decorative
But probably something not

I wish it was a Fisher Space Pen
But I know I didn't order one of those
I keep on meaning to
So I can write while hanging from my toes

Perhaps a part for my car
But that's a funny thought
Duct tape is the only thing that car gets
At least the only thing I bought

Perhaps a bit of electronic skulduggery
To flash and beep and sing
Oh where is that brown truck at?
I can't wait to see what it may bring


Lonely Dog Seeks: Apply Within

Lonely dog seeks companionship
Someone to fill an empty space
Lonely dog is freshly shorn
Cold and needs you to stay warm

Lonely dog is scootched to the side
As far as she can go
Lonely dog looks with pleading eyes
"Please have a sit, I need you so"

Lonely dog wears a diaper
Not because she is in heat
Not because she's incontinent either
She just pees where she wants and doesn't lift the seat

Lonely dog is generally good
And requests her belly rubbed
Lonely dog says she will pay you back
By kissing you and making you feel loved


Monday, February 11, 2013

Dreamy Little Thing

Slowly coming down
Cine scope canvas for the night
Made of flesh and blood
Not of shiny to reflect the light

The projectors fire up not long after
Showing quadruple features
Popcorn and burgers at the concession
Watching Swamp Thing and all manner of tentacled creatures

I never bought a ticket to this show
Though I go there every evening
This dreamscape of my mind's creation
No choice so I'm a-going

Whether horror, romance, action adventure or comedy
As long as the infamous pee dream stays away
I'm content to lose myself in the production
Let my subconscious hold sway

Good Night


Saturday, February 9, 2013

Coach Seat Encroachment, Or: Why I'll Never Fly Again

There I was minding my own business
Sitting in coach seat 16B
It was an aisle seat and I was on the phone
Chatting it up with my wife
That's when I saw him
Taking up the whole aisle with his fat ass
Jesus I hope he doesn't sit next to me

I made my way down the aisle
Walking sideways so I'd fit without bumping anyone
One of the drawbacks of being overweight
Another being nervous about the seating
Hoping I'd have an empty seat next to me
I looked at my ticket
It told me to go to coach seat 16A

The fat bastard got closer as I was talking
And sure as shit
He was going to try to sit next to me
Fuck my life
I expressed some frustration to my wife
"Oh my god, you aren't going to believe this shit"
She asked me what it was
I said, "I'll tell you later"
No need to call the fattie out
I unbuckled and got up
Backing up a few steps in the aisle so he'd have enough room

There was a guy in the aisle seat already
He was talking on the phone
My heart sunk and my stomach felt fluttery
I got his attention and motioned to the seat next to him
He looked right at me and told whoever was on the phone
"Oh my god, you aren't going to believe this shit"
Then started unbuckling himself to stand up
My face turned red
I tried to hide it by busying myself for a moment stowing my carry on
Just as I turned back to the seat
He quietly said "I'll tell you later"
And glared at me as I crammed myself into the window seat
I felt like all kinds of shit as I strained to get the belt buckled

Holy fuck
This fatso can't even hardly get the belt buckled!
My fucking god look at how his stomach is over the armrest
I'm going to have to be touching him the whole flight
The stewardess asked everyone to get seated
So I sat down
Trying not to cringe as my side rubbed against my horrid seatmate
Jeez he stinks too
They should really make these people buy two seats
Or not let them fly at all
As the airplane taxiied out to the runway
I reflected that I could have complained
But it's just a short hop to Phoenix

The man slipped back into his seat when the plane was ready to go
He refused to look at me
For my part I tried to press myself into the wall of the plane
Holding myself there uncomfortably to try not to crowd him
But I couldn't stop it
The armrest dug into my side
Feeling like I was being squeezed in a hydraulic press
It's only for 45 minutes
I kept telling myself
I can tough it out

As soon as we were airborne and the seatbelt light was out
I got up and hung out in the aisle
Just a few rows back from my seat
I'd rather fly standing up like this than in my seat next to him
The stewardess came by and asked if everything was ok
I nodded towards the back of the guy's head
His short hair and fat rolls on his neck calling him out
"I just can't stand sitting there next to him is all
Is it ok if I stand here while the air is smooth?"
The stewardess said it was alright
And that she was sorry there were no other open seats for me
"That's ok
I just don't see why they don't make people like him buy a second seat
I mean, it's like he's laying on top of me when I'm sitting there
Gives me the heebejeebes"
I lowered my voice and leaned towards her
"Christ
If I looked like that
I'd shoot myself"

The guy got up as soon as he could after takeoff
Standing somewhere behind me in the aisleway
My face turned red when I realized he was just trying to get away from me
I stared out the window trying to ignore the rest of the world
He started talking to someone
Telling them I should have bought another seat
And that sitting next to me creeped him out
I wanted to yell at him
Tell him I was only travelling because of work
And I had asked for a second seat and was refused
Not having the money to do it myself
This is what I was stuck with
I could almost feel the rest of the planeload of people
Listening to what he was saying
All eyes either on him or me
His voice dropped down so I could barely hear it
He said something about shooting himself
I immediately figured he meant me
Tears sprang into my eyes
If I had a gun at that moment
I actually would have killed myself
Just to spare the world my existence

As Phoenix approached
I had to sit down again
Lard-ass was either asleep
Or pretending to be
Which was fine with me
I swear to god
I'm going to specify not having to sit next to people like him
Each and every time I board a flight from now on
I feel fucking dirty just from our limited contact
I'd rather not ever fly again

I could feel our plane start slowly descending
The fasten seatbelt sign came back on
Mr aisle seat had to sit back down
I closed my eyes
Just to block him out
So I didn't have to see his angry disgusted looks
He crossed his arms
Sharply jabbing me in the ribcage
I ignored it
I was in his space after all
I deserved it
My side where the armrest was digging in
Had gone numb ten minutes ago
So at least there was that
I swear to god
This is the last time I ever fly anywhere
I'll drive a fucking rental car
Or I just won't go
I never want to feel like this again

Friday, February 8, 2013

Deep Like the Puddle

I'm deep like a puddle
Oh say can't you see?
Throw a rock at me
It exposes the depths of me

Now with the water washed out
Silty underbelly exposed
A small crater in the middle
Made by that rock that you throwed

All wit gone
Memories as well
I have to admit I'm happier now
A little bored but too dumb to tell

Until a little rain comes along
Filling me back up
Overflowing my little puddle banks
Making me spout big words
To obfuscate and confuse
Accompanied by large hand gestures
Because that's just what you do

So for awhile then
You can look deep inside
Penetrating my depths easily
As it's only a couple inches down
Better you focus on the surface instead
As your reflection is lovely I hear
I'll hold still so it's crystal clear

Being a mirror is what I do best

Thursday, February 7, 2013

Onondaga Two Step pt2: Some Enchanted Naked Evening

It was and is all a hazy blur
Did I do what they said I did?
It's hard for me to know for sure

I vaguely recall sitting at a table
Someone saying something to me
A grunt was my predictable response
Then a warm bed and a flash of skin
Followed by a close up of a cock
Some peeing in a strange shaped toilet
And waking up wishing I was shot

As I opened my eyes on that old couch
I didn't move
First I realized I was stark naked under the blanket
Second I heard voices nearby
It was a couple of my friends
One was talking the other one out of kicking my ass

Apparently
The night's hazy events had gone something like this:

I got put to bed
Sometime later I felt really hot
And had taken all of my clothes off
Then sat down at the kitchen table
The friend who's house it was
Had walked by and asked if I was alright
Prompting the aforementioned grunt

He carried on to the bathroom
I stood up
And walked into his bedroom
Seeing his bed there
Covers pulled back
I'd hopped in and passed out
At least until he came back
Also naked
With his cock at my eye level
Informing me that I was in the "Wrong bed, dude"

I sat up
Looked at him
Looked over at his naked wife
And very smartly got up and left the room

Sometime later
I'd had to pee
And not finding the bathroom right away
Had flipped up the lid on a dirty clothes hamper
And pissed about as much as a drunk person can
Closed the lid
(probably tried to flush it)
Returned to my couch

Thankfully
Nobody kicked my ass
Though who could have blamed him

I did have to waddle around the house finding my clothes
Holding the blanket around my naked form
As my friends had decided that what I needed was a scavenger hunt

And so the story went around the aviation school:
Fred went out with the guys
Got drunk
Took off all his clothes
Tried to sleep with Harvey's wife
Since he couldn't do that Fred pissed in the clothes hamper

Oh that Fred
He's the one you want to party with!

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Just One More Slice?

Bacon pizza demolishes me
Causing bloat and a feeling drowsy
Next time I'll listen when I say "No more"

Who am I kidding, I'm a pizza whore

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Onondaga Two Step

A very special day
Is only ten days away
What?
Valentines?
No I'm not so crass

I speak of the time that I threw up Orange

It was a night like any other
In that it was dark
And there were likely bats about
In that small town I'd went as a lark

There were pitchers and stools
Trivia games for the fools
Pool tables and cues
And round tippy tables amany

That's where I sat most of the night
Except when I was peeing
Watching the big game
And I couldn't believe what I was seeing

The red guys were beating the blue guys
Or maybe it was the other way around
It might have been a football
Or maybe even a football

I have no idea if it came from this or that side of the Atlantic

Pitchers of Hurricanes were the drink of the night
Kind of pinky and orangey
And an eyes for sore sight
As we all drank until things went wobbly

The time to leave was defined
As the moment that I tried to stand up
And took down the whole tippy round table
Pushing down with all my might

Drinks and chips went flying
So it was a good thing I was buying
Or folks would have been truly irate
Rather than just sore

My walk across that small town
Was marked as the legs of a quest
As in: Let's see if we can take ten more steps
Before this guy has to barf in a bin
This guy being me
And no bins in sight
I left a trail of pinky orangey puddles
As we tottered into the night

Then everything goes hazy for awhile
As I was laid down safe and sound on the couch
Or so it did seem
To them that don't know the rest

And it's the second half that's really the best

Monday, February 4, 2013

Knowing You Knowing Me

Look at you
Showing yourself off
Big shiny brain
Fancy multisyllable words
Worth a triple word score

But that doesn't make me know you
Though your words are oh so pretty

Maybe you'll tell me your life story
In all it's ups and downs glory
Sharing every memory that makes you you
A walking talking autobiography for sure

But that doesn't make me know you
It's just where you've been

I'll read your palm
Follow your life line
Stare into the bottom of your teacup
At the secrets the leaves reveal

But that doesn't make me know you
I don't believe in that stuff anyways

Maybe I'll fight you
Some say that's how to see
The measure of a person
To pull back the veil of secrecy

But that doesn't make me know you
That's just lumps bumps and broken bones

I'll stare into your eyes
If that's what you insist
Acknowledge your souls presence
The fact that it exists

But that doesn't make me know you
How ever could I?

When I don't even know myself

Saturday, February 2, 2013

Caturday Baturday Squirrel Smother Saturday

Today is Caturday
A Saturday turned feline
Full of prancing dancing fluffy cats
And Grumpy Cats sublime

My cat wasn't a Caturday cat
He was more practical than videos and GIFs
His cow kitty persona was better served eating rabbits and bats
Sometimes leaving saidsuch on the porch as gifts

Funny I should mention bats
As today is Baturday as well
Apparently bats are all the rage
Google Plussers think they're pretty swell

Bats aren't my favorite
Though they haven't harmed me it's true
One invaded my bedroom once
Trapping my wife in the closet for hours
Until I belatedly rescued her
With butterfly net and tupperware dish
Which was utterly brave and debonair
What with my vaunted fearless flair
You'd have thought my reward would be whatever I wish
When in fact all I got was

"Jesus Christ!
Couldn't you hear me in that closet?
I was in there for hours
I screamed and banged on the wall
I'm going to smother you in your sleep....."

Luckily for me
Today is also Squirrel Saturday
So I can drown out my fear of descending pillows
With images of baby squirrels at play

This I'll do after I leave you with some advice
Always listen for sounds of danger around the house
All the better to more quicker rescue the Wife


Buick Karma

In 1918 my great grandfather drove a Buick
I don't know if it was brand new
I don't know what color it was
I don't know if he loved it
Or if it was just another car

In 1918 my great grandfather died in a Buick
The story goes that he burned to death
Right after a horrible accident
On the Bay City streets

My grandfather was 18
And since his father had just died in a Buick
Grandfather swore he would never own a Buick

And so it went
With a parade of vehicles
Throughout the rest of his life
Some Fords made their home with him
Though the bulk of them were Chryslers
Of one kind or another

Taking him on long vacations
Back and forth to work at Putz Hardware
Carrying supplies when he built his house
The one at 900 Germania that's still there

Then later carrying more lumber up North
To the beach where he built his summer cottage
On the shores of Saginaw Bay
With his best friend Mick
And a whole lot of steel canned beer
If the clumps of rusty beer cans
That were occasionally dug up
Were any indication

When I met my grandfather in 1971
He drove a new Bronze colored Chrysler Newport
A long and large fuselage styled car
Which took him and his wife to see me
Because at that age that's how I saw it

Where else could be more important?

When he turned seventy five
The old Chrysler only took him places
First to bury his wife
To work at the Hardware
And naturally
To see me

In late 1979 he bought a Buick
And by early 1980 grandfather was dead
Passing away peacefully
While taking his morning constitution

And so it came to pass
That I swore I would never own a Buick

Friday, February 1, 2013

Friends Plus Family

I met you on the internets
That mass of tangled webs
.org's .com's, .net's and the likes
Or maybe in some role playing game
Where they don't allow the tykes

I've made friends and frenemies
I've kissed and I have told
I've shucked a dozen identities
Like some giant land crab of old

Growing a little with each permutation
Sometimes a little
Sometimes a lot
Sometimes under my own name
Sometimes not

The best part of any such social endeavor
Is Meeting special people
Who end up being favorite associates
More than friends but not really family
Adding a new word to my quiver
A little blend called "Framily"

Conceptual Collage Barrage

Wherein Specified Concepts Are Spliced Together
With All the Finesse of Doctor Frankenstein:

Whatever you do don't panic
While sharing with one's associates
Whether their number be 42
Or only one

Collaborate like a boss
While in a complete state of agape
With penguins and the aforementioned associates
Always in a fresh start kind of mode

Water under the bridge always marks it's passage
But always brings something new too
Sometimes something good
Occasionally even something just for you

Association of the Mind

The id and the ego
The memories in their mire
All packed up their bags
And threw them in the fire

They associated these acquisitions
With the chains of a life not lived
With talents and potential unused
Which cannot be forgived

Leaving them unfettered
Unbound and a bit wrung out
Tent pegs rattling at the end of ropes
Dragging behind as they wandered about

Occasionally sitting down for a game of chess
Using pieces of found objects
The board nothing more than lines in the dust
With little sparkly stones where they intersect

Id faced ego
Happily strategizing
While the memories watched
Alternately cheering and proselytizing

This loose association of associates
Took turns at the game
Endlessly varying the play
Searching for strategies and conventions unsame

Until in a celebration of virtual ovulation
New memories joined the old
Some soft sensitive and loving
Others a brash exploration of bold

Now tired they all return to their bed in the head
Soft carved crevices in their favorite cushions
To plug in
Tune in
And become part of the biological machine again