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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.

Monday, September 30, 2013

I See Your Grass Seems Greener Than Mine

My neighbor's grass is always greener
Over yonder other side
Outperforming whatever scrub I cultivate
My fence acting as a kind of great divide

I'd say that I am jealous
But truth be told I'm not
For I don't spend a ransom on Tru Green
Nor do I spend hours cutting and trimming like a mindless robot

No he can have his greener grass
I'll keep mine the way that it is
Uneven and patchy looking
Flowers here and there along with a variety of mosses

And though he tosses me dirty looks whenever he mows in my direction
I simply look up from my book in calm reflection
Wave lazily with half a smile
Thinking that perhaps it's my grass that looks greener to him

Sunday, September 29, 2013

Little Lost Heart

I lassoed the moon
And I rope walked to it
There I found your heart
And I talked to it

It told me how to find you

So here I am
Giving your heart back to you

Angel - Stripper Marathon pt2

The whole purpose of this early trip to Memphis was twofold
One being the spectacle of it all
Second being that beers were a dollar until one pm

Platinum Plus opened up at nine-thirty am
And we were there to walk inside on the dot

The place was empty except for us four
The red fabric draped walls and clusters of comfortable chairs spread out before us
All surrounding the center stage
Paved in black with two stripper poles
Lights lining the edge of the stage and walkway
With a curious double hoop brass bar arrangement on one side over near the DJ booth
Sort of like the place on big bars where the waitress goes to pick up orders
But all brass tubing and not sitting on top of anything but the floor

We found a good place to sit
In a cluster of chairs close to the stage
And a waitress came over to take our order
While the DJ did a sound check

"Check, check, check
The big sound of Platinum Plus coming at you
Check, check, check-ola"

There was some activity behind the stage curtain
The waitress brought us a tray of beers
Which seemed strangely proportioned
And become clearer when we held them in our hands

On the one hand
It made us all feel like giants holding regular beer bottles
But in the reality land of the other hand
We were regular sized people
It was the beers that were small

8 ouncers to be exact
Pretty much a dollar's worth of beer

So we told the waitress to keep them coming every ten minutes or so

Just then the DJ spouted off in his best strip club wah-wah voice

"Welcome to The Platinum Plus Champagne Room
Be sure to tip your waitress and the dancers
And get ready for........Angel!"

Aerosmith's Pink poured out of the speakers
Almost deafening our virgin ears
As Angel took the stage

Wearing a white bikini underneath a white cowboy vest and white cowboy chaps
Angel stomped her white cowboy boots out to the first pole
Tilting her head back
Causing her white cowboy hat to tumble from her head
Releasing her blonde hair to cascade down her back

She gave us the eye
As she slowly rubbed up and down the pole
Unhooking one button on her vest

We started gathering up some small bills
As it was clear that we were going to be using them
A lot

Saturday, September 28, 2013

Looking For Love, Or a Reasonable Fakery Of - Stripper Marathon pt1

A long time ago
In a land far away
There was a life
That doesn't even seem like it was mine

Oh sure; it was
I was there baby
Like a day long strip club marathon

Speaking of which:

There I was looking for something
Both of us actually
Plus the two guys in the back
So really all four of us

Cruising the streets of Memphis, Tennessee
At nine o'clock in the morning on a Saturday

Everyone back at the airport had been talking up the town
Saying how it was so worth the one hour trip South

The food
The booze
The sights
The gambling
The strip clubs

When they had been talking about it all back at the hotel
I had just eaten
I was already drunk
I'd seen it all
I didn't gamble
But strip clubs?
That was worth a look I thought

So early on this Saturday morning
I'd gathered up the few guys I could rouse
And we rolled out of Blytheville, Arkansas
Headed South down Highway 55

Chasing dollar beers
No cover charge
Five dollar tips
And twenty dollar lap dances

Friday, September 27, 2013

Green Broad & Tall

There it stands
Green broad and tall
Topped by a frilly head of seeds
A fertile beacon in an otherwise barren land

A rumble in the distance disturbs the grassy utopia
Shaking the ground in unsubtle approach
A fire engine red Lawn Boss tractor grows near
Twin blades swinging in a whirlwind of destruction

The engine of the lawn behemoth is deafening
Only growing nearer and louder
But another sound can be heard over it
Or under it as it were

The screams of the grass
Rising in frequency and number
A chorus of torment
A wave of despair

Now almost on top of it
The green broad tall grass steeled itself
Lawn Boss rolling over top of it
And then it was over in a cutting whirling nightmare tumble

Then that was over too
And the top half of the green broad tall grass floated in the air
Above the sickly plains of plat planned housing
A grid below growing smaller as it gained altitude

Flowing into the jetstream
The seed laden green broad tall grass raced across the sky
Topping mountains in it's haste to sow itself
A push to reproduce no smaller due to it's size

To black loamy soil in a faraway land
Far from red Lawn Boss tractors
Scarred brown trimmed landscapes
And the touch of any human hand

To grow it's seed
Green broad and tall once again

Thursday, September 26, 2013

Creep Sheep

An affront to the rear
Creep Sheep came near
Ever closer
Ever creeping

Scraping the ground with woolly belly
Fat and soft like a bowl of jelly
Creep Sheep had lived high for far too long
Now trying to sneak back into the throng

The herd for it's part
Was having none of it
This strange sheep that approached looked nothing like them
With hair cut into a stylish wool afro
Crawling on his belly as if he couldn't be seen like a crazed ninja-go

Big city life had changed Creep Sheep
With hard fake ground
He had started wearing shoes over his aching hooves
And with little to graze upon
He had started eating take out

His favorite was vegetarian Thai

Creep Sheep is a creepin'
His legs too weak to hold him
After too many video games in The Village
And skipping too many days at the gym

The herd goes North
And so he creeps too
Sliding upon his massive sheep belly
Looking for acceptance
And dreaming of a nice vegan stew

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Hertz Donut

That time you broke you leg
And there was no applause as you were helped off the field
Because there wasn't anyone around to cheer you on
As you crawled back to your motorcycle
Somehow got it started and into first gear
Then drove yourself to the hospital

Or the time after high school
When you discovered you were in love with someone
And you went out of your way to be with them
Do things with them
Do things for them
And slowly worked up the nerve to tell them
Which was precisely when they told you all about how they loved this other person

Then that other instance at work
When you worked all the hours
Never called in sick
Didn't take vacations
And really helped make things a success
Only to be passed over for promotion in favor of the boss's nephew

All those things there.....

Hurts, don't it.

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

Few Things Are Forever

Rain falling down upon me
Running down my rocky body
To end it all in the sea
Mixing in with the krill and the kraken
A frothy salty winter spring summer fall mix

Standing here while you timidly put your toe into the sea
Casting nets from shore
Before switching to sail then steam

Dwelling in my shadow
Raising wooden cities from mud huts
Giving way to concrete and steel

I see you
With all of the clever things
That a big brain and opposable thumbs bring

Don't think I'll shed a rocky tear
When all your works crumble away in time
And I'm still here

Rain still falling upon me
Sea still churning below
Without you bald monkeys running the show

Monday, September 23, 2013

Ladybug of Doom

In the midnight of our days
Time stopped in nuclear fallout
Both hands pointed straight up at last
Tended intently by the devout

A doomsday predicted since 1947
Then plus or minus seventeen minutes away
Never more though often less
In a heavy metal weaponry ballet

"Certainly the trigger must have been the Middle East"
One might say
Which is an educated contemporary guess to make
Whilst sipping the tea at the nuclear cafe

But the root of the problem is more basic than that
Existing in the form of the common Coccinellidae
Having sought safe quarters in chilly fall weather
Resulting in an unexpected blooming Ladybug bouquet

Happening right in the wrongest place it could
Shorting out wires and circuit boards
Inexplicably activating systems that had safeguards to their safeguards
All in keeping with the anti-proliferation accords

Now there is no one left to say what happened next
Just two hands pointing straight up to midnight
And mutated giant lumbering Ladybugs in a radioactive haze
Celebrating the morning after the midnight of our days

Sunday, September 22, 2013

Teenage Science

Grounded in reality
There were rules to the plan
Certain physical science properties
That just couldn't have their disbelief suspended

But we tried
Oh yes we did
Attempting to defy gravity for a second longer than we should
Resulting in predictable results
Had we bothered to do the math

Mass times velocity equaling one hell of a lot of momentum
Showing off just a fraction of the potential energy
That is contained within a 1969 Chevrolet El Camino
Transforming said vehicle into something resembling a taco

With people filling

Hold the hot sauce please

So now despite the noblest of intentions
Of leaping across the abyss of the main county drain
For what purpose I have now forgotten
But couldn't have been very significant

I'm grounded, in reality
For at least three months
With a pile of wreckage instead of a car
And a pair of crutches to aid a broken leg

Saturday, September 21, 2013

One In The Hand

I put you up on the shelf
Like a trophy from the bowling alley
Kept you dusted
Kept you clean
Wheeled you out to impress my friends

Who always said you had gotten the short end of that stick

Which was just a nice way to say
That I wasn't good looking
But you were

After they left I would beat you
Then fuck you 
Leaving you in a puddle of cum and blood

So I guess it shouldn't be such a surprise to me
That I find myself where I do right now

Stabbed through the heart with a steak knife
With my lifeless eyes watching you walk out the front door
Wearing the trophy mink coat I'd bought to decorate you
Driving away in the trophy Mercedes I liked to pose with you in

All with a look of stupid surprise on my unattractive face
That I doubt the mortician will be able to wipe away

Fly free trophy turtle dove
You deserve better than me

Friday, September 20, 2013

Highlight This

I bought a pack of highlighters today
Just to mark some exceptional quotes in a book
Nothing unusual
Until I started taking a look

Everywhere I saw there were interesting things to see
The way the author let a participle dangle
Like a damsel in distress
On a cliff clinging to a tree

I had to make note of it
I used the pink one for that
For note and notice for later use
Using the broad strokes pink and super fat

Then there was some technical jargon
Which seemed useful to remember
Obscure in the extreme
But worth recalling by any means

Those got the blue marks
Blue just seemed more technical a color
Why I really don't know
Something that looks squeezed from a Smurf just seems that way to me

I stopped and looked around the room at that point
Giving my eyes a rest
And a beheld a wonderment of things
That I hadn't thought interesting before

A miniature suit of armor from an old issue of Smithsonian
"Own it now and pass it to your children!" the ad had read
And I'd done it
Put it on my shelf
And forgotten about it for two years
Until just now

That suit of armor needed to be highlighted
So I could enjoy it every day
The orange highlighter was appropriate
And so I colored it in every possible way

Now it won't escape notice
But there seems to be so much more
Things I've forgotten to see
Though they are wonderful and well worth a second glance

The gnarled oak outside the door
Full of personality and dignity
The way it has grown crooked to stay in the sun
In such an unusual arc seemingly just for me to see

A forgotten wooden crate
Now the home to a possum family
How could I have missed it
It's marvelous and rare

I must have some bigger highlighters
The bigger the better
So that everything will get noticed in celebration
Whether wonderful or an aberration
Though both one and the same
I need to highlight all of creation

Thursday, September 19, 2013

What is the sound of.....

This is my hand
It does what it can
Clapping loudly for itself
As it's own biggest fan

Whitestone - Chemtrail pt1

I’m no expert on these types of things
I just do what I’m told
I follow directions
I adhere to my training

Every night I make my way out onto the ramp in LosAngeles
Usually with a pleasant ocean breeze washing over the airport
Bright orangey stadium lights on all around the concrete aircraft ramps

I wear a white Tyvek suit with a small black scripted “Whitesone Servicing” upon the left breast
And the mandatory airport issued badge strapped to my upper right arm
I could be most anybody seen from a distance
Which is usually how everyone sees me
As I try not to go about my rounds when there are a lot of people about

Driving my ramp-short Jeep towing the combination tank and man lift trailer
Looking much like a lavatory service unit
All painted in a dull white color
“Whitestone Servicing” on a small sign on each door
Yellow light on top of the cab flashing steadily


Nothing to see here
Nothing to notice
Move along
Move along

There is an aluminum clipboard resting on the passenger seat
Upon it are tonight’s papers
Generated at eleven pm on the dot
Every single night

On them is a list of aircraft
Listed by registration number, approximate parking area, and type of airplane.

Tonight there are twelve airplanes on the list
Starting with an Air Asiatic Boeing 747-400
Located in a dim corner of the transient parking ramp
Not too far from my starting point
My small half round shed off the side of the unused old military ramp

I take in the scene ahead
No personnel evident in the area

Security aware of my presence
But giving me a wide berth
With the three airport patrol cars in other areas of the field

They go on the whole
“If I don’t know about it then I can’t talk about it”
Theory of security
Which is similar to “Loose lips sink ships”
But taken half a step further

The three story tall aircraft looms large in my windshield now
And I veer off slowly over to the left wingtip area
Carefully positioning my trailer below a particular panel on the underside skin of the wing
Brakes silently hauling the rig to a stop
I slip the transmission into park and set the parking brake firmly
Leaving the diesel engine to idle lazily in the still night

Picking up the clipboard from the passenger seat
I glance at my watch and make a note on the form next to this aircraft’s registration line

0803Z – LH wing

Time to get started

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Chemical Contrail

Made up of three parts water
This recipe isn't complicated for sure
Add one part powdered mind control mix
Into the tank and give it a twist

When the aircraft attains altitude
The feed valves will pop open without a sound
Regulating the serum off into the clouds
Making the nicest chemical contrail to be found

Breathe it in deep Citizen!
It's the bitterness of freedom you taste
Upon the very air that you inhale
Call it what you will in your logical haste

Nothing to see here
Move it right along
Just do as I say Citizen
Your mind can no longer tell if it's wrong

Chemical contrail upon the bluest of canvas
Of the whitest fluffy puffy white you'll find
Painting your pretty lines high in the sky
Atomized artwork for the mind

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Words at Play

The raven had the mix
But never found the fix
Lost in pomegranate tricks
Some days you take some licks

Perhaps if I found the ground
Thing's wouldn't spin around
In this land where dreams abound
I'm ever lost and never found

I think I'll call it Wonderland
'Cause there's Alice's severed hand
I'm holding as I stand
Waving it so as to feel fanned

You extend your greeting to me
As far as your eyes can see
From sea to shining sea
Never quite earning your fee

In the end I fell for the tricks
Trapped as under a load of bricks
Calling out to all my cliques
Who ignored me like a bunch of dicks

And I knew right then that this was something
That all the ravens and pomegranates in the world could never fix

Monday, September 16, 2013

Damage - Narrow Squeak in Seattle pt3

The brilliant white Douglas DC-8 aircraft dominated my dazzled vision as I entered the bright main hangar area
Her damaged areas were quite apparent from what was removed from the structure at this point

Back on the tail
The left horizontal stabilizer leading edge was removed

On the left wing
The inboard leading edge was off and on sawhorses in front of the number two engine
All the internal access panels removed
With much of the fuel plumbing displaced

A left wing leading edge section between the number one and two engines was also off and on a pallet on the floor

On both the number one and number two engine pylons
The pylon skirts were removed
As were the cowl hinge assemblies
Though I could see the sheetmetal guys had the new ones laid out on the work tables
Almost ready to be installed

As a the symbolic culprits of this whole mess
There were four overhauled cowlings in the corner of the hanger
Two for each left side engine
Sitting atop special wood two by four cradles upon oak pallet bases
Freshly shipped in from the home maintenance base

Sitting there
They were a silent reminder of what had happened almost two weeks ago now

The old DC-8 had been on the cargo ramp at the North end of the airport
Minding its own business as it were
Being loaded with pallets of freight
Swallowing an almost impossible seeming amount of cargo
Proving its worth daily to the fleet despite its thirty plus years of age

Maintenance personnel were doing their daily inspections
Checking everything out
Adding fluids here and there
Checking some serial numbered components on the left side engines for the Records Department

With one man under the butterflied open cowlings of the number one and two engine
Being tailed by another guy with a clipboarded list of parts
The number verification didn’t take long

The two guys lowered both sets of cowl doors
But then realized they didn’t have the right wrench with them to close the levered latch assemblies at the bottom of the cowls
One went to get the wrench
The other stepped away from the plane to have a cigarette

Then the lunch wagon came around
And all the maintenance people mobbed the truck buying their food

The loaders finished loading up the airplane
The flight crew did a quick walkaround

Finding nothing out of place
The flight crew saddled up and called for the pushback crew
Who reluctantly cut their lunch short to attend to the start and push of the fully loaded DC-8

With all four engines turning
The plane pushed back and turned loose for taxi
And the two maintenance guys came back from lunch
One with a wrench in his hand
As they both watched the airplane taxi away from the cargo ramp

Lazy human nature being what it is
They both assumed that someone else had latched the cowlings down
Otherwise surely the flight crew would have caught it on their pre-flight walkaround


The heavy DC-8 lined up at the end of the runway
Throttles pushed to takeoff power
And after a fairly long roll it leapt into the air

Everything seemed perfectly normal
Nothing out of the ordinary on the cockpit gauges
No reason to look out the side windows at the engines

Until Seattle tower called the aircraft
Asking if everything was all right

“Yes, everything is five by five tower
Why do you ask?”
Was the puzzled response from the crew

“Well DC-8 Heavy, it appears you’ve left a significant amount of debris behind on our runway
You might want to turn around and come back”

Sure enough
Both the number one and two engine cowls had flapped wide open on the takeoff roll
Eventually bending backwards and breaking away from the engine pylons
Ripping the hinges off the structure
Tearing the pylon skirts
Puncturing the wing and tail leading edges on their way by at high speed

The DC-8 had to dump fuel and return to the airport
Where it landed safely

The four shiny new engine cowls sat in their corner upon their wooden thrones
A reminder of what could happen when you make simple mistakes
Telling a tale of much worse things that could have happened

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Woolly Bully

Woolly bully bear caterpillar
Black and brownish orange colored spiky long hair
Marching without pause to some unknown destination
Causing in your passing all manner of traffic congestion

Some from the big-hearted drivers
Who realize almost too late
What that little dark marching twig really is
Slamming on brakes or swerving in a test of fate

Others are, lets face it, assholes
Who will go out of their way to splat any living thing
Laughing maniacally at the imagined sounds that happen
As they overwhelm the limited locomotion of hoof, paw, tarsus or wing

Woolly bully bear caterpillar in my hand
Of your thirteen segments I count six
Six that make up your lovely brownish orange band
Now does that mean we will have a harsh or mild winter, or perhaps a mix?

I can't recall the exact old wives tale at this moment
Distracted as I am by your sticky little bear feet upon my hand
And the leaving of the obligatory ceremonial woolly bear poo
Popping out very daintily from your aft-most black band

I grabbed you from the center of the roadway
But I had noted your intended direction
So upon the desired side of the road I set you
And you continue upon your course with no pause for reflection

Wherever you find to pass the winter
I hope that it is a nice cozy spot
Where in the spring you can spin your soft cocoon
Then to fly away as just another incognito tiger moth

But just before I turned away
A bird swooped down and ate you without question
Woolly bully bear caterpillar
I hope you cause him indigestion

Friday, September 13, 2013

Aircraft Mechanic's Dirty Lament

The alarm goes off and I hit the snooze
Knocking it off and under the bed as I do
Hands rubbing the sleep out of my eyes
Hands with a little dirt under the fingernails
Black soot ground into the pores
Giving a grayish tinge to the typical Crayola Caucasian color

Breakfast and morning shower ticked off
Fingers tickle the carbs on the old Triumph
Coming away smelling of gasoline and thinner
An old motorcycle smell that always brings a smile
As I sniff the fingertips like a dirty old man might do
Kicking the bike to life with youthful gusto

Rolling into work five minutes early
Time enough to scrape the dead bugs off my knuckles
Before diving into the Pratt & Whitney engine teardown
Pulling off the hot section for later consideration
Coked oil residue and carbon black painting me steadily
Until it's obvious this stuff will not clean off readily

But I make a game try of it anyways
As lunchtime rolls around at last
Celebrating with fresh french fries and a burger
Hot off the silver skinned roach coach outside
Sitting down heavily and digging right in
Though it soon becomes apparent that I just can't win

The fight against the filth is clearly lost today
As I see that despite the soap's inability to do it's job upon aircraft engine stain
It appears that the oil on the french fries is up to the task
For the fries still in the bucket now sport all kinds of black smudges
Marking the close passage of an apparently still dirty man
Who sits back in momentary despair of every having truly clean hands

But then I get over it and enjoy the food
Dirty or not

Thursday, September 12, 2013

This Post is Copyrighted

This post is copyrighted
Don't even think of copy/paste
Unless it's in a Creative Commons way
In which case due credit and no profits will rule the day

It's a word I made up
It doesn't have a definition as of yet
But it's trademark is firmly set

If you try to use it
Barbs will pop out
Causing it to stick upon your lips
A mark of shame we could all live without

So don't steal this work
Unless you want to be creatively, yet commonly, trolled
Afflicted with word herpes
With pics up and Instagrammed to be endlessly LOLed

**Copyright and all rights reserved on this work for whomever reads it
Unless it's a big movie studio who wants to make a movie out of it
In which case I'll write the treatment and expect a full writer's cut**

Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Welcome To Brandywine Creek

Under cover of fog did this day begin
Charging from the front
Surprising from the right
Steel and smoke din confusion
Men and horses scream in lead infusion

Welcome to Brandywine Creek Pennsylvania
Death to over one thousand men
Who no longer cared which color coat they wore
Blood that bore no differences painting the grass
Staining the water red milky glass

September 11th 1777
Going down in history as just the first
On this day in American tragedy
All but forgotten in these modern times
These men who bled for their country and drew the first lines

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

B-36 Peacemaker

Be it peacemaker or peacetaker
When the aluminum overcast sets in
There is only one place to begin
It all starts with "Jetzt lege ich mich zum Schlafen"

But you better skip to the end
Because 32.2/fps topping out at max speed
Means not much time left
So you better get in all the prayers you think you need

Flight crews already celebrating with champagne
As it was five minutes ago you were first sighted in
Did you feel those crosshairs upon you?
Their bay doors closed and pulling away from this imaginary Berlin

Fighting a war that is past
Grown cold and dim
Metal defensive posture
Now on display at a museum

No threat to you anymore from 44,000 feet
As mother presses lips to your forehead
Bidding you sweet dreams and Schlaf gut
While softly smoothing your bedsheet

Monday, September 9, 2013

Riding the Bomb

Today we are riding the bomb
Always in a constant free fall situation
Holding tight with one hand on the reins
The other waving our cowboy hat around
Terrified someone will notice our fear induced piss stains

America the beautiful
America the great
Please oh mighty talking TV heads
Tell us who to hate

Siren pt1

It started very slowly
It's tone very low
Raising its pitch until it was a full bellow
Seemingly unending ear piercing sound
And just when it seemed the whole town would go mad

It stopped

Just as slowly as it started
Lowering in pitch until it simply petered out
After having gone on for at least four turns of the Mayor's hourglass

It might come back later this evening
Or again tonight
No rhyme or reason to it's sounding off periods
Until someone came up missing

This is how it went every month or so
And it was perfectly  normal
Just a regular event in this post Impact world

After the sound finally trickled off
Life in Blind River resumed

The bustle of loading and unloading the boats at the dock
The candlemakers and tanners
Blacksmiths and grocers
All wrapping up the day's business
Ready to go home to a meal
Whether it was hot or not

For my part
I lit the streetlamps
Turning each one on with its little brass knob
Touching my long lighter stick to hissing outlet
Watching the small blossom of flame appear
Insignificant in the remaining light of the day
Though that would change with the quickly setting sun
As it disappeared over the next twenty minutes
Which gave my just enough time to finish my rounds
Leaving the two main roads of the town with a friendly flickering golden glow

My work made me happy
It kept me busy maintaining the town's gas lines
Cleaning fixtures and fixing leaks
Knowing how lucky we were to have a source of gas to tap into
So useful for so many things

I did dream sometimes of electricity
Of having that to light the streets and homes
But that was just a historical footnote now
Known to everyone living in Blind River
Only through books at the library
And the small electricity exhibit at the City Hall museum

On a small enclosed shelf display was a faded picture of the old town powerplant
Along with a few lengths of copper wire
And a white plastic receptacle
Which had two short parallel slots with a round hole center offset to them

In the more than one hundred years since the Impact
All the copper wire had been salvaged to the blacksmiths and artisans
The old powerplant next to the river had collapsed into itself
Most of it's bricks taken for other uses

I ended my rounds at the docks
Where I took a few minutes to sit down
My legs hanging off the old wooden edge
Looking South out paste Susanne Island
Across the North Channel to Manitoulin Island
And imagining the endless waters of Lake Huron past that

But I'd never seen that big water in my fourteen years so far
Though someday I planned on doing so
Despite my family's wishes

Just then the siren cranked itself slowly to life again
Slowly working itself up to speed somewhere North of town

I listened to it
And wondered on it
Counting it as another of the things I knew nothing about
But wanted to find out about someday

Sunday, September 8, 2013

Amorous Jesus

Jesus he loved everyone
That was certainly for sure
As he roamed from sea to sea
In and all around his home of Galilee
He passed his loving hooka from lips to lips

Much has been said of his missing years
Years of which there is no mention
But I have a revelation of sorts
I found it all in old Roman reports
It seems that Jesus was considered a bit of a deviant

Upon sexual maturation
Or the start of it anyways
At the tender age of thirteen
Young Jesus was as curious as he'd ever been
Playing house with neighbor girls, boys and pets

It seems anything with a pulse was fair game
For this young lad of fair and decent looks
He was known to have stamina for hours on end
Following his aroused instincts wherever they beckoned
Sometimes plumb wearing out two or three partners a night

This went on for years as more or less of a hobby
Until he met his lustful match one evening
A comely lass roughly his same age
Whose loins were legend in their craving rage
Jesus took their meeting as a sign and a challenge

All through the night and into the next day
The one tried to wear out the other as one day bled into the next
Inventing positions and role play as they went
Until the whole thing was clearly a miracle heaven sent
Mary Magdalene had been destined for Jesus

Thus it was that now with a partner who was his equal
Both in and out of the ancient hay filled sack
That Jesus could start upon his true and chosen task
Soon assembling the best dozen chums anyone could ask
And spreading his philosophy of love to all who would listen

Mary was always by his side
For whenever his thoughts would wander to baser places
She was there to calm his lustful tumultuous inner sea
Until his thoughts flowed clear with smooth post coital chi
Yin to his Yang and lock to his key

To tame the Amorous Jesus

Poll of Indecision

I could not decide what to write
And so I devised a poll
With a selection of prompts
To be taken in part or in whole

And after the results all trickled in
Only then did I realize the pickle I was in
For the suggestions were evenly divided Betwixt sex and religion

Amorous Jesus, here I come

Thursday, September 5, 2013

Hat Dance

Oh this is the way
To rhyme with Jose'!

I have rocks in my head!

And then there is Don
He thinks he's the one

But then Bang! Bang! and he's dead!

T'was a lawman named Juan
Who drew out his gun

He ground his bones for his bread!

Aye yaye yaye yaye
This is the deadly hat dance

Many More Miles To Memphis

In the year Nineteen Nineteen
When the leaves were young
Just out of budding
With all shades of green

I received a letter from my Aunt Maureen
Telling of a spot reserved for me
In the family cemetery in Memphis
Prettiest grassy spot you'd ever seen

I took her at her word
As I swore I'd never go back
Though they say things have changed
Or at least that's what I'd heard

That was thirty years past now
Back when I lived in Cairo
Cleaning tomb relics at a dig
Just after arriving fresh from Maccau

Upon hearing this news
It gave me pause to think how civilized it was
That my bones would have a final resting place
Though as a destination it failed to enthuse

And true to my thoughts and intents
I've avoided the city ever since
Having it accompany my thoughts of death is bad enough
Inspiring whatever nightmares my guilty conscience invents

What did I do that causes me to keep Memphis at arm's length?
Just asking that question is what keeps me moving
Avoiding the answer that is on the tip of my tongue
Keeping it in check with all of my strength

On to New Zealand to wrestle some sheep
I've heard they are soft round and smelly
Requiring a dull sense of smell and a vigilant eye
As they love to escape and need little sleep

Then to Japan trying to be a swordsmith
Though after making my first simple hook I gave up
Nobody had told me how long the process took
The thought that such a thing is easy but a sour myth

Now in Nineteen-Fifty I've slowed down more than a scosche
Seen two world wars come and go
And between the arthritis and tinnitus
My mannerisms only grow all the more gauche

But I have many more miles to Memphis left in me yet
Many more places to visit 
Many more professions to try
Before I'll ever see Death and declare, "Well met!"

Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Begging For The Click-Through

This poem's for you
But I'm not gonna post it
I'll throw a link in the space
To drive the traffic to myspace

Did I say myspace?
I meant my place
My site
My blog
My stuff
My shite

At any rate
It's all to generate traffic
As if it really matters
As I masturbate to stats
Dancing madly in the spatters

Come ON
Click on the damned link!
It's the only real reason I posted this fucking poem
Just don't put any real critique in the comments
If it ain't praise then I don't give a crap what you think

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

Airplane Nerds - Narrow Squeak in Seattle pt2

As my eyes adjusted to the gloomy old hallway
It's ceiling peppered with burned out light fixtures
I could hear voices coming from the old employee breakroom

We had set up our command center there
And adjourned to it whenever we needed to be away from the main hangar floor

From the sounds of it
A strange argument was taking place

Voice #1 was making a case
"No, I absolutely wouldn't allow myself to be transported
Because the me, that materialized at the destination, wouldn't be the same me that had stepped into the machine!"

"Look, like I've said, the you, that materializes is still you, dammit!
The first you disappears, and the second you appears wherever you want to go"
Voice #2 retorted with passion and annoyance

I reached the doorway and stepped inside to the breakroom/command center
Revealing the two voices to be two of the members of the RAMS* team
Voice #1 was Old Bob the supervisor
Voice #2's name was Steve I think
One of the team sheetmetal fabricators

I said "Hello" to them both
Which only got me a sideways glance out of both of them
Kind of taking the whole Batman out of my ego's sails

Old Bob continued with a more resigned tone in his voice
His grey walrus mustache bobbing up and down with his words
"Look, Steve"
I knew his name was Steve!
"It's really simple
I'm born and live my life in a linear fashion
Being me, the same person that whole time
With a clear trail from where I'm at all the way back to the womb"

Then his walrus mustache takes on a more animated dance

"Then I step into some infernal Star Trek transporter machine
Which dematerializes me into molecules and information
Sends the signal somewhere else
And rematerializes me once again!"

Sheetmetal Steve verbally pounces
Almost spilling the coffee from the cup in his hand
"See!  You said it yourself
It rematerializes YOU once again
You are still YOU!"

I clear my throat a little bit trying to get Old Bob's attention
But he is still intent on his discussion with Sheetmetal Steve
"No, I would not be ME anymore, you shit for brains!
The old, original me, was ended, eliminated, changed into data
Then a perfect copy of me was reassembled to become the new me
With all the memories of the me that used to be
And under the perfect delusion that he was still ME
When in fact, the old me was now effectively dead
With an end to his continuous existence!"

Sheetmetal Steve looked thoughtful as he sipped his coffee
And was about to reply when I interrupted them a little more forcefully
"Bob, did you get that new Mach Trim pulley bracket ordered?"

We had found the old bracket
Stuffed into the most godawful front upper corner of the nose wheel well
Just the other day while performing a routine inspection
Finding one of the spidery magnesium legs of the assembly broken

Old Bob finally gave me his attention
"No I did not
Your maintenance control is going to yard one out of a scrap aircraft somewhere
And when you get it
It will probably be so corroded you won't want to use it"

As the words flowed from under the fluttering fringe of his massive mustache
The picture formed in my head
Of me opening an overnight shipping box
And pulling out a 'new' magnesium Mach Trim bracket
That looked like it had spent the last ten years on the bottom of the ocean
It's cast metal shape pockmarked with black corrosion

"Well I don't know what else we can do
Maybe it won't be so bad once we clean it up and repaint it"
I answered hopefully

He just shook his Old Bob shaggy haired head at me
"Nope, here's what you want to do
You have your company's account number with the Boeing AOG** parts desk?"

I nodded

He smiled under his 'stache
"So call them up and order a brand new one
It's the only way you'll know you are getting a good part"
And he paused for effect
"Unless you really want to replace it again after it breaks the first time you put tension on it"

He made sense
Though my company wouldn't want to do it
"Okay, I'll see what I can do"

I was going to say 'See you later' or something
But Old Bob and Sheetmetal Steve had already locked eyes
With something about belief in ones self being a key part of being who you are
Regardless of whether or not you have been transported Star Trek style

So I quickly made my exit towards the hangar
To go check on the Hangar Queen

*RAMS - Recovery And Modification Services
**AOG - Aircraft On Ground

Monday, September 2, 2013

I'm Batman! - Narrow Squeak in Seattle pt1

I know that Mt. Rainier is over that way somewhere
Only because that's what I've been told
Because despite having been in Seattle for a week
I have yet to see it

If it isn't the rain
Then it's the mist
Or work keeping me inside
Distracted by the Hangar Queen

I wasn't even supposed to be here
I was supposed to be out on the road
Living the life of a Rover
Or Batman
I'm going to go with that

I was Batman
Travelling around to wherever I was needed

Have a broken airplane?
I will travel to you

Like Batman
If Batman was an aircraft mechanic

My rental car wiggled in a worn out way as I pulled off Pacific Highway
Eyeballs wandering towards the Jack In The Box on the corner
But knowing better than to chance it
A little Jack faced antenna ball with it's jaunty yellow hat taunting me
Waving back and forth along with the antenna
Reminding me of the last time I'd stopped in for their food
Sickening me at the very thought

Onto a side street then into a steep parking lot entrance drive
The old Eastern Airlines hangar waited for me at the top of the hill
In all of it's faded tan painted glory
Still adorned with the Eastern Airline hockey stick logo
Which will stay there until the place is torn down

My Hangar Queen is the last plane that will ever see the inside of this place
As soon as this project is done
The hangar and attached shop areas will be gutted and removed
Another victim of progress and larger airplanes

I park my cheap rental Cavalier in a barely legible parking spot
The worn out parking paint lines
Upon the cracked unsealed blacktop
Shade loving grasses poking up through the cracks
That being the only kind of grass that would thrive here in Seattle I would imagine

I jealously look at the few other cars in the lot
Rental cars of another caliber
Two Cadillacs and a Lincoln Town Car
The Caddys were so new I didn't even recognize the model

I guess I'm more of a Batman on a budget

Making sure to grab my airport line badge
I lock up the car and make my way into the backside of the hangar
Kicking at the loose stones on the ground

The card key lock on the door doesn't recognize my card swipe
And I have to do it three times before the green light comes on
The lock solenoid buzzing as it holds itself open for me

Hauling open the heavy door
The sounds of activity can be heard echoing down the dim hallway
The Hangar Queen is getting worked

If I'm Batman
Then this is the Batcave

The heavy door snaps into the electronic lock behind me

Sunday, September 1, 2013

Water Cooler Stridulation

There is a cricket under the water cooler
Who is cricketing away happily
In a really nonstop kind of way
With no mind to anything else around him
Certainly with a lot of things to say

There may be more than one of them under there
In a velvet lined dimly lit cricket love lounge
Quiet baritone cricket love songs playing on the tape deck
A tiny candle or two flickering to set the mood
I'd peek underneath but I fear the moment would be wrecked

So oblivious to any nearby footsteps or activity
The crickets doing what they do in their little love nest
Cricketing the morning away under the water cooler
Now in post coital cuddle mode
A little cricket head nestled onto soft cricket breast