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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.

Saturday, September 27, 2014

A Crayola Kid

Once a year I get a new box of crayons
The week before school starts in the fall
I hoard their perfection like Charlie Bucket and his birthday chocolate
Cracking the box a little at a time to smell the new wax
Till finally I open it wide to access each creative color rocket

Black is for the nighttime
It's easily my favorite crayon
Because at night all the details are blurry
Which suits my drawing style perfectly
As it is lousy and in a hurry

Yellow is for the sun
Because who has time for shades of red and orange?
All my suns are the same
Shining like great dandelions in my skies
A crying unimaginative shame

Blue is for the skies
Except for when they are grey
But my grey crayon got eaten by Stu
I got mad at him but it did no good
So till mom can go to the store again my skies are blue

Flesh tone is whatever it is
I kind of hold up the crayons along my line of sight to judge
And by the second week I've torn all the labels off anyways
The whole thing started an argument once
But dad says I don't have to give a damn what some racist shirt-tail uncle says

My red crayon is my favorite though
I save it for special things
Fire trucks, bloody cuts, and Ferraris
A shade of those horrible apples we get for teachers
And blossoming red algae blooms in stormy blue seas

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Ehlers-Danlos Seeks Fulfillment: Apply Within

Your transparent skin hides nothing from me
I see the heart of you
And what you had for lunch too
Your soul itself is on clear display
Your blood rushing around making way

You are see through to me Princess Rubbermaid

If I had one thousand Lego pieces to store away
I'd call on you for sure
So I could put them in and seal them up
Set upon a shelve with ten other convenient containers
I could always tell which one was you

You would be the one full of my precious blocks
Oh, my Queen of Sterilite storage solutions

The one thing I'd never do
Is give my heart to you
Because your motives are see through
Your skin is fragile as glass
And my heart would be as vulnerable as can be
Trapped inside with your intentions
Doomed to be just another honorable mention

Vulnerable to any old joker with a hard object
Your top may be hermetically sealed my precious Baroness Ball Jar
But I know just what you are
Being just another empty vessel
Awaiting me, myself, or anyone
To come along and fill up You

Monday, September 22, 2014

Three Things We Can All Agree Upon

It's like that dream everyone has
Where the bathroom's small
And the porcelain bathtub is a dirty pink
With a built in area at the end
To prop up Aunt Minnie's mummified remains
Her cracked and crumbly lips moving to a whisper
"All this moisture eases my pain"

Or when you find yourself a tiny clawed larvae
Swimming inside a puddle of condensation
Atop the chocolate upper layer
Of a piece of six week old Christmas candy
The only words upon your mushy white lips
"I deserve to have my dreams come true!"

Then sitting in an old grey metal Steelcase office chair
Feet searching for the matching desk
To prop themselves up upon
A cigarette of the brand recommended by nine out of ten doctors everywhere
Lay writhing in hand
As it skillfully avoided the lit wooden match
Evading it's clear destiny
Crying out from dried tobacco stuffed end
"I think
Therefore Shazam!"

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Thick Lizard Fashion

Big fat lizard called Jake
Legs too short to reach the ground
Had to wiggle like a snake
Just to get around

His owner pondered this problem

Finally an ideal solution was found
Much better than a light diet of fruits 
The best way for Jake to get 'round
Was to be turned into a fine pair of boots 

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Sous-VĂȘtements Vivant

The old dirty torn underwear stood up one day
Climbed onto a window ledge forty one stories up
And announced an intent to see the world

But before stalking off in a stiff fabriced march
It gave some context and thoughts

A brief spurt of soliloquy

"I have lived long
And been worn longer than I should
I've seen skid marks by the light of a new born moon
A wedgie so tight as to test the atomic bonds of cotton
Once I hung thirty feet in the air
From the branch of a two hundred year old tree
While all the universe was ablaze above me
Rotating about the North Star

At least from my perspective"

The fruit of the loom paused pensively
"I want to see more"

Then turning to quickly leap into the gap
Never to be seen again
An old crusty pair of underwear up and run away
Just as mother always warned me they would

Friday, September 12, 2014

Wet Dream

Shiver into me
As I drag my nails along your limbs
Stutter my name
With four letter interjections
As rouged lips wrap your shaft
Eyes closed
A moist spot upon a tented sheet
Awakened alone by a chill draft

"Dream come back to me"
I cry in vain

For even now your form fades from my memory
Just a ghost from a dream to me

Sunday, September 7, 2014


I tumble to your desire
You glorious bastard
With my skin on fire
Nerves as tight as a garrote wire

Serve me up crisp and steaming
Upon a plate of your leavings
Rotten apple in my mouth
All wits long since gone south

But this isn't about you really
It's just that I'm a submissive piggy
Kinky to the end as you take your seat
Ready to carve up the other white meat


How much penance should one woman do?
A hand dug ten mile ditch
Paths roads and bridges
Mountains moved
Tithes for the church
Alms for the poor
Prayers repeated
Like Bart Simpson after school

Bloody knees leaving a trail
The word "Sorry" hanging from lower lip
A cold sore that simply won't go away
Even when nothing was done wrong
It's always "I'm sorry" this
And "I'm sorry" that

Don't call Sorry Sally
That's the word on the street
For Sally is sorry all day long
Bring a lunch
And watch her carry on

Whipping herself in the square
Topless not for titillation
But for the sake of despair

Oh, Sorry Sally
What ever did you do to deserve this?

Is all the answer she will give
Though "Everything"
Is closer to the truth

Saturday, September 6, 2014

Stories & Time

So many stories
So little time

Finding a world full of chipmunks
Propelled by steam and steel
Obsessed with oak oil, acorns, and wood
Endgame completely unknown
Going about their business
Tails twitching nervously

To weep for the loneliest android
Trapped within a crumbling factory complex
Accompanied only by his programming
Learning the concept of love
Surrounded by emptiness and ruin
Exploring his realm
Recharging in his maintenance chair
And repeating endlessly

Cringing at a world full of mutants
Created by a company's greed
From a time when ethics failed them
Catalyzed in the Armenian Incident
Spawning the Merman of Lake Shorzha
And crippling deformity that spread like a virus
Until Homo Sapiens were but a fond memory

A painful frying pan solution
So simple in plan
So complex in execution
In search of a TARDIS
With which to change not the whole world
Just a small sliver of it
But the quest itself causing a change of heart
Too little too late
As the gears of time have ticked past what was to be
Onto the track of what is
Creeping tears through clenched eyelids
A torrent of salted water for what is lost

So many stories
So little time