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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.

Sunday, November 29, 2015

Mechanical Wrestling

Laying upon my back
Concrete cold and flat
Accepting one hundred pound's
Of aircraft generator

Then me pushing up
And it pushing down
My shoulders flat
For far longer than any three count

Up into place
Might as well be outer space
As my trembling arms
Threaten to give out

Finally a slick mechanical feel
And everything lines up
Slides in

Only a technical win
But I'll take it

Saturday, November 28, 2015

Who Says Black Friday Is Bad?

"You complete me"
I whispered tenderly
To the half-priced
Half-resolution
Hand-picked
Off-brand
One day only on sale
Newfangled magpie shiny Black Friday
Television set

In appreciation
It glowed warmly
Though putting off nothing but cold
As it streamed images
Though my eyes
Into my soul
Crushing it

Beneath the sheer weight

Of humor so humorless
That the laugh track was needed
For one to know when it was funny

Of sales so amazing
That my wallet started vibrating
With eagerness to splay itself wide open
Like an over eager mother
About to give birth

Of news so real
That it felt like it was a world away
But right next door
With fire and heat and death
None of it my problem
Just for information

Pixels soon melted away
In a sheen of my own tears
Eyes propped open invisibly
The urge to blink gone

Such was the sight
Of my newest of loves

Monday, November 23, 2015

Cue the Foley Work

Slaloming through large crumbs of food
A cockroach crouched and found his groove
Shooshing first this way then that
While swaying betwixt his antennae
A cocked and jaunty cap

Bowls loomed large far above his head
As he glided his chitinous form across the Formica
Stopping here and there to sample the fare
Like a tourist at an eating exposition

Just ahead a delightful smell reached out and touched him
Sending his body into a quivering rhythm
A beeline was made to this so tempting dish
When suddenly a hand came down from far overhead....

SQUISH!




Sunday, November 22, 2015

Fat Man Seeks Enlightenment

A fat man seeks enlightenment
At the bottom of many pitchers of beer
Eating through all the pretzels on the bar
Only repenting the next day out of feral fear

As the cholesterol pumps through his arteries
Like thickened beef baste gravy paste
His life begins to flash before his eyes
Full of pies stuffed with lies
Comfort wrapped in pastry shells

Sitting at a stained green felt poker table
Dealt nothing but busted hands
Food hanging from his chin
In congealed quivering stalactites
Eyes a rapid motion amateurish tell
That flick from his dead man's hand
To the pot not full of money
But overflowing with cake
Belly groaning and a growing
Pushing the table further and further away

Winning now a distant probability
Sitting in his wide fat man's chair
Wearing special fat man clothes
A sandwich board nearby
Declaring his search for meaning
Only drawing a stream of taunts from passersby
Enlightening him only as to what he appears to be
For his mirror must have lied
Every morning he looked deep within it
For glossy silver backed answers

Surface level revelations notwithstanding
This fat man still seeks enlightenment
Looking further from the traditional food trough
And closer to whatever may feed his soul


Saturday, November 14, 2015

I Used To Be Better Than Sliced Bread

I had a dream I was a fax machine
That the world had passed me by
But some people still kept me around
Till even I began to ask them why

With a cloth electrical cord
And a dusty mechanical action
Raised art deco lettering
Tumblers for addition and subtraction

Every day I'd whir to sleepy life
Facing each morning with no purpose
Wasting ink and paper
In a wasted calibration dance

Then one day someone took me home
Giving me a place upon a wooden shelf
With a little plaque declaring what I used to be
Now just an outdated heirloom curiosity


Sunday, November 8, 2015

Elliptical Motion

My ferrous superfluid
Gyrates in time
To the fluctuations
In your magnetic field
Attracted by your pull
Pushed by your force
A gentle dance
A soft romance

Maybe destined to be
Or perhaps all just chance
No way to know for sure
The exact science or circumstance

Though the dog knows we've tried
With aura detectors
Resistance thermometers
Palm card interpretations
Enough to make a psychic go wild

All I know
As I orbit you
First close
Then far away
In three dimensional forms
Affected by your expulsion array

Is that I'll never stray far from you
Lest I lose my form and my way
To drive endlessly
In vaporous disarray