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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.

Sunday, January 31, 2016

Magic < Money

Levitation simply for the sake of it
Supporting three tonne by nary a string
Hoops passing all along it
To show the magic of the thing

At first it was a mystery
Something to be marveled by the masses
Fences were erected
Tickets were sold

Along came the VIP boxes.
As the money followed the spectacle
As sure as Shirley loves Laverne

Soon it became less of a miracle
And more of a money maker
Until the wonder leaked away
Leaving the leviathan to settle back to the sand

Today few remember what all the fuss was about
As the moss and the debris pile up all around
The shape of the wonder that tore reality asunder
The Miracle Rock of Puget Sound

Saturday, January 30, 2016


Once upon an un-moonlit evening
A rosy red apple of undetermined origin
Regarded themselves with distortion
Courtesy of the polished spoon before it

But I wish I were rounder
And much redder
With a bit more stem up top

No green shading over there
And no half dimple right here
To be shed of this shelf life wax coating
A perfect little apple would I be"

But the apple sat just the same
Not changing for the wishing
Nor for the better
For anything else

Instead turning a bit more brown
With every passing day
Inside becoming a strange sort of mush
The rosy red outer skin all that held the general shape

Sunday, January 10, 2016

A Road Trip Medley

Six to four
Four to two
Two to one
One to none

A bus full of people travels the highway
Colored white with a blue stripe
And a heavy duty wheelchair lift on the side
Wheels spinning
Tires humming with the rain grooves
Extra all-terrain grip tread tracking smooth

Mile marker 87.5 sped by the right hand windows
In the fourth seat back a six year old boy began singing
A sing-song simple tune
Not catchy
Not annoying
Very forgettable

"I bent to your progress mommy
I went around the way for you
Past those hips that bore me to term
Out of reach of the hands that scold"

The six lane highway outside the windows slid by silently
Three lanes going West
Three lanes going East
Sun rising
Sun setting
Shadows chasing after all
A mountain grew in the distance
When Six lanes shrank to four

The old woman in the second row got up to pee
Stepping on the toes of her seatmate
Who wept silently for the completeness of his corns
Though nobody took any notice
As the bathroom agenda grew from number one to two
And a skunky clinging stink slunk through the cabin
While the fourth seat child adjusted free-formedly

"When the box it closed me on in
For one half a fortnight and more
The stench I called mortality
When you too added your perfume"

Four lanes of divided highway with no other car in sight
Bore that special transport van into colored twilight
Flat plains covered in seas of grass
Roughening to foothills of broken glass
Till four lanes became a more flexible two
That joined at a double yellow line
That snaked across the landscape it danced through

Nobody ever came back out of the bathroom
Which would have seemed disturbing anywhere else
But the quickly fading stench of life's process was such a relief
That the others on the bus didn't care overmuch
Though all the ones who considered themselves to be smart
Held their bodily functions
Tightly in their clenched buttocks and thighs
A few even wet the seats

"A door to heaven and hell as well
Is installed to the rear I fear
Don't nobody get up to investigate
The driver is in control of your soul"

Old school two lane blacktop narrowed to the horizon
Disappearing in the shadow of the mountains
Which glowed blackly at their base
Sucking in all the available light
When the roadway started climbing quite suddenly
With the shoulders dropping away frighteningly
To impossible drops of fathoms deep
Two lanes vanishing into one
That was unmarked
And steep

All remaining passengers tilted backwards with gravity now
Strapped in with five point harness and dreams
Both wrinkled old and smooth young
Knowing that the end can not be far from come
Lungs strained at bone cages
To inhale the last bits of life
Greedy to the end

"Ave' contradicting theology dios
Both right angles and flat lines
Riding rails covered in tar and feathers
Hand in hand we give out our names

Hoping to be let into the gates"

Nothing left now but a dead end sign
Made up of Bugs Bunny wood and nails
Randomly hammered into the narrow track
Though with a roar our driver revs up his Cummins diesel
In a last burst of turbo assisted acceleration
Shattering the stop sign to dust
For there never really is such a thing as a Dead End

Six to four
Four to two
Two to one
One to none

Friday, January 1, 2016

Happy First Day

First Day
Same as Last Day
Just an arbitrary latitude
To separate them

New day
Old day
Promises made
Promises lost
Resolutions like words on the wind
Cold with January's bite