Tuesday, April 30, 2024

It's Crazy Out There (Tell His Story)




The days march by, each weirder yet,
and talking heads have naught to say,
but just what you gonna bet
that they will jabber anyway 
to try to make some kind of sense
of what's senseless in the end,
thinking there is recompense
in that which even God can't mend.
This all reminds me of a tale,
here in this bewildered hour,
of that great construction fail,
the raising up of Babel's Tower
when on display there came to be
just how dumb people can be.

Sylvia knows dogs are SO MUCH smarter.



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Thursday, April 25, 2024

Almost




 The Five Minute Friday keyword this week is ALMOST.

I almost had a future,
I almost had a life 
except for one slipped suture 
beneath a surgeon's knife,
and all the rest just fell apart,
and only dreams remain.
I'm left as master of the art
of coping with the pain.
I guess I should be furious
at that mistake which went unseen,
but I'm not even curious 
'bout everything that might have been,
and I turn away because 
it's futile, that which never was.

Four minutes.

Music from Andy Williams, with Almost There


Tuesday, April 23, 2024

College Kids (Tell His Story)


 Originally, there was here something of a diatribe (in sonnet form) against the Ivy League college kids and their current 'political' protestations.

But I cut the thing, for I understand their motivations better, after a night of reflection, and ice cream shared with Sylvia.

This is just a way to cut classes, and maybe get exams postponed 




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Thursday, April 18, 2024

Barb Has A Beau

 

This sonnet first appeared as a comment to the Steve Laube Agency blog on April 18, and I had so much fun writing it that I decided to re-use it.

Yes, I’m having a great day,
and laughing through the pain,
all because, I’ve got to say,
we got a new Great Dane!
His name is Beau, and he is large,
with drooly massive head,
and he’s shown that he's in charge
by sleeping on Barb’s bed,
and my oh my, the springs did groan
‘neath Beau’s colossal weight,
and my oh my, poor Barb did moan
in seeing that her fate
would be to sleep upon the rug
with her cheerful gassy Pug.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is LONELY. Which I never am.

There's a dog on every chair,
and projects piled throughout the place.
I live without a lonely care,
for I live in a state of grace,
tied, yes, to the oxygen 
that lets me live and breathe away.
There's no point in Remember When,
for I've more blessings on this day 
than most will see,their whole lives through,
so I've let go the cherished past.
Each hour now brings something new,
and though I wasn't built to last
I will go fast instead of far,
and burn out as a shooting star.

Just a few ticks past three minutes.

Music from Bob Lind, with Elusive Butterfly

Sylvia just saw the first butterfly of spring!





Tuesday, April 16, 2024

When We Tolerate Hate (Tell His Story)



 The thugs with torches soon will come
for the despised Jew.
Next they'll take the Muslim,
and then they'll turn on you,
for we thought we should tolerate 
the thought with which we disagree,
even that embracing hate,
ignoring history 
that should have taught us discernment 
had we the wit to hear
without this misplaced sentiment
that long has been held dear,
the notion that beneath the skin
evil men are yet our kin.

Sylvia knows evil first-hand. She was abandoned to die with a broken leg and a dead puppy in her womb in a July Texas field.

  In the absence of music (Blogger won't let me link a video on my phone), here are a couple of things pictures of Sylvia, my blog's public face, on an ice-cream run.




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Thursday, April 11, 2024

Gimli's Lament


Yes, I am an imposing person.

Not, unfortunately, Dwayne-Johnson-imposing.

With a height of 68 inches and a shoulder span of 28 inches, I look a lot more like Gimli

Athletics always were my thing,
a kind of comforting home port,
and I had a lot to bring
to most every contact sport
with its grunting and its sweat,
anxious doctor standing by,
but I say in truth I've yet
to see dudes messed up to die.
We all did this for its sake
'cause dames did not stand by to see
faces mashed, hear femurs break;
at the beach they'd rather be,
but when you're wide as you are tall
you just don't do beach volleyball.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is LIMIT.

Not feeling too well this morning, do may I offer a haiku?

Limitless skies of desert winter
surrender to warm haze
of spring.

Sylvia's short and wide too. She doesn't mind.



Tuesday, April 9, 2024

Taxing Times (Tell His Story)


 Render unto Caesar 
that which belongs to him
even when your empty freezer 
is looking pretty grim,
even when you don't agree
with your taxes' ute'lization,
'cause you've a mansion they can't see
as your final destination.
So simmer down effrontery,
go ahead and dial it back
even if the country 
is down the wrongest track,
and lift your heart and soul and eyes 
to His love, the greatest prize.




Music from the Bellamy Brothers, with Jesus Is Coming

Sylvia thinks all tax revenue should be spent on ice cream.

For her.

But she'll share.

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Thursday, April 4, 2024

The Tears Of Captain America



I'm on oxygen now

So, it seems is my poor, belaboured country, the last Gulliver, set upon by Lilliputians.

If everything is possible
then nothing can be true,
then Styx is therefore crossable
for liberty is through.
If every fancy truly matters
and virtue is just taste,
then our Constitution's tatters,
and it was all a foolish waste,
the courage and the discipline
attending that which we held dear,
so pass the nitroglycerin
and run it into Lincoln's ear
to get behind each Rushmore face
and blow the thing to outer space.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is COMPLICATE. I'll keep it simple.

Republicans and Democrats
and Independents too
are haughty proud elitist cats,
nothing like me and you.
Term limits might have done the trick
way back in the day,
but those in power now will pick
a Xeroxed protegé.
The Founding Fathers roll their eyes,
and pour another gin,
for it is no surprise,
the trap that we are in,
accepting betters' simple tales
gifting us with complicated fails.

Five minutes, just. The last couplet was hard.

Music from Aaron Lewis, with Am I The Only One?

Sylvia is there, too. In almost any other country, she, an ailing Pit Bull, would have been left to die.

Not here.



Wednesday, April 3, 2024

Easter Hangover (Tell His Story)



Sorry this is a day late. Had some technical difficulties, and now need to be on oxygen much of the time.

 Easter Day has come and gone
and Jesus Christ is risen,
so why'd you think you still belong
in the same old prison?
He didn't suffer for your right
to a hurts-so-darn-good wallow,
which would make Good Friday night
a little hard to swallow,
so please don't ask JC to fix
that which He made new.
Old dogs, they can learn new tricks,
and Bubba, so can you,
so ditch the teary altar call
'cause you already have it all.

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