Soy To The World

 

I'm glad I'm not a turkey 

to grace your festive table,

or be turned into jerky 

to gnaw on when you're able.

Better far nuggets of soy

and benefits that they can bring,

and the proof that boy, oh, boy,

you can get used to anything.

So let us pour the gravy 

(yes, it is soy too);

so's ham (pigs shout, God save me!)

and we'll quaff when we are through 

tankards of the best soy beer;

aren't you glad you spent Thanksgiving here?

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is TRADE.

I've gone ahead and done the trade

of soy meat for the genuine,

and my wife says this has made

me something of a Frankenstein,

proselytizing far and wide

to anyone within my hearing

of a rising lethal tide

in a way that's not endearing,

shouting of the coming day

when the cows and chickens rise

to conquer and to make us pay

for our arrogant surmise

that retribution would not come,

thinking animals were dumb.

Sylvia will be not countenance soy ice cream.

Immigrant Song (Tell His Story)

 

Be thankful for the days God gave,

be thankful for your food.

Be thankful for the hope you save,

be thankful for the good 

things that mark your earthly life,

a job, a car, a home.

Be thankful for a lack of strife,

and that you need not roam

across the sea and burning land

escaping dull privation,

and in your thanks please understand 

that we are yet a nation

that always offered something more,

a lamp beside a Golden Door.

Sylvia's thankful for Chihuahua friends, and ice cream.

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The Reality

 

I try to keep a sense of humour about cancer, but there is a reality.

This life is like a tightrope 

that I dance upon,

a balance of meaning and hope,

and if I slip I'm gone.

The boundaries are hard and close,

oxygen and a chair.

Not the thing I would have chose,

but it's real and I'm there,

trying not to cast my eyes

into the blank abyss,

and truly the only prize

is ensuring I don't miss

the next most shaky step I take,

fall to despair on which I'll break.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is FIGHT, a quality of which I am running out.

I've fought this thing for years and years,

and used to have a battle-shout,

but now I realize my fears,

and time is running out,

and I really have to ask,

was all of this worthwhile?

Or was it just a silly mask,

a bow to macho style?

I really can't see there from here,

and cannot know an answer,

but it seems perfectly clear,

the winner will be cancer,

and I hope that all I've done

will be accepted by God's Son.

Music from The Damned, with Tightrope Walk

The video is from a really terrific film, The Walk, about Phillipe Petit's high wire walk between the towers of the World Trade Center.

Sylvia will walk the wire for ice cream, using her tail for balance.

How Will You Face Your Death? (Tell His Story)

 

Do you think about the day

that you'll be heading home?

Do you think about the way

you'll face that great unknown,

the door between this mortal place 

and the life to come?

Will you want to stand and face

that portal as it's swung,

or like me, would you close your eyes,

and wait for Heaven's morning breeze,

familiar yet a great surprise

and it whispers through the rustling trees,

far past life and far past death,

the benison of Holy Breath?

Sylvia will keep her eyes open, thank you very much, to try to quickly score some ice cream.

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Valhalla Awaits

 Obnoxious chest-thumping, self-delusion, or total immaturity?

Or a dawning comprehension of what's real?

I stand, and standing prove my worth,

and need not bow my head in shame.

Colossus, I bestride the Earth

and demons tremble at my name,

for I have fought through their abyss 

and left their entrails on the walls,

but let me here not be remiss,

for I well know the Voice that calls

my heart and soul into the fight,

with joyousness upwelling,

for I am drawn up to the light

and there will be a tale worth telling

as Valhalla rises near

with banquet tables slicked by beer.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is VOID.

Yesterday I was annoyed,

and threw a tantrum here.

Life itself felt like a void

when I ran out of beer.

Oh, sure, there was fizzy pop

and a box of wine,

but my anguish would not stop,

and I made it mine,

clutching grievance to my soul,

raging to the sky

that the day could not be whole,

and then I did espy

a fresh unopened case of Bud

and the day got really good.

Three minutes flat, but the beer's foaming in delight!

Beer and ice cream, says Sylvia.

Golden Rules (Tell His Story)

 Still down with the longest flu I've ever had, but I'll throw this out there...

Be magnanimous in victory.

Be gracious in defeat.

Share ice cream (Sylvia, how did you sneak that in?).

And move on.

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The Space Between

I've been running really high fevers lately, and Reality is starting to break through the edges of my orderly little life.

I have now spent quite awhile 

'tween this world and the next.

I'm really going out in style,

and wish I could but text

you of the wonders that I see,

flying dogs and long-lost friends,

Apostles and the Trinity,

and a grand pub-crawl that never ends.

There's Jesus on the rifle range...

BOOM! What the heck, He MISSED?

That is really very strange,

and now He doth insist 

that I take His piece and try the thing,

and I break the heart of the ten-ring.

There is so much more, though, angels ascending and descending, swirling noise and colours you can smell and taste, laughter and love and fistfights, a cacophony of epiphany.

And a message to bring back:

Be graceful in defeat, and magnanimous in victory.

The Five Minute Friday Prompt this week is TOWARD.

All I can offer is a haiku.

As ice presses toward victory,

the spring waits in the sky

with a smile.

Sylvia takes it for granted that there's Foster's-flavoured ice cream.

Over To You (Tell His Story)

Been running a high fever for a few days, so coherency is an issue.

But I can't leave you without a starter for conversation, so...

What's you favourite Beatles song?

Here's mine

The video is charming.

Sylvia likes it too.

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