Mercy (Tell His Story)

 What are your thoughts on mercy?

Mercy for the spring weeds

is a sentence of death

for the fall harvest.

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Old School

Gotta face your own truths eventually.

Sometimes it hurts.

And sometimes it's fun.

I am the hippest man you'll find,

and lately Barb said this to me,

that I have the finest mind

of the sixteenth century,

for I live in a state of grace,

not wreathed in dust upon a shelf,

where men and women know their place

and live in God's own sense of self.

The world may dance its merry tune,

but I'm not in the least upset.

It is not spinning to its doom,

and will come to ken this, yet,

that the finest life to choose

is bullets, Bible, and cheap booze.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is REVERSE.

Going back's what I don't do,

for in the lack there's sorrow,

and so I will laugh and push through 

unto my bright tomorrow 

in which my health will be restored,

and my heart will beat to run

as by time-keepers I am scored

through a sprinting mile of fun,

and then I'll drop on the green grass,

winded but with happy smile,

thinking of those that I did pass 

with speed and grace and yeah, with style,

knowing that to win the race

you need to leap and grab God's grace.

Four minutes. OK.

Sylvia is rolling her eyes. She's good at that.

This Space Is Yours (Tell His Story)

 I'm way too ill at the moment to offer original content, beyond some thoughts on life and death and legacy.

I thought I'd be a Man of Air,

denizen of the sky,

but for that life I did not care,

and so I ceased to fly,

deferring to a martial creed

(I always liked to fight),

and later thought I had the need 

to cogitate and write

about where all my days had led,

but this muse, too, deserted me,

and here where all old dreams are dead

I look around but fail to see

what legacy is all about...

('Look, a SQUIRREL!', that happy shout.).

But I really am happy. God is good. No complaints.

However, someone does keep stealing my ice cream!

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Blonde Moments

 

Have the feeling that the whole country is going through an extended Blonde Moment?

And...yes, Real Men Do Colour Their Hair, and I will say no more.

In the Country of the Blonde

the Brunette gal is queen,

for her wisdom goes beyond 

what anyone has seen.

Her raven hair is colorfast,

and she has The Look.

They say, sometime in ages past,

she may have read a book!

The Blondes drive their convertibles,

their Brunette Queen holds court,

and in this the Blonde Joy is full,

for they know who holds the fort:

yes, perhaps Blondes have more fun,

but the Brunette gets it done.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is THROUGH.

I am through with being blonde,

an object of brunette derision!

It is time to go beyond 

this fate, so here is my decision.

I'll go to the cosmetics aisle,

and peruse the darker shades

'till I find one that brings a smile,

and then these way cool chemists' aids

will change my life, just wait and see,

for all around me will assume 

that there might be far more to me 

than the dumb blonde in the room.

All that can make this plan go south 

is needing to open my mouth.

Sylvia asks, 'So which am I?'

 

 

Health And Wealth (Tell His Story)

 Your faith is weak if you are poor,

because the Lord intends you wealth;

if you believe, you won't endure 

life's challenges against your health,

but maybe you do not want healing,

nor Heaven's prosperity.

Maybe it's a real good feeling 

to get lots of sympathy,

and maybe you don't want to work,

and just get handouts from the state.

Maybe you're a lazy jerk,

and in that you do not rate

the blessings that God would bestow,

so from our presence, kindly go.

Sylvia has no words. But then, she is a dog.

Speaking of dogs, meet Peanut, who saved my life, via Newsweek

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That Awkward Question

From time to time, the question...

Some have asked, 'Hey, what's the deal?

It does seem like a mystery.

Is your dying quite for real,

or are you seeking sympathy,

with GoFundMe in your name,

seeking help from all you reach

to capitalize on your fame

and retire on a tropic beach?'

That's really kinda hard to hear,

but yeah, it's been a long, lone time,

and it's not so very clear,

but I'm not asking for a dime.

It's something I can do without,

but I understand your doubt.

There's no GoFundMe, and I've outlived my doctor. Maybe the alcohol I use to reduce the pain enough to eat has acted as a preservative; beyond that, I have no idea why I've lasted this long.

Am I a hypochondriac, making Himalayas out of pebbles? Perhaps, but Barb has seen me ignore broken bones, third-degree burns (clumsy with the welding torch), and an impalement, and would disagree strongly.

I have no answers, and the pain of days and nights are something to dread. But I'm glad I ain't dead yet.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is NOTHING. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained, and that's a good start.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained,

and thus one day it came to pass

an overreach, and so I sprained

my tightly chic and stylish a**,

and everybody laughed at me,

formed judgmental sentences.

'You shouldn't leap from a tall tree

and not expect some consequences!'

But there the tree, and there was I,

having heard that lovely song,

and I believed that I could fly,

but baby, was I ever wrong,

and the worst and final cut

was friends who signed my bandaged butt.

Just under four minutes. I had no idea where I was going with this.

Still don't.

Music from Jimmy Buffett, with Margaritaville 

Sylvia wonders if there's tequila-and-lime flavoured ice cream.

 

Establishment Clause (Tell His Story)

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof...

Thus, the Establishment Clause and the Free Exercise Clause of the First Amendment to the Constitution.

And a darn good thing. In Jolly Olde, the Monarch is the head of the state church, the Church of England.

How would you like, say, Joe Biden as our Defender of the Faith.

Sorry. I'll wait 'till you finish puking.

So we're supposed to have no officially flavoured religion, and no interference in the faith we practice.

That last bit isn't working out too well these days.

It may not be what you thought,

it may cause some consternation,

but the Founding Fathers felt we ought

not to be a Christian nation.

Our underpinnings are, yes, based

on Judeo-Christian firmament,

but they would not have us faced

with a state-run faith establishment,

and so it clearly was laid out

that all belief must be protected,

and we therefore have no call to pout

that some are raised and some neglected...

at least, that's how it's s'posed to be,

but often it's not what I see.

Sylvia knows there's a God, and that God knows there's a Sylvia. That's enough for her.

  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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