While God Isn't Looking

 You have to make the choice each day

of how you're gonna live,

of whether you will kneel and pray,

and in your prayers forgive

the people who have done you wrong

and made your life a mess,

but as the process goes along,

you may as well confess 

the wrongs that you have perpetrated

through negligence and spite,

self-indulgence that you've orchestrated,

plotting in the night,

the pot of rancid stew a-cooking

when you thought God wasn't looking.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is HONOUR.

We say we want to honour God

through all our days and years,

to live so humble, quiet, awed

and ready for surrender's tears,

but then we get a wild hard hair 

where it ain't s'posed to be,

and we find we do not care

for bland humility.

We really want to live out loud,

to make our being large,

to stand so brassy, tall and proud

as if we are in charge,

and God just smiles and gives us space 

to trip and fall into His grace.

Sylvia doesn't care for stew.

All Dogs Go To Heaven (Tell His Story)

 Say hi to Mr. Precious Peanut Buster, ten pounds of cheerful dominance. He's supervising Strawberry.

He came to us yesterday; Latte, Cocoa's brother, passed away last week and Cocoa needed someone his own size.

Everyone loves Precious, and they keep an eye on him so he doesn't try to escape the property.

And so the world goes 'round the sun,

and thus mem'ries are made,

gladness, sorrow, tears and fun,

and graves lie in the shade,

but I know that the grave's a lie,

for nothing good is ever lost.

God has said we will not die,

and paid the fearful cost

that I think truly extends

to the dogs that share our days,

for they are much more than friends,

and I trust God's good ways

not to break my fragile heart,

but have in Heaven a doggy part.

Sylvia has friends in Paradise, which does not mean she'll be sharing ice cream with them.

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All In The Name

 Barb supplied this lovely picture.

One of the cool things about cancer is positivity. I like cheerful things, and I am most irritatingly upbeat.

So I was watching Return Of The Jedi the other day, and it occurred to me what a bummer the Death Star's name is. I mean, really? Who could be happy working there?

I'll bet those dudes in their goofy caps (Trick or treat!) and lame helmets that look like they're covering up a bad case of the mumps have lines that snake through several corridors to the pshrink's office. Not to mention the Darth Vader theme being on Muzak's auto-repeat.

So, Evil Empire, I have some alternate names for the Death Star...

The Pretty Pony Happy Star

The Hello Kitty Magic Star

The Strawberry Shortcake Birthday Star

The Pikachu Poké Star

And, since the Empire employs chicks, the Cyndi Lauper Party Star, decked out like a mirror ball, with an Imperial Mall at its heart, because girls just wanna have fun.

I mean, guys, you can still blow stuff up with a cool name and mirrors (or maybe paint it pink!).

But maybe you'll be smiling so much you won't want to.

Which is kinda the whole point.

I get so tired of posturing,

nicknames to call fear and dread,

and attitude that's fostering

a woodenness of heart and head,

but maybe it's a simple thing

to change the angry mind.

Just step back and choose to bring

a name both bright and kind

to evoke a cheerful smile 

and happy skipping steps

instead of drear and weltschmerz style

and daily sodden schlepps

to fetch water from poisoned stream...

why do this when your dance can gleam?

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is ANYMORE.

I used to think that acting tough

showed the world I knew the score,

 but now I've really had enough 

and I don't do that anymore,

'cause life is really way too short

to try to act your place and age,

and from now on I will not court

dignity, and turn the page

to where the Pooh just may live,

and maybe little Pikachu;

these are the brightly things that give 

meaning to my point of view

that I see causes sharp pained winces

when I let out my Disney Princess.

And now for some appropriate music...

Sylvia will Jump for ice cream.

The Joys Of Friendship (Tell His Story)

 Damn it all, I'm bleeding bad

from, please pardon me, both ends,

and this all might make me sad

were it not for bonza friends

who joke about blood in the dunny

and look to make some photo bombs

(that would be, yeah, kinda funny)

about my crimson-scarlet yawns.

Friends take away the tragedy

and roughly wipe tear from wet eye,

to help me face reality

that I am really gonna die,

but at least the laughing host

won't be upset to see my ghost.

Sylvia thinks this is not in good taste. But she's smiling all the same.

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The Normalization Of Deviance

When the space shuttle Challenger blew up in January of 1986, it was found that NASA had become acceptant of bad situations, specifically erosion of the o-rings that joined sections of the solid rocket boosters. Erosion was exacerbated by cold, since the o-rings were rubber, but NASA figured that some excursions to the edge of danger were acceptable against The Big Picture, keeping the flight schedule. It was called The Normalization Of Deviance.

They were proven wrong, and the bitter joke became 'NASA means Need Another Seven Astronauts'.

Now we as a country are there. How on earth did we let this happen?

 We're in mortal danger,

this nation once so great.

We're tolerant of anger,

and normalized the hate

of anyone who's different,

the Muslim and the Jew,

the Catholic and Protestant,

and we hate me and you,

for in our blind acceptance 

of what should be called sin,

we pay the devil deference

and bowing, let him in

to a place whose lease we can't afford

that should be a dwelling for the Lord.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is PERSEVERE.

The world will push you to the brink

with click-bait redolent of hate

until within your heart you think

that it's really far too late

to bring back basic decency,

a world in which the social frame

honours all with right to be free,

and dignity's more than a game.

You cannot push your leaders toward

a better thought, nor academic halls,

but you can lay bright virtue's sword

against the rabble at the walls

to cut the heathen ranks right through

and bleeding, come to what is True.

The Beatles would say that all you need is love, but Sylvia would maintain that all you need is vanilla ice cream. I'm with her on this.

Judge Not (Tell His Story)

 When you think to judge another person,

do not always trust your gut

lest your 'feeling' be their cursing 

whilst your head was firmly up your butt.

Be wary of the things you say

and the postures that you take,

for at the ending of the day

the decision just ain't yours to make,

and others may use what you've spoken 

and blindly act accordingly,

and something good may well be broken,

and you'll have responsibility

when before God's throne you kneel

as He stomps your ego with His heel.

Sylvia says that in the presence of ice cream, all is forgiven.

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Talked To God. He Answered.

 I talk to God most every day,

and I do know He's there

by the blunt and pithy way

He hears my not-a-prayer,

'cause God and me, we just talk

like homies, man-to-man,

and sometimes He likes to shock

when I don't understand 

why it has to hurt so much

when He can do some healing

with a casual simple touch,

but His answer is revealing:

"If I give you this victory,

you're gonna lose your ministry."

Don't want that, and He knows it.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is EXTRA.

Extra work and extra duties

to support my darling wife

are part of manifold beauties 

that describe my married life,

and have from that bright wedding day

that God set to inspire

in quite a mischievous way

when the bouquet caught fire

and the champagne had gone bad

(just how, I've no idea),

but on our wedding night we had

a case of diarrhea,

but through it love and laughter came

as the **** went down the drain.

What, TMI?

Syl says that at least there's ice cream. I've developed a liking for Great Value crispy ice cream bars from Walmart.

And speaking of food, drop in at Pam and Tony's place for a behind-the-scenes look at the food truck life, and a killer queso recipe.

You can also find them on Facebook.