The best laid plans of mice and men,
Now how the fuck does that go again?
Oh yeah,
The point you least expect it’s when,
Life will knock you for a loop and then,
For reasons quite beyond my ken,
Will boot you in the abdomen,
Make you say uncle, and amen,
And before you can count to ten,
Take you from behind my friend,
Laughing all the while like a cackling hen!
Falling Evil
It almost sounds kind of cool, doesn’t it?
That’s what they used to call epilepsy.
Also the Falling Sickness or Disease.
But Falling Evil is my favorite.
It’s so irrational, so Dark Ages.
To the unreasonable and unprepared,
It must have looked suspiciously,
Like one was possessed by the devil.
As soon as the poor bewildered fallen one,
Recovers from her seizure,
She is seized upon again by an angry mob,
Shouting, “Burn the Witch!”
Survival of the Fittest for humans,
Hastened by superstitious paranoia.
Kitty Torture
All those purdy little birdies,
Landing on the balcony.
How they torment unrepentantly,
My poor indoor kitty.
The Measure of a Man
How much can a man take? That seems to be the eternal question… The answer is a lot. A man is born for the nasty, short, and brutal life that lies ahead. A man is defined by the weight on his back and how he adapts to circumstances. A man can quit, he can give up, but that is the easy way. Men seem to thrive on challenging the easy way.
I find myself at the bottom of the pit of despair. I feel abandoned. Alone. But, I’m not afraid. This despair is fueling me, it drives me forward. It makes me want to claw at life, tempt fate, tempt Faith, seek Redemption.
In the End a man will be defined, measured, by how he deals with the challenges presented to him. He will be measured by his actions… His reputation… That will be his Legacy.
JUST THE SAME
Analyzing once again,
How am I compared to other men,
Then I realize, once again,
I’m just the same as when I was ten,
But that’s not bad,
No that’s okay,
Because I also realize, so are they.
MAYAN CLOCKS TICKING
Mayan clocks ticking,
Not much time for picking,
Which things left to do,
You always wanted to,
There may a few missed,
On your long bucket list,
So choose now my friends,
Before this old world ends,
That trip you should take?
Reading Finnegan’s Wake?
Eating Van Halen’s Smarties?
Or just orgies and parties!?!
Yule Pride

‘Tis the Season of the holiday lights contest.
Of which house’s display is the biggest and best.
As expected as kids writing Santa a letter.
The more overdone and obnoxious the better.
With proportion gone comic, figures animatronic.
Clark Griswold’s display but gone mad, supersonic.
Like turkey deep fried and all things bacon covered,
What could be American than outdoing each other?
BALANCING ANGEL
A little bit of sugar,
A little bit of spice,
A little bit of nasty,
Thrown in amongst the nice,
I may seem an angel,
But you should perhaps look twice,
I’ve horns to keep my halo,
From closing like a vice!
A Major Award
T’was the middle of dinner,
And all round the table,
We heard someone knocking,
Someone quite irritable.
“What is it?” said the Old Man,
To the man with a pen,
“I dunno,” And he shrugged,
When my dad asked again.
“Fra Gee Lay,” said the Old Man,
That’s what it says here.
Why, I think this thing,
Might be Italian, my dear!”
Mom said, “It says Fragile.”
Dad said, “I can’t wait!
Get the hammer and crowbar,
Let’s open this crate!”
But just what was inside it,
We still weren’t aware.
“My god!” said my dad,
Anything could be there!”
Then at last, it appeared.
In a high heel and fish nets,
A statue? No…a lamp!
It’s electrical sex!
“Oh, what a great lamp!”
Said the Old Man with pride.
“In our window this goes,
So I can see it outside!”
And to our front window,
All attention was drawn.
Our whole neighborhood,
Was dazzled, turned on.
But my mother was horrified.
And hiding her face,
From that godawful lamp.
That plastic disgrace.
She had plans for that lamp,
Source of marital strife.
For the ugliest lamp,
Ever seen in her life.
But the Old Man’s eyes boggled!
It was clear he adored,
His indescribably beautiful,
Major Award!
The Artists of the Visual Spectrum
We are the artists of
The Visual Spectrum.
We are the Universe
Observing its own
Full color creation.
We paint ourselves
With our eyes,
And create ourselves
With our own light.
Our own colors.

