fibril_late

Rain

Fri, 11 Dec 2009 19:50:20 GMT

Rain

Maybe the rain is coming

The morning is stiff, chilly and gray,

Seems like a good opportunity

To stay inside today,

I even bothered to turn on the heat

An admission that my house was too cold,

Or possibly something else entirely

Perhaps I am just getting old;

This is a topic of discussion

Where the ancient ones commonly complain,

How easy it is to feel chilled

When temperatures drop or it begins to rain.

In retrospect

My suspicions were sound,

Before a few hours passed

Rain was collecting on the ground.

Fibril_late;

12/9/09

You and I

Fri, 11 Dec 2009 19:49:14 GMT

You or I

The phenomena of you

Overshadowing I,

It has caused me to ponder

To find an answer, I'll try,

To delineate the reasons

Sociological, I suspect,

Experiential responsibility

You're unwilling to collect.

For example, I was listening

To the radio yesterday,

A young soldier was reporting

About a Baghdad trip, one way,

He was saying, “When you're driving

Searching for I-E-D's and more,

You're so stressed, it's so overwhelming

You can't prepare for that kind of chore.”

He was talking about himself

Without ever saying, “I”,

It isn't me that's driving in Baghdad

I'm just the radio-listening guy,

And I can't possibly imagine

Although he tried his best to explain,

Had he told his story in first-person

'Tis more likely I'd feel his pain.

Perhaps that is the reason

For this curious corruption of speech,

Maybe it's a method of distancing

To keep some experiences out of our reach,

Too difficult to undergo the memory again

Or to convey such a magnitude of pain,

Thus offering the telling via “You”

The teller hides behind a shield in his brain.

The phenomena of you

Overshadowing I,

Like looking at clouds

Partially covering the sky.

Fibril-late;

12/9/09

An auspicious birthday for brother

Fri, 20 Nov 2009 16:55:49 GMT

Craig, Happy Birthday

He's older than dirt
But cleaner than Spic'n Span,
A notorious control freak
But a loving old man.

We once called him Captain Bligh
But he's much more, than that figure of fiction,
First off, he has a better wardrobe
And he's renowned for his collegiate diction.

He's stronger than death
Having proved it this year,
Why, even the Grip Reaper
Is shaking in fear.

The grandest of all Grandfathers
A legend in his own time,
You're in need of little present?
He's always good for a dime.

For a brother, he's all right
Though I've done my best to keep out of his way,
So many were the times, long ago
When he tied me to a tree in the midst of play,
Laughing it up with his friends
While I struggled, I cried and I pleaded,
No matter the moment or game
You can bet, I was most often defeated.

Wild, were the bedroom pillow-attacks
And the free-for-all magazine slap fights,
Even Tetherball was a suicide bloodsport
'Twas no wonder we slept well at night,
After burning the boisterous energy of youth
Non-stop through the daylight hours,
No surprise, our parents had a Martini before dinner
While Mom chattered on about flowers.

He has an endless imagination for all sorts of fun
He's spontaneous, witty and clever,
From the fourth generation of an engineering family
He attacks life like a scientific endeavor,
Factual and empiric, he collects information
To collate, to sort and then measure,
More often than not, success for his efforts
Does result in some worthwhile treasure.

Let this youngest of siblings advise in this moment
This reckoning of sorts, in this 60th year,
Take care of the old man, as well you can
He's a treasure, like gold; keep him near.

Fibril_late;
11/19/09

Have to write something, no matter how silly

Thu, 12 Nov 2009 22:57:19 GMT

Just doodling around, feeling like I have writers-block, and even writing the silliest thing, would be better than nothing.

Just An Ember

There was a lot to say
Back in those days,
Those days of last month September,
A lot was going on
Enough to write a song
Memorable enough, to someday remember.

But then came October
I was hardly ever sober,
Hardly ever sober to remember,
I thought life would get better
So I sent Santa a letter
Hoping he would get it by December.

You'd think, I would just grow up
And throw away my baby cup,
But I'm a card carrying perpetual child member,
Although I'm old, I'm immature
My will is weak, and there is no cure,
I've never been a flame, I'm just an ember.

Fibril_late;
11/12/09

Language Reduction

Wed, 23 Sep 2009 18:08:43 GMT

Call me a cretin, label me a jerk, But the slang of any language, Has power to work. And as a result of that, I think that the "politically correct" drift in our society, against a variety of slang words, really represents a "dumbing down" of intelligence and reason. When certain words gain temporary power, and figures of speech become taboo, individuals or collective groups of people, are merely forcing their beliefs upon society as a whole. And it's always changing. Last decade an imbecile, this time around, genius. Heck, remember when retard meant to slow something down? I wouldn't be surprised to see in a few years, where the word "obese" will be driven out of our language, as being "hurtful" and insulting. All those jackasses on all those forums of sensitivity, are selectively screwing up our wonderful, colorful amalgam of languages.

It's time to fight back against the dolts of dullness; Save Our Language!

Didn't Say It

I didn't say it
I only report it,
You don't inhale
You only snort it,
Just figures of speech
Semantics and more,
The meaning reveals itself
And tallies the score.

You didn't insult
I wasn't sarcastic,
That wasn't a seizure
The dude's just a spastic,
He's not really a moron
Just a retard, that's all,
Although I didn't say it
I still made the call.

An amalgam of cultures
Society and season,
All languages mingle
For no apparent reason,
And for some to claim foul
That terms of speech cause them pain,
I'll call him an imbecile
With a dim-wit, half-brain.

Fibril_late;
9/22/09

Back-biting, run to the boss, complain, back-stabbing

Sun, 13 Sep 2009 18:53:47 GMT

Don't get me wrong; I really like the place I work. However, compared to all other places I have worked (and they are many), I have never encountered a place with such a degree of petty bickering amongst a common crew of workmates. And then, to top it all off, a few of those individuals think it is perfectly fine, and "adult", to take their petty nonsense to our unit boss. I'm not the boss, nor will I ever be, but were I in those shoes, I would knock those complainers down a few inches. Look, the boss has more than enough important tasks to deal with, and really, do you think the boss is "Dr. Phil" of "Judge Judy"?!? If it were me, I'd be like Judge Dredd, the cop, judge and executioner, all in one fell swoop. Any given complainer would get only one shot. The next time they showed up to whine or complain, Zap with my Taser. No questions asked.
Maybe a sign on the door would get their attention: "One Complaint, I'll Listen, but come again, You'll Go Missin'".

Anyway, that's what is behind this poem, Bird Squawk. A friend at work, was pooped on by two, dirty little birds.

Bird Squawk

I was astounded when I heard
About a loud and persnickety bird
It was taught to complain upon command,
And then I saw it while at work
On the shoulder of some jerk
I was mystified and couldn't understand;

Who would bring this foul creature
With a most unsavory feature
To the workplace, in the middle of the day,
I was afraid to hear it squawk
So I quietly took a walk
I guess that nasty bird decided I should pay;

It unleashed a string of invectives
With four letter word collectives
Enough to burn the hair off any rabbit,
I ran for the nearest closet
To avoid this birdpoop deposit
Knowing somehow I must stop that evil habit.

Sometimes it is better to run
Back home to my favorite gun
The one loaded with clever words
And simple speech,
I can bring it to the worlds attention
All the things that no one will mention
I can be miles away, and have you in my reach.

And I've had some special training
To deal with those complaining
Just test me to have a taste for what you'll get,
In for a penny and out for a pound
To pull the tail on a dog you just found
It's a risky sort of business, want to bet?

But realize, that all this is conjecture
A subtle warning, to those who might lecture
About a bothersome bee in the bonnet of dear old Blue Betty,
One who keeps company with such dirty fowl
Doesn't come close to the wisdom of an owl
Karmic retribution will be in effect to those who are petty.

Squawking birds of any feather
Can attack in any weather
It's best to be prepared for times like this,
Critical thinking skills are best
When they put you to the test
And with a load of double-ought buckshot, you can't miss.

Fibril_late;
9/13/09

Grumbling at work

Sun, 09 Aug 2009 22:54:16 GMT

Common Discontent

There is an abundance of malicious discontent
It's in the air and seldom spent,
It tears apart and subjugates
Each one of those who participates.

It's a common trait of ordinary folks
Content with their malicious jokes,
Hours of conversation, without any consent
Which serves only to further the evil intent.

There is no solution when there is no desire
Till all of the players walk the embers of the fire,
The chance of that happening is nil unto none
Because malicious discontent is rarely undone.

Firbril_late;
8/9/09

Love and Infatuation and More

Sun, 02 Aug 2009 06:03:13 GMT

Her Face

Sometimes I am shouldered

With the weight of the wait,

I'm willing to hang around

She might be, that kind of date,

That leaves memories of awesome

Incredible and, yes!

For that kind of a girl

I am willing to dress;

In the finest of clothes

And the best of cologne,

I will prune each of my hairs

And shine every bone,

Because she is the best

That I, may ever know,

For this finest of women

She deserves a good show.

A woman like this

Expects only the best,

A man willing to step forward

Knows that this is a test,

Can he pass it or not

Just what is his score,

He'll know the minute their eyes meet

When she opens the door.

Sure, this is the minute

The moment of impression,

Will she kick him off the steps

Or allow him just one concession,

To prove he has the stamina

In the test of her needs,

Is she already imagining

How this current one bleeds?

It's a rough and tumble world

First impressions are the greatest,

If you don't arrive in this moment

Then, you'll be the latest,

Boy, kicked to the curb

Without a glimpse of any fashion,

You were clearly unprepared

To pique the interest of her passion.

What happened to me?

It's hardly worth reporting,

For a moment I thought

That the two of us were courting,

But the moment was over

Before the threshold was crossed,

She moved on to the next

While I pondered the cost;

That I was willing to wager

On such an impossible ideal,

The theory that Love

Was just emotion and feel,

A surge of endorphins

Biochemicals and such,

One's heart can be a traitor

When you love her so much.

But I don't regret

Any moment of the chase,

I loved all of the pieces

And especially her face.

Fibril_late;

8/1/09

TamiFlu

Tue, 28 Jul 2009 00:18:01 GMT

Tamiflu

I got myself to thinking

Why they call it Tamiflu,

The aggravating, aching joints

Are what come over you,

When you fail to take precautions

In the presence of the beast,

I'm warning you, be careful

Cover your ears, to say the least.

The Tamiflu vaccine

Is highly recommended,

It offers wide protection

In the case that you're deadended,

In the hallway, near the kitchen

By the linen cart and more,

The Tamiflu vaccine, my friend

Will even up the score.

It was tested in the morning

It was trialed in the night,

Yes, the Tamiflu protection

Was clearly out of sight,

A shield of cosmic ions

Floats gently around your face,

So the Tamiflu infection

Can not violate your space.

Supplies are currently limited

While demand is ever growing,

The Tamiflu is spreading

Despite everybody knowing,

That the best way to prevent it

Is avoidance at all cost,

If Tamiflu gets a hold of you

While surely, you are lost.

Fibril_late;

7/27/09

A Thorn in my Side

Tue, 21 Jul 2009 20:49:36 GMT

A Desperate Focus

Attention-hog

At forty-eight,

You gotta wonder

Who she'd date,

A desperate man

Of that, I'm sure,

I'd rather be sick

Than have that kind of cure.

Attention deficit?

Good Lord, no,

Her behavior guarantees

She's the focus of the show,

A disorder, yes indeed

There's no doubt about it,

As forty-five people

Silently shout it.

Fibril_late;

7/21/09

Torch Lake Michigan

Mon, 20 Jul 2009 20:50:27 GMT

If you have been there, you know. If you haven't, do take the trip, as you will marvel at the clear waters and incredible beauty. I spent a lot of time there as a child. This came to me in a lucid dream:

Torch Lake

I spent 15 summers there

And every moment was bliss,

I can only compare it to

The best, sweetest kiss,

From the love of my life

Oh, I tell you the truth,

Torch Lake was the best place

To fashion my youth.

A Grandfather, I never knew

Took his dollars and dimes,

Invested in Torch Lake

And a million good times,

Back in the early thirties

When the roads had two ruts,

Buying property then

Took a certain amount of guts.

He was willing to drive

Like many of his day,

At the time it must have seemed

A drive, quite far away;

Pictures have survived

In the family that would follow,

Several generations now

Can find Honey Hollow.

Megison Point and Hay-O-Wenta

Old Baldy and Big Hill,

Sailboat racing E-scows

It's tough to find that kind of thrill,

Plus hundreds of hours hiking

With my single-shot .22,

A lot of birds went down

Before I changed my point of view.

We placed our sights on Stop-signs

And plugged them full of holes,

We tried our hand at placing traps

But never caught those moles,

That chewed the tender grass roots

Our lawn struggled in the loam,

Torch Lake draws me like a magnet

If I could, I'd call it home.

I dropped in a couple years ago

Easter of aught-seven,

What started as a Spring-time

Turned into Winter heaven,

A 3-day blizzard T.C. visit

With a sister long in the tooth,

We traveled back, and fishtailed

Down the snowy road of youth.

In Bellaire we found the restaurant

At one time, the name was “Buds”,

The snow was blowing sideways

I think I ate some spuds,

Prepared the old-time, small-time way

French-fries with an attitude,

I think it's from long-time survival

Living the 45^th Latitude.

We scooted over to Central Lake

I needed that trip, like a time machine,

The hundred year old, Hardware store

Welcomed us in, so warm and clean,

Hardly changed in 10 years plus

I entered the door and rang the bell,

The proprietress greeted us kindly

A customer at last!, she treated us well.

We made our way, to East Torch Lake Drive

Rural Route One, was our address back then,

Long before the days of computers

It was a Royal typewriter or a fountain pen,

Before cell-phones, we wrote letters

To the friends we left behind,

They sweltered in their cities, while

We enjoyed the beauty of our find.

Torch Lake is my foundation

Even the East side, amidst our rocks,

Every year, come late June

We struggled while placing our docks,

We marveled at the oil in our springs

Today royalties, support the tax collector,

If your were at Torch Lake in your lifetime

I pray that you are her protector.

To those who continue ahead of me

Torch Lake is a gem beyond the sea,

As many have attested to its beauty

To preserve it, truly, is your duty.

__ __ ___ ___ __ __ __ __ __ _ _ _ _ _

Fibril_late;

7/19/09

We're sort of related

Sat, 13 Jun 2009 16:42:06 GMT

Emma

Emma would know how to build a better submarine
She is smarter than the proverbial whip,
Luckily Emma, is landlocked in the desert
Where there isn't much need for a ship.

Emma might climb the garden walls of Babylon
Her big sister can show her the ropes,
More likely she'll compete with the best of the sandracers
Careening down Mt. Baldy's slopes.

Emma's imagination is like a nuclear weapon
A gazillion moving parts, bells and gauges,
And although everyone's talking about the Amazon Kindle
Emma is filled with more pages.

Emma is light as a feather-down pillow
Yet stronger than the silkworms silk,
She can rejuvenate your lowdown spirits
Just like cookies and milk.

Fibril_late;
6/12/09

Boring

Sun, 31 May 2009 23:58:09 GMT

Sharp as a Tack

Sharp as a tack
A pointed head and he's short,
His Dad said, "A baby?"
His Mom said, "Abort!",
But that didn't happen
They waited to long,
And that's why I'm writing
This dull, boring song.

Sharp as a tack
But dumber than most,
He knows fifty thousand facts
Which he frequently boasts,
But no one desires
To hear that boy talk,
If you spot him nearby
It's time to take a walk.

Sharp as a tack
With his narrow pointed head,
Makes the finely honed impression
He's the dullest tool in the shed,
Nothing in his life
Has a thread of any glory,
And this writer apologizes
For such a sorry, boring story.

Zzzzzzzzzzzz;
5/31/09

The Dominican Manifesto

Sun, 24 May 2009 01:00:25 GMT

This fictitious set of 20 poems is all about Sister Bea, the Almighty Dominican. It's long, and some of it is very funny.

Sister Bea #1
"Saint Peter"

Saint Peter, Saint Peter
Answer me, my friend,
I think my patient is dying
His life is near the end,
Don't worry, take your time
Come only if you're free,
He's got another appointment
With Her Greatness, Sister Bea.

She is there to rap his knuckles
For sins he did commit,
Like skipping morning mass
And saying words like, "shit".

She wants to ascertain
If the truth portrays distortions,
She heard some evil rumors
That he once performed abortions,
If so, he gets a ticket
On the morning, Hell-bound train,
With Sister Bea's assurance
That he'll suffer eternal pain.

Saint Peter, take your time
The verdict isn't in,
Sister Bea, she has to measure
Each dying patient's sin.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Sister Bea #2
"Gods Chosen Agent"

Sister Bea, oh, Sister Bea
She hands out rosary beads for free,
She spouts her favorite platitudes
And tolerates no attitudes,
She bathes in blessed holy water
She was the Virgin's only daughter,
And took the vow Dominican
Reportedly, she has no sin.

Sister Bea, oh, Sister Bea
Nothing happens, that she won't see,
She'll never win a beauty pageant
She claims that she's Gods chosen agent,
Administrators shake in their shoes
When Sister Bea collects her dues,
Abortionists are her pet peeve
She's got dead babies up her sleeve.

Sister Bea, oh, Sister Bea
She gets the Stigmata at a quarter to three,
She starts each day with the blessed-host
And plans her meals, with the Holy Ghost,
She's got this trick with loaves and fishes
She can even multiply the dishes,
She can part an ocean with one hand
The walls will talk, on her command.

So, Lesson #1, you must agree
Don't mess around, with Sister Bea.

Sister Bea #3
"That Penance Thing"

Sister Bea and I
Have become quite well acquainted,
I wanted to be sure she thought
My spirit was untainted,
Because she really grooves on penance
It's her favorite Catholic thing,
When she's leaning on the thumbscrews
How it makes that woman sing!

She's been around, a long, long time
She used to teach the priests,
About the ways of virgins
And other carnal beasts,
Then she went into the convent
To repent those days of fun,
She took a vow of chastity
And the title of a nun.

Now she's ruled the roost here, ever since
Receiving her degree,
She's the top dog on the pile
And it's clearly plain to see,
She's addicted to the power
And the passion it can bring,
Sister Bea, has got a license
To do that penance thing.

Sister Bea #4
"A Good Thing Goin'"

Sister Bea and me
We have a really good thing going,
A secret sort of thing
With not too many knowing,
She calls me after hours
And uses Morse Code,
She says she want to meet me
Down on Penance Road.

She had me swear my soul, to secrecy
To cover up this tale,
I must say my prayers religiously
And she'll monitor my mail,
But if I follow orders
And do as she expects,
She'll honor her agreement
And perform some blessed sex.

She told me of her trials
To keep her spirit chaste,
But after years of amorality
It seemed like such a waste,
She bargained with the Father
For a special dispensation,
"With my body as your instrument
I'll honor your creation".

What can I say, I love the way
That woman cracks her whip,
I love the subtle contours
Of her habit-covered hip,
She can driver a sinner wild
I declare, oh, Spirit three,
Just another holy rendezvous
With the lovely Sister Bea.

Sister Bea #5
"The Beacon In the Fogbank"

Opinionated, Sister Bea
Defines her point of view,
You're free to make decisions
And do exactly as I do,
Because I'm the captain of your destiny
The lighthouse for this ship,
The beacon in the fogbank
The tour-guide on the trip.

If you harbor bold ideas
Or cultivate opinions,
I expect you to report to me
And not to my dominions,
Then at the whisper of revolt
Or the hint of revolution,
I will gather my advisors
And find a quick solution.

Her driving singlemindedness
Might drive you up the wall,
But she's driven by the spirit
And she answers Heavens call,
To heal the selfish sinners
To free them of their greed,
To empty out their bank accounts
("God knows, that's what I need").

She's a force unto herself
A power with no reckoning,
Be careful of what you're doing
Or Sister, will be beckoning,
She has rapped a thousand knuckles
With her buddy, "Golden Rule",
Don't cross the path of Sister Bea
Or you'll be one dead fool.

Sister Bea #6
"A Helluva Dominican"

Oh, Sister Bea
Oh, Sister Bea,
She means so
Very much to me.

I love her precious
Prayer beads,
It's cool when her
Stigmata bleeds,
She drives me crazy
That's for sure,
Whatever ails me
She can cure.

Beneath her habit
What a frame,
She is no
Ordinary dame,
She wears such
Sexy underclothes,
Her scent none other
Than a rose.

Behold the best
Full body tan,
She's absolutely Heavenly,
She's a helluva
Dominican,
That blessed dame,
Oh, Sister Bea.

Sister Bea #7
"Double Edged Knife"

That Sister Bea
She's quite a lady,
When she gets up close
I start to Brady,
Then she raps my chest
With her penance stick,
And whispers, "Sonny
You better beat it quick".

She rules the roost
With a double edged knife,
She can butter you up
Or sever your life.

She's got the Administrators
By the balls,
They tiptoe down
Her holy halls,
Even God himself
Will mumble and stare,
When Sister Bea
Approaches in prayer.

There's no denying
It, you see,
The world kneels down
Before Sister Bea.

Sister Bea #8
"Servant and Master"

Beware, the mighty Sister Bea
She's on a potent power-trip,
Be careful where you tread, you'll see
She's got your soul, tight in her grip.

Your days are numbered, if you fail
To satisfy her needs,
You'll wish that you were sent to jail
She'll flog you with her beads.

She figures, that all sinners
Just want a little glory,
But to her there are no winners
She's the star of every story.

You're the servant, she's the master
The reaper with the golden scythe,
She'll accelerate your karma faster
Gloating as you scream and writhe.

Indeed, be careful where you tread
She doesn't liberate for free,
She'll make you pay until you're dead
She's merciless, that Sister Bea.

Sister Bea #9
"She's the Best"

Sister Bea is quite amazing
Why, she never takes a rest,
She needs each minute of the day
To prove that she's the best.

She excels at orientation
Where she tells each new recruit,
Just make sure you do things, my way
And you'll never get the boot.

In disciplinary circles
She's renowned, and that's a fact,
To fulfill the terms of probation
You'll have to sign a pact.

After testing for blood borne diseases
A tox-screen and some other cruc,
She'll ask for your soul and your signature
Signed in your very own blood.

Just why does Sister Bea do this?
Because she's the holy leader,
To determine who's reliable
She says, "You have to be a bleeder".

Because I expect your blood and sweat
To be spilled upon the floor,
Every single day that you work here
Before you exit out the door.

So like I said, she's quite amazing
And that's by Papal decree,
No one on earth can compare to her
The unbeatable Sister Bea.

Sister Bea #10
"Psychopath Theology"

Oh, did you know
That Sister Bea,
Once had her own
Trained circus flea,
He could leap through hoops
And walk on fire,
Until one day
It became his funeral pyre.

So, then she bough
Some killer bee's,
And bred them to
Resist disease,
They're as smart as tacks
And obedient,
They fulfill her commands
Expedient.

With a degree
In Entomology,
And Psychopath
Theology,
She's a pipe-bomb
With a home-made fuse,
You better be sure
You've paid your dues.

She has molded her character
Year by year,
She doesn't know
The meaning of fear,
Her expectations
Are incredibly high,
She savors the moment
When you breakdown and cry.

Her qualifications
To lead, are apparent,
There is little concern
That her thoughts are aberrant,
She has taken this hospital
From the brink of disaster,
Proving once and for all
That she is the master.

Well, now that you know
I think you'll agree,
She's a force to be reckoned with
Dear Sister Bea.

Sister Bea #11
"One Armed Bandit"

Oh Sister Bea, Oh Sister Bea
She's really got it out for me,
She sabotaged my stethascope
And filled the bell with laundry soap,
Causing me, but countless troubles
Listening to lungs that sound like bubbles.

She replaced each rubber ear-piece
With a spiny needle cactus,
Now, to place them in my ears
Takes quite a lot of practice,
Then she exchanged the rubber hoses
With a discarded Foley cath,
And the first time that I used it
Oh boy, I took a bath.

But did you know
That Sister Bea,
Loves a good old
Shopping spree,
Nothing dull
But learn a lesson,
Her favorite brand
Is Smith and Wesson,
She has a new one
In her dresser,
I came equipped
With a noise-suppressor.

And on her person
At all times,
She keeps a roll
Of fifty dimes,
Though she publicly states
"I can't stand it",k
She secretly loves
The one-armed bandit,
And it's parked inside
The chapel door,
Where you genuflect
Upon the floor.

Then, did you hear
That Sister Bea,
Played a small part
In "Psycho 3",
As a consultant
On aberrant behavior,
She said she was directed
By her blessed Savior.

I could go on and on
For eternity,
That's how it is
With Sister Bea.

Sister Bea #12
"The Nun With Two Brains"

Sister Bea, oh, Sister Bea
She invited my over
For cookies and tea,
They were baked in a pan
By Sister herself,
With home-made ingredients
Right off the shelf,
So, how does a nun
Who is so god-awful busy,
Handle her duties
Without getting dizzy?

She rises each morning
And starts the day with a prayer,
Asking the Lord
What clothes she should wear,
Then she's off, to hear mass
To contact the Trinity,
The angels seek council
With Sisters' divinity.

When it's time for the wine
And the Lords blessed Host,
She takes it in the company
Of jelly and toast,
Then washes it down
With the spirit, caffeine,
Praising the Lord
For the vision's she's seen.

With that high-octane booster
Pumping into her veins,
She applauds her almighty Father
For granting her, two brains,
No wonder all her rivals
Can only spin their wheels,
While Sister Bea accomplishes
So many awesome deals.

Her tandem cerebellum
With its synergistic drive,
Will overpower any intellect
Known to be alive,
So, if you're in her presence
There's no need to feel disdain,
Sister Bea's the only nun
Who has a double brain.

Sister Bea #13
"Another Universe"

Oh, SisterBea, oh, Sister Bea
She's the 18th incarnation of me,
Twin souls we were
When we stepped on this planet,
I was called Sven
And her name was Janet,
We chose different paths
On that first day of rest,
She headed east
And I traveled west.

We've met now and then
And only by chance,
I bumped into her once
At an equinox dance,
She inhabited the body
Of a man in that life,
Uglier than sin
He hadn't had a wife.

And then there was the time
When we passed in our strollers,
She was in diapers
And I was cutting molars,
She drooled when she smiled
And I flipped her the bird,
Instant communication
Without a single word.

Twin souls we might be
But we don't get along,
At the time of our birth
Something went wrong,
Now the magnet of karma
Is at play, once again,
It's more powerful than anything
Created by men.

I had never imagined
I could work with that one,
Our previous encounters
Had never been fun,
Then I walked in the door
And saw Sister Bea,
Whose astral projection
Is a copy of me.

The future is shrouded
In a cloak of deception,
Sister Bea, claims that she
Was an immaculate conception,
And thereby exempt
From physical laws,
Each encounter we have
She flexes her claws.

In public she turns on
Her personal charm,
In private she threatens me
Bodily harm,
And in this age of recession
And doubtful employment,
I may have to bite the bullet
And forego my enjoyment.

I may seek revenge
Though I haven't any plans,
I won't feel an ounce of guilt
If I'm forced to use my hands,
Because there isn't any life
When you've got the twin soul curse,
I'd like to send dear Sister Bea
To another universe.

Sister Bea #14
"She Goes Ballistic"

Oh, Sister Bea
She's dangerous,
She goes ballistic
If you cuss,
You better duck your head
Or you'll get hit,
If she's around
And you say, "Shit".

She'll whack your fingers
Until they swell,
If she hears you utter
Heaven or hell.

She's been known to do
A body slam,
If someone doesn't
Give a damn,
And if you take
HIS name in vain,
She'll gladly
Pulverize your brain.

She'll draw upon
The almighty force,
If she hears the word
For intercourse,
She'll even toss you
Into a ditch,
If you dare to call
This nun a bitch.

If living is a necessity
Use eloquent speech
Around Sister Bea.

Sister Bea #15
"One Hell of a Nun"

That Sister Bea
Is one hell of a nun,
She replaced Jesus Christ
The right-handed son,
As the heavenly Fathers
Immaculate daughter,
She can put on her make-up
While walking on water.

Her immaculate body
Knows no compare,
Her effect on most guys
Has them gasping for air,
They are drawn like a moth
Is attracted to light,
She visits the chosen
In their dreams late at night.

She keeps an eye, on everyone
Because she's the omnipresent nun,
She knows when anyone has lied
Her senses have been unified,
The Pope himself treads carefully
Because he's no match for Sister Bea.

Sister Bea #16
"The Moon and Sun"

Oh, Sister Bea
Look what she's done,
She rearranged
The moon and sun,
And then she changed
The earths rotation,
Just why she did
Is speculation.

It's probably
Just a power issue,
Like her choice
Of toilet tissue,
Depending on
Your rank or class,
Determines how
You wipe your ass.

Now, every morning
Sister Bea,
Consults the book
Of eternity,
And picks a random
Page by chance,
Then does a minor
Litany dance.

With a do-see-do
And genuflect,
She takes a moment
To reflect,
She dresses quickly
With a passion,
Bland and white
Her favorite fashion.

Then she gathers up
The tools she needs,
The golden ruler
Rosary beads,
And hidden in
A secret palace,
The cattle prod
And can of mace.

It's off to mass
To receive the Host,
And shoot some pool
With the Holy Ghost,
They have a running
Snookers game,
(He's two games down
With this Dominican dame).

The stakes are high
The odds too great,
He's about to lose
The pearly gate,
Yes, times are tough
For this heavenly ghost,
He's going to feel
The Holy roast.

So now you know
About the nun,
Who's stronger than
The moon and sun,
And just remember
You heard it from me,
Don't ever play snooker
With Sister Bea.

Sister Bea #17
"A Nasty Cuss"

Sister Bea, oh, Sister Bea
She doesn't do a thing for free,
She'll make you pay a pretty price
For simply giving you advice,
You'll have to do a fancy jig
If you ask, for something big,
She extracts her fees sadistically
While approaching it simplistically.

You've heard about her whips and chains
She loves to beat her debtors brains,
Then serve them up for Sunday brunch
It's a follow-up to her Captain Crunch.

Though loan shark terms are really high
There's no contingency, that you will die,
So query first, at Debts-R-Us
Because Sister Bea, is a nasty cuss.

Sister Bea #18
"Her Holy Frame"

Sister Bea
Oh, Sister Bea,
She really turns me on
You see,
In her long length sweeping
Black and whites,
Her horsehair knitted
Undertights.

With her crucifixion
Rosary belt,
I've come to her
I've begged and knelt,
And prayed to touch
Her holy frame,
Oh, Sister Bea
She's such a dame.

Sister Bea #19
"Trash and Litter"

Now, Sister Bea
Has got a thing
About unwanted litter,
It's a sin against
The earth, she says
In a tone of voice, that's bitter,
Because in her exalted state
Of spirit powered brain,
She hates to see the planet
Go swirling down the drain.

Divinity has driven her
To twist the holy screws,
Those devilish polluters
Have some fingernails to lose,
And perhaps the form of punishment
Should somehow match the deed,
If they wreck the drinking water
Then maybe they should bleed.

If their charcoal spewing smokestacks
Keep blackening the skies,
It might be most appropriate
To pluck out both their eyes.

The most vicious violators
Put toxins in the earth,
Screwing up the lives of those
Preparing for their birth,
Of those, she'd rip the flesh and bones
With nary, but a knife,
Because the one thing
That she values most
Are the souls of unborn life.

So heed this heavy warning
Pay attention to your trash,
Should you digress and litter
Be prepared for Sisters' smash.

Sister Bea #20
"Floating Bon Bons"

Sister Bea
Oh Sister Bea,
Her life is such
Simplicity.

She doesn't own a stitch of clothes
She gets them from the order,
She never uses hair spray
It stays in place with mortar.

She has a pair of threadbare shoes
She darns her holy socks,
She doesn't own a doorbell
So everybody knocks.

No radios, papers or movies
It's a Dominican decision,
For regular entertainment
She has a daily vision.

Her dietary regimen
Has a bread and water theme,
And every night while sleeping
She has a chocolate dream,
With waves of floating bon-bons
In a sea of double fudge,
Engorging to her hearts content
And no one there to judge.

Yes, Sister Bea endures a life
Where a little means a lot,
So watch your prized possessions
Because she wants, what others got,
In secret, she'd exchange
Her lifestyle for another,
If only she could keep
Her title, "Reverend Mother".

For an abstract definition
To the term simplicity,
Reflect on black and white
And you'll think of Sister Bea.

An automobile is a dangerous weapon

Thu, 14 May 2009 02:33:37 GMT

Bolted Steel

Hurtling down the highway
In two tons of bolted steel,
Life takes on a whole new meaning
It's got a special feel,
The scenery is streaking
Past my window in a flash,
I'm traveling so rapidly
I'll never feel the crash,
Should a car or tree or animal
Dare cross my path today,
I pray that God shall guide them
So they don't get in my way.

Dementia, Organic Brain Syndrome, Alzheimers

Thu, 14 May 2009 02:26:42 GMT

The tough part of Alzheimers, is upon the family; the burden of caring for someone that can't remember a damn thing about their current life or family. But the person with the disabling disease, is usually quite happy. Go figure!

Into This Moment

Happily demented
You don’t know what you’ve missed,
Live the moment right now
Forget who you kissed,
You don’t know your daughter
Your husband or son,
You live the moment right now
And it all seems like fun.

Happily demented
You won’t realize that you’re lost,
You could shop every day
And never know what it cost,
So just sit on the porch
Reminiscing the past,
Time condensed into this moment
Until death, shall it last.

Fibril_late;
5/12/09

Guns, terror, citizen

Fri, 03 Apr 2009 19:43:33 GMT

This is gloomy, but I made the mistake of reading the news this morning. Current events, are tomorrow's, horrid history.

Citizen Terrorists

Who needs Al Qaeda
With a gun country like ours,
More citizens are slaughtered
During daylight hours,
By loved-ones and hated ones
Family friends and foe,
Real terrorists, in our homes
People that we know.

We don't require religionists
Whacked out, with interpretations,
On suicide missions
In our gun toting nation,
No, we have home-grown angry folks
With automatic guns,
Shooting women and children
Fathers and sons.

The threat of death and mayhem
Is an industry we foster,
No matter, how good your background check
There's a nutcase on the roster,
Probably sitting on a comfy couch
Festering with personal frustration,
Dreaming of bullets and bloodshed
To assassinate, the aggravation.

With a chip on your shoulder
Or the wrong glance your way,
You go home for a weapon
Just to make it my day,
Without preemptive warning
Or psychiatric clues,
Ten thousand citizen terrorists
Who need to pay their dues.

Fibril_late;
4/3/09

MI, Heart Attack

Sun, 15 Mar 2009 20:30:35 GMT

It's tough when a member of the clan has a heart-attack. But in this day of 9-1-1, and designer solutions to novel health problems, a quick-fix, is just down the street from your local health club. Perhaps the largest burden of stress, is to the standby, loving family.

The Jury Is Still Out

I'm a little concerned
About the old coot,
His RCA occlusion
Nearly gave him the boot,
But that isn't all
He's not out of the woods,
He has a tight L-A-D
Compromising the goods.

An acute MI
After a great game of squash,
The jury is still out
Who won? 'Twas a wash,
For the gentleman in question
On court forty-two,
'Tis not the time to argue
Because it could have been you.

Despite the unexpected nature
Of the outcome or the score,
Our favorite plucky protagonist
Welcomes conflict, bring on more,
He's an honest, fiery competitor
Renowned at the D-A-C,
Watch-out; he's already making claims
"Convalescence, ain't for me".

His family, walks on gilded splinters
Nervous-Nellie's, in their right,
Poppa, had a heart-attack
A life-threatening, kind of fright,
And though he looks good on the surface
Who knows, what lies beneath,
They would rather, chuck the Squash games
To avoid, his "Will and last Bequeath".

It takes a while for the novelty
To wear, in this situation,
But it's an everyday occurrence
In the American heart-attack nation,
The Cardiology science
Is so advanced, to save your life,
But there's not a big enough Valium
To calm the kids and wife.

Fibril_late;
3/15/09

Eternal Life

Mon, 02 Mar 2009 01:03:37 GMT

Eternal Life

Getting old
Is surely hell,
The teeth will rot
And the body smell,
What once was upright
Sags down below,
Where it will stop
Can anyone know?

Now Billy-Bob
In room seventeen,
Can't remember the last time
His privates were seen,
They are buried below
His pendulous gut,
Whereas, there is no mystery
Regarding his butt.

Considering, Berthalinka
In room two eighty-nine,
They say, "When she was young
Oh, she was so fine",
But eighty years later
Her bosom has expanded,
Close-up? You'll be thinking
The Martian's have landed.

Now, open your mind
And rap on this thought,
During youth, we're caught up
In some appearance, we've sought,
But later with ageing
There is a sagging and swaying,
No matter, your discipline
Your flesh is betraying,
Overwhelming your efforts
To camouflage time,
After 70, your body
Will sag in its prime.

Some youth, will be thinking
Eternal life is for me,
Not realizing the possibility
In two-thousand and forty-three,
Where the answer, for immortality
Will be in a Cracker-Jack box,
Declaring, "You must first live
Seven decades on the clocks."

Sure, you can live forever
Amidst the sagging and swaying,
Some will ponder the universe
While others will be praying,
For the answers to live
With each pendulous part,
Eternal life, reconsidered
Buffet, or a' la carte.

Fibril_late;
2/21/09

Vegetative State

Mon, 23 Feb 2009 21:35:15 GMT

Vegetative Valentine

An alternate universe

By any other name,

A vegetative state

They are one and the same.

Locked-in syndrome

Trapped within the mind,

No outward sensibility

Eyes open; are they blind?

It is easy to be fooled

That there is an occupied awareness,

And so simple to nurture hope

For the family, in all fairness,

As they gasp when there is movement

Of a toe or a hand,

They will argue, "See there's proof

You just don't understand,

But we know that Momma

For sure, will get better";

They all share the delusion

Down to the letter.

We don't try to discourage

And we offer every amenity,

Your Momma's not in pain

She's the picture of serenity,

And with Momma taken care of

There are issues to address,

Let's talk about you

You're an emotional mess.

We'll call in a chaplain

A shaman or a priest,

A rabbi, or a Wiccan
And we'll bow to the east,
To help you come to terms
With your guilt and your need,
But quite frankly, folks
Why let Momma bleed?

We're compassionate beings
We suffer with your pain,
And a locked-in syndrome
Is a prison in her brain,
If she should cardiac-arrest
Her survival might be worse,
Then your loving support
Will be an emotional curse.

A vegetative state
For six years is quite long,
When she said, she wanted everything
It probably wasn't this song,
Playing day in and day out
At 45 RPM,
There's a disconnect somewhere
With the rest of her brainstem.

Why not embrace
A "No-Code" designation,
It doesn't mean "give-up"
It's just another radio station,
Giving Momma more songs to sing
In her silent, smiling way,
You'll still love her, till that moment
If not more, every single day.

Fibril_late;
2/15/09

Writing made Simple

Wed, 21 Jan 2009 19:01:05 GMT

With a Flourish

One look at my writing
And you might call it amateurish,
But after five decades of practice
My pen flies with a flourish.

Fibril_late;
1/21/09

Inaugural Ball Hoopls

Wed, 21 Jan 2009 18:58:52 GMT

Ten Balls

Ten inaugural balls
They weren't really for Obama,
People dancing in the halls
'Twas the goodbye-Busharama!

Fibril_late;
1/21/09

Friend

Sun, 21 Dec 2008 23:54:02 GMT

To a dear friend of 30+ years:

Jacqui,

The oldest of things
Remind me of you;
Some music
The ocean
Hollywood and Dorothy
Old friends there,
Mom and Dad and Steven
Andrew and his greenhouse
And whatever is left over.......
Residing in my memory

And I give thanks for the blessed
Wonder of all
That brought us all together.

Fibril_late;
12/21/08

Leaves, rake'm or leave'm

Sun, 07 Dec 2008 21:32:11 GMT

Leaf vs. Lawn

While walking around
My neighborhood,
I get a feeling
For what's bad and what's good,
By looking at lawns
Garages and such,
I make assumptions
About those
Who seem to care too much;
Preening their lawns
Like a thoroughbred horse,
With a legion of gardeners
At a private golf-course,
Preparing for a tourney
Of high-stakes croquet,
While in reality
It's just my neighbor
Setting up Santa's sleigh.

He decorated the trees
The bushes and the flowers,
What's up with that, I wonder
With leisure time, for hours,
I wonder if he's working
Retired or laid-off,
Then I see a puff of smoke
And listen to him cough,
Thereby, furthering my suspicions
He has lung-disease and more,
I silently admonish him
And pity him, the chore.

With a little more attention
I compare the state of leaves,
Some lawns like mine, are full of them
And others beset by thieves,
Intent on dispatching all evidence
Via obsessive-compulsive removal,
As I relax before my blanket of leaves
I silently wave my approval.

Driving along my home avenue
I play my game, "Leaf vs. Lawn",
To the average reality-show junkie
It would barely register a yawn.

Fibril_late;
12/7/08

Son of a gun

Wed, 05 Nov 2008 20:21:06 GMT

It's short, possibly unfinished, but clearly has potential to be something greater.

Quite Rotten

You son of a gun
You left home without notice,
No warning; nothing
And then, never wrote us,
To tell us the news
The old or forgotten,
That son of a gun
Is clearly, quite rotten.

Fibril_late;
11/5/08