Saturday, February 28, 2015


The target is the mind,
The arrow the vehicle.
The fingers release

The cross hairs are the mind
Exhale, inhale, hold, release.

One finger pushing.
The bullet is the mind

The target is not.
There is no arrow.
There is no finger.
inhale, exhale, inhale-hold-release.
there is just…now.

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

An ode to pastry Chefs

Lance Corporal Lent, Lance Corporal Lent
His custom made uniform is cut from a tent.
He’s a pastry chef of tank sized girth
He’s as wide as tall and full of mirth.

Waddle here and waddle there
To keep his thighs from chafe and view 
He’s got long legged carbon fiber under wear

Oh yes, Corporal Lent, our Corporal Lent
A pastry chef of great renown.
Self critical of his art only lets the cream depart.
All the failures he gobbles down,
Wouldn’t serve them to a clown.

Then we have di-rect boss, A?
A Sergeant-major Glut Ton-A
Who was trained in French Canadian way.
He would not serve what he would not eat,
“better between the toes of my feet,
Or for the mice and rats to eat.
Keep your honor truly 
Poor food shown is only 
A picture of your mistakes. 

“Best to eat the evidence away.”
That’s what Sergeant-major
 Glut Ton-A would say.

The two of them would work their magic
In the Pentagon and for Congress.
Trouble was no one could pass
After one serving of their best

Any type of physical fitness tests. 

Monday, February 23, 2015


I eat in the express lines.
The fast lane is my life.
I go to the fast food places;
I’m in the take out line.
My ‘waste’ line is growing bigger
My butt is much too large.
But I have to make that appointment,
I really hate to starve.
So to the mickie dees
Or pizza and a coke.
Maybe for a change up
to bugger king, and hope:
A sit down meal
with candle light,
It’s not,  since…
I’m working later tonight.
I know I should eat better.
Whose got the time today?
With all that dammed down sizing
and off shore work away.
I’ve got to work to keep my job.
No time to eat or play.
Working as we do
We don’t have time to sit
Except for when we really,
Really have to shit.
So I eat in the express lane
And fast food eateries I go.
Here I am in the take out lane
I’ve gotta eat, there is no blame.

Monday, February 16, 2015

A NEW YORK MINUTE (Married life)

She speaks and stops.
So I think.
Start to make
a comment;

Look of Medusa.
Interrupt,   Me?
Of you?
You stopped…
You stopped.
My turn.
VA meets NY

Life is short

Thursday, February 12, 2015


(ray ner)
Rightwing Authoritarian Nationalist Rule

RANR is the game congress plays.
RANR kisses your rights away.
Congress is legit no more
When to the bucks they whore.

Founding papers all encased,
might as well be erased.
Congress memory seems to blot
and understanding meanings not.

RANR is called by many a name.
Fascist rule becomes their tool.
So why the cry, why the hue?
It’s time for these new kooks to rule.

Tuesday, February 3, 2015


The most learned Professor of Mythological Uncertainty, Dr. Christopher de’Grosse was large. He wasn’t fat by any means. He was simply Greco-Roman wrestling big. Other distinguishing features were his eyes. One was emerald green and the other deep aquamarine blue eye. His thick long white hair was pulled back in a pony-tail. His beard was full and well trimmed, framing his large round face.  When he smiled it was infectious and the students in the lecture hall all relaxed and waited for his erudition to spill forth.

Dr. de’Grosse scanned the room. He smiled his signature smile and laughed. His voice, a deep baritone, was also the back beat of the college barber shop quartet, The Incomprehensibles. It rumbled off the walls of the lecture hall. 

“Students,” he said his sonorous voice reverberating off the walls and through each and every person there, “you have been indoctrinated in the beliefs of science and such. Yet you still cling to some age old concepts, magical impossibilities that from the time you could first understand language and reason, you were and still are blindly accepting. Why?”

The student body was unprepared for this opening. They had expected more of a light hearted lecture, the kind the good professor traditionally gave before the solstice holiday seasons. There was a murmur in the room that spread like a wave at a football game from one end to the other.

He paused and waited for the rustling to settle down before he continued. He leaned on the podium. His great weight could be seen to cause it to bend under the stress. He made eye contact with all about him. He began again, “Ah, my students, I don’t mean to upset you and divert from my expected lecture. However, sometimes a word or two is required to stir the mind in order to break the jar and get to the cookies inside.

“You all hold to mythological uncertainties, passed down from ages past. Some are based upon truth, but through the ages these stories have been altered to the point of fable and fairy tales. 

“There may have been older civilizations that have existed contrary to what some of our most illustrious scholars would have you believe, maybe there was an Atlantis. There are radioactive sections of India that resemble what we have on record in Japan. They date from over 15,000 years ago. The data has been suppressed from our most learned institutions. I’ll leave it up to you to research and discover.

“I’ll add one more: the legend of the voyages for the Golden Fleece could actually be based upon an ancient city or civilization that used skins to filter out gold from streams in or near the Black Sea. That city was buried or destroyed by earthquakes and landslides. A recent journal mentioned this in their Humans and Society section.

Two students stood up and left. “WE came to be entertained not lectured to.  It’s the holidays and we are not in the mood to work or exercise our brains.”  Some laughed; a few others got up and left the hall too.

The good professor expected that. In fact he expected a few more to leave. He waited to see if any more would follow. He looked about. “Any others of you not interested in my stories? It is the holidays I will not hold it against you.” The rest of the student body remained. He continued.

He smiled his customary wide smile. The students in front responded likewise and relaxed. His voice deep and full obliterated any doubts that may have been lingering. “Okay, now that those who have left us are gone, I can begin. You all enjoy and wonder about the holidays. You have pondered the ability of a famous fat man, on some sort of delivery device; to carry and present gifts to a socio-religious grouping of humans that as has been promulgated in different and various fashions over the centuries.”

“Santa Claus!” Hollered one student from the back of class.

Laughter all around.

“Yes Francis, Santa Claus, a subject very dear to my heart.” He knew Francis’s voice. “I will combine the best of science and myth and sew into the warp and weave of your minds the truth as I believe it to be. I will present it as a poem of sorts. A hand written copy in gold will be available to all of you who have remained as my gift to you. And remember this, it is a gift to pass down to others, and so too you may put it to memory and pass it down reciting it to your friends and family who do not receive this piece of parchment.

“It goes as follows,” and he began:

“Up in the sky, upon the ground
the claws of Saint Nic
deep in the minds of children found.
Giving gifts of toys despite
all we read ‘bout the speed of light. 
So how can he belong to all  
and amongst all a delight?
To the masses here while to the masses there
hath he jets in his underwear?

No,    me thinks this and me thinks, that 
tis ‘bout… say, a quantum bit more;
some thing we have yet to set store
in our compendium…pray stay,
                                    of learn-ed truth,
superposition is,                      for sooth.

All these places and all these times
Initiated… a blink,
                         and… gone.
Be still and consider anon:
No speed measured/ no sled seen.

Where none can see and none can guess
just how fast St. Nic is.

So by laws of science he can 
     in all places one, two, three. 
A simple answer yet complex
Quantum superposition is
my best guess.”

The class room was silent as a late night snowstorm. Like the hiss of snow falling, only the sound of breathing could be heard; then came the applause and laughter. It was a fun gift and they knew it.

The good professor stopped, looked at his audience in the lecture hall, bowed a deep bow and said, “Good night to you all, and to all of you a good night.” He walked off the stage chanting, “Ho Ho, Ho.”