Jesus Hates The Yankees†

Yes, son, Jesus does hate the Yankees. And you can buy a teeshirt to tell the whole world at Busted Tees: Jokes You Can Wear.


†Humour - Jesus loves everybody!

How the chickadee

How the black-capped chickadee
in blowing snow so happy be?
Flitting cheerful tree to tree
As if Spring its heart can see.

Image source: Birds of Fort McMurray (Northern Alberta)
by Robert McDonald

Shallow friends are no friends at all

The hurt is deep
when you learn
the true shallowness
of friendship.

Isaiah 43:18-19 (NKJV)
¹⁸ "Do not remember the former things, Nor consider the things of old. ¹⁹ Behold, I will do a new thing, Now it shall spring forth; Shall you not know it? I will even make a road in the wilderness And rivers in the desert.

Jeremiah 45:5 (NKJV)
⁵ And do you seek great things for yourself? Do not seek them; for behold, I will bring adversity on all flesh," says the Lord. "But I will give your life to you as a prize in all places, wherever you go." ' "

February For Real

This is February for real -
crystal clear and brutal cold.
Each trip to the woodshed taken with measured eye.
Each wheelbarrow full one load less left behind to heat the next
arctic night falling on pulse-shattering day.
The race is on,
dwindling woodpile against
lengthening day.

But we who live here know,
the sun is heat
and powerful even at glacial temps
and so sport shorts and tees
when others think of frosty freeze.

This is the weather of towering mountain peaks and infinite stars.
Who could complain about that?

A Pirate Visits at Midnight

aka Each New Day: clarified {see previous entry "Each New Day" for fun and games}

Prologue

I look back now at
dark vacuum passed
warped time poor spent as
iconoclast.

"Choices, me laddy boy,
choices," he said.
Then he turned and he spit
and he scratched at his head.
"It's all about choices, now,
each bloody morn.
Do ye face them wiv grace, boy?
Do ye rend them with scorn?'

"Choose wisely, me laddy,
choose wisely," he said.
"cause it's tumble or travel
when ye first roll from bed."

"And nowest ye know whot means
them when they say,
'Aye, be making the best now
of each dawning day. '"

Epilogue

A little Pirate Code:

Damnable near thee Inn
Me Bandanna nether lie
Nene hen diner tambala
He be enter Mandala Inn

Linen be Eden Amaranth
Maharani been lend net
Anathema been rend nil
Nee hint darn amenable

Each New Day

Each New Day: a pirate drops by around midnight for a chat • What he is doing here, I do not know. No, not every day, once. A pirate doesn't drop by every DAY around midnight! - ONCE! Subtitle, get it? Subtitle too Subtle? {har har} Geezum!

{Insert "???" here. That thing, you know, that think that precedes the stuff that is. No, not an introduction, nor words of critical acclaim. the PROLOGUE! Yeah, that's it. Here it is. the PROlogue}

(But first, the author wishes to thank a few folks}

Acknowledgements

I'd like to thank Mrs. Bricknell, my first grade teacher (we used to call her Mrs. Brickwall, but she had the best paste in the school). A special family thanks to M & M & Emily.

Ooh, and let us not forget that one special lady out there, and you know who you are. Yes you do, oh, yes you do, You do. I'll just type out the alphabet until I get to the letter . . . well, no, that's not gonna work. Hmmmmm. Well, honey, dear, I was jes foolin'. You knows it was you I was meanin' the whole time! Smoochie smoochie smoochie!
Prologue

I look back now at
dark vacuum passed
warped time poor spent as
iconoclast.

{um, end prologue. There's no chapters, so I just thought I'd point out that the prologue was over so you'd not that what follows is now the content to which the title refers.}

{Sorry for the intrusion. Just wanted to clarify the flow. Guess I kinda broke it up instead. Well, now you know how it goes, so you can go back to the top and read it and ignore all this stuff here inside the brackets and all and it'll be just the way the author intended it to be.

Just wanted to remind you again, the prologue is over, what follows is the main text, the logue so to speak. There will be no apilogue.

Although, come to think of it, the final stanza makes a pretty fair epilogue. I'm not so sure about having the protagonist carry the epilogue, though. Sort of steals my thunder.

Well, enough from me. Here we go. Or you go, anyway, if you made it this far and elect to madly go the rest of the way.}

"Choices, me laddy boy,
choices," he said.
Then he turned and he spit
and he scratched at his head.
"It's all about choices, now,
each bloody morn.
Do ye face them wiv grace, boy?
Do ye rend them with scorn?'

"Choose wisely, me laddy,
choose wisely," he said.
"cause it's tumble or travel
when ye first roll from bed."

"And nowest ye know whot means
them when they say,
'Aye, be making the best now
of each dawning day. '"

Epilogue

{OK. So I lied. Here it is. The epilogue. But of this was a limnological poem, the epilogue would be at the top and you would find a hypologue here at the bottom. Now there's something to ponder.}

Darn. And to think there was actually some serious insight in this thing before I started adding all this trash around it. MmmmPerhaps. HmmmmMaybe there's some significance to that, hmmmmm?

{scritch scratch scritch at the chin}


"Psssssst. Hey. You. Yeah, you. Over here. Come on, come on. I haven't got all day. But I've got me a tale of a special lady. Her identity has been anagrammatized in this here pirate code I am about to recite. Arrgh, they be real words I'll be recountin' to ye, lassies, and don't ye be makin' no fuss on 'em, neither. They may be be as smelly and foreign as ambergris, but they be right good as gold to a pirate as me an' don't ya go forgettin' it.

DAMNABLE NEAR THEE INN
ME BANDANNA NETHER LIE
NENE HEN DINER TAMBALA
HE BE ENTER MANDALA INN

LINEN BE EDEN AMARANTH
MAHARANI BEEN LEND NET
ANATHEMA BEEN REND NIL
NEE HINT DARN AMENABLE

{Pirate code courtesy of me, with a little help from the Internet Anagram Server. Heh, dream on! It doesn't work in reverse!}

Snowy morn

A Downy Woodpecker taps gently
on the stub of a maple branch
Frosted hillsides in the background.
Red squirrel sneaks out of a brush pile
pauses to look around then hops across the snowy ground.
Nuthatch flits overhead
calling and twitching as it springs tree to tree.

Life proceeds, new year or not,
winter be damned,
seen or unwatched.

Too

Too much, too little, too soon.
Not here, not now,
not ever again.
Too late, too early,
too many, too few,
Too much, too little, too soon.

Story of my life
Everything is there
but the timing is all wrong.
My path through time & space misaligned . . .
Too much, too little, too soon.

Since the day our paths crossed,
intertwined hand in hand,
merged lip to lip,
though briefly the twining was to be,
I've longed for the day our paths stretch together to the end,
voices, body & soul in harmony.

Indian Summer

Naked the trees against coppery skies
South blows the wind
Leaves lift & swirl in the leeward lies
and south blows the wind.

Heaven & hell in the whiskery wind
Vestage of snow meets its meltery end
Close your eyes dreaming its summer again
when south blows the wind.

Darkest Dawn

Sunrise is a long far way
when October nights are waning,
when sleepless nights cry out for day
with tired eyes complaining.

Moonless starless dawnless sky
as dark as midnight water deep.
No mountains trees distinguish I
'tween breath and glance and beat.

No bird calls to signal dawn.
No rooster crows the sun from bed.
What is it keeps me going on
while others rest in silent head?

There shall not be a crack of dawn.
No sound shall signal mountain's rise.
No answers shine on questions gone
when sunrise finally paints the skies.

Citizen of Nowhere

A man adrift,
out of sequence, out of time.
A journeyman, traveler,
citizen of nowhere.
Here, but not settled,
present but unrecognized.
Externally circulating among friends, mere acquaintances, really.
Internally alone in a stream of people,
a casual exchange of time-filling chatter.
I am interested, sure, but recognize that,
without a connection of heart & soul,
the conversations mean little & change nothing.

October Snow

October snowfall,
starched white and water wet.
Trees heave their heavy branches in surprise,
autumn leaves not quite shed.
Shrubs and saplings reduced to ground-hugging mounds under the load.

The dog takes a first few tentative steps off the deck,
then bounces and rolls in recognition,
trying to lure me into a game of tag,
his favorite winter sport.

The rumble of snowplows,
the squidge of traffic on slushy pavement,
the drip of the eaves,
the woosh and whomp as snow lets loose on the garage's metal roof
and plants a glacier-like mound in front of the door.

The warmth and aroma of the woodstove,
the loving smell of hearth and home.
The quiet peace that only a power failure can provide.
The exuberance of children on a snow day.

October snowfall:
unexpected, much appreciated . . .

SNOWBALL FIGHT !