|Large BargePage 3 of 6 (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6)|
|“Is my behind in these pants looking large?”|
Why yes, it resembles a barge!
- wrong answer, mate
- now it’s too late
Funerals’ tomorrow: No charge
|Hickory, Dickory Dock|
Posted: 8/10/2007 7:41:43 AM
(Then something ‘bout a clock)
- damn, how does it go
- I hate it so
When my “mentals” run into a block
Posted: 8/10/2007 7:42:56 AM
|‘Twas a girl, with a penchant for babbitts|
They assembled ‘round her like rabbits
- self centered were they
- not paying their way
She dropped them like a string of bad habits.
Posted: 8/10/2007 9:00:32 AM
|Said she: “Me vehicle’s with broken transmission”|
Said he: “In me pockets for money I’m fishin’”
- And sidestepin’ the doom
- He bought a new broom
She streaks about on it now while she’s wishin’.
Posted: 8/10/2007 10:33:46 AM
|For food there wasn’t no finer|
Said the man ownin’ the diner
- except the main course
- the food of remorse
Sent tainted over from China
Posted: 8/10/2007 2:42:10 PM
|Said a bloke from Ol’ Sydney|
Who possessed only one kidney
- “It limits me drink
- and places a kink
In what it normally would be”.
Posted: 8/10/2007 2:43:09 PM
|There was a lass with aversion|
To any sexual perversion
- for the opposite sex
- she put on a hex,
Until she took a foot-long excursion
Posted: 8/10/2007 2:44:11 PM
|He thought of himself as a King|
When he presented his ‘thing’
- But when she saw it there
- She said: “I declare,
How long has your thing been a-ailing?”
Posted: 8/11/2007 12:38:01 AM
|The thread that binds the Mother|
Forever to her child
Is the eternal sinew that
Always is beguiled.
And were that Mother, Freedom,
And the child named Liberty
Misery, death and hatred
Would be in absentee.
|Last in Line?©|
Posted: 8/12/2007 6:16:25 AM
|Someone invented the language which evolved into English.|
Someone others taught people how to use that language.
Someone else invented paper.
Someone else found a way to mass produce it.
Someone else devised a way to distribute that paper.
Others invented writing utensils, which evolved into the typewriter, and eventually the home computer.
Me, I use those things to record thoughts and ideas and, as you can see, I’m the last in a very long line of persons who make that possible.
But, then again … you’re reading it.
|Pay the Fiddler©|
Posted: 8/12/2007 9:00:16 AM
|‘Twas A classy chassis had she|
Said she’d share what she had there … with me!
- that part-time spouse
- cost me, me house
And … her lawyer is still billin’ me.
Posted: 8/12/2007 9:08:50 AM
|This old man from Missouri|
Is no longer now in a hurry
- don’t know his name
- or from whence he came
Just writes his prose in a flurry
Posted: 8/14/2007 5:11:12 AM
|When the words finally come|
In proper phrase and hue …
I find the person Gone
I want to say them to.
Posted: 8/14/2007 5:24:53 AM
|I sampled of her caring,|
Her love: was my bouillon
Now that I have tasted them
I find they tasted: Gone
Posted: 8/15/2007 6:56:09 AM
|To the hilltop went Jack and Jill|
Jack asked her: “Are you on the “pill””?
- “Yep” said she
- but “nope” they would see
(The new arrival was named “Daffodil”)
Posted: 8/20/2007 9:59:35 PM
|While the Spring of Life begins all alive and new |
With singing birds, and bright green trees
And oceans cresting blue
The hourglass of life begins, with sand from many seas.
When Summers Life is in full bloom
Will the magic ever end?
Flowers grow in Nature’s Room
And still the sands descend.
The colors within the Life of Fall
Bursting in brilliant hue
Sands honor the timeless call
… now all but a quarter through.
Winter Life pulls away the sun
Replacing it with snow
Alas … Life sands in the hourglass
Have ceased their steady flow.
|The Long Black Lines©|
Posted: 8/21/2007 9:48:22 AM
|T’was a long black line he looked down |
And sobering the view
The sight was not unfamiliar …
To others he’d bid … adieu
But forming of such lines,
Was increased in frequency
And he thought: One day the
Line will form for me.
None of us pace through life
And our turn in the line
Will not be anomaly
His line, and it’s formation
He knew he’d never see
And of those who’d stand in it
He wondered who they’d be.
Posted: 8/21/2007 12:11:30 PM
|“Hey!, you guys over there in the Holdin’ Pen … get over here!”. |
The voice was loud, irritating and harsh, but, since he didn’t know anyone around him, and he’d just arrived, his thought was: “Holdin’ Pen? Is that it’s called?”. He began to comply with the command.
As he walked he glanced about, and saw there were quite a few people moving in the same general direction as he. The light was extremely bright, nearly headache-generating in its brilliance, but thankfully not doing that. As bright as the light was, the thick fog-like atmosphere prevented him from actually seeing faces, but he could make out moving forms and general presence of others nearby.
He looked down at his feet, for the surface on which he walked was nothing like what he’d ever experienced before. It wasn’t hard, but neither was it soft, and there was absolutely no sound to his steps. The opaque fog made it impossible for him to see either the surface or his feet, so he couldn’t make a judgment as to the surfaces texture nor construction.
“Over here. Over here!”, the insistent voice again plowed through bright fog. He continued onward towards what appeared to be the source of the brilliant light.
Without knowing why, he stopped, and was quite certain he was correct in doing so, but there were no voiced instructions or physical barrier of any kind to justify his stoppage.
There was no visible source to which he could attach the sound, but the voice began speaking yet again:
“Alright. Now: You’re in the Holdin’ Pen, and in a few moments you’ll each be shuffled out though a gate that will take you to the Potential Placement Arena, which make take a while to accomplish. You will each remain calm and until you are compelled forward.
“As an overview, you need to know that you are in what you have referred in your former locations as: Heaven. All the stories you’ve heard, all the religious teachings you’ve been subjected to you’ll see, very soon, were all poppy-cock. You’ll continue to refer to this entire general area as Heaven if you so desire, but it’s actually nothing more than a recycling center. You’re here because you’ve all died via some form or fashion, and because you believed in some form or other of religious offerings in your former being – (which one is totally immaterial now).
“There is no “time” here. That is to say: you’re just here – how long is not even measured because Time, as you knew it, is no longer a dimension. You’ll have no emotions, no feelings, and no senses. If you want to test any of those things, you may do so now … go ahead … pinch yourself and see if you feel anything”.
He pinched himself. Nothing. He did it again, on the back of his left hand, and he pinched as hard as he could. Nothing. No sensation of any kind on the back of his left hand, nor from the fingers of his right hand.
The voice continued: “Okay, that’s enough. Just accept what I’ve told you, (you can absorb its significance as we proceed through the process of your orientation).
“As you are “checked in”, as I mentioned, you’ll be passed to the Potential Placement Arena. You will be in that specific arena until you are “called” for the Immediate Placement Arena, just adjacent.
“Now. Depending on what your accomplishments were, with regard to helping other people in your former locations, will determine what type and where your future assigned placements will be.
“As an example: If you did NOT help others in your former locations, you could be placed as an inanimate object in your next Life – such as a clay pigeon in a trap shoot; or, as a roll of toilet paper; or, a cat litter box; or, as a cesspool.
“On the other hand, if you had occasionally helped others in your former location, your future placement may be as a bottle of expensive perfume; or a bouquet of flowers or something similar.
“If it is determined that you frequently helped others in your former location, you may find yourself being placed as a fond pet or perhaps a living plant or tree lovingly cared for by whomever you will be attached to or around.
“If it is determined that you consistently helped others in your former location, then you may be placed, again, as a human being, with new chances to further the processes of your future recycling processes.
The voice continued, but the man shut out what he was hearing.
He began assessing his former self and life internally to himself.
“Damn”, he thought. “I’m going to be recycled as toxic waste”.
Each of us need to assess what we would have been recycled as, as if the above story is true.
|For His Daughter©|
Posted: 12/31/2007 6:19:43 PM
|And in a cold, dark room|
She sits within her gloom
As her cheeks provide a pathway for her tears.
Within the blackened mist
All her memories still exist
And years blur past in recollected smears
Years of passion and desire
That superficially lit her fire
Are a canister filled with collected fears
Abandoned morals and values too
Responsibilities that she blew
Now mock her with their hollow cheers
There’s no one left who cares
She’s met with empty stares
This is her life for all her future years.
|Let’s Change Fate©|
Posted: 2/15/2008 4:57:25 AM
|He sits by the window, bathed in it’s light|
But within his mind it’s … black as night
Hate: His companion. Depression: His mate
Silently, quietly he plans out his fate
His classmates: All bullies. His Parents don’t care.
And all around him there’s no one aware.
Teachers: Too busy. Counselors: Aloof
All their demeanors are uncaring proof
Into himself he now has withdrawn
He knows soon his miseries all will be gone
Up from his chair, and with firm resolve
He turns t’wards the hallway – his problems to solve
A gun in his coat, and a shotgun concealed
His deadly intentions are now revealed
And my children, there in that school
Had they to this boy been a bully or cruel?
Had I taught them to be kind and a friend
To everyone - even those who offend?
Will they fall victim to hatred and fear,
From the boy with the guns drawing so near?
All our children, yours … and mine too
Can fall victim to Fate’s turn of the screw
Unless we teach all of fairness and right
Not of wealth, or the vainness of might
Be not a bully of ridicule voice
Be understanding and make the right choice
For when halls are walked by a boy filled with hate
For our children, it may be too late.
|Pain ... Forever©|
Posted: 2/17/2008 7:28:05 PM
|All the "word" crap was over, and when they’d asked me if I had any “last words”, I’d given them a belly full of what I thought about them, the society and the world in general, and I was feeling pretty good about what I’d said.|
Then they commenced to set me down.
The seat is much more uncomfortable than I had imagined. And cold through my prison pants.. For some reason I had thought it would be warmer. I shifted a bit as I set down, trying to find a more comfortable position, but there wasn’t one. I guess this chair isn’t for comfort anyway.
Almost immediately a guard kneels in front of me, and begins strapping my legs in place. Simultaneously, another guard starts strapping my right arm to the arm of the chair. The time crawls by, and I think to myself I wish they’d hurry up.
The guard that had been working on my leg straps, stood up, and moved around to my left and began strapping that arm to the chair as well. I think my arms straps are too tight, but say nothing as the guards continue there work about me.
Some guy in a cheap gray suit comes over from somewhere, and checks the strap-in job the guards did, but says nothing.
I suddenly get the sensation of a wetness on the top of my head, then realize it’s the sponge.
Some one behind me says: “Lift your head up”, and I comply.
A very cold metal cap is placed on my head, and under my chin a very rough, leather smelling strap is hitched in place, and someone whose face I can’t see, asks if the chin strap is too, tight.
I smirk at the remark, and say: “What difference does it make?” but my comment garners no response. They were all trying to be so polite and considerate. What bullshit. I wondered where all that “politeness” was during my trial and my many incarcerations!
Out of the corner of my eye, I get a glimpse of the cheap suit guy, but he walks behind me and disappears from my field of vision. Then I feel someone fiddling with the metal cap on my head, and figure it’s probably the same dude.
Then, from above, a rubber-ball gag appears, and drops down over my face. The guard tells me to open my mouth, and I tell him to go **** himself. I ain’t going to open my mouth, and I ain’t going to have that gag inserted. I had already told them I didn’t want that damned black hood over my head, so at least they didn’t try pulling that on me.
There is some discussion between a couple of dudes behind me about the gag which lasts a couple of minutes or so, and then someone speaks into a microphone, because I can hear the electronic sounds his words make: “The prisoner has elected to dispense with the oral restraint”.
Shit, I say to myself. Oral restraint, what crap … they have these stupid ass names for everything. It’s just a damned gag. Why don’t they just call it a gag!
There was a response from someone else, to the dudes comment about the gag, but I didn’t catch it.
A guard appeared at my feet again, this time with a long insulated black cable, and began to fumble around near my ankles. At the same time someone was again screwing around with that cap on my head.
The guard at my ankles finished, and the cheap suit dude comes – again – and checks my ankles, then, when he was satisfied, he walks around behind me and fiddles with my metal cap.
There was more muffled discussions behind me, but I couldn’t recognize the voices.
Then, I hear the shuffling of feet, followed by the closing latch of the door.
Of course I just sit here … waiting.
While I’m waiting I start wondering what my ol’ lady is doin’ about now, the ****. It’s Friday night, so she was probably down at …
The jolt hits me like a freight train!
In one single instant:
Raw seething pain; Hot, immediate and all encompassing; All my teeth shatter and my jaw bone breaks as I bite down from my jaw muscles going rigid with the force of a hydraulic steel press; I feel my eyes shoot out of their sockets; my spine snaps at my pelvic bone, as the rest of the muscles in my body violently contract from the intense high voltage; Blood shoots from my nose, as my facial muscles viciously turn into hard, hot steel bands; The hair in my nostrils and on my head vaporizes and smolders; The searing hot pain of the current shoots through me like a head-on car wreck; All nerve endings are white-hot and melting; I involuntarily urinate – HARD; My bowels erupt; I scream through fried vocal chords …
I bolted upright in my bed, sweat pouring off my face. My heart was racing, thumping so hard I thought it might come right through my chest.
Quickly I looked about me, but I could make out nothing in the darkened room. Slowly, my eyes became accustomed to the small amount of light, and I looked down at myself.
What was that on my wrist?
It was a dark band of … something. I brought my arm closer to my face and as I did I was stricken by a foul smell, reminiscent of burnt meat. Ignoring the odor, I examined my arm.
The band was about two inches wide with little white spots in a row that seemed to completely encompass my wrist. I touched it with my other hand, and the flesh fell away from the band mark.
Then … I understood: My God! It wasn’t a dream!! OH NO …!!!!!! I wasn’t in bed, I was in the process of being transferred … to … Hell.
Then came the eternal blackness in which I would carry my last instant of intense, horrid pain, living it constantly over and over … forever.
Posted: 2/22/2008 7:43:44 PM
|It's ironic you should ask, "Jeeps", because just this past week I entered into negotiations for publication of my first book of poetry ... I have NO idea how long that process will take, I'm assuming several weeks - then there's all the re-writes, edits, etc. ect. But ... I'll certainly let you know when that puppy hits the books stores! Thank you for asking ... I'm flattered. |
I haven't checked my POF mail in quite a while ... if I missed your email, my apologies, If you write again, I'll be sure to email ya' back ... I promise.
Do you write ...? PC4U
|For His Daughter©|
Posted: 2/23/2008 5:38:59 AM
|Silverswan ... very insightful. A good write. You are welcome here anytime. PC4U|
Posted: 2/23/2008 6:15:05 AM
|Spring, (‘tween alternates of rain and sun),|
Explodes with color everywhere, but not to be outdone
Summer rides along behind pushing Spring to maturity
And prepares the way for Fall, when we can stop and see
Indian Summer there, and it’s autumn color flows
T’ward the years’ ending months, and all of Winter’s woes.
And next year when these seasons all repeat
As new life appears, others meet delete
In pushing of the winds, and shifting of the sands
Posterity is handed off to the next new pair of hands
And you and I will be there, one year sometime hence
And pass the record of our lives – it’s why it all makes sense.
Posted: 3/1/2008 3:28:17 PM
|Until the end of time|
From whence ever it began
Greed will be: The shameful scourge of man
For all those who sought it
And those who seek it still
In a nation’s fall … its blood will surely spill
Those who embrace avarice
Who bed insatiable greed
Eternal misery … is that which they shall breed
6 (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6)