Pass the Ammunition

In my room there's a fly
Which is why
I
Cry,
"Die!"

What to Do In Absence of Marital Love

Wife's gone to Minnesota
Oh dear, what shall I do?
I think I'll wander into town
And buy a steak or two.
I'll fire up the barbie
And kick back on the deck.
I may be saddened when she's gone,
But I needn't be a wreck.

The Characteristics of Branches

Branches leap from trees,
Hurling themselves to the ground,
Whenever strong winds make them afraid.
And then, forlorn, there they are... un-made,
Like Teamsters on lunch, lying around.
Til blown away by another breeze

Jog

Night was falling.

Air was cold.

Graves were sentries

Stark and old.

Still he ran.

What from? God knows.

Graveyard jogging's

Weird I suppose.

Leak

I used to know just about everything.
Must have bumped my head
Or sprung a leak.
We'll see about next week.

The Shrinking Pot

The coffee pot grew smaller every day
In reverse relation to child-induced
grogginess.  Not a half bad price to pay
For two such angels.  A nice little boost,
Still, but so quickly, quickly... oh my... gone.
"Need I necessarily be done?"
Not as a matter of definition.
Only by wisdom's volition.

Thank God For Naps

The morning of Easter is wonder and praise.
The nap later on could last for some days.

"Good Friday" (re-posted)

Why Do We Call it Good?
Of all days it’s the darkest by far.
Judas and Pharisees, soldiers and priests,
All of them coming with lanterns and spears,
Peter cutting off Malchus’s ear.
Why do we call it good?
In the night came a mob with vile intent.
In the night came a mob with vile intent.

Why do we call it good?
When a friend is possessed and betrays?
Judas, companion, disciple for years,
Overcome by the devil, betraying his Lord,
Leading this mob full of soldiers and swords.
Why do we call it good
When a friend is possessed and betrays?
When a friend is possessed and betrays.

Goodness?  What goodness?  I see only blood.
Injustice and hatred roll down like a flood.
Goodness?  What goodness?  I see only pain,
Wickedness pouring like rain.

Why do we call it good?
When they hustle him off for a trial?
In the depths of the night was no justice nor right.
Annas the priest was the first judge he saw
Soldiers were striking him hard on the jaw
Why do we call it good
When justice is lost in the darkness of night?
When justice is hidden for lack of the light.

Why do we call it good?
When a friend who is frightened denies?
Peter, impetuous, quick to make promises,
But when he’s confronted is quick to say “No,
I don’t even know him.  This man I don’t know!”
Why do we call it good
When a friend who is frightened denies?
Sits down in the corner and cries?

Goodness?  What goodness?  I see only lies.
While courage and justice are dropping like flies.
Goodness?  What goodness?  I see only hate,
The inexorable marching of fate.

Why do we call it good?
When soldiers were mocking our Lord?
They gave him a robe with derisive intent.
They fashioned a crown made of thorns
And made him the object of scorn.
Why do we call it good
That soldiers were mocking our Lord?
That soldiers were mocking our Lord.

Why do we call it good?
When the word, “Crucify!!” fills the air?
Clamoring priests all determined to kill.
“We have no king but Caesar,” they said.
“This man is a blasphemer and ought to be dead.”
Why do we call it good
When the word “Crucify!!” fills the air?
When the word “Crucify!!” fills the air.

Goodness?  What goodness?  I see only blood.
Injustice and hatred roll down like a flood.
Goodness?  What goodness?  I see only pain,
Wickedness pouring like rain.

Why do we call it good?
When they stretch him out on the cross?
They nail his hands and his feet to the wood.
Toss dice for his tunic un-torn,
While his mother stands there and mourns.
Why do we call it good
That our Lord is stretched out on the cross?
And his mother, dear Mary, watches.

Why do we call it good?
When he stopped breathing?
Nicodemus and Joseph took him down,
Dressed him with myrrh and a funeral gown,
Placed him in a tomb at the edge of town.
And walked away.

Goodness?  What goodness?  Our Savior is dead.
His body is broken and hangs there like lead.
Goodness is murdered and justice a joke
The world is in shambles, irreparably broken
And hope?  How can there be any hope?
Why do we call it good?

Lent

I'm not one to give things up for Lent.  It always seemed artificial to me.  I'm not speaking to anyone else's experience, just to my own.  But for some reason this year is different.  I'm using Lent as an opportunity to set things down that I value to see what happens, to see what God will do.  In the past year I've commented a number of times about how I can't understand how anyone can be bored; there are too many interesting, worthwhile, and fun things to do.  I'm curious about what it is that I'm not now doing which will arise in the space that Lent has pruned.  We shall see.

To see what God will do this Lent
I'm doing blog abandonment.  

Birth Control

Birth control is always cheap
In many and listable ways:

1. Brush your teeth but once a month
2. Or walk around and Tase.
3. Bad mouth kittens, push old widows
4. Pay with only nickels.
5. Don't have sex or get all frisky
6. Stuff your pants with pickles.

It really isn't very hard

And it's all up to you!

Any other sobbing story

Simply isn't true.

Guck

When the slush falls down
All the romance is gone from
Precipitation

Honeydew

She says, "I've got a tub for you
To take downstairs, you see."
I said, "Hmm-mm" and then I sat
And wrote this poem for thee.
In not too long I'll get on up
And do some "honeydew."
But for just a little bit
I'd rather write for you.

(and off I go...)

Fragments Undone

The world was fallen long ago,
Continues thus today.
Sinners do what sinners do
And so the fragments stay.
To tell as much, with broken words,
Might strike a man as wise.
Yet it is but a half-truth told
For Jesus did arise.
The world is broken, yea it is,
As once his body hung.
But now with eyes of faith we know
That new life has begun.

Fragments

Fragments - busted up pieces of what used to be something...
Some "thing."  But the thing is undone, broken.
It seems that the world is fragments these days.
A civic sense that held us together,
Is sick, just plain sick.
Who can trust the other?  Those others are vile, truly vile.
One mustn't listen to them, at all costs no.
And religion, well, that was supposed to be an internal matter
Now wasn't it?  But now it busts out in all the wrong places
Indignantly right and yet doing damage to itself.
Or it plays the complaisant fool, doing damage to itself.
Or it is altogether absent, doing damage to everyone else.
Whether by omission or commission, the whole thing is busted up in fragments.
And where is a person to turn amidst these heaps of shards?
It's easy to cut oneself.  It's easy to wail.  It's easy to stomp...
And bust everything up just a bit more.
Is there nothing that holds it together anymore?
Or are we condemned to live so separately, as fragments
So unlovely, so unkempt, so broken...


(Was it always so frail?  So irreparably compromised?)
Seems not, but.

History of the Day

Saint Valentine was quite a guy,
A martyr back in ancient Rome.
He sold his cards and made a mint
And hid it in a catacomb.
But then the greedy government
Took all his cash and sent him "home."

Scatology

When baby says, "Ah poo"
He means to say, "I'm pooping."
We anxiously await
The day when he'll be stooping
All by himself, above the bowl.
That is our happy baby goal.

Pace

Spazzes from another age
Moved slower than today,
Sniffed the roses, took a breath,
Didn't get all frayed.
Nowadays, of course, they fly
And scene cuts into scene.
Life as flashing strobe effect.
Spazzes gone obscene.

Bluster

Arise, my heart, and with a will
Sing songs to beat the night.
Say bollocks to the raving moon
And eulogize the light.
Timid hems and pansy haws
Will nothing put to flight,
But ego mixed with blustering
Will surely win the fight!

Ppbbbbb.

I'm tired as a tree stump
Fatigued like army green.
I'd like to lie like lumber lies
As still as e'er's been seen.

Another Brief Thought

Wife said, "diaper"
I said, "crap."