Fish Family Fun

Once upon a time, someone cut the cheese...

Version 1

It was Harold, the man who worked at the deli.
His name was actually John, but he really liked to "hold hair", so there you go.
His loving sister's name was terrible Tabitha.
Terrible Tabitha disliked everyone!
Except for Francisco...she had a crush on him!
An Orange Crush.
"That is a delicious soda," said the green sheep.
The sheep slurped it down as if it were going out of style.
In fact, it was going out of style.
Just like parachute pants and aviator jackets and passing gas in public.
What a great day.

Version 2

Wow, did it stink!
Not as bad as that brown stuff on the bottom of the cupboard, though.
But that brown stuff isn't nearly as bad as purple oatmeal.
Ewwww...purple oatmeal!
"That only tastes good under water,"
said the angry monk while he baked the monastery bread.
The monastery bread had worms in it.
and the cheese had maggots!
...all squirmy and wormy and creepy.
Just like Santa.
Everyone love Santa, of course.

Version 3

...right off the top of the pizza.
Then, left at the soda fountain, and straight until you reach the condiment dispenser.
Which was broken so they had to go to the next one that was a whopping two miles away.
Aw, man...that fartin' man hated walking far away.
He liked staying around in his own stink.
Unfortunately, so did everyone else, and so his stink became very crowded and popular.
He was very disappointed and he cried.
He cried so hard that he slapped himself silly!
then he rolled down the hill and into a ditch...never to be heard from again.

Version 4

Then they cut the grass.
The police questioned them about this activity.
Which was not surprising at all.
only surprise parties are surprising when some burns the house down.
And sings, "Burning Down the House."
While burning down the house.
Which is an extremely scary and dangerous task.
"Aw, man, I don't like doing that!" said Lynae.
"Quiet down, Blondie!" said the grumpy old trucker.
So Blondie stole his truck and drove to Albuquerque where she lived the rest of her days as a long haul trucker.

The End (x 4).

Walter Kuhn, Bread and Knife

Sometimes a poem catches your fancy.  Sometimes it makes you laugh really hard.  The following did both the former, and the latter.

Litany

You are the bread and the knife,
The crystal goblet and the wine...
-Jacques Crickillon

You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker,
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.

However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.

It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.

And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.

It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.

I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.

I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman's tea cup.
But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--the wine.

-Billy Collins

Lotus

It is not in spite of,

But rather, because of,

The manure and storm and burying darkness,

That the seed awakens.

Pushing through the crap,

Extracting what is needed,

Past the rocks and mud and hindrance,

Into the sunlit world.

With the muck below,

Still a reminder and cause,

Of life previous and struggle and change,

Petals open revealing beauty.

Deeply Trite

Free advice is often worth much more than its price tag, but also sometimes less.

When people say “Don’t take this the wrong way, but…”, it means they are about to insult you.

Friends who treat their family members poorly will eventually treat you poorly.

If you think that you are better than someone else, you’re wrong.

Being successful is great, but being thoughtful is better.

Mindfulness only develops with practical application.

There are few better feelings than cold little hands on the back of your neck.

You cannot escape the fact that, eventually, you will resemble your parents more and more, and your children less and less.

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” can be a very stupid mindset.

Sometimes you are incorrect, sometimes you’re not.  Knowing the difference is immeasurably valuable.

Responsibility is heavy, but the more you carry the stronger you get.

Everybody knows the dice are loaded.  Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed.

Happiness happens while you’re laughing.

4th or 5th

The musty, green scent of algae on concrete, damp and slick, mingling with the tar up on the roof and down in the teacher’s parking lot.   Slamming double doors expelling turkey gravy and rice filled pre-teens, laughing and shouting their way around two lefts and then right into either echoing locker rooms or bathroom.  Passing both, double doors again, then take care ‘cause the tiles are slick when your rubber soles are wet, lockers slamming, big-kid combos I keep forgetting, and dad’s class on the right by the steps down, only not his class anymore.  Out the front, down the wide steps and through the parted green seas of blue-green to the silent bell still calling children to class, pausing at the sanctuary to shoot a few, minding the puddles but not the rain.  Keeping to the crunch of gravel, not the field – quicker but slicker – dodging ditches and watching for Dangerous Robert Vanzant, scratch that with rocks from the side by the briars and the Jehovah’s Witness’ house, smelling like sewage, to be thrown like little king-to-be David’s.  Sidewalk jumps up from the mud and it’s the home stretch, pool table and filberts on the right, Jesus’ best friend behind, best lawn in the hood to the left.  Jump the fence or run round, either way watch the thorns, and crab grass down the gravel drive (a double bump in the back seat of a cheap car when you’re almost asleep) across the lawn, up the step, left hand the doorknob and hip bump the sticky hinges…home.

Broke or Broken





Having nothing, I am broke.

Having everything, I am broken.

Power is confinement.

Weakness is freedom.

Control is a figment.

Servitude is influence.

Future is worry.

Past is regret.

Now is contentment.

Noise is static.

Silence moves forward.

Ignorance begins.

 Knowledge begets ignorance.

Having nothing, I am broke.

Having everything, I am broken.

Mortality

From robust silvery-grey,

Standing amidst the torrents and the gently falling mist,

To brown, and then rich maroon.

The minutes, hours, days take wing  

Unnoticed except in reflection. 

 Old man arbor,

Bearded with lichen, stooped, yet towering,

Watching his daughters.

The seedlings metamorphose,

Sprout to sapling, drinking in the sun.

A sign, fastened with burgundy,

Gray, worn canvass, painted with uneven script,

Announcing a station, a lowly caste.

Resplendent in the gold of sunset,

Bronze covering  items of little value.

Ingested words, jargon meal,

Smattering of specificity, mental images, laid to page,

A bitter offering, dissatisfying, served cold.

Of what prayer are they born,

And to whose ears supplicate?