Tylenol And Winter CoatsI liked football better back in the day when Dave M. was blocking Don H. using "the BASH technique", resulting in Don leaving bloody pools of spit in the white snow from where his braces cut his lips, and CT throwing me or Scott M. or Steve W. long, perfect spirals... when Tylenol and winter coats were our only padding. I forget which one of us hit the telephone pole at top speed--Jim K. or Dave, maybe, because I was already turned half-way around to run to my house to call 911, but that was cool too, since he calmly, unbelievably, stood up and brushed snow off his front and spiked the ball. The pole did, in fact, mark the end zone. 6 points!
Sleeping RoseOnce upon a time there was a forest filled with great trees. Their massive trunks towered into the sky as herds of deer browsed the undergrowth and wild forest plants. Squirrels, weasels, mice and foxes spent their days and nights burrowing for nuts and seeds and stalking in the rich, soft loam, as did all manner of birds, which filled the air with songs both joyful and haunting.
One day a wealthy man on a fine stallion came through the forest with a few others, picking his way along deer trails and among the leaf-strewn open spaces under the canopy, through which fingers of sunlight caressed the ground, making dust motes and gnats sparkle as they floated. He brushed spiderwebs from his face with irritation.
Not long after that day, teams of peasant men came with axes and began chopping into the trees, laughing as they fell, setting to work cutting them up into managable parts and hauling them away to the mill on the big stream several hills away with teams of gia
Fear as FaithYou may not marry outside the faith.
Your life becomes forfeit
We hold it null.
We will not have our name despoiled,
Our control shown weak
And god's name besmirched.
We fear the will of prying eyes,
Our hard work void,
Our standing gone.
We fear the others not like us,
The lure of freedom
Too much to bear.
We fear that all our young will go
And be like them,
Free to worship in a different way.
So in god's wisdom
Defilement of your face
So no bright warrior will want you now.
Here is the ending of your life
As we sweep you out of your room
Under the rug.
Our honour held as we honour god,
In his wisdom so we hold our peace,
And let none speak of freedom again.
copyright J. Shidler 2011-01-23/24
I, RobotAUTHOR'S NOTE: I've tried a few things to fix the type going out of the box, but for now what works best is to Press the "T" button at the top right to change the font. --thanks!
I've gradually come to realize why I need to be so uncomfortable at times. Whether it is anxiety or manic depressive swings (sorry, that's "bipolar disorder" this week. Changing the name has made it sound like something new that doctors just invented recently and coincidentally just invented the cure for, and falls in line with maintaining the new united corporate identity of Psychiatric "Disorderliness". "Disorder" sounds better on the doctor's health insurance claim request form, more likely to loosen the purse strings. Next week I vote we use "happy/sad predispositional long-term expensively treatable with mixed, sometimes dangerous results and quite possibly, because it's in these books and my 80 year old professor said so, unless it really isn't, some kind of insanity diso
Barrier of TimeOh so sad
When good is bad
And everybody cares.
Far away arms
With far away farms
Your summerlike heat
Burns in retreat,
Flames trail behind.
High in your tower
You kiss the hours
And lay them down to sleep.
Pace the parapet
In your mantelet,
Longing away to fly.
When every hour
Is a flower
How can we let them die?
The earth moves slow
As wizards know
And flowers carry seeds
Of floral fields
With space to reel
Where anything can grow.
copyright J. Shidler 2011-01-23/24
Slave to The ShaveMonday: Shave.
Thursday is a scruffy day.
Friday: Shave twice--date tonight.
Saturday is a scruffy day.
copyright J. Shidler 01-2011
Electronica FieldsWhat is the nature of non-natural songs?
Are they meant to enfold us, to string us along,
To take us away to electronica fields?
But there, now I've said it, the field is the thing!
Let me take you around to my fields made of sound.
Stand still while I hold you with sonic surrounds.
Whisker wheat taps the snare made of Xes and Ohs.
Oh, no it doesn't, those are ones and zeroes.
Like a fish through an ocean, chasing bubbles of air,
Through an aural aurora that's not really there
Except as a sandwich of electronica things
That no one can play and that no one can sing
And a blue visualization with boxes and rings.
We sift softly through the house of keystroke
Breathing sweat and pet dander instead of whiskey and smoke;
Sip our clear soda water as the mothership lands
And the DJ strings loops not created by bands
To a room where pure oxygen is sold as a drug
To the already mood-altered who stare at the rug
With electronica eyes and elastica smiles
And the mood seems to stretch on for miles
All Tomorrow's PartiesAre we there yet?
All those hours slid by
So slow, so dear.
How do we save them
Now they're gone?
By what we learned,
How they made us feel?
By who we loved,
Or what we feared?
I'll never trade them,
Those slow cold hours,
Not yet dawn,
Her voice ethereal
Through the telephone,
Those restless days,
And rolling nights.
Calling out names,
Sometimes all wrong,
Sometimes just right,
When the strong stood fast
And the weak took flight.
There's still power
In a name,
Still some moves left
In the game.
Some of us
Who feel the same.
Stoke the fire,
And roll the die.
We're travelling long,
When the smoke clears
The old steam engine
Is a bullet train.
To take your fare
And the magic is
This train goes anywhere!
The quicker ride
With a higher fare
And a smoother glide.
To all of those
Who had halfway tickets
Listening to the crickets