Because I know that everyone is tuned into our life together...........theres this.

The missus @AmandaCary and I have decided to : sell the house, buy a new truck and trailer, homeschool the brats and live off the grid.

Crazy you say? Crazy like a fox I say.

This white picket fence bullshit is doing our heads in.

All things must change in radical new ways.

Because I know that everyone is tuned into our life together......I'll keep you posted.

Peace be with you ;)

Certain people live to tell

That our captain came from hell

They want no four year interval

Replace him with a liberal!

They say he has no brains at all

Some scooping shit from horses' stall

Don't take away my check oh no!

How I'm gonna pay that ho?!

The Trump he goes against the grain

Don't think he plays the elite game

Elite don't like him messing up

The plans they made their gig is up

It's sad a nice guy and his kin

Keep dodging mud thrown at their skin

The bad guys pay to perpetrate

Feed that channel sell that hate

I think they'll stoop to sabotage

They'll try to bring him down

I pray their weapons he will dodge

New sheriff is in town

There once was a scientist named Bellows,

he did research in Antarctica with some fellows.

Between layers of earth in the permafrost ice,

they discovered living bacteria so very precise.

Bellows stroked his beard and laughed savagely -

he knew the bacteria was the key to immortality.

But how could he possibility smuggle it from view

with all the other scientists trying to snatch it too?

Well, Bellows liked jello, unlike the other fellows,

he liked all flavors but was partial to lemon yellows.

But he knew using cherry red, it’d be easier to hide

so he scooped up the bacteria and hid it inside.

Bellows iced down the jello and laid it on dry ice,

absconded with the bacteria without thinking twice

for he knew this bacteria was unlike any other -

it had arsenic inside, not phosphorous or another.

Bellows extracted the bacteria from red cherry jello

and injected it into himself, feeling quite mellow,

knowing full well that it was an alternative life form,

believing it would extend life span above the norm.

Bellows first had tried it on fruit flies and mice

and on human blood cells more than twice.

When he tried it on himself, he never caught

the flu or colds or diseases others fought.

Bellows never died, he lived longer than wife

and his children and friends without any strife.

But he no longer knew anyone on earth

with alternate life form ingrained in his girth.

Bellows was lonely so he injected some others,

knowing he wanted friends if he had his druthers.

Everyone was now comprised of alternate life forms,

not so alternate any more but more like the norms.

So Bellows and the new experimental fellows

lived on forever thanks to the cherry red jello

with the bacteria which wiggled and jiggled,

danced and pranced and sometimes giggled.

Author's Disclaimer:

This is a tale about an infection,

That was spread from cheek to cheek,

It is not a story for the weak-of-heart,

...Or those who are mild or meek,

*********************************

It was upon a prickly pimple,

Buried deep within a dimple,

That was the source of all the pain,

And the cause of so much shame,

It was only with great agony,

Where upon the cheek that pimple rested,

Squeezed and pressed out of shape,

Its bursting pressure tested,

Despite much effort and great toil,

The pimple festered to a boil,

That caused so much distress,

In all attempts to get it dressed,

This pimple caused another issue,

Along with much consternation,

That should be tended with a tissue,

Yet all efforts were repressed,

For buttered on that burly cheek,

Was a sight that seemed obscene,

A burly baby buggy booger,

A booger quite unclean,

The burly baby buggy booger,

A discharge of a different kind,

Escaping from an orifice,

From where the sun had never shined,

This burly baby buggy booger,

Had an aroma much the same,

Escaping from a cavity,

Whose description bears its name

Despite all efforts to control it,

That booger was the master,

Soon spreading to the other cheek,

It was growing larger faster,

Something really must be done,

As the horrible booger was spreading,

So the cheek was wrapped with a towel,

Upon which it was lightly treading,

Rushing to the hospital,

The situation out of hand,

Wheeled into the Emergency Room,

The physician soon took command,

He peeled that towel from that cheek,

Where for a short time it had rested,

The angry darkened flesh beneath,

Had their retching reflex tested,

Such a sight had never been seen,

To view it was very distressing,

That burly baby buggy booger,

There Belched a burp it was suppressing,

Hanging like a heavy cloud,

That odorous fragrance lingered,

Spraying mucus upward,

When pressed upon and fingered,

With a sound that made each listener dizzy,

And a stink that brings up bile,

Such a horrid, rank and filthy sound,

Leaves one stunned for quite a while,

With a worried look upon his brow,

The physician delivered his prognosis,

"It doesn't look too good my friend!"

"Your being absorbed by osmosis"

"The only way to treat this thing,

Is to cut it off completely"

So with scalpel soon in hand he did,

A job he did quite neatly,

"A cut above the rest" he proudly proclaimed,

"If I might say so myself"

Then he took that burly booger,

And put it proudly on his shelf,

But that booger had a life of its own,

And crept onto the floor,

Then that burly baby booger,

Crawled out the open door,

It crept into the kitchen,

Where it spotted some ice cream,

Then that nasty burly buggy booger,

Did something quite obscene,

It oozed in through an opening,

Where that ice cream was set down,

Slowly freezing with the mixture,

To be spread throughout the town,

Served with a cherry on top,

The unsuspecting ate their scoops,

Causing many much intestinal distress,

That was spreading through their poops,

Now firmly in the sewage system,

That disgusting booger spread,

It found its way in the water supply,

Where boogers rarely tread,

Moving swiftly through the city,

It multiplied its number,

Spreading from each faucet,

That parasite moved and thundered,

Now throughout the population,

That booger it was growing,

Feasting on infested bellies,

Soon swollen guts were showing,

The CDC was notified,

The Health Department alerted,

To try to find the origins,

From where this burly booger first squirted,

They traced it through the ice cream,

To the doctors office shelf,

Then they traced that booger back,

To of course, the doctor himself,

They identified the patient,

That was the boogers source,

Questions needed to be answered,

About this boogers course,

The patient had no clue,

And provided no instruction,

They were baffled, it is true,

To the source of the infection,

Watching from the doorway,

Was dirty little child,

In tattered pants and shirt,

Who seemed a little wild,

Watching the conversation,

The child thoughtfully picked its nose,

Which gave an idea to everyone,

To ask the child, I suppose,

They brought the child into the room,

To ask about his booger,

So the child pulled his finger quickly out,

Then exclaimed, it tastes like sugar!

This caused the investigators to panic,

As in a frantic chorus they had sung,

“Don't put that booger in your mouth!”

As his finger approached his tongue,

It was just in the nick-of-time,

The hand of fate, restrained,

With mouth still open, and tongue hanging out,

The little boys life was saved,

They wiped his fingers clean,

To the lab they took that sample,

A bigger booger they had rarely seen,

Gooey, green and ample,

A fragrant infestation,

That they found on the little boys hand,

Was the source of the infection,

That was spreading throughout the land,

They rushed the boy to hospital,

There, he was put into isolation,

Eating all the ice cream,

For him, it was like a vacation,

The only way to lick this booger,

Was to put it on an ice cream cone,

After that was all finished up,

He was then allowed to go home,

So friends take heed and hear this warning,

Next time you try some ice cream,

Make sure its the right decision,

And just be sure your cherry's clean.

© BAM

In the cold, hard font of Times New Roman

intentions can sometimes lose their meaning

a quip may be confused with a barb

and honesty can sound like attack

thats where emojis come in handy

the only trouble is

I have yet to find one

that successfully communicates.......

'you're a dickhead, get a big dog up ya'

"Simon, you're a disgrace!" his father bellowed."A disappointment to our family, profession, and religion!"

Simon had heard these rants before, but when he told him what was coming next, his father would really go overboard. Simon needed to calm him down before he heard what was coming.

"Now Dad, I know I've made some decisions that you don't approve of, but..."

"Decisions I don't approve of?", his father interrupted. "You make it sound like I'm the one who's being unreasonable!"

Simon could see the veins in his father's neck starting to bulge. Not good.

"No one would approve!" His father continued. "I've taught you everything I know about fishing, and I even got you started with your own boat and crew. I groomed you to take over my business; to make a good life for you and our daughter in law, and to make our family proud. But you just couldn't keep your head out of the clouds. Some rogue rabbi came by and asked you to be 'fishers of men', and you abandoned the boats right at their moorings, and left your crew high and dry! Come on, what does 'fishers of men' even mean! How can you fish for men? "

Simon knew the conversation was a maelstrom, but, how to keep from getting sucked in? The Rabbi would know how, but He wasn't here.

"Dad, you know this wasn't just any man" Simon Implored. " He had this way of looking deep inside of me, even in the beginning. He made me feel like I was destined for greater things than just fishing."

"Oh, so fishing is beneath you now? You're too important to take care of your family? Too important to honor your father and mother?"

Simon could see the neck vein really bulging now, and sweat was starting to bead up on his father's forehead, but he wanted his father to understand.

"No, that's not what I'm saying at all! I knew there was a price to pay for following Him, but some opportunities only come once. This man performed miracles and opened my eyes to the heart of God! I couldn't pass up the opportunity to follow Him."

"And how's that working for you?" his father countered contemptuously. "He was arrested, convicted, and killed, and you almost got arrested with him. At least you had the sense to deny you knew him when that happened. And then you came crawling back here to pick up where you left off."

Time seemed to stand still for moment. He saw his father's eyes sweep the room as they passed over Simon and then the family table where they ate so many meals together. They swept over the fishing net in the corner, which his father and him had repaired so many times, that there wasn't any original material left. They swept over the crude wooden boat figure he had carved for his father when he was a boy. His father seemed to deflate, and the neck vein receded like a calming sea swell after a summer storm.

"I'm sorry I got all riled up again, son, but those wounds will take a while to heal. The important thing is that you're back. Of course, I had to fire the captain and crew that replaced you, so you could get your boat back and use your own crew. It will take time, but we can still salvage our reputation, if you finally get your priorities straight. We'll take it one day at a time."

There was an awkward pause as his father changed the subject.

"So, now that you're back at the helm, how was your catch today?"

Simon was glad his father had calmed down, but he knew he couldn't wait much longer to tell him his intentions. It would be like dropping an anchor on his father's foot. Better to start out with a least a little good news.

"Well, we had a record catch today. We caught so many fish, the nets were breaking."

"Now you're talking, son! I bet you raised some eyebrows out there. What's your secret? Did you use that trick of watching the sea birds like I taught you? I heard the other boats weren't catching anything. This could be the break we need to get back on track."

"Well, we were getting skunked too," Simon replied, " but instead of watching the birds, I was watching a man on shore. There was something about him that caught my interest. He told us to try fishing on the other side of the boat. At first I thought he was joking. Like, seriously? The fishing will be better 10 feet to starboard from where we'd just been fishing? But we did it anyway, and now we have more fish than you ever dreamed of."

"Son, that's a miracle! It's a sign from God that you were meant to join us back fishing again. I wonder who that man was?"

"Yes Dad, it was a miracle, and you're not going to believe this, but that man was Jesus."

"That's crazy talk Simon! It can't be him. He's dead and buried!"

"Not anymore."

His father looked at Simon in stunned silence.

"He was raised from the dead, and I'm leaving this afternoon to follow Him again."

His father was too shocked to speak. His neck vein resumed its antics, and was now pulsing like a fish flopping on the deck.

Years later, as his father looked back, he knew he had said and done many things as Simon packed up his meager belongings and left the family home on that fateful day, but it was all still hazy. Now, as he looked at the carved wooden boat figure, all he could think about was how Simon, who used to be his son, had thrown away his life, would die in obscurity, and never realize his potential. And his father would never be able to realize his dream of occupying his proper place of honor among the other fisherman.

 I soak in the darkness of empty phrases

mighty tempest dwelling in my head

skies opening to storms that rage

unharnessed fury of mind in a cage

awareness tumbling in staggering words

solemn ink spatters verses on blank paper

unsteady rhymes fall off my edges

shell burst of fury leaving remnants behind

impaled on pen, unspoken verbs thrust forth

tears of blotted shadows leave no traces

ripped pages, one bleeding word at a time

empty mirrored thoughts echo despair

inscribed messages escape from the storm

sentiments unfolding, crackling in wind

voiceless wordsmith pens ivory words.

Raspberry and lemon lozenges. White paper box, sticky from rootbeer circus sticks. Tongues tattooed cotton-candy. Crayons gone missing. Color with your fingers instead. Pretend the barn is red in the hospital room. Hot afternoons are cooled and calmed with ice pops, flavored ice. Pocahontas T-shirt worn twice. A rainbow slinky dies, death due to terminal entanglement.

Clipboards with grown-up writing walking back and forth from rooms 24 , 25, 26. Just barely grazing the lobby. Glasses coming off, on to the head of a busy doctor. Pursing lips and tongue-tapping, tisking away at a busy chart. Rabbit on the floor named Doctor Floppy. Coloring away the night before. Unfamiliar dialogue finds its way through, somehow, some way, even over the television. Casting images of puppets. Sing along.

Glasses come back down.

"Hi, there, sweetheart. Can you tell me what happened?"

Sprained-thumb pushing on blue shorts. Clamping down on truths. Orangejelly lips refusing to move. Had to get away, had to get away. No one else sees you. More grown-up writing. Exchanging medical terms. Flying over my head like a hot air balloon. Wicker baskets, shiny film. Too high for me to touch. Hiccups ensue.

"She does this when she's nervous."

I changed my mind; the barn should be blue. Smellsipping the soaking bleach, too clean and bright. I miss my bed and I regret telling them about you. Too late now. Here comes the icky stuff. Tar syrup, something that makes me sleepy. Soporific.

Where do you go when I drink this?

Back in bed, back home. Get well banner dangling softly above my head. Doctor Floppy smells like anti-bacterial soap. Sleeves protecting me. Haven't spoken in 5 months. Won't speak for at least another. 

You are unparalleled,

You've repeatedly said,

On many occasions,

Filling me with dread.

Lord and master,

Supreme being to all,

I'm a mere subject,

Completely banal.

Worshiping the ground,

Wherever you go,

Grasping thrown crumbs,

You decide to bestow.

Just remember this,

As you continue on high,

I will rejoice,

The moment you die.

I wanted to tell you many things, about pain and patience and people. I wanted to hold your hands and feel them in mine and close my eyes as I learnt the shape of your fingers. I wanted to be with you through blood, sweat and tears. But what was there to want if I could never get?

Stranger, you were the part of my heart that I’d emptied in preparation for you. You were the baby shoes on our doorstep. You were the still blue walls, unforgiving and inscrutable. You were the wooden crib below the window. You were the nights I spent crying. You were the days I spent laughing. You were the calm in a world of cruelty.

Stranger, you are the space that was not filled. You are the baby shoes stuffed with haste into shoeboxes. You are the walls now white, white as pain and brutality. You are the crib we couldn’t bear to sell. You are the nights I spend unsleeping. You are the days I spend crying. You are the calm in this cruel world, asleep when we can only dream.

You are the way love gets choked between my teeth.

You are the day that passes, and you are the same day that returns.

You make me realise just how repetitive life is, how monotone and inevitable.

You make me shake when I see someone else’s child.

You make people pity me; pity which is a useless, practised thing.

You make me convulse on the floor as I cradle my head, seeking consolation in my migraines.

You make me love pain, pain for its stability and certainty and cold, hard cruelty.

You make me forget about patience and pain and people. My eyes blur and the lights dim and for a moment I feel you in my arms, the familiar weight of a small child. My knees buckle and I lurch and the world returns with sharp, painful clarity.

You make me never want to want again, if only I could get you back.