The heart that is hollow/can never much follow/the kind invitation of Christ/When motives are narrow/concerned with one's marrow/then loyalty is thinly sliced/Lord, help me to settle/become a rose petal/in thy sweet garden anon/so, never divided/with you I have sided/to enter a glorious dawn.
The heart that is hollow/unable to follow/the teachings of God up above/without subtle quibble/will find but a dribble/of Heavenly Father's great love.
I saw the young woman in the roots
of a large tropical tree
during my last trip to
the Marmalade Isles.
I fell in love with her.
Naturally.
I told her I loved her
but she only fled silently
into the jungle.
I pursued her, but got lost.
Naturally.
Some natives guided me back
to my hotel,
where I used Face Recognition Technology
to identify my newly beloved
and went to her house.
Naturally.
I didn't ask for her; I asked
for her parents.
Naturally.
That's how things are done
on the Marmalade Isles.
They invited me in for
camphor biscuits and hibiscus
tea.
We spoke of love and desire,
and the imminence of death.
I was old, she was young.
I gave them a bag of Krugerrands.
Naturally.
But their daughter only went
deeper into the roots of the
tropical trees, and I lost her
forever.
I respected her decision.
But I did ask for the Krugerrands back.
Naturally.
Whenever I make curry/I make it kinda hot/in fact it is so spicy/it often melts the pot/Mixed with rice and fish sauce/it will not harm your throat/that is, if you've the innards/of any common goat.
"Capitol Riot Threatens Trump’s Already Hurting Business." (WSJ)
When monkey bizness triumphs/over common sense/bizness owners find out/there's little recompense/Trump's plans have come a cropper/and soon he'll be a pauper/Now isn't that a whopper/despite all his pretense?
Inaugurals are fraught with cheer/but not the one we have this year/To keep it safe and riot-free/there'll be extreme security/In fact, when Biden takes the pledge/he'll be surrounded by a hedge/of guards so thick you will not see/the Chief Exec entirely.
The lobster is a briny dish/unparalleled among the fish/or other critters in the sea/as apex of gastronomy/But whether turned to thermidor/or freshly served from tidal bore/my ancient stomach starts to thunder/when I eat it, way down under/Langoustine, I bid thee gone/else I'll be up until it's dawn . . . .
Fools mock, but they shall mourn
when their pride is left forlorn.
Built upon a rock secure,
the godly know they shall endure --
though not by merit or birthplace,
but only through the Savior's grace!
When I get sick and doctors see/it isn't like what's on TV/No Marcus Welby pats my back/Of sexy nurses there's a lack/I'm sent from room to room until/receptionists present the bill/The next time I get sick I'll stay/at home and work on macrame.
When you put your faith in fools/you become their willing tools/Demagogues take great delight/in fomenting fear and fight/Their followers who break the law/to chain gangs go in Arkansas/Patriots are not coerced/their common sense to keep submersed.
I never lie at interviews for jobs and other things/My life's an open book, including all the warts and pings/A man who doesn't tell the truth when he is obligated/has his duty and his conscience certainly vacated/I cherish truth above all else, and keep it crystal clear/And that is why I haven't worked in many a long year.
A lust for the praise of the world
is one of the sins I must fight;
for glory and honor I yearn --
it is such a sad appetite!
It's better to quietly work
unrecognized and doing good
for strangers and fam'ly alike
around my own small neighborhood.
We are free to think we are free.
There is no free will. This thing happened; it could not not have happened; and now you have to waste your time reading it. Out of curiosity, friendship, or boredom. It makes no difference, you have no choice in the matter. This clickbait is inevitable.
I was driving down a long stretch of Interstate in Florida. I don't remember the year, but I must have still been married, and Amy and the kids were not with me. It was early in our marriage, because I was still learning the ins and outs of driving a car. Amy had taught me how to drive in Bottineau, North Dakota, so I could get a raise.
I was uncomfortable as a driver, not only because I was still new at it, but because the Florida landscape made me feel uncomfortable. The loblolly pines lining that section of Interstate looked like giant alien stalks ready to inundate the world with some kind of cancerous spore. The people I moved among and talked to seemed nothing but behind-the-scenes workers at a theme park -- when their shift was over I expected them to board a bus back home to Arkansas. The long stretch of Interstate made me feel like Tantalus just before he was assigned to his boulder.
The rear right tire blew out while I was going about seventy. The car swerved crazily until I got it back under control. I took my foot off the gas pedal and slowly came to a stop, only halfway off the road. I didn't know if it was legal to park all the way off the Interstate. There were signs I'd seen, I thought, that said it was illegal to do so. So I was only halfway off the road. Cars began whizzing by, honking furiously at me. Narrowly missing me. Thank goodness it was the middle of the afternoon on a sunny day.
I knew how to change a flat tire. I'd done it before, in the safety of my own driveway. But something didn't seem right to me, as I began removing the tools and the spare tire. The cars and trucks were passing too close to me. People were screaming out their windows at me as they zoomed past. But there was somewhere important I had to go, someplace I needed to be; so I squatted down to take the lug nuts off the blown tire. I was fatalistic; when you blow a tire on an Interstate you take your life in your hands. There's no other choice.
Then an old truck pulled off the road behind me. A white man and a black man in bib overalls got out and came up to me.
"Can I hep yew?" asked the white man.
By now I was sweating and convinced I was about to die, so the face I turned up to him was one of fear and agony.
He smiled down at me, his teeth stained brown.
"Don't be afraid, son. We ain't a gonna hurt you."
He pointed at the black man next to him.
"Charlie here is deaf -- he don't hear nothing and cain't hardly speak." he said reassuringly.
"Yeah" I mumbled, getting up. "I could use some help."
So the white guy and the black guy told me to get behind the wheel while they pushed my car all the way off the road. Then they fixed my flat for me. And drove away. I thought of offering them money, but only had three dollars on me for my dinner that night. So I just shook their hands and told them thank you. They waved at me as they drove away.
This thing was destined to happen to me. If not then, then at some later time. If not there, then in some other place. You are reading this even though it turned out to be a waste of time. It only proves one thing: there is no free will.
After the passion is over.
After the folly's secured.
After the lawyers are paid off.
And children have gone and matured.
None of it really can matter;
a wisp of your essence remains,
keeping me both sad and happy --
at liberty yet in great chains.
Above the tumult and the din
speaks the Father deep within;
"Hear ye him, my children dear,
to cease with strife and sickened fear."
"Heed my Son, who on a tree,
bought for you true victory!"
