God loveth a cheerful giver.

 

God loves a cheerful giver;

He blesses those who cede

of their earthly bounty

to those who are in need.

There is no secret to it;

just smile and give away

more than you think prudent,

and happy you will stay!

Prose Poem: The Mighty Bopp.

 

On a foggy, frog-choked night

I was visited by the ghost 

of Kay Kyser.

His wavering whisper gave me

to understand there was 

connivance afoot.

And I must spend millions

to dig it out, root and branch.

So I went to see the Mighty Bopp.

Now . . . I can't give you all the details;

there are too many lives at stake.

But there were ballots on an island

in the middle of a lake called Nimue.

Missing ballots. Hidden for centuries.

I was to bring them back.

Even if I had to hire

the Varangian Guard

to do it.

The Mighty Bopp promised 

that if I could bring those ballots

back in time,

virtue would triumph.

We marched through canebrake and enchanted glebe.

We camped amidst nettles and hardened muesli.

Our rations were just butterless scones and frisked out milp.

Nuncios barred our path, but we scattered them

by chanting 'Crinkum-Crankum.'

When we reached the Lake Nimue

the water was flecked with bosco petals,

while the murmuring scent of shaken ferns

stirred our souls to the quick.

And far out on the flaxen waters

stood the Isle of Lost Ballots.

We waded in.

The mud pulled at our spurs.

Slimy weeds slithered up our thighs.

We hacked our way through walls

of agar agar until the ballots 

lay at our feet,

fetid and complicit. 

My burliest men shouldered them

back to civilization --

 we lost half a dozen

good men in an ambuscade by

Cornish pasties before we reached

Headquarters.

Only to find that our ballots,

for which we had spilled our blood,

had turned into useless tin whistles

at the stroke of midnight.

And so . . . 

the Mighty Bopp had struck out.

Photo Essay: All New Postcards to the President.

 

Today's timericks.

 

The age of applesauce is here/there's no more steak for me, I fear/Soda crackers are but scant/comfort for no fried eggplant/Schlag and chocolate cake recede/from my plate with cheerless speed/What good are teeth remaining firm/if all I munch on is wheat germ?

Who says a toxic workplace/is bad for staff morale/I've never liked my bosses/to think they were my pal/I like to have my grudges/whenever I'm at work/I get more done when knowing/that everyone's a jerk/If you want easy living/a beach bum you should be/Don't work for corporations/sans animosity.

When hedge funds buy a newspaper/ reporters mourn in droves/They know they'll soon be out of work/to beg for daily loaves/The newsroom will be gutted/and the coverage will shrink/until real news becomes as rare/as the missing link/As long as hedge funds make a profit/for their old stockholders/no one cares if local news/ turns around and moulders.

Be reconciled to God

 

Be reconciled to Christ, and know that He is all

that ever we will need to triumph 'gainst the Fall.

The world's a masquerade; the devil leads the dance --

change partners while you can, your safety to enhance! 

Today's timericks.

 

I cannot help but thinking God/when looking at the Earth feels odd/He had such high hopes for mankind/But now he's seen how we've declined/He just may end the honeymoon/and start all over on Neptune.

Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates/is in some awful dire straits/Rush Limbaugh wants to enter quick/before the devil gets his pick/Conservatives upon their cloud/cheer for Limbaugh long and loud/But Mr. Scratch has prior claim/and wants Rush for his Hall of Fame/To avoid all objurgation/they'd better try reincarnation . . . 

North Korean hackers/stealing money left and right/for their starving people/makes an edifying sight/Patriotic bandits/Kim Jong-un will likely pay/by taking all the moolah/and then shooting them as prey.

My witness is in heaven.

 

The witness is in heaven/the witness is on earth/the witness of the Savior/is given all at birth/His light is everlasting and reaches ev'ry soul/and those who will receive him/are finally made whole.

Today's Dirty Verses.

 

Dirty verses are not written/by those with a conscience smitten/Dreck like that is better left/to those whose morals are bereft/I will never write such reek/(my libido is way too weak.)

From Pizzagate to QAnon is not a lengthy distance/if you have convinced yourself of Peter Pan's existence/Scamper down the rabbit hole to sniff out all the treason/then join the happy throng that's already lost their reason!

So-called Christians who reject/vaccinations as suspect/and against the Bible's will/must to God seem like a pill/He provides us cures to ease/ills, which some do treat like sleaze/Perhaps another Flood would aid/in making them less renegade. 

For out of Zion shall go forth the law

 

The law of Zion spreading wide

shall tear down unjust rules and pride.

So once again Edenic views

will surely all the earth infuse.

Then mountains ring with promise sweet

that Zion's rule parts chaff from wheat!

Today's Timericks.

 

George and Abe sell mattresses/upon this holiday/Auto loans are offered/in their patriotic way/Americans are shopping/to show they won't forget/great presidents by going/so darn deeply into debt!

No place there is like home sweet home/for terrorists to grimly roam/born and bred in USA/they lust to kill us every day/they carry guns and don't wear mask/and shoot you if you dare to ask/just why they hate their own country/to them it's all conspiracy.

I'm the Dali Lama, though I do not like to boast/That other guy I leave alone; he's just a whipping post/I was chosen as a child by monastery staff/but when I learned what it entailed/I sat right back and laughed/Who needs that kind of pressure or the expectations great/People either love you or, if Chinese, really hate/I abdicated quickly and became a dharma bum/I never have regretted living my life so humdrum.