Out of obscurity

 

Out of obscurity comes the glad sound:

The Savior of Mankind has been duly crowned

by his own Father and soon will prevail,

aiding the humble in ev'ry detail.

Out of the darkness has come the true light;

bearing great kindness with absolute might.

Prose Poem: The Great Beyond.

 

So the lady that lived next door

to me in my apartment building

died in her sleep the other day.

Her children came by this afternoon

to her ground floor apartment to 

move everything out through the 

sliding patio door.

I didn't think too much 

about her death

but that night I dreamed 

she appeared to me in a nimbus

of cold blue light.

She never looked too good

in life,

and I'm sorry to report

that she

still looked pretty awful

in the Great Beyond.

Like five miles of bad road.

Even her robe looked dingy.

She just stared at me,

not in a threatening way,

but kinda sad and tired.

Didn't really see much exaltation

in her, to tell the truth.

Since she appeared not to want

to start the conversation,

I went first:

"I'm sorry to say that I never

knew your name" I told her.

"What is it?"

"Lucy Henderson" she replied

in a normal voice.

She didn't rattle any chains

or moan or float around like

a helium balloon --

and, quite frankly, I was 

at a loss to know what she wanted

of me. If anything. 

"Was there something you wanted

to communicate to me?" I finally asked her.

"Like the meaning of existence or maybe 

a warning about global warming or somethin'?"

She began to disintegrate, breaking up into

tiny yellow pieces.

Before she was gone she said:

"Tell everyone to bring lots of quarters.

There's none here and the washers

and dryers won't take anything else."

Then she was gone.

When I woke up the next morning

I went down to the bank to get

a roll of quarters.

But then decided that was a 

foolish thing to do.

Cuz, see, I'm gonna go

nudist in the Great Beyond.

The Magic List

 

The letter came on Sunday night -- 

an unheard of thing by the USPS;

but the mailman knocked on my door

that night just as I was making hot cocoa,

dressed in my robe and slippers,

and handed me the envelope with

nary a word of explanation,

except to say "Special Delivery."

The envelope was franked 

from the Department of Justice

in Washington D.C.

I couldn't imagine what it was,

but it sure made me nervous.

So I drank my hot cocoa first

and then turned on a cheery 

Netflix yuletide fireplace. 

Now I felt cocooned enough

to face anything the Federal government

might throw at me.

I slit the letter open and

took out the thick parchment-like

paper --

notifying me that I had been taken off

The List.

"What list?" I said out loud,

to no one in particular.

I was soon to find out.

On Monday I went shopping for 

soda crackers, liverwurst, and butter.

At the automatic checkout stand

a buzzer sounded when I swiped the

barcode on the butter.

"Sorry" said a big burly man

in a white apron, "but you're 

not allowed to have any more butter."

"Huh?" I said through my mask,

feeling my mouth go dry. "What's that?"

"You're no longer on The List" he replied,

taking the butter out of my grocery bag.

Later that week I was in the park,

enjoying the way the evergreens were

bowed down under the recent snowfall.

A cop came up to me, looking me up and down,

and asked: "Are you Elmore Wiggins?"

"Yes, I am" I replied, even though I'm not --

I just wanted to see what would happen.

"Well, Mr. Wiggins, you should know better

than to loiter in this park looking at the evergreens"

the cop said severely. "You've been taken off The 

List, you know."

Now I had him dead to rights,

the overbearing momser.

"It just so happens" I told him haughtily,

pulling out my wallet,

"that I am NOT Elmore Wiggins,

my fine feathered friend --

my name is Timothy Osborne Marmalade!"

And I stuck my driver's license 

right under his big fat nose.

"So you are" replied the cop, squinting at my ID.

"So you are." 

He turned silently and stalked away,

without uttering another word.

Boy, did I feel good that night

when I got home!

Like I had fought the whole 

carnsarn Federal government and won!

To celebrate I brewed up a pot of Postum

and asked the neighbor lady over --

the one who keeps a cricket in a 

small bamboo cage --

to have some with me,

along with liverwurst on crackers.

We stayed up laughing, snacking,

and being giddy

until almost ten that night.

And the next day

the very next day

nothing untoward happened.

So now I keep a cricket in a 

small bamboo cage

and buy pounds of butter 

at a time without any more hassle.

Of course, I've drawn a black mustache

on my face mask to disguise myself . . . 

Today's timericks.

 

The wages of sin are not set

by anything other than sweat;

the harder you stray

the more you will pay --

and taxes will keep you in debt.  

A vaccine is ready -- hooray!

And who gets it first of all, pray?

Not you and not me;

we've no pull, you see --

it goes to the largest outlay.

Texas no longer can stick

their nose in some far bailiwick;

the judges have spoke --

their lawsuit's a joke.

Go back to your oil wells, you hick. 

God came down among the children of men

 

God came down to live with man;

to ache as only mortals can.

His empathy for us complete,

as friend and brother he will greet

each one of us in robes of dawn

when to our Savior we are drawn.

Today's Timericks.

 

The ritual of coffee/to wake up in the morn/is one I ne'er developed/and look upon with scorn/What sets my blood a-racing/before the sun arrives/is how the damn Republicans/are acting like fishwives. 

The dinosaurs revenge have got/as fossil fuels make things too hot/Their bones in our museums crow/as greenhouse gases still do flow/Invest in coal or oil or shales?/I'd rather use a bed of nails!

Who will get the vaccine first?/Millions for it madly thirst/Why not start with politicians/and their scheming mad ambitions/And if there should be a hitch/no harm done -- we'll simply switch/to a different brand tout suite/while partisans go obsolete.

Remember when Friday was THE special day --

with work almost over, and then time to play?

But Pandemic's pace gives us surfeit of time . . . 

to play and to sit and the walls screaming climb.

Verses from reading Shakespeare

 

We will give you sleepy drinks

though our conscience from us shrinks

so that you'll not testify

that our land can't satisfy

what you've left behind at home;

we're but lead to your bright chrome!

Do not sneap me, dearest friend,

if I find words without end

in the Shakespeare plays I read

which do make my eyeballs bleed.

I am having much travail

as I read The Winter's Tale!

I have tremor cordis on me;

I'm as skittish as a colt.

If I do not soon becalm myself

I'm likely off to bolt.

This reading Willy Shakespeare

is a tough nut I must crack --

otherwise I'm liable to 

succumb to heart attack!

If credent I must be with thy

glorious and welkin eye;

dearest collop, bawcock sweet,

you make me pant and sigh and bleat.

What disease I may have caught

that I feel well and yet am not

is more than I can conjure, friend;

what physick here will make amend?

There's some ill planet reigns

that means to break my heart;

accused sans any cause,

I'm forced now to depart.

Farewell, fair reputation;

destroyed beyond repair --

unfriended now, my hopes lay

with no one and nowhere.  

Today's timericks.

 

Employment is still a rare trick

with economies still very sick.

To keep your job safe

shut up and don't chafe --

the boss's boots you'll want to lick.

Dear Santa: All I want this year

is one more check my bank to clear

from Uncle Sam to help me out,

cuz I have been a real good scout.

And in my stocking, if you please,

a lowering of mortgage fees.

Slapping pucks around, my son,

on the pond is not as fun

as when the New York Rangers play  --

for that, good coin I sure will pay.

But if the players still want raises

the whole dang season goes to blazes!

They did not set their hearts upon riches.

 

Setting your heart upon riches

will not gain you much in return;

true prospering comes to the kindly,

who for other's welfare do yearn.

For when you are walking with heaven

by giving as much as you can

you find that you need but a little

to feel like the richest oilman.

Shopping for your soul

 

People do a lot of work

with bargains as their goal.

They shop for ev'rything in sight,

except their precious soul.

I, too, need some reminding

that my life's already bought

and gifted back to me by One

I have not always sought.