Category: Writing
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030: Færwel, Welfær
a signed memorandum drafted soon after Brandon Stuckey’s passion safety < salvus ~ salvare > salvation: deliverance from harm, ruin, or loss There’s this idea in our society that… well… see… one of the old timers sipping his ale in The Golden Dragon pub said it better: “Keep your nose outta trouble and no trouble’ll…
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029: I Know Why the Caged Verse Sings
The free verse leaves out the back of the line, aimlessly grieves until we hear it whining, wailing, singing for more, more, MORE. It has never paid nor gone without—a babe, a brat, a brawling rich twit. But a verse that stalks down her narrow lines would never walk through a crowd to dine with…
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028: Contemptusemptus Mundi or “The Pre-emptive Comtemptive”
mundi contemptus doesn’t comfort the suicide, whose selfish escort just quits when life takes sorrow serious, when now old age grows deleterious, Hemingway was cowed when came threat of age when neither his pluck nor nerve would engage contemptus mundi hidden inside him, but scorned weak skin, his youth subdivided his fates: Brave men can…
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026: The Doubt of Future Woes
The doubt of future woes exiles my present pain, my wit, it warns me, “Mind the sorrows everyone again employs as if despair, despair, despair, brought truth unquestioned, unrestrained. I do declare that sorrows left within the void without the context brought by joy, the cultured route of pain-then-pleasure-ever-after, brings not truth, but lies —…
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025: Clothes that Fit Everyone Else but You
that moment when the boxer briefs you’re wearing catch all your bathroom’s light WHAM! how it hits you, branches and leaves: you’ve owned them forever, since – what’s the night? Oh yeah! It was Valentine’s Day Dance, Sixth Grade. You’d won them raising funds for artists. “’Lastic band, orange frog print?” “Lance.” (goes nice with Dance…
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024: An Elogium für ein Lettre-Arius Mægster Tollkühn
Now we ought to eulogize Phantasie Author’s might, Mythopoet literary, our faebles, legends obligated to him, Mythopoet resuscitates. He stimulated earthen scions— primary source’s Visioneer: Middangeard woke up fiction. Mythopoet? They reject your word artistry, Mystic Seer. _________ }{ For newcomers — a note on 50 @ 25: Once upon a time, I read that…
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021: Villano Tres
for the Gergia mythos Sometimes the truth resides between three liars; that stout, resistant core that never breaks. The light of Ashen’s hidden in a fire. One speaks of mountain dew in his desire while two divert — “The river Ashen makes.” Sometimes the truth resides between three liars. They’ll take you on a course…
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020: The Expelliarmus
For these next few, I’m writing hymn lyrics. I worship with a large group of believers who was first on the ground when the tornado hit — a congregation whose worship moves them into action and thus inspires me. I’m writing these for that congregation and for my worship minister friends to tinker with –…
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017: These Three
For these next few, I’m writing hymn lyrics. I worship with a large group of believers who was first on the ground when the tornado hit — a congregation whose worship moves them into action and so inspires me. I’m writing these for them and for my worship minister friends to tinker with–hopefully there’s something…
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016: The Rime of the Ancient Astronaut or Robots, Robots Everywhere
I There was an ancient Astronaut who stopped me in the street I asked him, “By my glittering suit why are you stopping me?” He held me with his shriveled hand and said, “I flew my ship beyond the grasp of gravity, fresh fruit juice, naps, or chips.” I sat my rump upon a…
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015: Ode to a Carpenter
In hopes that the world relents before breaking your back for a third time Below the old dark basement stair there sat your drafting desk, whose nuts, whose rambling arms belied the old fine flicker of forge and vat, of framing, making, building, dreamt-up forms, of vision, hope from unsung pioneer will one day invent…
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013: For Grandpa Schaubert, On His Eightieth
Like the time we made eight dozen swords from scraps of short-term fences like gardens grown in backyard troughs require all five senses like smells of Summerfest behind, of corn dogs, sweets, Budweiser like sounds of Glory up ahead, of laughter, song, advisers like sights of Gateway Arches, woods, a Florida beach in winter like…