Psycho Thunder

We encounter it as a vision.
A leisurely paradise.
White sands and suntans.
Fresh seafood and frozen drinks.
Redneck music.
A place of no trouble.

Til the trouble brews.

With high pressures.
And moisture.
Kicked up by the hot Atlantic nights.
Near the tropic line.
Through the colorful islands.

To our Florida.

Whizzing wind, psycho thunder.
Twisters and floods, lightening bolts.
The race is on.

Out of there.

The slow get left behind.
Darwin wasn't wrong about everything.
The fittest will survive.
In a general sense.
Some fit will not, some slow will.

Absolutes are rarely true.

Either way, the elements rule the world.
The water, the earth, the air.
Designed to sustain and last.
Gravity, atmosphere, and light.

Set on a circular pattern.

Within a galaxy.
Speeding through unending space.
On our way to places unknown.
Only faith, or delusion, keeps us sane.
A conscious, and rational, obliviousness.

Storms came and went.
And will come and go.
People will be people.
The helpers will help.
The pointers will point.

The Gimme Fives

Check the schedule and leave the rest.
Make a move to the life door.
Tucked in the middle areas of our facility.
You will see for yourself.
The hours have ticked and tocked.
And minutes continue continuously.

The half pasts.
The quarters.
The gimme fives.
The justa ones.

60 seconds is all you need.

To describe how you feel.
To tell of the day.
To bleed your heart.
To rest.

The larger reasons for happenings.
Connected in ways undetectable.
Unable to see the good and bad done.
Left to speculate and worry.
But worry is the fuel for anxiety.
And anxious ain't no way to live.

Catbird Seat

The charcoal black cat was in the catbird seat, young rabbit hanging out of its mouth, teeth securing breakfast for the emerald-eyed feline.  The squeak of the brakes must have rattled the hunter and the young hopper hopped away, the yawning Atticus too put out to chase it again.  Everything gets lazy in the suburbs.  Nice and lazy.  Til the panic, til the gasoline runs out, til the hogging starts.  So look out for number one, so NaaNeeNaaNeeBooBoo, so uptight.

Meanwhile, in Houston, the floods are receeding and reality is left.  Nobody is being lazy.  Shout.  Texico!  Texico!  And we remember the chorus of the national anthem...

We stand as Texicans,
Together all along,
Without measure,
Our love for our God.

The Cajun Navy arrived immediately, McGovern's American Red Cross, Zeke's Salvation Army, Mexico, and all the Texans. Okies and Arkies will soon arrive. And it will continue til the city is restored.  Dig those Bayous deeper, build levee walls instead of border walls, God will prevail.  And has.

The faces continue to look down, glancing to the side, watching the destruction of the devil, sure of what's to come, already there.  An unusually dark cloud among blues skies covered the sun, but only for a moment as another battle was won.  The light wins again.  Floating is easy until everything floats away, even the catbird seat.

Make It Pink

All you need to do is look.
The obvious is obviously obvious.
Listen to the testimonial crowd.
They will tell you the deal.
And deal you nothing.
Truth being the way it is.
Others wanting less for you.
Wanting to witness your misery.
So trivial, so human.
Block the sun with the shade.
Mix the marinara and alfredo.
Make it pink.
Colors were made to be blended.

Between Blue And Violet

The essential pop was there.

     Eyes of my girls were wide despite the travel weariness.  Things to see everywhere, clean and friendly. Very Nautical.  Entirely interesting and unique.  Ropes for walls, floating rings on hooks.  Art.  Puppy dogs too.  All explored, the indoor pool, the construction of the pool bar, the outdoor pool being created.  A year early, but the price was right.  The high ceilings and wood floor of the suite formed space and created echoes.  Spotless.
     The bartender gal, an American Cuban New Yorker Dallas Cowboys and Cincinnati Reds fan, made a fine Cuba Libre for my honey.  The local brew was good enough to order two.  Naked Pig Pale Ale from Back Forty in Alabama.  The meatloaf from the kitchen looked incredible, served with tempura asparegus spears.  Two gentlemen at the bar, who were part of the fine building team of brand new Hotel Indigo, left nothing on their plates.
     Evidently, we aren't as free as we think.  These guys wanted to boat to Cuba but the commie red red tape and American fees made it impractical.  Land of the free now means land of the fee.
     People of all mothers.  People of all shades.  Colors were made to be blended.  It's how color works.  Like blue and red make violet.  Like blue and yellow make green.  Like yellow and red make orange.  And in between blue and violet, is indigo.

Yes, the essential pop was there.

1984 Was A Great Van Halen Album

Ahhh, don't worry about no monuments.
Or statues.
Big heads carved on Mount Rushmore seems creepy anyway.

Just live baby, maybe leave some words, or a song, or another creation.  A painting or a sculpture, or a collage.  Computer graphics can be left, or some biotechnical breakthrough.  We idolize our art, like it deserves praise and should be experienced by others.  And dug.  And the artists must be dug most of all.  Like gods.  We are not God.

They always get tore down.  Destroyed and defaced.  Some graffiti and bird droppings.  Ants and cennipedes crawl around the grounds doing their work.  They can smell a scoundrel, we are all the same.  God is unwilling and unable to be tore down.

Fall in with the plan, let the cleaning begin.  Get yours and yours and yours, make em pay, make em pay.  Out the gills with guilt and shame on top.  This is the intelligent people talking, the ones who made it like this, the ones who know more and conceive better than the rest.  And we are the rest, the peaceful, the calm.  Still waters, only rippling, none of the crashing and bashing.  No undercurrents.  No jellyfish, those sad envious stingers, invisible and sloppy.  1984 was a great Van Halen album, but history will never stop Mr. Orwell!  One book is never rewritten, only translated and spoke.  Word.

The gamers are fools, consciously and unconsciously.  Perhaps its partially excused.  They dish, but can't take, they wig when they should wag, they jump when they should duck.  And we all play games, we are all foolish for sure.

Forgiveness is the free-willing way to peace.

Floppy Hats

Everyone wore red.
The palm tree crew.
Left stacking and restacking.
Staying busy.
Those per hour ethics.
Working hard, drinking water.
Hydrate or dydrate.

All the while, lounging in the sand.
Where the ocean made the emerald coast.
Where readers take swims.
Then turn page after page.
In floppy hats.
The book still has a place.
With the dreamers.
Still hoping.
Escaping.
Gone.

Then a whiff, a cool whiff in the heat.
Shelter is being erected everywhere.
Shade, the commodity.
Like clipping palms, leave the tops.
Haul off the old.

The young matter the most.
Longer futures of going.
What was said was going to be said.
Was said.

That's what I said.