the hokey pokey

You put your left foot in
you put left foot out,
you put your left foot in
and you shake it all about

drunk on saturday night
at cousin Billy's wedding,
the hokey pokey can be fun

but it doesn't play well
as a lifestyle dance
and even charades gets old
as the night wears on

shark week has passed again
and i can't help but think,
the worst moment isn't
when you see the shark coming

nor when you take your
final breath
before the stillness
encapsulates

it's when you're half eaten
fully caught in the roil
still fighting the beast
and foolishly
clinging to hope

that's what it's all about

He said What??

Ok, the Congressman from Missouri has made the list for the stupidest things ever said by someone who should know better, but time to remember some old favourites.

I could fill the page with ol George W, but for the sake of brevity, I won't.

"Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the former." o- Albert Einstein

"You work three jobs? … Uniquely American, isn't it? I mean, that is fantastic that you're doing that." —to a divorced mother of three, Omaha, Nebraska, Feb. 4, 2005 GWB

"Too many good docs are getting out of the business. Too many OB-GYNs aren't able to practice their love with women all across this country." —Poplar Bluff, Mo., Sept. 6, 2004 GWB

"Our enemies are innovative and resourceful, and so are we. They never stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people, and neither do we." —Washington, D.C., Aug. 5, 2004 GWB

"But obviously, we've got to stand with our North Korean allies." --Sarah Palin, after being asked how she would handle the current hostilities between the two Koreas, interview on Glenn Beck's radio show, Nov. 24, 2010

"How's my favorite young stud doing? ... Did you spank it this weekend yourself? ... Is your little guy limp or growing? ... What you wearing? ... Love to slip them off you and grab the one-eyed snake." -Congressman Mark Foley IM'ing a page

"it depends on what the definition of "is" is.~Wild Bill Clinton (God i love that guy!)

"I saw a woman wearing a sweatshirt with 'Guess' on it. I said, "Thyroid problem?"  - Arnold Schwarzenegger, California Governor and actor

"I've read about foreign policy and studied, I now know the number of continents.” - George Wallace 1968 presidential campaign

"The world is more like it is now then it ever has before." - Dwight Eisenhower, 34th President of the United States

"When I see someone who is making anywhere from $300,000 to $750,000 a year, that's middle class." - Fred Heineman, former Republic representative from North Carolina "For most people, death comes at the end of their lives." - Radio broadcaster, UK

"Whenever I watch TV and see those poor starving kids all over the world, I can't help but cry.  I mean I'd love to be skinny like that, but not with all those flies and death and stuff." - Mariah Carey

"I get so tired listening to one million dollars here, one million dollars there, it's so petty."  - Imelda Marcos, former First Lady and a political figure in the Philippines

"I owe a lot to my parents, especially my mother and father." - Greg Norman, Golfer "The internet is a great way to get on the net." - Bob Dole, Republican presidential candidate "Cod are not very good swimmers so they are easily overtaken by trawlers and nets." - British government report on why cod fish are disappearing from the North Sea Well, You get the picture. I didn't include any Romney or Obama  only because I think the best is yet to come with them. ~rick

dreams into dust

St. Louis lays out like the serpent's tongue,

daring the ferry foolish to enter the

bedchamber though the bride,

fat and drunk, waits six dreams away

if the mighty river was meant to frighten,

it failed, not knowing the opium of ignorance

and the lure of anyplace but here

what they heard was the cry of golden shores

under sun bleached skies while the

fliers tacked to poles offered

Eden's apples free of the curse

these are the dreamers

frames can't hold on any mantle

and all the tears worth crying

are sealed in Philadelphia trunks

i watch the merchant scowl, and squint

his cavern eye, while robbing the soft pilgrim

with only flour and yeast as a weapon

~and i wish to be robbed as well

but i have no poke, no Conestoga,

nor friend to cheer me on.

and the wagon master, he mocks

my mule in disgust while spitting,

"he'd never make it through Missouri"

if only i had an oxen or two or

better luck at cards, or a bride

full of batting lashes, or a rich uncle

poor in common sense

if only, if only, if only...

for i too am a dreamer and

have heard the call,

and i know, don't i know

how it all waits, just for me,

beyond the great mountains

they'll leave in the morning, just

at first light, and I'll watch them

grow smaller as i swallow their dust

with my hope, and whisper to my mule,

maybe next one, girl, or the one after that

while spring turns to summer

and i into dust

In Queen Anne's Service

it was just a junk,
a ride upon a trinket merchant
that carried me farther
down the coast

but farther off
beyond the shelf
i'd see the flags
proudly cutting wind

fourty eight cannons
i counted
and sails that spoke
of valiant triumph

inevitable, i suppose,
i left the forgotten
for the glory of Queen Anne
and the reach of greater depths

but a scoundrel, cannot be hidden
in the ranks of the proven
and a flogging here, with
a brig or two below
sealed my commission

i did half of what they said
and some of what they didn't
but little care is that
to those who maroon mistakes

but now i've felt the deep
that swallow the tales
and numbed to the
sting of nine, and

i'll not go back to
trinkets of tin
nor kiss the ass
that blossoms the chest
of the often honoured

i'll wait for the black flag
to flank the starboard
and the Master's call
to arms and station

and when next i see Queen Anne
she'll tremble at my hanging
and shiver to the wind-blown lies
of betrayal and dishonour

then, will victory be mine
and never forgotten

~rick

reflection without glass

I'm sitting here, at the bar
looking across
at a man, sitting
there at the bar

and to myself, i'm saying
he's talking to himself
but then realize
he's looking at me
and my lips are moving

passing through a small town

walking westward, along the tracks

he barely notices the little town, just ahead

just a bag upon his back

it holds bread, a little water,

and a blanket for the midnight cool

the beginning has no memory.

the ending holds no future

so all there is, is what he is

here and now

i can't tell you what he thinks

for it's not yours to know,

only yours to disregard

the Post Office, becomes a hive

for pregnant anxiety

the banker checks his watch

as the desperate line to the door

wash is hung in a rush

to beat the coming rain

and the yellow buses

swell to fill with the pale young

there's a funeral today,

a sale at johnson's thrift,

and the trackside bar

is flashing it's dull neon

the town is now behind him

and the not -notice was mutual

except for the sheriff

who always doubts the innocent

no one's going anywhere

though everyone

thinks they are

The Barren Winter

there was a murder last night,

at fifth and vine

just down the street

from where her brother was killed

it barely stirred the neighborhood

obamacare and romney's horse

fruit loops full of global warming

and where the hell

are all those missing weapons, anyway?

chic-fil-a's full of rushing limbaughs

blacks and whites

both full of shit

while we all prostrate

in prayer to facebook

fences to higher, planets to farther

til no longer the trees exist

and only the filthy oceans

in silent dirge

will mourn the extinction

but i feel the late summer breeze

softly play through my hair

as a single leaf changes colour

and i spy a lone mountaintop

no man has bothered to destroy

while i hear the guardian pines sing

the song of earth's quiet echo

and as i lay me down

upon this ancient earth

and feel her blood make me her vein

i for a moment have hope

not for mankind,

not even for myself

but that a few quiet moments

such as this

have not yet

turned to Winter

Acadian Child

i'm a stranger to the soil of my father's boots

a tourist to my mother's virgin sky

and still they call me home

to my birth i never attended

there was a land, a way, and a people,

and it was hard, they were hard,

and harder to understand and now

it only lives in portraits

upon the walls of the unknowing

it was my mother's mother and

her mother's husband and her husbands

father creating a trail of tears

that led from Quebec to the portals of my soul

the birth i attended long after they buried me

was in the planting of the corn, and the harvest

was three moons out of season while time

skipped pages back to where the blood

seeped the soil, and the seeds were lost to euroclydin

and from this great tempest the earth spit me out

from the womb of so many adoptive mothers

who tried to teach me their ways and tongues

while stripping me of my leather and beads

but now, so all alone in my understanding

but finally accepting of it's truth

i find my father's boots and under my mother's sky

i lick the soil which has become my blood

and i answer to the call of Acadia

rick

Teach Me To Sail

won't you teach me to sail, out there

upon your rugged blue ways

where i may ride you in gallant

through the perfect storm that we are

i want to know what it feels like

to climb your steep mast that creaks, and

moans as i dip in your swell that lifts

me until i feel your main being torn

by the wind in my want

i want to know your sweet knots

and the ice cream you like,

how your hair stays perfectly

chaotic as you bolt from cleat

to sheet with barely a give a damn

there, that's it! that smile

that puts oceans to shame,

moons to silly, and those

crazy shorts that should,

but never do quite fall down

i want to know the music you hear

and how the reef echoes your drums

up through the keel, deep in your bilge

causing us to fear but not turn back

oh how i long for the salt of your spray

and the tenderness of your lee

as we Caribbean our cares behind us

and drink the sweet stolen mango

evermore the sweeter in stolen

can't you see it, Babe?

the tide is going out and it's ours

to master without sexton or star

if only you can show me the way

i've turned out the lamp

and brought my knife

to christen the line that holds us

to the anchor of our doubts

Fred Willard's Guide To The Summer Olympics

*sponsored by Budweiser and Trojan* cuz they go so well together!

Hello sports fans, Fred Willard, here. Suddenly I find myself with a lot of extra time these days as network television has found me untouchable, due to my touchableness. So I thought I would write a guide to the Olympics as I'm a brutish lout that understands the wide world of sports and you don't.

You can't avoid the damn things, they're everywhere, (well, except in gooey adult theatres, which is really why i was there) and there's no sense in you trying to learn or follow them all, so I'll tell you all you need to know.

So grab a bud and stick a trojan in your pocket cuz here we go.

First, let's eliminate the silly ones;

archery-reason-who gives a rats ass if some douche bag has had nothing better to do for the last ten years but shoot arrows at his apple tree. These people have serious anger issues.

track and field-reason-if they ain't runnin away from a fat cop with asthma it's no fun.

badminton-there is no good minton, and what the hell is a minton anyway? I hated this at eight, but now that they're cheating it might be worth a look. But then again, they're cheating to lose. Is it any wonder?

basketball-reason-this ain't been worth watching since the men switched to shorts ten sizes too big and the women followed suit. Besides, who cares if the USA wins by 40 points or 82, you know they're gonna win.

boxing-reason-a sport that died when mixed martial arts came along, except no one told them, and mud wrestling hasn't been sanctioned yet, but i'm still hoping.

(be right back, I gotta drain the ol lizard)

canoe/kayaking-reason-you have to be really hungover on a Sunday morning to watch this shit.

cycling-reason-see archery and substitute sanity for anger

equestrian-reason-you kiddin me? This one's for the 1%ers only. The pot's too high in this game, and the women are dressed like constipated bankers.

fencing-reason-only if they use real swords. It's like watching a Western shootout with squirt guns.

soccer-reason-3 to 1 is a high scoring game, and I've only seen one girl rip her top off. Just follow Hope Solo's tweets, and maybe she'll rip her shorts off to one-up Brandi.

woman's gymnastics-reason-you'll feel like a pervert watching way under dressed girls who all look like they're twelve years old, and i'm already in trouble for doin what i swear i never did.

men's gymnastics-reason-your gaydar will make you wear the same dirty wife beater for a month.

handball-reason-wtf? people still do that? it's a sport? wtf?

sailing-reason-i thought that's what lazy rich people do?

field hockey-reason- i worked too hard to get out of it in 9th grade.

swimming and diving-reason-only if there's sharks and reefs involved.

shooting-reason-only if it's at each other

well, there's a bunch more, but what's the point. None of them are worth watching, except-

woman's beach volleyball!

Now there's a sport. Agility and aero dynamics are so important that the women must wear the least amount of clothing possible. (did you see the design on the bottoms of the Chinese team? holy man!) These women are true athletes in a true sport. They must dig, and spike and set, and-hey! didja see that shot? I sure did! None of them look like they're twelve and most of them look like Nicole Kidman. Not that that's important mind you. It's all about the sport.

This Olympics aren't so good however as it get's cold in England and they've taken to long sleeve shirts, but God bless their warrior souls, they're such troopers that they're sticking with those tiny bottoms even though it gives em goosebumps. What devotion!

But don't bother with men's beach volleyball. They're not nearly as athletic and they have more money than you and never worked a day in their lives.

Regular volleyball? only if beach volleyball isn't on. They don't wear bikini bottoms but close enough.

So go grab a cool one and sink that lazy-boy deep. As long as you stick to my guide, you'll wish it never ends. And if you're from Canada, don't even bother. I think they sent like five people and last i checked, they had as many medals as khazakistan or however the hell you spell it. Canucks are still celebrating the 200 year anniversary of that goofy 1812 war that saved them from having to see Romney and Obama during every commercial.

Lucky bastards!

Substance

what is substance?

is it the infinite black night sky,

or the stars dancing within?

is it the ocean and her mysterious ways,

or those and that which lurk her depths?

I write these words, and i wonder,

are these substance, or

just the smoke of a dirty fire?

whatever the answer or continual riddle

i find myself in need of substance

and clueless as to it's definition

the ejaculation seems substance

but then, what of that which came before?

do our tongues coming together create substance,

something we can bank on, or just

a moment's hope?

money doesn't exist you know,

except in our belief that it does

and love is ever adding and subtracting

according to the latest nuance

faith falls flat when facts intervene

becoming stardust blown from our open hand

while our mind decides what is real and

dictates the memo to our bewildered

lemming heart

i don't want the sky nor the sea below

nor those that lie within

and i don't want the empire state building

nor the cute house on cherry lane

i want a substance i can trust

something small, secret,

but yet somehow shared

with you

i want substance

but i don't know what it is

yet i think it lies waiting,

just wanting to be found

somewhere between you and i