Nothing to Lose

What greater vote of confidence could the American public have given a President at the midterm election. Frustrated with his patience in waiting for and compromising with alllies and bickering hopelessly with recalcitrant opponents, the American electorate at last have taken advantage of the last election in the Obama administration to cut him loose.

With no more elections to lose (or win) and scant likelihood for congressional help, the President may now drop his search for tepid (at best) support and mine the authority he has on his own to achieve his goals. He has many changes to the stale politics in Washington pledged years ago which the American voters were eager to see made. But he has spent six years working within the very system he (and they) hope to change. In seeking the political consensus, he traded away control for concessions from others.

But in their wisdom, the Americans have realized their error in providing the President with the potential to think Congress will act in accordance with his promises. Decades of their scattered compromising legislation to serve conflicting interests has resulted in the dysfunctional and directionless system we all find reasons to resent. Now reminded if you want something done, you should do it yourself, Obama is freed of the political distractions that have thwarted his dreams. You go, Prez.

The Municipal Office Party

The Policeman’s Carol

(Melody: It Came Upon A Midnight Clear)

If I could have one wish each year
To share with one and all.
It would be for a season clear
Of fights, from guns to brawl;
“Peace everyone, please walk away,
Leave, even in a huff.
But let us have calm on this day --
Non-violence is enough.”

Still I know laws will be broken,
I must yet go to work.
Angry, harsh words will be spoken --
There’ll always be some jerk.
But for one day, if not a week,
Hold your fury within;
We’ll not slap your proffered cheek
When on your heel you spin.

The world will ever have its strife
And chafe as heads collide.
We all want to live our safe life --
To each their faith abide.
You need not wish me Christmas cheer
Or Happy Hanukkah,
Or whatever you have at end of year,
Festivus or Kwanzaa.

Please find your way to allow peace
To visit everyone.
Let me patrol in silent ease
And never draw my gun.
And if my wish could come this once,
We all would feel some hope
That to believe doesn’t make a dunce --
In harmony, we can cope.

---

The Fireman’s Carol

(Melody: Up on the House Top)

Up on the rooftop, firemen climb,
To fight a fire caused by grime.
Down in the chimney are lots of flames --
There is no time for holiday games.

REFRAIN:
Creosote! Oh, no, no!
Creosote! Oh, no, no!
Check up the chimney, quick, quick, quick,
Each year before that lighter you click.

First goes the flue, inferno hot,
Oh, dear, here’s another spot;
It burns through the wall to your surprise
As you watch it spread before your eyes.

REFRAIN.

Next, the bedroom of Ma and Pa;
Burns all like it’s made of straw.
There go the drapes, clothes and the bed --
Hope you get out before you’re all dead.

REFRAIN

---

The Snowplow Driver’s Carol

(Melody: Let it Snow)

O, winter weather is at last coming
And soon my truck will be humming;
I’ll plow you a way to go --
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

I hope it’s not soon stopping
So I can pay for my wife’s shopping;
My checkbook is running low --
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

When we finally get a good dump
How I love to get out in my truck!
Your car is now a snowy lump,
But I will never get stuck.

The piles are steadily climbing
And I weary with overtiming
But as long as my truck will go --
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

---

The School Teacher’s Carol

(Melody: O Little Town of Bethlehem)

In our town school’s gymnasium,
We met to say goodbye.
To home you’re gone on vacation --
I let out a big sigh.
Yet in my nightly dreams lurk
Your ever-grinning face,
The smiling masses of all the classes
Follow me every place.

For peace and rest I yearn,
To rewind my mind’s clock,
While parents weep for you to keep
Running amok in house and block.
O when the holidays end
And rings the school bell clear
And bus by bus on me you’re thrust,
I’ll hold you again dear.

But silently, please silently,
Let my break be my own!
Please leave my brain with no refrain
From life in the school zone.
No ear can hear you drumming,
Inside my poor brain pan,
But I still know that’s where you go,
To haunt my holiday plan.

O little child of our fair town
Go home for now and play.
Forget lessons and my questions --
There’ll be no test today.
We’ll sing our cheerful carols
And play our reindeer games,
But you at home, and me alone,
As the school board proclaims.

---

The Mayor Carol

(Melody: Joy to the World)

Joy to you all! The Mayor’s here;
Get the party in gear;
Let all employees raise up their beer,
And shout a mighty cheer,
And shout a mighty cheer,
And shout, and shout a mighty cheer.

Joy to you all! The Mayor serves;
Let votes decide who wins;
Let’s use some of the town’s reserves
To hire some violins,
To hire some violins,
To hire, to hire some violins.

He will spread the taxes to all,
To each department found;
He’ll fund every budget call
As far as it’ll go ‘round,
As far as it’ll go ‘round,
As far, as far as it’ll go ‘round.

He rules the town with charm and grace,
And shakes anyone’s hand,
With the twinkling smile on his face,
And arm twists from his band,
And arm twists from his band,
Arm twists, and arm twists from his band.

---

The Tax Payer & Tax Collector Duet

(Melody: Baby, It’s Cold Outside)

We really can’t pay --- Lady, it’s your fair share
You don’t hear what I say --- It’s not that I don’t care
This meeting has been --- My calculations you’ve seen
A waste of time --- Maybe I can save you a dime.

My mother turned off the heat --- You’ve two thousand square feet,
Father closed the second floor --- A garage through the kitchen door;
So this bill we just can’t meet --- Such a pretty little street.
Collectors knocking at the door --- I wouldn’t guess you’re so poor.

The neighbors will talk --- Lady, we’ll fix this thing
When at bills we balk --- With some extra tax filing;
I wish I knew how --- We’ll report your income now
To win the lottery --- And adjust for your poverty.

You’ve been so very nice --- I easily would do it twice
Your kindness I hope to repay --- Just goodbye and be on your way.
We are saved by law --- From deep pockets we draw
Others will pay that fair share.

I really could stay --- I was just doing my job
And my gratitude pay --- You’re making my head throb
For service oh so grand --- Please let go of my hand
That gave me peace --- Leave now or I’ll call the police.

What joy I will feel tomorrow --- What trouble did I borrow
With one less bill that’s still due --- In finding the way to help you
Now I won’t pay --- That’s what the laws say,
Others will pay that fair share,
Oh, others pay the fair share,
Yes, others pay our fair share.

Documentation Woes

Is it perhaps worse to say too much
Than to say hardly anything at all?
To spew great verbosity and such
Versus a trail of bread crumbs too small?

What truths will I hide buried so deep
When I ramble far beyond the point?
Who will know what are the facts to keep
When I scatter words all over the joint?

But when I cut the clue to a phrase,
Those few selected hints of meaning,
Whose understanding will I so faze
That its message is beyond gleaning?

There is a reason why it comes last,
If ever the manual is written.
It is not what gives coders a blast
Once with a problem, they are smitten.

Such drudgery not for them intended,
So the programmers will tell you all.
Hire English majors with words splendid
To capture the thoughts and you enthrall.

Calliope (epic poetry, politics, justice), Clio (history), Euterpe (music, dialectic, flutes, lyric poetry), Thalia (comedy, pastoral poetry, mathematics, architecture, agriculture), Melpomene (tragedy, rhetoric), Terpsichore (dance, education), Erato (love poetry), Polyhymnia (sacred poetry, geometry, grammar), Urania (astronomy, navigation)
and

The Tenth Muse

What artists or scholars do not seek, knowingly and only practically, the guidance and approval of their Muse in their love of the knowledge and craft they pursue? These nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, taught by Apollo, guarded and bestowed to us the secrets of all arts and science as were within their individual domains. Collectively, they gave us language, technique, creativity, and appreciation of learning and achievement. Individually, they have selected and blessed many through the generations of Man to carry on and advance their cultivated areas.

But most of us are not so blessed with the special gifts from a guardian Muse. We merely dabble while experts create. We share in the benefits and wonders of their creations and discoveries (and sometimes suffer from their unruly consequences) but not in their famed glory.

And yet, when we look about us every day, we see the contributions of such lesser folks as us in these same pursuits to which the Muse-inspired are driven. We show our grasp of the arts and science, the communication and practice of these skills, albeit at more rudimentary or moderate levels. We too have a guardian and a benefactor. One whose tended flocks has added to all the cumulative endeavors of Man more (in quantity) than any of the specialized prodigies of the individual Muses. One who has overseen and aided us across all the spheres of knowledge. This one is the Tenth Muse, the neglected brother of the Muses, the generalist amongst these focused advocates of their specialties. Let us in the greater mass of people give our thanks to our Muse, Anony. Many today forget to credit their Muse in the works they produce, but our most humble of this family is the most often cited despite his modesty.

Thank you, Anony Muse.

The Winter Cold Does Come

To Melody of: It Came Upon A Midnight Clear.

It comes about Thanksgiving time
With a sniffling in my nose,
And starts to explore my body
With symptoms as it goes:
A scratchy throat, and aches abound,
And that stuffiness in my ears;
The winter cold has come again
As it has all these years.

And as those germs crawl in and out,
Wherever they do want,
They inflame my organs in response
And my antibodies taunt.
“You'll never find and catch us all;
We're simply everywhere.
You're just too slow to stop our fun,”
Those blasted bugs do jeer.

Yet it's not true, I tell myself,
I suffered this before;
With a few pills to help and sleep,
They'll be vanquished once more.
For man has fought the cold and won,
Evolution makes it clear.
So hush, you bothersome beasties,
I will again this year.

Shattered Dreams

Shattered Dreams

Who struck the blow to wreck your dream?
Did you hold his coat to lend aid?
Did you bend o'er to ease the ream?
Have you you to blame for mess made?

Did you work with too little sleep
In which your dreams could fully root?
Did you plan no promises to keep
As here and now burned through your loot?

Did you wait too long for the best
And watch as faint chance passed you by?
Did you curse that you were not blessed
And gave up then without a try?

Or did you fall from lofty peak
To land upon unyielding ground?
Of your dreams, a look you did sneak,
Coming so close, but never found?

The Pols Go Matching

THE POLS GO MARCHING

The pols go marching 1 by 1, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 1 by 1, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 1 by 1,
The poor voter stops to load his gun
And they all go marching to Washington
To fix up the country, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The pols go marching 2 by 2, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 2 by 2, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 2 by 2,
The poor voter stops to sigh a whew
And they all go marching to Washington
To fix up the country, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The pols go marching 3 by 3, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 3 by 3, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 3 by 3,
The poor voter hopes they will agree
And they all go marching to Washington
To fix up the country, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The pols go marching 4 by 4, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 4 by 4, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 4 by 4,
The poor voter stops to mop the gore
And they all go marching to Washington
To fix up the country, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The pols go marching 5 by 5, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 5 by 5, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 5 by 5,
The poor voter hopes they end their jive
And they all go marching to Washington
To fix up the country, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The pols go marching 6 by 6, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 6 by 6, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 6 by 6,
The poor voter says “Now no more tricks”
And they all go marching to Washington
To fix up the country, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The pols go marching 7 by 7, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 7 by 7, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 7 by 7,
The poor voter stops to pray to heaven
And they all go marching to Washington
To fix up the country, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The pols go marching 8 by 8, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 8 by 8, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 8 by 8,
The poor voter watches them fill their plate
And they all go marching to Washington
To fix up the country, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The pols go marching 9 by 9, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 9 by 9, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 9 by 9,
The poor voter sees his hopes unwind
And they all go marching to Washington
To fix up the country, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The pols go marching 10 by 10, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 10 by 10, hurrah, hurrah
The pols go marching 10 by 10,
The poor voter says "IT’LL NEVER END"
And they all go marching to Washington
To fix up the country, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Carols for Halloween

Carols for
HALLOWEEN
A new tradition to have the trick-or-treaters
earn their rewards (or else) 

---

It’s Beginning to Feel Much Like Halloween
Lyrics to It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

It’s beginning to feel much like Halloween
Everywhere you go;
There are ghosts and goblins out there
And skeletons to spare
With the same old bargain we so well know.

It’s beginning to feel much like Halloween
With its chilly breath.
The lawns are all now full of leaves
And the streets with candy thieves
To scare you to death.

A fist of sugary treats
And such unhealthy eats
Is the wish of Batman and Thor;
Gummies full of juice for tummies to abuse
Is the demand of Skeletor;
And Mom and Dad can hardly wait
To get home to their door.

It’s beginning to feel much like Halloween
Once again this fall;
There’s a blowup giant Frankenstein
To greet in pantomime
Everyone going to the shopping mall.

It’s beginning to feel much like Halloween
In your neighborhoods.
In the window there’s a broad grin
To taunt you dare to come in
If you want the goods.

It’s beginning to feel much like Halloween
When you hear a knock.
But the evilest thought to think
Is the kids will crash and sink
In their sugar shock.
It’s Halloween, on the block!

---

Hallowed Song
Lyrics to The Wassail Song

Here we come trick-n-treating
Among the homes so dark,
Here we come a-braving
Through the haunted park.
Trick or treat we offer you
And hope you will take your cue
And choose treat, and if you do,
Have a Hallowed Eve,
And we’ll send you blessings as we leave.

We are not common beggars
That beg from door to door,
But we are neighbors’ children
As you’ve never seen before.
Fright and fear come to you,
And perhaps a smile or two,
And we thank you, and hope you
Have a Hallowed Eve,
And we’ll send you blessing as we leave.

Good neighbor and kind stranger,
As you watch your TV,
Please think of us poor children
Who come to you to plea.
Small treats are all we ask,
Fear no tricks behind our mask,
And if you complete this task,
Have a Hallowed Eve,
And we’ll send you blessing as we leave.

---

Beware Stingy Jack
Lyrics to Away In A Manger

Away in the graveyard, just dirt for a bed,
That rogue Jack ‘o Lantern laid his pumpkin head.
The moon up above shone down on his grave,
And on this night, a brief new life to him gave.

The wind gusts were howling, as Jack awoke,
And his voice, so long still, cackled with a croak,
“I am free to wander and search through this night,
And see what tricks and mischief I can incite.”

Beware of Stingy Jack if he comes to play.
Close by you in darkness, on you he will prey.
Only on one night of each year he can roam,
But you must never let him into your home.

---

The Dead Are Out Walking Tonight

Lyrics to Santa Claus Is Coming To Town

You better watch out
Better stay inside
And try not to shout;
I suggest you hide –
The dead are out walking tonight.

They walk with a list –
It’s love they miss –
Gonna find a stray to hug and kiss.
The dead are out walking tonight.

They know you they are creeping,
They see your looks of fright,
They just want you to remember
They love you this eerie night.

You better watch out
Better stay inside
And try not to shout;
I suggest you hide –
The dead are out walking tonight.

With bony fingers, bony arms too,
Rotten rot rot and graveyard flu
The dead are out walking tonight.
And eyeless heads on top looking for you
Hoping you won’t mind the bits of goo.
The dead are out walking tonight.

When they find girls and boys out,
They are filled with glee.
They hug them and dance about
And say, “Now, you will come with me.”

So! You better watch out
Or try a disguise
And cause them to doubt;
Hide if you are wise –
The dead are out walking tonight.

They know you they were creeping,
They see your looks of fright,
They just want you to remember
They want you this eerie night.

You better watch out
Better stay inside
And try not to shout;
I suggest you hide –
The dead are out walking tonight.

New dinosaur discovery

ELKO, Nevada – Scientists at Nevada State University announced the discovery of a new dinosaur, the remains of which were uncovered in nearby mining operations. Operations were halted and the university’s geologists and biologists were called in when the underground construction of an air shaft unexpectedly broken into a large, open chamber.

Embedded in the floor of the chamber were the fossilized remains of an unknown species, estimated to have been approximately 1.8m tall while standing in its normal bipedal posture. With its raptor-like front limbs, it mostly closely resembles our common image of a tyrannosaur, but in miniature.

But, according to Dr. Edwina Halsey who led the research team, the most intriguing discoveries in the chamber were the numerous marking on the walls. While they are judged to be consistent with scratching that could have been made by this creature’s front claws, as the scientists recorded and catalogued them, they began to suspect they saw patterns and repetitions in the strokes. Consulting linguist Dr. Robert Kurweiler concluded that the inventory of markings represent a lexicon of at least 2,800 distinct words or terms.

The scientific conclusion offered is that the creature is the world’s earliest Thesaurus.

Counting Down to Contentment

Counting Down to Contentment

Although this moment may not be the best
And has more trouble to cast in your path,
There beckons ahead a break and a rest
Where you will flee soon from this daily wrath.

There's only three brushfires confronting you,
Stirred up by others, but now it's your job,
And a dozen to-dos you must still do
Before you can free yourself from the mob.

Or, maybe, what's worse, your list is all done,
And on idle duty, you just watch the clock.
Empty hours sit between you and your fun,
Passing slowly at the pace of a rock.

Awaiting the future is your pastime
As you slog through the present that is now.
That hope to arrive in a better clime
Adds wind pushing forward behind your prow.

To Blog or Not To Blog

To Blog or Not To Blog

To blog or not to blog: that is the question.
Whether 'tis better in silence to stifle
The piques and fancies of fatuous humor,
Or to pound keys to assault the straw men,
And by exposing mock them? To rant: to prate;
Endless; and by some joke to claim to beat
The inane and the thousands impinging pricks
That mind is prone to, 'tis a provocation
Daily to confront. To blog, to write;
To write: perchance to strike: ay, there's the rub:
For in that blog of fun what thoughts may come
Which we have launched into this faceless air,
May make us blush : There's the regret
That makes mockery of someone's beliefs;
For who would surf the net and tons of pages,
The endless popups, the unbacked opinions,
The downloads of unsought junk, the service crashes,
The redirection of links and the wastes
That patience drains from all who venture,
When he himself might his own ideas create
With sharpened wit? Who would insults bear
To dismiss that which offends his life,
But that the joy of revenge so presented,
The discovered fool from whose words
No retreat is sought, invokes the fire
And makes him rather seek those taunts we gave
Than hide from others who challenge him?
Thus courtesy does make cowards of us all;
And thus the false veil of anonymity
Is cloaked o'er the pale cast of my thoughts,
And enterprises of small worth and reward,
With this warning, their acts are done on sly,
And lost the name of author. Hush me now!
The naive audience! Surfer, from thy web searches
Be all my trace-backs concealed.

The Insanity of Literacy

“Reading made Don Quixote a gentleman, but believing what he read made him mad”
-- George Barnard Shaw

The uninformed person is often derided in our public debate. His statements are dismissed as fundamentally flawed because of some lack of mention of a tidbit seen by his detractor. His failure to keep afloat in the maelstrom of news, facts, and rumors seemingly proves his ineligibility to hold worthy opinions.

Nearly everybody falls into this category of incomplete knowledge. The more one reads, the more likely the next item read will cancel out something previously learned. We quickly fall into the habit of selective reading (and listening) of those things that support rather than clash with our worldview. It is comfortable, even when our particular outlook is gloom and doom.

Should we pity the Renaissance Man who would quest to be all-knowing rather than attempt to emulate him? Would not such a man be overcome in his inability to comprehend amidst the myriad of equally emphatically stated observations which diametrically oppose each other? Or perhaps even more so by those which share common ground before veering off in different directions.

Let’s, instead, see the genius of the simple-minded. Admiration is due for the streamlining of the decision process that seeks to borrow and repeat the opinions heard elsewhere as a ready substitute for the ponderous assembly and evaluation of raw (and often incomplete) facts. Not only does it conserve energies for our more entertaining and/or profitable activities, but it also lowers our sense of personal responsibility for the opinions we espouse in public as we redirect criticism towards those remote borrowed sources.

Triskaidekaphobia

Triskaidekaphobia

The power to procrastinate has always been mine;
It is an ability, someday, I may refine.
But my worst fault is preparation far in advance
For answers waiting for somebody to ask to dance.

I wish not to be caught by surprise, at least not twice,
So I rework solutions, though the first did suffice.
I am ready, quicker, when you ask the same again,
Until rapid responses cause you instead to complain.

“How,” you ask, “can I keep up busy, working all day
If you will anticipate the questions ere I say?
You grumble of your idleness, making you so bored,
When it’s your own bag of tricks full stuffed with answers stored.”

If I could just learn to wait, puzzles would take a week.
And you could bustle elsewhere while your answers I seek.
I could lower your expectations, filling my days
With inefficient bumbling instead of my old ways.

Macbeth on Mars

Macbeth on Mars
The infamous Macbeth has gathered renown
In cities and countries the world around.
His temptation, ambition, and destruction model
The lust and loss of a coveted citadel.

Despite his short struts upon the stages
Ending at the curtain throughout the ages,
Macbeth evokes from us an iconic remembrance
To climb to a level of global significance.

But who on Mars knows his name
And links their thoughts to his ill fame?
And outward, far amongst distant stars,
His meaning shrinks to nil just like ours.

By simple math, the proportion reduces
Of unchanged dividend as expanding divisor looses.
But is there truth in the numerator's steady state
As the opportunity of the denominator does dilate?

Does a man move to signify less
As his consideration does more address?
Is significance a relative ratio to the world
Or an absolute impact of an embodied role?

How does a man affect his world?
In solitary action outwardly hurled?
A thought, a ball, sent forth on sound,
Off the nearest obstacle to rebound.

And when that echoing ball comes back,
Does the man judge the extent of his impact?
And when from the cosmos, it never returns,
Does he despair of the void he discerns?

But people that volume with others to play,
To catch that ball, recast, and relay.
Though never again his bouncing ball to see,
His impact grows by the power of synergy.

The insignificant are those who clutch tight
What with others to share they might.
Nobody to propagate their selves in time nor space,
Alone in their walls to diminish without trace.

Doodling in the Dark

Doodling in the Dark

Sometimes our minds go adrift
With no pilot at the wheel.
Away they go, oh so swift,
Carried by our aimless zeal.

Gears still click 'tho time's not kept;
Those trusty tools know their trade.
Their output which none accept
Is nevertheless yet made.

They scoff at rest, defy sleep,
As they endlessly must churn.
O'er rolling mindscape they sweep
Seeking data and pattern.

With no challenge provided,
They build a task of their own.
Into dark holes, unguided,
They explore the land unknown.

So far away they can roam
While they're left so unattended.
But with a thought, they'll rush home
To do what we intended.

What's In A Name?

What's in a Name?

O Redskins, O Redskins! Wherefore art you Redskins?
Deny your fan base and refuse your name;
Or, if you wilt not, and keep your handle,
Who shall no longer be ticket holders?
'Tis but your name that is the enemy;
You are the team, though not the team logo.
What's a team logo? It is not play, nor field,
Nor coach, nor star, nor any player
Belonging to a team. O, be some other name!
What's in a name? That which we call a team
By any other name would play as well;
So Redskins would, were you not Redskins called,
Retain that dear heritage you own
Without that label. Redskins, change your name,
And for that name which is no part of the game
Have box office sales.

---

Counterpoint

Is a Rose is a rose es una rosa?
Is a Cowboy is a cowboy es un vaquero?
Is a she is a flower es una flor?
Is a footballer is a ranchhand es un pastor de vacas?

A word is a word is a word,
But meaning is an use in a context.
The speaker chooses to use,
But listener hears his own setting.

Should we fault the speaker
For what is heard 'tho not meant?
May the ear request to come again
To confirm the intent spoken?

Is a Redskin is a redskin is a slur?
Is a team is a race is a hate?
When what is meant is not heard
Who can correct the error?

Passing through the Storyland Post Office

We have been assured that the Comic Access to Reports, News, And Communications (CARNAC) technology used to divine the contents of these sealed envelopes is not now nor planned to be employed by the NSA. Please, rest easy and pay no attention to that man behind your curtains.

---

Three Bears Residence
Enchanted Forest
Storyland, USA

Dear Bear Family,

In this day and age of uncertainty and crime, I am writing to offer you some peace of mind. Do you worry about your possessions, big, small, or in-between, every time you leave your home? What you need is a home security system, professionally installed, to deter those home invaders who would take advantage of you.

You may have considered such safeguards in the past, only to decide they are too expensive or too complicated. But we will work with you to find the solution that is just right for you.

Our representative will be in your neighborhood next week and is eager to stop in to discuss our flexible plans with you. We look forward to meeting you to explore how we together can protect the sanctity of your home.

At your service,

Goldie's Locks, Inc.
123 Fantasy Road
Storyland, USA

---

Dame Gothel or Current Occupant
Mystery Tower
Storyland, USA

Dear Occupant,

It has come to the attention of the Storyland Zoning Administrator's office that the Mystery Tower may not be in compliance with zoning and safety regulations. Our inspector made an unscheduled site visit yesterday and believes that the structure is now in use as an unapproved residence. He reported hearing singing from an upper chamber, but was unable to contact you (or your tenant) due to the apparent absence of any door. His attempts to find a door knocker or bell system to summon you were similarly fruitless.

A search of this office's records indicates that although a building permit was issued twelve years ago, you have never applied for a certificate of occupancy nor the qualifying inspections necessary to complete the construction process. Therefore, faced with the presumption of its unauthorized use, this office is writing to establish a time in the next three days for a complete inspection of the premise. Despite its isolated location, the Storyland zoning regulations still apply to all dwellings in this domain, including yours. They are enacted (and enforced) to protect us all from mitigable consequences of both routine and catastrophic circumstances through proper precaution and best practices.

Please Be Advised: If we do not hear from you to schedule an appointment, our staff and officers of the Bailiff will be onsite Friday equipped to enter the Mystery Tower and remove any residents therein without the requirement of your permission. An inspection of the property (beyond the assurance of removal of all occupants) cannot be conducted without your approval, but this office will begin condemnation procedures if we have not heard from you within the next 30 days. If so ordered, the Mystery Tower will be demolished (I shall personally see it blown up (best part of my job)).

Sincerely,

Zeke Midas Woolf, RA/AIA
Storyland Zoning Administrator
Storyland, USA

---

Farmer McDonald
McDonald Farm and Dairy
Storyland, USA

Sir:

We are writing to follow-up on the Council Meeting you attended last month. At that time, you pointed out that your diverse products are distributed to many Storyland homes on a regular weekly (or more frequent) basis. There was discussion at the meeting about the supplementing of our herald communication with printed materials on the packaging of your products.

Alas, the theoretical nature of such speculation has materialized into a real need. The woodcutter has reported that his children, Hansel and Gretel, have been missing for three weeks now. He believed they went in search for food, as his whole family has been starving (and to which his second wife succumbed last week), but they never returned,

The Council has budgeted funds to print the faces and story of the children on flyers. We are contacting you about the implementation of your proposal to affix these flyers to your milk jugs for this week's deliveries. The flyers accompany this letter.

Thank you for your dual sense of civic responsibility and practical frugality. We all hope for the most fortunate outcome from this enhanced communication made possible by your participation.

On behalf of the King and all citizens,

Prince Charming
Chairman, Storyland Council

---

Aurora Rosamund
King Stefan's Castle
Storyland, USA

Dear Miss Rosamund,

I am in receipt of your letter of April 2nd in which you inquire for information about hypersomnia, its causes and its cures. As a minor, I must advise you that I am unable to treat you as a patient without your parents' knowledge and consent. But let me assure you, there is no mechanism known to science by which a splinter from a spinning wheel can induce nacroleptic symptoms. It is much more likely that you have been the brunt of an unkind April Fools' prank. Perhaps it would be best simply to set your fears aside and enjoy your forthcoming Sweet Sixteen party.

Sincerely,

Ripton Van Winkle, MD
Catskill Center for Sleep Disorders
Tarrytown, NY

---

Peter Pan
Home Underground Neverwood
Never Neverland, USA

Dear Mr. Pan,

Please keep the enclosed card until you receive your Membership Kit. It will include your new card, as well as complete details on how to take advantage of the many membership rewards available to those over 50.

I'm sure you'll find that using just a few of your discounts (such as on air flights, cruises, hotels, and home security) can more than repay the cost of your membership.

You'll also appreciate AARP's trustworthy information and resources. It can help you protect your health, your money and your career, and make the most of life over 50.

Welcome to AARP!

Sincerely,

Methuselah Bristlecone
Director of Membership
Storyland AARP

---

Insignificance

Insignificance?

Macbeth strutted upon his stage
Unto his death to end his petty page;
The greatness of deed and misdeed shrink
As all disappear after a blink.

But, wait, do you know that name?
A lifeless character with everlasting fame,
Who breathed naught but fictional air,
A creature from pen and ink heir.

Was he created to line the purse
Of a self-centered dabbler of verse?
In his small world, the writer was king,
And all existed due to his making.

But in his more expansive view,
Away from him his importance flew;
The more who see his plays,
The less the impact his drama conveys?

A man's pettiness is more easily felt
By the tightness of the cinch upon his belt.
The shorter his reach, the less he touches,
The higher the boundary, the more hobbling his crutches.

Creator

Creator
(April 1, 1969)
“What are you called?”

“I am Captain David Robert Allen of the United Planets Stellar Forces.”

“Captain David Robert Allen is dead.”

What is this, Allen wondered. Where is he? Who are those voices? He could not take account of himself. He felt that he could not see, but that he knew there was nothing near him to see. Only those voices. Who are they?

“I am Captain David Robert Allen.”

“David Robert Allen is dead.”

“Where am I?”

“You are dead.”

Dead? Again he is told he is dead. But he could not remember. What happened? The ship? Yes, the ship! Where is the ship? What has happened to it?

“I am not dead.”

“You are.”

“How?”

“Your craft was destroyed in battle.”

The battle! Yes, that's right! He had been sent out to destroy the enemies of the State. A band of revolutionaries, inflaming the minds of men against the theocracy. Yes, he had been sent to do his duty, to destroy every last one.

“Is everyone dead?

“From your vessel, yes.”

“Where am I?”

“At your final destination.”

Final destination? Starport 54? No, this cannot be Starport 54. He was not to report there until he saw the last revolutionary die. The battle? Maybe they were all there. No, no, only a small fraction were there. With the help of God, it will still be months before he gets them all.

“Who are you?”

“Voices.”

“What is your purpose?”

“To test you.”

A test? Yes, yes, the test!! The test to enter paradise! He is dead and the voices are the gate-keeper. He would pass the test and meet his Maker. He is a devout, loyal member of the theocracy. He does penance and prays and gives offerings, And he follows the orders of the theocracy. He is a great warrior. Respected. Honored. Yes, he would meet his Maker.

“I am ready.”

“State your name.”

“David Robert Allen.”

“Of what society are you?”

“The benevolent and pious society of Earth and the United Planets.”

“What is your function in this society?”

“I am a loyal soldier of The Church of the Creator, chosen to defend against all enemies and heretics.”

“Means?”

Means? What kind of question is that? What other means are there?

“Death.”

“What are your beliefs?”

“I believe in the words of the Holy Bible.”

“Do you believe in and practice the universal ethic code?”

“Please explain.”

“What you know as the ten commandments and the golden rule.”

What kind of question is that? He has just said he believes in the words of the Bible. Of course he practices it. Everyone must. Why, it is even his job to execute those who do not and confiscate their possessions. They must just want a reinstatement of his devotion.

“Yes, I believe.”

“And practice?”

“Of course.”

Silence. Is that muttering he hears? What is wrong? He observes the ten commandments. Thou shall have no other gods before Me. Thou shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain. Remember the sabbath day …

“Are you respected by other men?”

“Yes. I am very much respected. I am a religious man and a great warrior. I have been decorated for my bravery and ingenuity in battle. People flocked to my residence to see the trophies of my many battles. I ...”

“Enough. Where do you wish to dwell in the life hereafter?”

“Man shall dwell with his Creator.”

“Why?”

“Man was made in the image of his Creator.”

“That is true.”

Acknowledgement! He passed! They have accepted him as qualified to dwell with his Maker. He shall live eternally in paradise! Yes, he passed!

“It is decided by your traits of character and actions of life that you are destined to dwell eternally with your creator. Are you prepared to meet the creator of all men?”

“I am ready to meet my Maker.”

And the eternal flame engulfed him.

“Man, like his creator, makes a mockery of good in a lifetime of evil.”

Loose Screws

Loose Screws
There is an open box in my workshop
With loose screws and bolts to reuse someday
It is always there as a place to drop
Any such hardware that becomes a stray.

When I have a job for a screw or two,
I go to this tray to see what I find.
With hundreds of pieces for me to paw through,
A jigsaw puzzle it brings to my mind.

I spend many minutes 'til I recognize
The parts required for the latest chore.
I stir through the screws of every size,
Worse when I find one but really need four.

At times like that I say I should sort these
Into sets to speed any future hunt.
A small jar of wood screws to scan with ease
Without machine screws my eyes to confront.

So yesterday, the hours I indeed spent
Making the piles to divide bolt from screw.
Handfuls divided into their cans sent
And then again in smaller piles they grew.

It's a little corner set in order
From my life of general disarray.
My tendencies on mania border
Rarely ever to throw anything away.

Did You Miss Me?

Did You Miss Me?

Did you miss me?, said the mouse to the cat.
Sorry I had to dash away like that,
But when duty calls, a mouse can't say no
And must, with haste, to wherever called go.

Oh, were you gone? the cat replied to him.
I had my fur to groom and claws to trim.
So many more important things to do,
The dog and I had not a thought of you.

The dog asked, we have a cat in our home?
I have rabbits to chase and fields to roam.
There is no time to waste in my busy day;
I must be ready when Boy wants to play.

Mom called, have you walked the dog today, Boy?
You know that he is not just a stuffed toy.
Not now, he said, I've a ballgame to catch,
But I'll get to it right after the match.

Is that game today? Dad said from his chair,
I completely forgot, not I don't care,
But I need to be elsewhere, sorry, Sport;
Are you pitching, fielding or playing short?

Each at the center of his own universe,
Where, but briefly, others ever traverse,
We let pass without note, and small effect,
The doings of others in our neglect.

Froward Ho!

Froward Ho!

You plotted just what to say
With so much thought and tact,
Then froward tongue gives away
What you believe in fact.
The contrary organ lets slip
Enough to give you fits;
Your polite lie soon will trip
When loose lips undo wits.

Riding the Thirsty Mule: Norford's Story

As Tina timidly bowed to the applause for her poem, Norford wheeled himself to the kitchen to fetch the spice cake. He brought it to the table where Franklin sat and presented it with a small flourish, holding it just short of actual delivery. Franklin took the hint and dug into his purse for the payment required to complete the transaction. Norford set the cake down, sliced it into six pieces (glancing at the mysterious stranger and deciding to include him), and then picked up the coins.

"Franklin, what does your brother think of your coming here?" Norford asked gently. "Does he object to you spending the farm's profits on my few customers who amuse you?"

"It is my money. He got the farm when Da died and I got my share of the animals. Without the armies to feed, we do not have so much market as we did before, so I sold most of mine." Franklin protectively cupped his purse. "I will not be staying here forever," he said.

"Well, now, you do still have some beasts left in your holdings, right?" Norford queried. Franklin nodded. "So then, I was thinking that it has been a long and dull winter for all of us in Havenport. If I had a fattened pig, I could fire up the roasting pit outside and put on a feast like The Thirsty Mule used to serve for all who care to revel for the day and night. We could use the relief. I have not the money to buy the pig at the moment, but if you might 'loan' me one, I could pay you from my receipts from the feast. In exchange for my story tonight, that is."

"You would pay full price for the hog?" Franklin asked, considering.

"The folks here about will be eager for the chance to party a bit. With a bit of work to spread the word, I feel certain the feast will bring in enough to cover its full price. Do we have a deal?"

"Alright, we have a deal. What is your story?"

Fool's Errand

Minstrel traveled far and wide, for he was consumed with wanderlust. Sometimes he visited the homes of the great and, more often, the not so great. Few ever troubled him when they saw his small stature and motley fool's clothes, for they knew he would do them no physical harm and may instead bring them a few laughs and news of the world in exchange for their welcome.

One day as he crossed into a land he had not visited before, Minstrel met a man dragging a bridle. "What ho, gentle sir? I may be a fool, but even I do not lead behind me an invisible horse."

The unhappy Farmer explained he was heading home from a visit to his Lord's keep. He had ridden there that morning to protest the ill-timed taxes the Lord was exacting on his serfs. But instead of being granted relief, Farmer's horse was confiscated. "You best turn about druther than look for welcome there," Farmer advised him. "The Lord be the stingiest man ever born. Alas, what will I tell my wife and child? And how will I plow the fields?"

Minstrel opened his sack and asked Farmer to sit with him a while. As they nibbled on some of Minstrel's final pinches of bread and finished his water, they talked about the unhappy affairs in this land. At last, Minstrel offered Farmer the rest of his supplies for his family (although it was but a small cheese, two carrots, and a few bites of bread). "I regret that my pockets and my pouch are too empty to give you much comfort at this time," Minstrel said, "but if you have a dog and can come back to the castle along this road at cock's crow two mornings hence, leading your dog in this bridle, and I will see what I can do to help."

Puzzled but grateful, Farmer said he did have a dog and promised to do it. Farmer bade Minstrel farewell. Minstrel continued to the small village outside the keep's walls. He explored the marketplace and chatted with the merchants. He stopped at the stall of a green grocer and asked if he might rest on a barrel in return for a song. Grocer cordially invited him to sit. Minstrel brought forth his lute and he started to sing.

Oh, do not ask the fool
Whether you should fiddle
Or better you faddle.
For he knows both are true;
Either to future weave
Or else all unravel.

Why should you pay the fool
Who sings of everything
And all nothing as well?
For he hides where all see;
Both his bravest terror
And his weakest assail.

Oh, do not ask the fool
For advice in your joy
Or caution in your folly.
For he says both are false;
Neither the only course
Nor sure 'til you sally.

I once asked of the fool
Where my future did lay
And which path to follow.
But he said, spin around;
Both to see where I came
And to where I will go.

Now I am that same fool,
Dizzy in the new world
That awakes each morning.
I see too many ways;
So choose to go or stay --
From me, heed no warning.

As Minstrel sang, a crowd gathered at Grocer's stall. While there, some people examined his wares and made purchases. Grocer was pleased with the increase in his business. "Thank you kindly for your song, Minstrel," Grocer said. "Do you indeed foresee the future but not tell anyone what it will be? It seems poor business to make no use of such a gift."

"No, it is not the future I see, but two futures that compete for reality. Many seem quite silly, but they may happen as truly as their twins. What would it profit you to hear of a future you do not choose? And why pay me for the one you will choose on your own?"

"But maybe I would choose differently if I knew both." Grocer looked at Minstrel imploringly. "Could you give me a small hint?"

"I see today you brought one bushel of turnips and sold only a few. Tomorrow, if you wear your cap upside-down and your shirt inside-out and fill your cart with turnips, you will sell them all," Minstrel said, "but most will be at half the price you ask today. But if you bring none, you will sell none and wish you had brought many. A day later may be too late. Well, that is the advice of a fool and you have been warned of its value. I am rested now and I thank you."

"Again, thank you, Minstrel. Here, please take an apple for your song. And your advice," Grocer said.

"For the song. The advice is free." Minstrel strolled away, eating the apple leisurely as he explored further. Others in the marketplace who had heard his song or of the rumors of his future sight approached him to ask what he foresaw for them. To each he repeated his warning of the worthlessness of his advice, but he gave in to their eagerness and made his two-sided predictions. To some, he gave similar choices of tomorrow's inverted clothing and many half-priced sales versus meager sales if they did not oversupply their stalls that day. To others, he suggested that a reversed cap or apron or skirt would catch good luck tomorrow, but dressing the same as today would do them no better than it had done today. When they offered him something for his advice, he refused unless he provided a song, the only trade item he had of real value, he claimed. Many accepted the bargain with thoughts that they were twice rewarded for the same price. Thus he collected some coins and food to refill his purse and sack.

Later that afternoon, an officer and two soldiers from the castle stopped Minstrel in the marketplace. Minstrel said fearfully, "Oh, I have taken nothing but in exchange for a song. I am only a traveling minstrel. I have done no harm."

The officer answered, "Fear not, Minstrel. We have been sent by the Lord to invite you to entertain him tonight. He heard of your presence in his shire and wishes to receive your news. And other services."

Minstrel was escorted into the keep and offered a bed of straw in the servants' quarters. While he waited for dinnertime, he sat in the kitchen, swapping jokes and news with the staff. The story of his gift for prophesy had reached them, but he denied his confused visions had any value. In conversation with the head cook, he said, "I notice that the keep's larders are understocked."

"Aye, the Lord will pinch a coin as long as he can before he will buy supplies," Cook explained. "We spend more time looking for the fixing for a meal often than with its cooking."

"It is just a fool's folly, I assure you, but I learned when fools abound, food is easily found," Minstrel told her.

"What do you mean? Do you have a vision of the future where fools abound? Please tell us."

"It may not happen at all. I never know. But I see a marketplace full of merchants gone mad. They bring more than they could possibly sell in a day. If a shrewd buyer shows up on that day, tomorrow I foresee, he could stock his holds for months to come by buying all they have and only need to offer half the price. But if the madness does not come tomorrow, it may not come at all," Minstrel concluded.

"Perhaps Seneschal and I should check out the market tomorrow," Cook said as she left to find the man entrusted with the Lord's purse.

Shortly later, Minstrel was called into the great hall to entertain for the Lord's dinner. It was not a lavish meal served to Lord, his family, and his retinue. They ate scarcely better than Minstrel's serving of bread and vegetable stew which he gulped in a few bites between songs.

After the meal was consumed, Lord dismissed everyone except Minstrel whom he beckoned to his table. "Minstrel," he asked suspiciously, "Why did you come to my domain? You are a talented lad, but we have had no visits from such as you in a long time."

"I did not come, milord, 'though I be here true enough," Minstrel replied. "For between then and there, I must be some here now. I do not know what next is to be nor how last became no more."

"But I heard that you do see the future," Lord probed.

"Oh, no, milord. It is not so simple as that -- only I am such a simpleton. It is true that my head is often confused with two images of tomorrow. But I cannot be sure which will happen for both seem as likely and as unlikely to me. It is not a vision worth trusting, so I do not try to choose."

"You must choose, Minstrel, for you go forth each day to live one of the two visions you have."

"You are more clever than I, milord, but perhaps I can explain this better. Could you give a copper to demonstrate?" Minstrel asked.

Lord considered this request, but reluctantly reached into his pouch to retrieve the requested coin. "And how will this copper help you explain?" he asked as he hand it to Minstrel.

Minstrel turned over two drinking cups on the table in front of the Lord. "Now, suppose these are two futures that fought in your brain for you to believe they were what tomorrow will bring. I place your coin under one cup. Which do you choose?" Minstrel asked.

"This one with my coin." Lord picked up the cup to reveal the penny.

"Now, suppose that your brain is easily befuddled like mine," Minstrel continued, placing the cup down on the coin again and starting to shuffle the cups back and forth. Lord watched intently, but soon Minstrel had increased the speed beyond his ability to track. "And which do you wish to choose now?"

"I still want my coin back." Lord was mildly annoyed. "But you have indeed confused me. I will choose this one." Lord lifted the cup and smiled when he saw the penny.

"Ah, you got what you wanted, milord. Very good," Minstrel said, "But let's look under the other cup." Minstrel picked up the second cup, and there were two copper coins under it. "I think I would rather have had this cup," he shrugged.

"I thought the other cup had nothing," Lord pouted.

"Yes, I sometimes find that the empty cup hides more despite what my limited wits can see. It did not seem possible, silly even, to believe it so, but although I might choose one path for its straight forward familiarity and logic, it is the unlikely one that might prosper me more." Minstrel scooped up the two coins and returned them to his pouch (from which they had come unseen by Lord).

"And is there some other meaning to this revelation?"

"Has Seneschal asked you for more market money than usual?" Minstrel asked.

"Yes, quite a lot more."

"And you chose to keep your penny, right?"

"Yes," Lord replied, wondering why he should not be thrifty as always.

"Then, tomorrow you shall have your penny. But you will not have the two pennies worth of market goods that a fool's vision thought possible. It is an easy choice for you, but I lack the wits to decide or know what will happen."

"Here, keep this penny, Minstrel, for your advice," Lord said dismissively, pushing the coin across the table to him.

"No, milord, only for the songs. Thank you for the dinner and bed tonight. A peaceful rest to you," Minstrel said as he left.

Lord thought about what Minstrel had said. Twice as much for the same price. He called Seneschal and told him to go to the market tomorrow to find bargains if any exist. "Buy what you can, but do not offer more than half for anything," Lord demanded.

The next morning, although a few merchants had decided to conduct their business as normal, many elected instead to dress in disarray and load all they could on their carts for sale that day. The atmosphere in the market became very festive as they saw others so humorously dressed. Shoppers joined in the gaiety and soon found the merchants eager to bargain large purchases for low prices. Items long buried in their inventories at last found buyers. And the Seneschal did indeed have a very successful shopping spree. Minstrel roamed through the market, performing his songs and receiving the generous thanks from all in his foresight of such a special day.

Minstrel was again invited to the Lord's castle to perform that night. The joy of the marketplace had spread into the castle where more than one could be seen oddly appareled. The cook and her staff were giddy with the profusion of supplies and eager to prepare their finest dishes for that night's meal. "A feast, whether the Lord ordered it or not," they proclaimed.

And indeed, all in the great hall that evening, even Lord, reveled in the improvement of their diet. Minstrel sang and others joined in. The assembly lasted many times longer than the previous night, but finally the Lord and Minstrel were again alone at the head table.

"I took your advice, Minstrel," Lord said gratefully.

"I did not give it," Minstrel replied, "but I am happy that you benefited by it."

"Do you see something for tomorrow?" Lord asked, dismissing Minstrel's denial.

"Yes, as surely as the sun rises, I am always plagued with this bickering couple debating their ridiculous possibilities. Do not trust a fool to advise you, milord," Minstrel beseeched him.

"I have a pair of visions, too, Minstrel," Lord joked. "I see that if I pay you well for 'your songs' tonight, you will tell me what tomorrow may bring. But if I pay you a penny as I did yesterday, I will get nothing. Do you think one of my visions might be true?"

"I think both might be true. And both might be false. Are you able to chose which you want tonight?" Minstrel asked.

"It is quite against my nature to waste my money," Lord stated.

"Then, you should keep it, milord. As you did with the cups last night. You chose the more logical as your nature saw it. What happened today may not happen again tomorrow."

"I have not seen my people behave like today ever before. Has my nature mislead me and them? Here, Minstrel, a purse rather than a penny. Will you tell me what you foresee?"

"Very well. If you arise at dawn and look to the west, you will see a farmer who hopes to train his dog to plow his fields. His horse is in your stable, eating your grain, and he does not have the normal means to produce a crop this year. But if you arise at noon and look to the east, you will see nothing that you did not see there today." Minstrel made a small bow and swept the Lord's purse from the table to his belt. "Do you know when you will awake tomorrow?"

"Is this Farmer who came to complain yesterday?" asked Lord. "He said he could not pay his levies until summer."

"Dogs may do wondrous things when we do not wonder whether they do anything at all. Perhaps you will yet receive Farmer's taxes. Or perhaps not. I think this silly nonsense, but you might be wiser."

"I shall meet Farmer along the road and exchange his horse for his wondrous dog," said Lord. "Tomorrow's eastern view does not offer me anything, but there is profit to the west." Lord was pleased with his decision.

And thus, Farmer did get his horse back that next morning. Lord even decided to let him keep (and feed) the dog. Lord and Farmer agreed to an extension on when the payments were due.

As Lord returned to his castle from his morning errand, he met Minstrel at the gate, ready to continue his wandering.

"Minstrel, you must stay. I need your visions to help guide me," Lord implored.

"No, I must go. You must stay. But not necessarily as you were. As you told me last night, you have twin visions, too," Minstrel jested. "Spin around, milord, and see more of what surrounds you. When you choose, you may find paths you never traveled before take you to the best places you have never been before." With that, Minstrel twirled around several times, stopped, and staggered off in the direction his nose was pointing.

Riding the Thirsty Mule - Tina's Fable

As Tina handed the Captain his refilled mug, the Captain said, "Now do not forget the gratuity for service as part of the fee for the tale, lad."

"I agreed to pay for stories," Franklin replied, fingering his purse. "Perhaps a copper?"

"I am a guest here the same as you," Tina said. "My help I give freely. But if you would buy a spice cake for us all to share, I will give a story my mother often told me as a child."

"Yes, let us have the cake. And your tale," Franklin agreed.

Tina's Fable: The Lost Fairy

"When I was a little girl, my mother would tell me stories while I worked besides her in the kitchen or garden. One of my favorites that often I requested was the fable of Desimina, the Lost Fairy, a poem I still repeat to myself in bed at night when I think of my now departed mother.

"This is how it goes:

Alas, Desimina, so far from home
To a strange land by a fearsome storm blown.
Poor lost fairy now so very alone,
No other fairies, not even a gnome.

Each day she searched until thoroughly worn,
But found neither kin nor way to return.
Oh, each night she laid on her bed of fern
And more deeply sank to a state forlorn.

One morning from her unhappy sleep risen,
She heard flapping as she paused to listen.
Wings, not flying, in sunshine did glisten
In web above, someone was in prison.

Desimina's fear awoke at the sight,
But soon anger caused her terror to fade.
She looked for a leaf to serve as her blade,
Then flew to the rescue, ready to fight.

She brandished her weapon like a hero
And faced the spider who had come to eat.
Waving her frond so, she made him retreat
And, on silken thread, drop to branch below.

Desimina went to free her found friend,
But saw not a fairy held so snug.
It was a butterfly, only some old bug,
For all the efforts that she did expend.

She did break him loose, for that was the plan,
And he fluttered free, hovering nearby.
Her heartbreak was clear to that butterfly --
She despaired ne'er again to see her clan.

"I thank you for my freedom from the cord,
Although you thought to save another instead.
Without your help, by now I would be dead,
So I wish to offer you some reward."

"Can you show me how to get my home back?
Can you bring my friends with whom I can play?
That terrible wind has blown my life away
And left me with only ruinous wrack."

"I was a caterpillar in my past,
But I shall not be so ever again.
Life is not meant to stay where you have been,
But to go where you are sent, 'though unasked.

"Wherever you are is your home for now,
And whomever you meet can be your friends.
Follow your life through all its twists and bends,
And enjoy here all that life will allow."

Desimina opened her eyes for the first
To see her new home all around her there.
Our happy past should not cause us despair
When in our next venture we are immersed."

Riding the Thirsty Mule - The Captain's Tale

The Captain’s Tale

“What say you, Captain? Have you a tale to raise our spirits through this long and bleak night? Or to haunt our sleeps later?” Franklin urged. “I will keep your mug full with Mule’s Kick all night, if you will favor us with a story from your adventures.”

“Ah, lad, your offer is too generous to pass, but why settle for some mere exploit of mine when I could give you the truth behind the legend of Lord Balamore the Dragon Slayer?” the Captain replied with a conspiratorial smile.

“Oh, yes. That would be fine. Norford, please, a tankard for the Captain to get him started.”

“I am here near the tap. Let me serve the Captain, Norford,” Tina offered and moved without waiting for his reply to fill a mug and deliver it as the Captain rose to stand at the hearth. Norford smiled resignedly. It pleases the lass and does me no disrespect, he thought. She carries no pity for me, only the love she could not give her father.

“Ah, well, you all know the legendary Balamore and his acclaim as an itinerant slayer of dragons. Some say he dispatched as many as seventeen, while I heard him more modestly claimed only eight were really grown beasts worthy of counting. Oh, yes, I knew him. In my youth, I served him as squire in his late years. All but one of his famous combats were decades in the past by then. He had retired to his ancestral estates, so long neglected and, if we are dealing in truth, always so meagerly impoverished even before his time. It was his upbringing in noble poverty that sent him into the world seeking fame and fortune, even though he was his father’s only child. And that diligently learned thrift of his early years returned him home with so little care to expend more of that fortune than he minimally needed to maintain his household. He kept no list of soldiers about him. His fame defended him well enough, he would say, that all he required was a squire to tend to his personal needs, a cook for his family, a smith and a groom to see to his horses and trappings, and a caretaker to oversee the needs of the estate’s peasants and the stocking of the manor’s larder.

“He was not greedy – never was. Having acquired his ample wealth through his exploits, he allowed the peasants to keep whatever they could scratch out of the stony and dry lands. He paid them for any excess they could provide to the manor or purchased his supplies elsewhere. Their gratitude and loyalty to him was perhaps the greatest shield for him and his privacy in those declining years.

“Ah, but it is not those declining years which interest you – I see that in your faces. In his modesty, I long thought, Balamore would lightly let pass any discussion of his adventures and conquests. So many others told the tales that he had no need to sing his own praises. He smiled with scant comment to confirm or deny what the legends recounted. So, I must tell you of the only venture on which I accompanied him. You may see his legend in a different light afterwards, as did I, but I know with certainty only how the old Balamore dealt with his last reptilian foe.

“I was just short of my eighteenth year when the messenger arrived, beseeching Lord Balamore for help. His lordship was at least in his late fifties, maybe even over sixty years of age. My service in his household was going to soon end, as Balamore insisted that my training was so nearly complete and I must provide my services and perfect my skills in the world where they were better valued and more needed. Perhaps if I still had been more green or had already left, Lord Balamore would not have listened to that messenger and would have sent him away with only a warm meal and a night’s rest. But my lord was overcome with the fancy that this quest could be my final lesson and qualifying examination.

“'You are hardly my little Wiggles any longer,’ Balamore said to me, recalling the childhood name he had given me when he first saw me. ‘You know all that I have to teach you and a few tricks you created on your own. All but one last secret of mine. I cannot pass this legacy to my daughters and, alas, I shall not sire a son nor see him grown if I do. I had thought to die with this untold. For telling it is something I cannot do – I must show you and for that we shall need a dragon.’

“My youthful curiosity so easily overwhelmed my caution in those years. If this old man was ready to confront another dragon, how could I refuse to stand at his side? Over the next few days as I prepared the provisions, weapons, and four horses for our journey and the smith polished his armor, Lord Balamore seemed to be engaged in the most difficult battle of his lifetime – reassuring his wife and three daughters that there was nothing about which to worry. He would be back in a fortnight or sooner, he told them, none the worse for the exercise. The messenger called upon all his diplomacy to balance the urgency of the need for Lord Balamore’s extraordinary knowledge and prowess and the limited ferocity of the beast which was surely not the largest the hero had ever defeated. At last, the Lady conceded that she could not stop the old fool and she and her daughters set to cleaning, altering, and mending his campaigning tabard, cape, and such garments as befit the champion.

“When we rode forth, there were only the three of us – the bedazzlingly refurbished Lord Balamore, the messenger, and myself. Of course, as you know, part of his legend was that he always fought the dragons single-handedly, carrying the fight deep into their secluded lairs. If he failed, his soul could rest easier knowing he had not allowed any but himself and his squire to face the deathly jeopardy. During the three day ride to the region where the dragon had been marauding, I heard him rehearsing his old speech in low mutters as he rode.” The Captain paused to wave his empty tankard at Franklin. Tina quickly came to fetch, refill, and return it. The Captain kissed the back of her hand as he took the mug back and then threw back a large gulp of ale.

“When we crossed into the final valley, the peasants stopped their toil in the fields to line the road and cheer the hero’s arrival. The Duke and the Duchess rode out with a grand entourage to meet us as we neared their keep. With practiced grace, Lord Balamore accepted their adoration and confidence in the surety of his putting an end to their problems. Despite the recent ravishing of their territory, the Duchy hosted a splendid banquet to welcome us. On cue, when asked what he needed from them to complete his mission, Balamore gave his speech. In all the years of living in his home, I had never heard him speak with such eloquence (nor at such length). One might have been tempted to believe he was capable of persuading the terrors he had dispatched over the years into simply packing up and leaving. Ah, that old man was reborn that night in the glories of his younger years. I am certain that a fee and directions to the dragon’s den were discussed in a very business-like manner, but I shall always remember the grandeur of Lord Balamore’s assurance that they should consider the deed as good as done.

“We arose in late morning. Only Balamore, I, and the four horses were going to travel on from the keep to the dragon’s cave. We were sent off with great ceremony that afternoon and rode for a few hours before Balamore chose a spot for us to camp for the night. In the morning, he said, we would go the rest of the way to reach the cave mouth by noontime.

“At the mouth of the cave, Balamore told me to cut down a tall sapling. 'Remember your pole vaulting exercises, Wiggles,' he said. 'The right balance of strength and flexibility. Judging by the spacing of these footprints, three paces length should serve our purpose.'

“'Yes, milord. I assume we do not need the hoop to jump through,' I joked. I was recalling the many years of gymnastic, running, and jumping exercises that were as much a part of my training as the use of weapons. The pole vault through a hoop suspended from the massive oak in the training yard was one of my favorites.

“'No,' Balamore almost chuckled, 'Our dragon will provide that. He will have the ring prize also.' He referred to the small sack which hung near the top of the hoop. As I became proficient at passing through the hoop, Balamore had added the ring prize to the sport. As I went through, if I could retrieve the parcel, it was mine to keep. In the beginning, it was tied with a loose knot that came free with a tug. At first, it held a pastry or some such treat. But as the training progressed, the bag needed to be cut loose. And the prizes increased in value from the snacks I could have easily grabbed in a pass through the kitchen to more useful items. This belt buckle I wear today was one of those prizes.

“'Stand back, lad, as we approach the dragon. And stay ready with that pole. I will signal the moment when we need it and when I do, we can have no hesitation.' Balamore told me to strip all the gear off one horse and bring it along with us into the cave. After a quick check of his armor, his shield, and his sword, he led the way.

“The passage into an active dragon's lair is fairly easy, for the beast needs a wide berth to come and go. One planning for his dormancy will collapse the tunnels leading to his sanctum, but he will clear a path when the hunger awakens him. A sleeping dragon retreats deep into his inner chamber, but one on a rampage moves to an upper hunting den nearer the surface. We had not far to go to find the dragon. He was awaiting us, for there was no hiding the sounds of our coming from his keen hearing.

“'Sir Knight, you travel rather lightly; the last party to visit me here had twelve of your kind. I expected at least twice that number this time.'” The Captain's voice was a mocking thunder as he filled the role of the dragon. He drained his tankard, waving it casually towards Tina, as he continued the dialogue in the calm tone of Balamore.

“'Sir Dragon, such men are expensive, even when they fail to return. I am a different sort of emissary. As my gray hair and wrinkles do testify.' As Balamore spoke, he removed his helm.

“'Indeed you are. Your puny sword would not penetrate my scales even if you still had the strength to lift it. I suspect your meat has grown tough and stringy also. You are not much of an offering, even if I should be so inclined to settle for such an arrangement.' The dragon seemed amused, probably with his own cleverness and control of the situation.

“'To speak honestly with you, Sir Dragon,” Balamore stated, “I do not think the residents in the lands hereabout have much interest in an agreement of that sort either. I was hired to slay you if I could not otherwise convince you to end your scourge upon their homes and resources.'

“'And what arguments do you have prepared to persuade me so?'”

“'You have feasted here for three months. Their herds are a quarter less already. Are you not nearly sated anyway?'

“'You are not very well informed, Sir Knight, in the habits of dragons, I see. It will take twenty years to satisfy my hunger. And during that time and long after, in the moments that my carnal yearnings are abated, I have a curiosity about the beauties and mysteries which have been created or uncovered since I last roamed the world a century ago. No, I will not soon be ready for my next nap.'

“'Ah, are you hungry now? I would not wish to negotiate with you in a weakened state. While I am not much of a morsel, this horse might help take the edge off for you.'

“'Graciously offered, Sir Knight, although I would have had it once our talks were done.'

“'Then, with my compliments, please.'

“Balamore waved for me to urge the horse forward. The dragon bent forward, seized the poor animal, and crushed it with a single snap of his massive jaws. The dragon tilted his head back to swallow, opening his jaws widely to wash the carcass down in one gulp.

“'Now, lad, there is the hoop. And the prize.'

“With a quick run, plant, and vault, I leaped into that gaping maw. As I passed over his teeth and tongue, I swept my dagger into my right hand and spotted the gland in the back of his throat. I wrapped my left arm around it and hacked at its base. The dragon wildly swung his head from side to side, but I clung on. My feet dangled unable to gain any purchase, but I stayed to my task sawing off my 'prize'.

“When the combined efforts of my blade's cutting and my weight's tugging soon caused the gland to detach, I found myself plunging down that terrible gullet. It was a singular moment of epiphany for me. The importance of an education came into clear focus, for we seldom appreciate how we might use some bit of knowledge until the moment when we need it. As I bumped and slid down that narrowing tunnel, the dull hours of studying metabolism and anatomy of animals, both common and weird, that I had theretofore thought to be interruptions to my martial training, developed sudden relevance.

“I do not know how many of you have ever visited the inner working of a dragon. In all my years, I suspect I only knew one other and he never showed any interest in discussing it. Well, not directly. But Balamore had spent hours explaining to me how a dragon produced its flaming breath. The digestion of its meal produces copious quantities of flammable gases. It is true of all animals, but for most, they dispel these fumes in flatulent emissions from their hither regions. Whatever be-demoned mind created dragons thought of a different plumbing scheme. Those explosive byproducts of digestion in a dragon are shunted off into an internal air bladder that circles back to the gullet with a flap just above the stomach. When the dragon wishes to produce his awesome weapon, he compresses this bladder and belches the gases up.

“Now, by itself, that exhalation would be fearsomely odorous and perhaps overwhelming, but the dragon adds the ability to ignite those gases as they enter the mouth. And, now, what do you suppose I had locked under my arm as I descended deeper into that beast? Yes, the sac that produced that spark. The gruesome drawings of dissected dragons that I had studied since I was a child came into my mind – a virtual map to guide me even in my dark tumble to the beast's gut. I drove my dagger into the wall to slow my drop and prayed that I was sliding down the correct side. When I felt the edge of the bladder's flap, I shoved the fire gland through and continued on my way.

“There is a good reason that a dragon does not ignite these gases until they reach his mouth. While tougher than you and I, the insides of a dragon have none of the protective qualities of his exterior scales. The explosion behind me blew a enormous hole in the dragon's side and it died quickly thereafter. Once the skin was breached, Balamore had little trouble carving me out. A quick wash in a stream on our way back to the keep, a jubilant feast for the modest Lord Balamore, and we were soon heading home with the last bounty of his career. The rest is legend.” The Captain smiled slyly. He raised his tankard above his head, lowered it to drain its last contents, and swept it wide with a flourishing bow. The audience cheered and laughed.

“Oh, that was a marvelous story, Captain,” Franklin said. “But did not Lord Balamore live four centuries ago?”

“That is a different story, lad, and you only bought one from me this night,” the Captain replied as he waved to Tina for a refill and returned to his seat.

Marching in Crimea

(heard on the streets of Simferopol this week?)

---

We’re marching in Crimea, Crimea, Crimea.
We’re marching in Crimea, Crimea, hooray!

We are you and you are us, and
So we are all together,
So we are all together,
Together is much better.
Yours is ours and ours is too, and
So together is better.

We’re voting in Crimea, Crimea, Crimea.
We’re voting in Crimea, Crimea, vote yes!

Put’n loves you and Put’n love us, and
So let’s be all together,
So let’s be all together,
Together is much better.
We take this and you give that, and
So we can share the weather.

We’re annexing Crimea, Crimea, Crimea.
We’re annexing Crimea, Crimea, so there!

Mystery of MH370 (screenplay pitch)

Escape on the Plane of the Apes

(the maybe true story of Malaysia Airlines Flight MH370)

Story/scene synopsis:

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, 0005 (12:05 a.m.) on March 8, 2014:

Scenes of happy families and bustling business people getting onboard the overnight flight to Beijing. The piloting crew are doing their pre-flight checklist as the stewardesses (and token male steward required by Hollywood PC Practice Board) are settling passengers into their seats. Two heavily bundled “special medical needs” passengers in wheelchairs are traveling in front row of first class with their own attendants who wave off any need for assistance (or interference) from the flight crew.

Cut to: Cargo loading into belly of the MH370 aircraft. Six large crates (with airholes) are being put onboard. Marking on the outside indicate delivery to the Beijing Zoo. The manifest is written in Chinese and English, but only says “Live specimens”. A workman attempts to peer through one of the airholes to see what is in the crate, but it is too dark, and he is quickly ordered to get back to work because they need to close up and get this flight out on schedule.

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, 0040 (12:40 a.m.) on March 8, 2014:

Cockpit as the flight takes off. Normal routine. Coach passenger area – typical chatter and settling in for a red-eye flight. First class passenger area – normal; “special” passengers are still tightly (and obscurely) bundled up and apparently asleep.

South China Sea, 0120 on March 8, 2014:

Mostly passengers are dozing or quietly reading, working on laptops, etc. The pilots make a routine check-in with air traffic, stating the time and the all system a-ok status.

South China Sea, 0122 on March 8, 2014:

Quiet passengers as before. Shot moves to the “special” passengers. Their attendants are alert, perhaps even nervously expectant. A hand emerges from under the wrapping of one of the special passengers – long fingers and red-furred coated. It is an orangutan (specifically a Borneo orangutan, but only the primatologists in the audience would know the difference).

Cut to: Cargo hold. A similar hand is working a latching mechanism inside one of the crates. The crate side falls and out steps a large male orangutan. In quick succession the other five crates open and three more males and two females emerge. They appear to confer in guttural sounds and hand motions. They move towards a door leading out of the cargo bay into a subfloor mechanical systems area and then up a ladder to a hatch into the passenger area above.

As the cargo orangutans emerge towards the back of the plane, the first-class orangutans jump out of their seats and run to the cockpit door. With their superhuman strength, they batter down and tear off the door. The four males from the cargo hold take up strategic and scattered positions amongst the passengers and scream threateningly. The two females run forward to first class, join the two working on the door (both large males), and turn to face the first class passengers. They are plenty frightening also.

As the cockpit is breached, the two “first class” males rush in. The co-pilot has risen out of his seat as if to investigate when the door comes off – he is knocked down hard by one of the intruders who continues on to grab the pilot. The navigator is knocked out of his seat by the other ape, collides with the wall, and slides to the deck unconscious. Having overcome/subdued the cockpit crew, the two apes turn as their human attendants enter the cockpit. One (let's say “she” (Natasha) for this one and “he” (Boris) for the other, but casting can decide later on the specific gender and ethnicity) points to two locations in the cockpit and says “There. And there”. The ape that knock down the navigator (let's call him Clyde), smashing a fist down where she pointed – destroying much of the navigator's other control circuitry. The other (throttling the pilot, let's call him Sam) flips the other switch off. She looks at Clyde with exasperation. Clyde sheepishly shrugs.

Boris moves into the co-pilot seat while Sam deposits the unconscious pilot back into his seat. He studies the controls, familiarizing himself with their reading and confirming his general understanding of the working of Boeing 777. After a while, Natasha displays some impatience and asks “well, can you fly it or not?” Boris is both annoyed and confident. Perhaps not really yet prepared, he grabs the controls and starts to bank the plane into a turn. There is a sudden drop in altitude. Boris over-corrects and the plane climbs rapidly. Natasha gives Boris the same look of exasperation she gave Clyde earlier as he struggles to get the plane under control. As the plane levels off and flies smoothly, Boris confidently says, “next stop, Sumatra”.

South China Sea, 0132 on March 8, 2014:

The first-class passengers have all been moved back to coach and the first class section now holds all the crew members. They sit with their hands bound with zip-ties, guarded by the two females (Mopsy and Flopsy). The pilot is still out, the navigator is moaning, and the co-pilot feigning more severe injuries, fearfully hoping to not draw any attention to himself. Natasha is in first-class. Her trenchcoat is open enough to show the Orangutans Worldwide Liberation Society (OWLS) emblem over her right breast. Boris has the same patch similarly located. The four cargo males are menacingly patrolling the coach section. The passengers are all properly cowed, but nobody is sleeping now. One not-easily-distracted businessman is still busily working on a presentation he needs to have ready for a morning meeting.

In the cockpit, Clyde sits at the navigator's station while Sam is in the pilot's chair. They are both largely out of the bundling clothes they wore to get onboard, but they do have on t-shirts with the OWLS logo. Sam is wearing the pilot's hat. Boris is still in the co-pilot's seat. Boris seems to have gotten the knack of flying this particular plane and is arguing with Sam (in both voice and pantomime-hand signals) about who is really the captain of this flight and not to be touching any of the instruments and controls. Clyde is playing with wires and components which are exposed and/or hang out of the keyboard at the navigator's workstation – he gets an occasional shock.

In first-class, the head stewardess confronts Natasha and asks why they are doing this. An exposition is given in the dialog between them about the unification of the orangutans of Borneo and Sumatra. The Borneo orangutans are on a mission to assist and organize the Sumatra group which is much closer to extinction. Natasha demonstrates the ability to communicate via hand signals and speech with Mopsy and Flopsy (something like “Bring me and Stewardess Jane martinis. Make mine very dry.”)

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, 0145 on March 8, 2014:

Air traffic controllers are discussing the absence of the routine check-in of flight MH370. Suggestions about relaying concerns to Vietnam and China air traffic are made, but it is not considered important enough to “wake up the old man”.

Peninsular Malaysia, 0215 March 8, 2014:

Natasha comes in the cockpit to check up on the progress on their plan. Boris, Sam, and Clyde all simultaneously give her a “thumbs up”. She asks how much farther they have to go. At this, Boris is a bit more vague and uncertain. The destruction of most of the navigation station is discussed. They seem to be able to ping the GPS satellites, but they are not receiving updates from the worldsat or ground control systems on their exact location. Boris assures Natasha he can get “close enough” by dead reckoning with the onboard system to find Sumatra and their destination. Natasha gives that exasperated expression again.

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, 0215 on March 8, 2014:

Another thirty minutes have passed without word from MH370. It is now 1 hour and 25 minutes into the flight, and they have had no contact for 55 minutes. Vietnam and China have reported that they have not heard or seen anything either. Air traffic controllers play rock-paper-scissors to see who puts in the call to “the old man” (the loser, of course).

Straits of Malacca, Indonesia, 0245 on March 8, 2014:

Boris is oscillating between looking out the cockpit windows (and seeing nothing) and reading the instruments on the panels in front of him. He decides to decrease elevation, but again over-steers and goes into a rapid and bumpy descent before he is able to guide the plane into a smoother flight. Sam looks at him quizzically and Clyde issues several loud protesting cries. Boris remarks to Clyde that he was not the one who broke the navigation system.

Once the plane's bouncing calms down, Natasha comes rushing into the cockpit, demanding to know what the problem is. Boris explains that he thinks he might have overflown Indonesia. He is not sure how, but he does not see what he was expecting (cannot really see anything). He suggests that if they descend and go north (or maybe even NNE) they should get back to see the western shoreline and then they can follow it to their destination. Natasha, exasperated, leaves the cockpit. She repeats the hand signal she used earlier to Mopsy to order a martini. Then she puts up two fingers to make it double.

Andaman Sea, off coast of Myanmar, 0315 on March 8, 2014:

Boris is arguing with Sam again. “How do you know what the jungles of Sumatra look like? No, I not sure either. I suppose it could be the mainland. Okay, okay, we will go west if you want to. Remember this one is on you when Natasha wants somebody's ass to chew.”

Indian Ocean, 0345 on March 8, 2014:

“Oh, go ahead. You fly it for a while if you want to. I am going to get drunk. How did I ever decide to go into world wildlife conservation in the first place?”

THE END (or is it? Wait for the sequel: Return of the Plane of the Apes)