Have you heard?
A case of the foggy brain has been goin round
Be mindful of the creepy fog
It will invade even the clearest of minds.
It starts in the neck and works it's way to the madulaobingota,
It seeps into the crevices of the brain
Till it's invaded the whole damn thing.
You must be pleading
"There has to be something that someone can do? Shirley a nurse, a doctor, or even a lobotomy would do!"
Sorry to be the bearer of bad news
But not a single thing
But hope for a
Sunny day to clear the mind slim away.
I have it!
That is the answer my friends!
Even on the rainest of days
When the case of the foggy brain is not yet at bay,
Don't lose hope
For the sun will eventually
Come your way
I hope everyone enjoys and maybe take something from it :)
Tis the man that's good. Tis the man that's sweet to the bone.
His heart is large and his soul is pure as well as mature.
He is kind to all that he meets. He accepts those for who and what they are.
Tis the man that is far from near. Tis the man who's light shines bright in the dead of the night.
He is a loving man who protects those he cares about.
His personality is wonderful and he looks good as well.
Tis the man who's heart burns with a fiery passion for things to know!
Tis the man who will shirley go places. His hair is straight his body thin. Perfect from out to in.
His hair shines like the sun high in the sky. Hands probably smooth to the touch.
Tis the man who's life is hard. Tis the man who's life is like in a jar. His life is all around him though he can't see that there is someone who can take his life out of the jar into the world.
Tis the man who is kind and surly is never blind. Never blinded by those who wish to deceive.
He is strong and pure and the newly fallen white snow on the field.
His heart fills with love for someone and probably always will be filled with the same one. Someone guides him and cares for him just as much as he cares for the one he holds in his heart. Tis the man who's afraid of change who wishes things would remained the same.
Life has different things in store for the man. Or will he be the person who ran.
Ran away from the change that has happened. Tis the man who becomes strong.
He gains strength from someone and tries to see what he should see.
Power resides in the man and always has.
He was just waiting for the right person to help bring it out.
Tis the man who is fine. Tis the man that is loving, and kind.
We give thanks for all who have
enriched our lives with their presence;
may we honor them
by always being present for others.
We give thanks for those who
selflessly serve in our armed forces,
for the quiet sacrifices
of their family and friends
and for those who witness for peace
and work to end the conflicts of war.
We are thankful for the tears of the poor
and their example of fortitude
in the daily struggle to live
and for those that extend a hand
and offer a vision of hope
and a pathway to advancement.
We are thankful for our rich abundance
and the blessed spirit that leads us
to generously share it with others.
We are thankful for wise thoughtful teachers
and students that are eager
to use that wisdom to better the world.
We are thankful for courageous truth tellers
and the hard truths they speak
and to people of good will that are open
and willing to listen and act on those truths.
We are thankful for the care givers
and their veneration of life
and to those who receive care
and fill the heart of the giver
with fathomless gratitude.
We are thankful for people
of humility and good will
and their blessed example
of quiet service and grace.
We are thankful for children
as an embodiment of our hopes
and the future flowering
of our greatest aspirations.
We are thankful for
our animal friends
and their example
of trusted companionship
and unconditional love.
We are thankful for sobriety
and our ability to discern,
see, discover and experience
the daily grace life confers upon us.
We are thankful for those
who are no longer with us,
may our time on earth be
a blessing to others
as they were to us.
We are thankful to
a higher power
that keeps us right sized,
humble and grateful for
one more day on life's path.
Wishing All the Beloved
a Happy Thanksgiving
Peace and Prayers
Shirley Horn, Here's To Life
I want to thank the HP community for your kind support and comments
I wish everyone a great Thanksgiving...
peace and prayers
Coffee cakes filled with maliciousness
You laugh with a squished up face
And say “…and cinnamon”
In a teasing tone
A muse to me
Perhaps a muse
Partner’s in crime
Partner’s in art
for my Aunt Shirley
Fervis F. Ferville
Of South Street, North West
Could count, count, count, count
With incredible zest!
He was a very good counter,
And he would not hesitate!
For he would get up real early,
And he would stay up real late
Counting everything that could
Be owned by a Mouse,
As long as it could fit
In a little Mouse House.
And with his Shadow as Witness,
He would begin every day
Counting each little grain
Of his Bucklewheat Hay.
He would sound out each number.
That’s just what he’d do!
And he would always begin
All of his counting with “Two.”
He would count every minute
On the clock on his wall.
He then counted the hours,
The Seconds, and all
Of the in-between moments
That we never admit
Have a smidgen of good
Honest counting in it.
He then climbed very carefully
On his ABC blocks,
And counted each button
Safely tucked in its box,
Which came right to twenty-one,
All quite safe and sound.
The Greatest Button Collection
That a Mouse ever found.
Then he counted his fingers,
And he counted his toes,
His counting-type eyes,
And his counting-type nose.
He counted his ears,
And he counted his knees
And he smiled with pride,
For Fervis was pleased.
He had counted two eyes,
And one counting-type nose.
He had counted two knees,
And two stringy elbows.
He had counted two ears
That hung over his head.
And he counted the stripes
On his little Mouse bed.
He had counted each whisker,
And every brow of his eye.
And then he turned his attention
To his french fry supply.
There were twenty-two long ones,
And thirty-four short ones,
Ten busted-up ones
And eighteen athwart ones.
And there were his books,
Lots of books on a shelf
That he hid,
For he wanted them
All to himself.
With his vast and unique
Set of Counting-Mouse Skills,
And the speed and agility
Of trained Whippoorwills
He counted and counted,
And counted them all,
Every book he could find,
Every book that he saw.
All the big ones
And small ones,
And the tall ones,
Every green one
And blue one
Each old and
Each new one.
He counted his Nickets,
He counted his Nukks,
He counted every one
Of his Poppletoff Pucks.
He counted his ear lobes,
Then counted his keys,
And recounted every one
Of his ones, twos and threes.
He counted with such
A fine skill and finesse
That he proudly turned his attention
To Checkers and Chess
And he counted each Rook,
Every Bishop and Queen,
Every foul little Knight
That tormented his King.
Every Pawn en Passant,
Every possible move,
Oh, he counted them all
If only to prove
That he, as a Mouse,
Could indeed hold his own
When it came to a fine
Game of Chess in his home.
The very next thing
He would count were his socks.
He took great care of them.
So he unlocked all the locks
On his Secret Sock-Drawer,
And he counted each Two.
Then he seemed rather puzzled
When he was finally through.
For yesterday’s count
Came to Thirty-Eight pair.
Which meant that one pair was missing!
Yes, Missing! But where?
Now, this called for a re-count,
Something a Counting-Type Mouse
Does all of the time
In his little Mouse House.
So, Fervis F. Ferville,
In his perfect Mouse timing,
Counted and re-counted
Without even rhyming!
The Two and the Four
And the Six and the Eight!
He counted each sock
Until it seemed rather late.
Then he sighed as he sat
In his little Mouse chair.
And he took a deep breath
With a haunt of despair.
And he thought:
Never lose track of socks.
They never forget their neckties
Or popcicle blocks.
They do not misplace their Hourglass,
Or lose track of the time.
And Counting-Type Mouses
Are on time
All the time! ”
He fuddled and fudged,
And scratched at his ear,
Took a deep breath
Just to let his mind clear.
And he spied at his Shadow,
Who had nothing to say,
Who simply shrugged long
In its shadowy way.
So, he counted again,
Very slowly this time,
Sounding each number out,
Every succinct little rhyme.
Every four, every two,
Every ten, every eight.
Every twelve, and each twenty,
Until it was later than late.
“This simply does not make sense, ”
He mumbled to himself.
“Where could they be?
I’ve looked on every shelf.”
He searched through his house,
Very high, then down low,
Every place they could hide,
Every place they could go.
He looked deep in his cupboards,
And inside every jar.
He searched as close as he could,
And then he searched far.
He looked in his freezer,
And then in his hat,
On nights such as this
Mice will do things like that.
He hunted deep in his closet,
And then in every shoe
That he kept always ready
Underneath his canoe.
He searched up the small staircase,
And then down through the vent.
He hunted inside his chimney,
And above the bell tent.
He looked behind every picture
That hung on his wall.
And then he decided
To check behind his baseball.
He searched through his Bob-Bobbers,
And inside his fly sheet.
And, just to be safe,
He looked down at his feet.
And his eyes peered so narrow
He bit down on his lip,
And he twizzled and twozzled
Every single toe tip.
There were his socks,
Safely there, rightly put
As well as can be
On each little Mouse foot.
He hadn’t lost them at all,
And they hadn’t lost him.
They’d been there all the time
Very proper and prim.
And Fervis F. Ferville
Jumped up with a snap,
He sang out a “Woohoo, ”
And he let his toes tap.
He danced with a jig
And a biggillowigg,
With his toes hanging out.
He looked at the clock
That hung high on his wall,
And he stretched out, refreshed,
Like a porcupine ball.
And Fervis F. Ferville adjusted his tie.
And breathed deep the evening air.
"Why-ever have I been so distraught?
This simply does not seem fair."
I have every toe, every ear, every sock.
I have every number that ticks on my clock.
I have every whoo that has ever said hey.
It is a grand and new, wonderful day.
And wonderful days, as the story is said-
Are filled with those numbers that dance off the head,
And tap tap tap wonders of yellow and blue,
Wonders that shimmer much newer than new.
And he smiled so warmly the evening shined,
As though Fervis had one more adventure in mind.
He spied his fine Shadow, on the dash of a whim,
And his top secret Shadow spied right back at him,
And then Fervis F. Ferville so calmly called out,
"I've counted one hundred eleventy-two!
And that's a very fine count, an impressive amount.
I am certain I've counted much higher than you.
But his Shadow just leaned against the far wall,
Unwilling to join in the foray.
Shadows never re-count a good count,
Not when there's still time for Shadows to play.
And Fervis agreed.
For a fine Mouse was he,
Oh, there was so much more
To counting young Fervis could see.
And he smiled a wide smile, fine as any wise Mouse,
And returned to the joys of his little Mouse House.
Copyright © 2010 By Richard D. Remler
'I still find each day too short for
all the thoughts I want to think,
all the walks I want to take,
all the books I want to read,
and all the friends I want to see. '
what a fright.
ghost all around.
How did I
get in this
I look at
We got Jäger speeding 90 in our veins
Because we bled out
So now we can't love you
And glitter in our hair
And street lights in our eyes
We're born knowing how to scream
And you learn to mix a drink at thirteen
Not a cherry goes un popped popped popped
Not the cherries in your Shirley temple
More of a bitch than the traffic
Like something that stings but you gotta have it
You're taught to flip your hair
Bat your eyes
If that's what it takes tonight
For the love of the party scene
Don't expect to marry me
We aren't for that
We're here to make you feel scared
Nocturnal and beautiful and we'll make you feel sick
But you'll love it
Off to buy a discounted Pentax Spotmatic 2
down Purley Radios.
I want to book a holiday in Scarborough too.
Dracula's brood back in Shirley
deserve a wait long for that postcard.
Later I plan to take Rachel to see
"The Phantom of the Paradise"
and together buy some vinyl down HR Cloakes.
"Calamity Jane", by Stray Dog I suggest
Parfait is the world for us bedsitters in Waddon.
Don't call me Shirley
(tribute to Leslie Nielson 11/28/2010)
sometimes you made me laugh so hard I cried
and a tear did fall when I learned that you died
a doctor with a growing nose in that crazy Airplane
we have to get this person to a hospital in words so plain
what is it a passenger inquires so sincere
a building with patients you made it clear
and when Priscilla climbed that ladder in the study
without even sneaking an up skirt glance
nice beaver was your comment nearly killed me buddy
one could only imagine she wasn't wearing pants
thanks I just had it stuffed was her retort
had to hit the pause and then restart
and the blinded detective with the Naked Gun
back when OJ was still a media prince
you and George kept those bad guys on the run
hasn't been a comic duo that good since
you left us all behind way way too early
just one more time "Dont call me Shirley"
dinners at swiss chalet,
luxury before i knew luxury,
and though i've advanced
in diet since, nothing has
tasted better than
hot fudge sundae
mixed with parent smiles,
washed down with