Living is breathing.
Smoking is hating
vaping is ****** -
ugly bungs
plugging innocent lungs.
Charbroil, you wheezing gargoyle.
To spoil your breath
is seeking death.
Breathing God pure in & out
is what it’s all about.

Jeffrey Schmitz 10/10/19

I reason during the Unholyday Season
it’s a cinch to be a grinch
and my heart won’t flinch an inch.

Away I stayed from the fray of Black Friday
and although it has become passé
to my angst there is no allay
because Thanksgiving Day, hereby coined Grey Thursday
morphed into the disarray of a Shoppers’ Buffet
which we could do any ****** day!
The box stores with their sidewalk camping and midnight tramping
are the days of yore.
There is no more need to endure
the mob charging the store door and the poor falling on the floor.
The human glob stomped and whomped for the latest TV
on this feverish Unholyday shopping spree, replete with artificial trees, whee!
Dullard bore, what was the allure?!
Heaping more interest burden on the dreaded credit card
which they should discard, or slap it from their hand, beheaded ******.
Drool, fool, as you wait in miserable line for the store steward
the minimum-waged-Howliday-caged (I’m enraged!)
to turn the door keys
while the CEOs are home enjoying their organic turkeys
free of corporate taxes and relaxes, you whacky lackeys.
The wealthy make the rules and these tools choose to be their unhealthy mules
programming them for a detour to the junk food aisle - the obesity fuel.
Onward home they return with their gift bales
to regale the tale of their trails of thrift sales.
“More, more!” they craved – adrift and depraved
to wasteful spending they are enslaved
yet they raved how they braved to “save and save!”.
With nothing in the bank, many sank to an early grave.

Further astray, sooner to swipe your pay, it has encroached on Halloween
the sacred day when the veil is thinnest between
the living & dead – violating that scene.
In October we hear tis-the-treason ****** bells amidst the pumpkin smells
and are prematurely offended by Krissmus lights
eclipsing the autumnal nights – having upended their own joyous delights;
dismissing us of scarecrows, witches, ghosts and assorted frights
who now make their debut before Labor Day
when the summer sky is hot blue and we haven’t yet harvested the hay.
Pray they go away and come back another day!

More to the dismay of the Hellidays:
Three days after Grey Thursday comes Cyber Monday
when the industrial purchasing puppets have a Work Funday.
Their wanting faces are permitted to glow in their monitors and phones
haunting different places, items submitted to their carts; most dutiful drones.
There are no deals that are steals!
You are enrichening Jeffrey Bezos
as if he were Jesus-is-Logos.
Instead, let’s chase the former – The Latter Day Not-a-Saint with axes
and mace his face until he pays some federal taxes
and recycles his litter of cardboard boxes!

After an arduous commercial journey, finally approaches Silent Night
December Twenty Fourth – that very special night
before the day their former Messiah was arguably not born. To this some scorn.
Don’t get uptight!
They celebrate anyway and that’s more than okay.
Their tree heights are festooned with Pagan lights
and Santa - the King of Things is cartooned in the snowy white.
He swipes her camel-toe under the mistletoe
which we all know doesn’t make her a **’ **’ **’.
So, by then, the madness has ceased.
Tender & mild, a release - I feel utter peace.
As bedtime approaches she slides a hand on my leg, no need to beg
yes, a clinch for the grinch……
and behold, it does grow…  and by much more than an inch!
Pardon me, but it’s not my hard heart.
As I muffle an odorless ****
I realize God is with everyone and all of it. It/He/She is not apart.
When the midnight hour chimes from a nearby tower
I humbly thank God - my Higher Power
generously blessing me - an aging scrooge
joyously shooting, still youthful & raging, ******.

Jeffrey Schmitz 12/2-Cyber Monday/2019

From the outset I was cynical
perceiving he feigned dominical.
Deceiving, he reigned as principal
of the high school- ordained invincible.
Father Tully, tall with a big belly
flocked to the jocks
“hungry for their *****”
we potheads did mock
Evading his attention, we outfoxed.
He openly patted their *****
boys from all the classes.

I at sixteen once again in trouble
was sent to his office on the double
- his sacrosanct bubble
just for me and him - an unlikely couple.
He pretended kindness bluffing pardon
but intended vengeance stuffing a hard-on.
His simulating a comforting smile
was just guile churning his bile.
His arm around me in a faux embrace
peering up to his face seeking his grace
I realized this wasn’t my place.
His hand lewdly moved to my buttocks
his countenance drowned to a treacherous frown
his tongue slivering - a lecherous clown.
With his mouth agape
thinking an easy ****
but oddly lulled
that I was expelled.

Jeffrey Schmitz

Throughout most of my life
I have self-imposed strife
like a cold suicidal knife
my bogeyman - Self-Centered Fear.
Always severe, I ask why does he appear
year after year with a different spear?
Although I could veer to a new frontier
maybe it is he, whom I revere?
With creative lies
he endlessly defies
which I should despise
but one may surmise
all this time, my being he electrifies.
Surprise, surprise:
One of three,
he is me!

Jeffrey Schmitz 12/10/19

From each sovereign land
come gifts foreignly grand.
Superior not is a single brand.
Without anew we dwindle bland.
As America planned, we spanned
strand by strand to coastland.
Then hatred fanned
and people were banned
to which I reprimand
we cannot stand.
To those that demand
entrants not be scanned,
go pound sand.
Blocking the flow’s countermand
is societal evolution in quicksand.
Let’s continue to expand
via the rules we understand,
nothing underhand.
Resuming walking hand in hand
is our blessing of this Wonderland.

Jeffrey Schmitz

Rise and Fall

In flows one breath
out it blows, done, its own death.
There never was, nor will be, one identical.
Its circumstances are a dance of chance most equivocal;
vary the person, a different version
second by minute - their age, a change of stage
and even the air from where, here or there,
I do declare you can’t compare.
They all became but no two are the same.
In flows one breath
out it blows, done, its own death.

Jeffrey Schmitz 11/23/19

As a toddler at church daycare
upon a Roman Catholic lap in an armchair
the savage Father McManus
did ravage in a ****** slather Stan’s ****.
This grunge sacrament
the plunge of Stan’s excrement
damaged his ******, twisted & bent.
His colon sustained a permanent indent.
Thereafter whenever he defecated was ghastly torment.
He had no control. **** gushed in a torrent
drowning his nuts & tinky
cursed, the size of a pinky.
Growth stunted and bully hunted, stinky & hyper
for the rest of his short life, this dinky boy wore a diaper.
In the early dark he would awaken to his own scream.
Having creamed a fantastic dream
a shivering nun quivering her ***** for fun - so obscene
but realized he had ****** his ****
cooling in his diaper, a messy gloop.

Playfully spreading my **** cheeks apart
gracefully heading, my **** shrieks a ****
blasting two ***-**** dwelling fleas
with great ease in a methane breeze
as one looks at the other and decrees
“that was no sneeze!
Yo, those come in threes
behold, he is about to squeeze!”
Once again the vapors did sneak
a squirting of fudge - a smidge did leak
hurtling my wee friends in a brown streak.

I walked up my tower to the shower
with sphincter propulsion power
to rid myself of this repulsion, so sour.
Water and soap I did slather
to build a foaming bubbly lather
into which I gurgled more **** blather
to rinse, helping those suds scatter.

No matter what your class
you enjoy being crass
with your ***
when you pass
that gas.

Jeffrey Schmitz 1/4/20

The “Good Old Days” and its forlorn ways
are just my memory’s sterilized haze.
Why so little recollection of past pain?
Most of it was deleted from my brain
flushed down the suffering-drain.
I cannot sustain
all that ugly stain.
Discarded are the chains of gray rain;
a cleansed past is all that remains.

Going backwards in this illusion
is just amplified delusion.
Tracing my steps backwards is not scary;
for there is nothing unknown to be wary.
My mind’s stroll through that candy-land
is void of any hidden quicksand.

Nostalgia is the denial of today
lying that the present is not okay
fearful that I have lost my way.
The past is dead.
And of the future I do not dread.
Instead, I give thanks to overhead
for this precious moment being led
to the everlasting daily bread
knowing my soul is always being fed.

Jeffrey Schmitz 1/11/20

Souls that travel toward the same light
sometimes collide in the night.
To share a dream only in sight
may one day manifest in day bright.
All that you have thought
is exactly what you brought.
So open your heart to still the thought
that where you stand is what you sought.

Jeffrey Schmitz 1/8/20

It is not my druther
to blow my brother
tongue my sister
or **** my grandmother.
These things I eschew, eew
I wouldn’t do.

Stomping on newborn puppies
swallowing my son’s guppies
skull hatcheting smiling babies
or impaling my testicles on a spike
are things I do not like.

Pushing elderly in wheelchairs
crashing down the stairs
beating quadriplegics with chairs
or plucking my ***** hairs
are not among my cares.

Necrophilia in a porta *****
fails to excite my body.
And I wouldn’t dump scalding soup
on my neighbor’s Cub Scout troop.
But climbing a tree to stoop
a gushing **** on a neo **** group
well, that’s a whoop!

Acting a life not being myself
has retired to the dusty shelf.
Suffering as a lost fake
is on a permanent break.
Prolonging life on meds
******* and ******* in bed
I would truly dread.
Slow motion into a wood chipper
with no emotion would be way hipper!

Jeffrey Schmitz 1/4/20