Living Mood Rings

Molly was a planner

There was a plan

For everything

And everybody

Expressed thoughts

In vibrant colors

There was no

Night, no day

Molly never rested

On account of–there

Might be somebody

Somewhere, that

Needed something

Seth, was just there

For the beer

Or so, he said

It was just like

Seth to say

Annoying things

Just for laughs

Molly knew he

Would answer

For cruel remarks

On Judgement day

 

Midweek Matinee

In which my

Scatterbrained mind

Is freed from most constraints

Yesterday, it was

Paws, claws, clenched jaws

At the veterinarian’s

Today, annoying, biting

Vampire horse flies

Attempted to feast

On my blood

Swatting scared

My poor dog

It took quite a bit

Of reassurance

To calm her down

I suppose yelling

Like an idiot

At horse flies

Was not necessary

The Name Thing

Last name first

First name last

This is going

Downhill fast

Cutting corners

This here’s

Chicken house

Flap Jack–over

Can’t have

What you want

Stop complaining

Try doing this

For a living

Clowns with bulbous noses

Squirts from fake roses

Mister–you’re too old for Twister

I wonder why day–tell a lie day

Anything deep fried

Mighty egos clashed

Nobody knew why

It’s the name thing

 

MADMAN ACROSS THE PONDWATER (Beekeeper Chic)

beekeeper hat

I’m walking around like a zombie.  With my mind befuddled, from antihistamines.  my eyes are bloodshot.  I’m grateful to have made it back home ahead of a cloudburst this morning.

There will be no outdoor activities today.  I needed a respite, anyway.  There was a price to be paid for yard work all day yesterday.  Two weeks ago, it was still below freezing.  Pardon me, while I sneeze.

My thoughts are drifting today, like pollen in the breeze.  Long term blog stats–while important, are sometimes a mystery.  In particular, my post with the most views, (906), has had only seven likes in almost three years.

“Beldar Conehead and the Language Police,” has been compelling enough to read, but not enough to like.  I wish there were a dislike button.  Readers could disagree if they wanted–I wouldn’t object.  Like it/don’t like it–I would like to know.

I expressed disdain for political correctness, in this post, as it applied to descriptive speech.  I failed to mention my hatred of history revisionism.  History should stand for what it was–ugly or not.

From scathing commentary, read on the net, about a variety of topics–people can’t be afraid of the PC police.  Character assassination and bad taste seem to flow freely.

Regarding pollen and allergies–would a beekeeper’s hat with netting work when doing yard work?  The heck with looking ridiculous–if it worked; I’d try it.  Perhaps, in the process, spawning a new fashion trend–“Beekeeper Chic?”

–Image http://www.groworganic.com

LET SLEEPING DOGS LIE

horse and plow

I’m a little late to the dance–like an old plow horse plodding along.  Yesterday, I learned a valuable lesson about blogging, blogs, and bloggers.

“Let sleeping dogs lie.”  I should have known better than to put in my two-cents worth.  This conversation has more to do with what blogging isn’t, rather than what it is.

It isn’t a true debate forum.  Some intentionally take positions they can’t defend–for reasons, known only to themselves.  I despise vague generalizations, unsubstantiated value judgments, prejudicial statements about individuals, groups of people.

A compelling title suckered me in.  That was when the claws, bared teeth came out.  I called someone out for their accusations–which I thought were unfounded.  Then all hell broke loose.  Who was I to question their right to be miserable?

Because of certain key words in their reply–I felt I was being condescended to, and became defensive.  My mistake–sticks and stones.  My profile is public information–I don’t like it used against me.  Whether, it’s because of my age, background, or whatever.

With deference to emotional and mental health issues; those that get-off on being controversial, shouldn’t be surprised when their controversial remarks cause controversy.  Perhaps, they liked things that way; and, as a matter of control, wished to control responses as well?  Nobody controls my thoughts and opinions–except myself.  Self-pity, the home version–as a lovely parting gift?  No thanks!  “I’m letting sleeping dogs lie.”