The Coming Blizzard

 

 

Blizzards
(by R.P.Edwards)

Blizzards are subjective things
Depending where you’re at
Up north; a driving foot or three
Down south…much less than that
In fact, an inch can paralyze
The streets, so used to none
And make us pray for warmer days
When blizzards…do not come

Hans hardly slowed (though three miles into the trek) as he quickly shifted the hundred pound “rullning” stone (Swedish for “rolling”) from his aching right shoulder to a position centered on his heaving, flannel draped chest and, shifting slightly, he locked it securely with his powerful arms, crossed at the wrists.  “Hmmph,” he audibly uttered as he thought of his fellow weightlifters who spent their time in comfortable gyms, flexing in between applications of baby oil.  “Wimps,” he grunted (hurdling a fallen pine).  “Sport is not in the lifting…but in the race.”  As the last word exited his lips, so too the covering of the wood fell behind; and before him?…the last leg of the marathon; a mountain with a pleasant moniker (for others), but to the “athletes” it is simply known as “dumdristig,” which, translated, means…foolhardy.

On Sunday, last, we had, what I jokingly refer to as the Blizzard of ‘09.  Oh, we must have had an inch or two, but this was enough to raise the caution flag.  You see, we’re not used to a lot of snow around here.  We’ll get a few inches now and then.  But, generally, it’s a cause for concern and I, knowing the limitations of “Bubble Butt” (affectionate term for my vintage Roadmaster) I proceeded to shuffle some of the hibernating weights in the basement…to the trunk of said vehicle.  Yes, years ago I purchased the heavy rounds and proceeded to religiously “pump iron.”  That is, until my elbow let me know that a threshold had been passed.  Now, for the most part, they serve as a little extra “oomph” for the powered rear wheels and, even with the extra hundred pounds of ballast in the hold, I still proceeded to skate past the first stop sign (normally I would have thrown it in reverse, but I had a coffee mug in my hand).  “Physician heal thyself,” came to mind; as I had just given one of my boys the “how to” as far as winter driving goes.

Anyway,  this whole underwear bombing thing is like my two inch blizzard.  It reveals the weaknesses in the hardware (vehicle) and the software (mindset.)  I’m a little better prepared now.  But will this nation follow suit?  For surely…a real blizzard…is on its way.

That’s what I think.  How about you?  Click comments below…and say.

Reality Check

 

 

Reality
(by R.P.Edwards)

Recognize the danger
Pinpoint the disease
Strip away assumptions
Forget the “how to please”
Life demands confronting
Truth…the naked light
The battle, lost…with colors
To win:  Choose black…and white

Well, it’s been a few days since the Islamic terrorist tried to blow up the airplane on our beloved Christmas Holiday.   His method was a bit unusual (explosives in the underwear), and, since no one was actually hurt I thought perhaps I’d make light of the fellow by introducing this blog with a twisting of the old song, “Skip to My Lou.”  It would go something like, “Bomb’s in my underwear, what’ll I do?  Bomb’s in my underwear, what’ll I do?” And…it would degenerate from there.  Fortunately for both of us…I abandoned the project.

Now, I’ll not spend any time railing against the gaping holes in security, or the glaring disconnect in intelligence gathering and sharing; no, what disturbs me the most is the continued downplay of who the enemy actually is. Yes, political correctness continues to feign ignorance and apathy towards those who, predominantly, are Muslim Jihadists bent on the murder of non-believers.  And, since we choose to ignore this by ascribing a lesser or more lonely motivation; well, we’re inviting another death blow that will, no doubt, move us to action.  However, this “action” may very well remove not only the adversary…but, via the ballot box, those who are currently too timid to call them by their correct name.   

That's what I think.  How about you?  Click comments below...and say.

The Washington Dance

The Look Down
(by R.P.Edwards)

It must be
So very hard
To look down…from the hill
To see the rabble
And then to hear
Their voices…loud and shrill
To view the common…bumpkins!…boobs!
The represented few
Who dare to question
The people’s choice
Who dare to question…you
Yes, it must be hard
To downward gaze
While righting ancient wrongs
In crafting bills…progressives love
The stuff…of art and songs
Yes, it must be hard
This looking down
As you redefine the state
But not as hard
As looking back
To the founders
…whom you hate

As relationships go…it was a mandate.  Frank, who had always struck out with the winsome Veronica; well,  he now walked proudly with the “pretty as a model’ heiress of the grandest estate in all Alabama towards the annual dance which would put a fine “period” at end of the sentence that was this last, remarkable year.  Yes, Frank had always considered himself the “choicest” of males, but now that the lovely lady had finally come to her senses, well, wedding bells could not be far away.  Funny thing about relationships, the eyes are not always open...at least in the beginning.  No, this “view” is often clouded with hopes and dreams, and sometimes the wish to simply get away from the past...this too ads a softening filter.  However, a closer examination, along with a step or two, can be quite enlightening as to the compatibility of the couple.  And so it was with the "match made in heaven," Frank and Veronica.  Yes, by the end of the twirling, and shuffling, and stepping, and dips, well, the “one” who had entered…exited as two.  And, as the “wiser now” beauty walked slowly away (on the arm of a more compatible beau) Frank stood by the doorway (the party still in evidence behind) and shouted, “Hey, you chose me!  I have a mandate!  Come back here!  I’m not through dancing!”   

Tis the day after Christmas, and all through the house, most children are sleeping; and working?…my spouse.  And so I, pondering whether I should blather or not, looked at the headlines.  Yes, some zealot wanted to blow up an airplane, but, what’s this?  The CBO has calculated the cost of extending federal benefits to gay couples.  It’s a bunch.  And yes, if any such measure shows up on President Obama’s desk…he’ll sign it.

Oh, it is wearying.  The actions of the elite?  No…our ignorance of them.  Call me naïve, but I still believe that most of  America, when it comes to “values, mores, beliefs” is still on the side of tradition.  Whether it be babies in the womb, or couples at the alter, I think we, the ignorant masses, are closer to the view of our parents than those to whom we have unwittingly given a mandate.  So…let’s dance with them.  Let’s dance hard!  Let’s gaze into their eyes, their souls.  Let’s watch their every step and observe which way they lean, and how far they lean.  And then, when confident of their construct, if a suitable suitor taps in, let’s cut the dandy loose…and waltz the other way.

That's what I think.  How about you?  Click comments below...and say.

Parker Griffith and the Duck

 

 

If it quacks…
(by R.P.Edwards)

The waddle
The quack
And the visage
The “duck” thing…we all know
But politicians
Are just the same
Just look…
And you will know
It’s what they do
To back the words
That determines who…they be
So look for ducks…
To act like ducks
The truth…is plain to see

“Dr. Griffith! What are you doing!?”  [The setting: the O.R. at Capital Hospital.  The physician, an oncologist by the name of Parker Griffith, had been tirelessly battling the grotesque tumor for a little over a year, to no effect.  Without question the situation called for desperate measures, but the action taken; well, let’s just say…it stood the Hippocratic Oath on its head].  “Dr. Griffith!” the young intern anxiously repeated, “what are you doing?”  The surgeon paused, looked up briefly at the concerned assistant and, refocusing, continued the long and deep incision that would ultimately remove the huge mass from the host.  “Doctor!  The patient will die!  He can’t possibly survive so much trauma!”  Without hesitating, the fifty pound oozing lump was carefully removed and then placed in an incubator even as the expiring “patient’s” head was covered with a sheet.  A few moments later, as attending staff removed their masks and stood, with mouths agape, in a semi-circle around the chief surgeon…they heard the explanation.  “I had it all wrong,” he began (wiping his brow with an offered towel).  “For so long I was trying to save the thing that looked like the patient.  But in actuality (he paused to down a small paper cup’s worth of water) it was the “tumor” that was the human.”  Those in attendance looked to one another in amazement at the words, and then, composing themselves, centered their gaze once more as the surgeon continued.  “It took me a year to realize it, but the person I was trying to treat was actually a parasite; a clever and deadly imitation of the former Mr. Jefferson.  Finally, after carefully observing the effects of the supposed “cancer” I determined that “it” was the victim, horribly disfigured by a cruel charlatan.  Now, with the wounded safely in the incubator; well, I hope he can recover.  Perhaps, with unfailing attention…he will.”

In the news:  Democratic Representative, former oncologist, Parker Griffith, has changed allegiances from the donkey to the elephant.  I took a little time to check out his “official” site.  It appears, on the issues I care most about…that he’s closer to the republican ideal than a lot of republicans.  And, since the democratic leadership has taken a steep leftward tangent, he has jumped ship.  Well, not really.  The ship has transformed into a submarine and he wisely donned a lifejacket to keep from going under.  Good for him.  I only hope other likeminded dems do the same.  And, I also hope this man of conviction can administer some of the same medicine to the ailing others in the party of Lincoln.

That's what I think.  How about you?  Click comments below...and say.

The Shameful Senate

The Shameful Senate
(by R.P.Edwards)

Hurry! Hurry!
Before they think!
Ignore the nose!
Ignore the stink!
Swallow quickly!
No time to taste!
No time for palates!
No time to waste!
Quickly! Quickly!
In, and down!
Only smiles!
Never frowns!
Doing!
Laughing!
We have won!
For their own good
The deed is done!
And then they’ll know
They’ll all know why
Uncertain wings
Will lift and fly!
Yes, we believe!
Yes, time will tell!
Unless…we’re wrong
And usher…Hell

His name is Max.  He’s a Shiatsu; one of those little whitish dogs you see at shows where the fur is long and flowing and terribly cute.  Well, Max is not a show dog.  Oh, he’s not ugly, but that long hair thing; we gave up on that long ago.  Too much trouble.  In fact…a royal pain.  These days, to handle the locks (he‘s not a shedder), this middle aged pooch goes to the groomer two or three times a year (finances permitting.) 

You know, when certain dogs are puppies, they’ve got some nasty habits.  One is the, “I’ve got to eat it--no matter what “it” is--quickly, before they can stop me!”  Believe me, this “wolf it down” syndrome--so I’ve observed--can be downright gross.  And, since we’re talking about a dog; the consequences of the consumption…is never considered.

Well, in true puppy style the Senate is about to “eat it” in regards to the cobbled mess known as the Health Care Bill.  “Do it quick before anybody really understands it or considers the consequences!
And, after it’s eaten, it’s too late! Weee!”  Yes, in true “Stimulus” fashion our representatives will vote for the dream of universal healthcare; believing that the details will work themselves out over time.  But, just as the solemn vows of marriage are so often trivialized, so too this soon to be “consummated contract” is destined for, at the very least, disharmony. 

A while back I wrote a piece extolling the virtues of the slow-moving Senate.  I take it back.  But, having said that, I will not lay too much blame on the vote receivers.  No, they are just who the starry eyed American public wanted.  And now; now that the honeymoon’s over, we have to live with our decision.  At least until next November.  Perhaps then we can have a few of the unions…annulled.

That's what I think.  How about you?  Click comments below...and say.

I Got Mine!

I Got Mine!
(by R.P.Edwards)

I got mine!
And mine is fine!
I spent my time
Getting mine
And sure…there’s you
But you’re not me
And I don’t care for you…you see?
But as for me, and those of mine
Yes, thanks to me…we’re doing fine!
In fact I’d say…it’s quite sublime!
This mine, from me
From all my time.
But…too bad for them
Too bad for you
You should have followed
What I do!
Too bad you’ll sink
Too bad you’ll drown
Too bad the others spiral down
But as for me
But as for mine
We’ll laugh and float in bright sunshine
And in the end
When past our prime
And death’s a knockin’
And says, “It’s time”
Then they’ll lay my bod beside the pine
And at its head
They’ll place a sign
Which simply states my life’s opine…
“Above all else…I sure got mine!”

Let’s begin with two quotes by Senator Tom Harkin gleaned from the wire before a vote (early this day) to stifle Republican threats of a filibuster aimed at slowing down the Obamacare juggernaut.  "Today we are closer than we've ever been to making Sen. Ted Kennedy's dream of universal health insurance coverage a reality,"   "Vote your hopes, not your fears. Seize the moment."

On this brisk Monday morn, as I was straightening out the incredibly cluttered desk I sometimes work from in the basement, I received a call from my wife who was wheeling her way towards the job and heard on the radio that there was some kind of vote during the wee hours concerning a rebuffed republican stand.  I check the computer and…sure enough, the anemic minority was trying their darndest to stop the healthcare bill.  Nope.  It looks like this sugar coated cyanide pill is about to be popped.  And, I believe its ingestion will poison this nation…big time.

Now, let me point out, I’m not questioning the sincerity of the supporters.  Nor am I necessarily lauding the few who are finally beginning to “man up.”  But I just want to make an observation:  Last year a majority of Americans voted for a dream…“Hope, change, a new way of doing things.”  Well, it didn’t take long after the inaugural bash to realize that wishful thinking doesn’t necessarily translate to concrete “doing.”  And now, with a bill on the table that will literally touch us all, well, Mr. Harkin’s statement of voting your “hopes” means we're still in the same la la mindset. 

Here’s my point:  I’ve learned over time that wishful, hopeful thinking is fine up until the contract is signed.  After that…the saddle is applied…and you’re there for the ride.  I believe this bill is far too expansive and will do us ill.  Wishful thinking, or no, the hard realities will soon be upon us and if the Washington blizzard is an omen…then the snow job they received, will not compare with the one we’ll soon be subjected to.

The poem?  Dedicated to the sell outs.

That’s my opinion.  What’s yours?  Click comments below…and say.

No Bibles Allowed

The Bible Effect
(by R.P.Edwards)

Revered and honored
Hated…to shreds
Open…for all
Hidden ‘neath beds
Sought…for destruction
Sought…for true life
Effects
Never neutral
One…peace
And one…
Strife

The third grader gently lifted the lid to her desk and pulled out the book.  It was quiet time and, since she was allowed to read, she thought bringing her favorite “real” book to school would fill the time nicely.  Sure, like most kids her age she enjoyed the fantasies and funnies that her other friends were consumed with; but this book, her bible, was much more than those other, transient tales.  Indeed, by observing how much mom and dad loved it, and how the minister on Sunday was always quoting from it, well, it seemed only natural to become better acquainted with the pages.  But the main reason, was that it told about Jesus.  And this little girl…loved him.  It was disturbing, therefore, when the teacher, someone the child respected and even liked, walked up to her and demanded that the wonderful book be put away…because it wasn’t “appropriate.” 

On this Thursday morn, as I assisted in the send off of my spouse, I saw on the news how yet another public school teacher sought to reinforce the secular mindset by “banning the book.”  Of course, this individual was out of line (so says the Supreme Court…whoopee!) but I tire so of the whole separation of church and state nonsense.  Again:  God is mentioned four times in the Declaration of Independence.  The Constitution ends with the phrase, “in the year of our Lord” and, a simple review of the era when the document was written reveals Biblical principles being a necessary part of the A B C’s.  The convoluted route, it seems to me, whereby the black robed class have concluded that we are to be, when it comes to education “anti-God” (what is “secular,” if not that?) is, at the very least, inane.  The solution?  Vouchers.  Give me my portion and I’ll send my kids to an institution that reflects my values.  A place that teaches radical ideas like; don’t murder, steal, lie, or cheat on your spouse.  Where marriage is uncomplicated and sexuality…is safe.  And how about the most revolutionary idea of all…honor your father and mother.

That's what I think.  How about you?  Click comments below...and say.