C.S.I. Xenia, or The Curse of Modern Television

It’s true what people say about localized crime, whether it be burglaries, vandalism, home-invasion or the more capital of crimes: you really don’t get the full effect unless you’re involved personally.  God forbid it should happen to you, but if it does, it’s amazing how quickly you can transform into a CSI detective.  Not until the advent of the CSI shows did anyone honestly believe that DNA analysis could possibly convict them of anything. Like the characters in the shows always say, you always bring something to a crime scene and you always leave something behind.

Tragically, we had a murder (though I doubt it was pre-meditated) at my apartment complex yesterday.  I awoke this morning to find that one of my perfectly-pampered mums had been completely slaughtered in the overnight hours.

Spawn of EMG

A Pome from Home can be quite a pest
like an electromyelography test;
though painful at times, its cause is quite good—
eliciting responses that you’d think it should.
Richly enrobed in melodious verse,
its glimmering surface belies its curse;
inviting and tempting, it pleases and irks
with neural convulsions and muscular jerks.
Perhaps not precisely what pomes ought entreat
is the knowledge that flows from which apple you eat;
the extraction of secrets both sacred and free
comes of testing a man with electricity.

Revenge of The Pome From Home

A Pome from Home is a delicacy
specifically written for you…by me.
The words are tenderly plucked at their peak
with studious thought to the havoc they’ll wreak
Violets are bluish and roses are reddish…
the truism here is that rhyming’s a fetish;
unless there’s a rhyme, the words are just prose
and prose is quite dry as everyone knows.
When rhyme is the rule and reason’s unsure
odds are that something’s amiss or impure.
Such basics as content will take quite a hit
from surgical placement of iambs that fit.

25% of July

Just wanted to take rein of the opportunity to say that getting ALL of something (if it’s something that you really want) is a really good feeling.  Sometimes, though, you have to settle for half…which kinda sucks because who really wants to share? Divvied THREE ways, whatever that something was looks not so appealing and makes you wonder whether it might not be better just to surrender your share and look to the next big thing.

However, for example, as I have three siblings, each of us is merely a quarter of the group that makes up the entity known as ‘us’. We’ve grown accustomed to scrabbling over the fallout of whatever and feeling good that we got SOMETHING instead of the alternative.

On THAT note, I’d just like to wish everyone a Happy Fourth (and wonder if anybody saw this shaggy dog ambling your way?)

Ode to Spring

O’  Spring has sprung, the tulips have bloomed…
the air has warmed and thoughts resumed
of pulling weeds and trimming shrubs…
and the paramount quandary: Sox or Cubs?

The Fish That Didn’t Get Away

Creator: LotusHead

Moses went out one day into the burning desert to look for what…a sign.  Something to reassure himself that he did indeed have a purpose on the planet and that his guide to salvation wasn’t just the product of folklore.  He got a burning bush, some clay tablets and a true insight into the benefits of high-SPF sunscreen. Me, I don’t have a desert handy when I go looking for answers.  I look more toward the commonplace altars for guidance…and no, I don’t mean the Internet.  The World Wide Web, as its very name implies, snags just about everything in its snare—you can find anything (or everything) if you go looking for it.  I opt for a somewhat lazier route toward illumination…I check the shelves of the marketplace.  I hit the candy aisles.

It’s Christmeese Time

Yes, dear friends, that time of year is nearly upon us again…hot cocoa and mittens, reindeer and jingle-bells, the annual tree-killing ceremony and yes, even the time-honored tradition of finding a home for a stray Christmas moose.  These wandering meese (that’s plural for moose, except in Canada where it’s spelled mousse) come in all shapes and colors and sizes, and are usually found grazing beneath various and sundry conifers or perched politely on a doorstep.  The phraseology that ‘the moose is loose’, however, should not be construed as a commentary on lovesick ruminants nor as a medical diagnosis of a bowel disorder, but rather as a straightforward (and straight-faced) statement on migratory habit.

I was fortunate this season to have been invited to a Christmeese Round-Up (as hunting really is unneccessary—they just stand there) and managed to bag my limit, as it were.  So, I am happy to announce that this year’s supply of meese is better than adequate.