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You can access more original limericks, poetry and lyrical parodies by clicking onto my poetry category.
Preface: My tardiness in posting my heartfelt sentiments is based solely upon my uncertainty that any mere words appearing here, on my indescribably obscure website, can make any real difference to anyone anywhere. Nevertheless… and better late than never… here goes…
In our world besieged by relentless, horrifically devastating, manmade ideological and meteorological storms, I’m certain of only three things…
Read more about it here.
You can access more original limericks, poetry and lyrical parodies by clicking onto my poetry category.
You can access more original limericks, poetry and lyrical parodies by clicking onto my poetry category.
As much as I loathe politicizing what, inarguably, is Ma Nature’s most magnificent display (yesterday’s solar eclipse over the North American continent) that astronomical event did present the perfect opportunity for us to armchair psychoanalyze an un-american [sic] so-called prez.
As seen in the above YouTube clip, little Donny stared directly at the sun… a YUGE [sic] NO-NO!
The one word question: WHY?
The three word answer: Ignorance… Arrogance… Defiance
To shed more light on that…
Ignorance: As is the case with too many of #45’s closed-minded, corrupt colleagues and cronies, he’s a know-nothing know-it-all. Such backwardness likely backdates to his salad days… when he was vegging out / sacking out in school classrooms… where… when he did open his eyes… he probably, openly, obstinately confronted each teacher with his Oh Yeah? You cannot possibly teach me anything ‘tude!
These days, there’s ample proof of his empty head. He incessantly screeches and rails out against time honored, basic scientific / medical principles… deems any factual media coverage of these disciplines to be “fake news.” A few examples…
There’s a direct correlation between usage of birth control and reducing the demand for abortion… mental illness and gun ownership make for a dangerous, deadly mix… global warming is manmade and, left unchecked, will eventually devastate Earth / render humankind’s home world uninhabitable. He cannot even grasp the obvious dangers of nuclear WMD. I kid you not… he actually had to ask, “If we have nuclear weapons why can’t we use them?” And, in keeping with my main blog topic… yesterday only confirms he doesn’t believe that staring at a solar eclipse can irreparably damage human eyes.
Arrogance: Stated quite simply, delusional #45 fancies himself as some sort of “god” and, as such, feels there are absolutely NO rules, which could ever, possibly, apply to him. He’ll flip off all theological commandments, economic safeguards and best practices, constitutional checks and balances and natural laws (inclusive of the fact that staring at a solar eclipse can irreparably damage human eyes).
Defiance: Probably the YUGEST [sic] reason #45 stared at yesterday’s eclipse was because SOMEONE HAD THE AUDACITY TO TELL HIM NOT TO… had forewarned him that staring at a solar eclipse can irreparably damage human eyes.
Now, in spite of the disagreements, we, the people of good conscience, have with #45 (and there are many)… despite his misogynistic, xenophobic, homophobic, religiously intolerant and avaricious attitudes, which make it damned near impossible for decent folks to “warm up” to him… believe it or not… we can still be compassionate. We must hope that, yesterday, #45 didn’t do significant damage to his eyes.
After all, long before yesterday’s solar spectacle, he already had considerable trouble seeing humanity and our world clearly. Indeed, his vision for America’s / the world’s future has been myopic. And far worse, his admin has been akin to an autocracy, which by its very nature, severely lacks the level of optimism, decency and transparency, which only sunshine can provide.
No doubt about it… #45 needs to stick his Dark Ages dictatorship where the sun don’t [sic] shine!
You can access more original limericks, poetry and lyrical parodies by clicking onto my poetry category.
Preface: For the past twelve years, I’ve called four social network communities home… have befriended countless bloggers who’ve frequently expressed their dissatisfaction with life… two of them at the point of wanting to end their own lives. In both instances, we, their friends/followers, had hopefully, permanently, comment box counseled them into changing their minds; persuaded them to choose life. Even so, I’ve oft wondered about the (not so) strong silent types, who’ve never blogged their cries for help.
If you are someone who is suicidal, know that help is always available. Crisis Center telephone numbers, worldwide, can be accessed by CLICKING HERE.
I’m also presenting the following, hopefully helpful, “real feel” fiction. Written in the more gender neutral, first person singular, this might facilitate everyone seeing life through my protagonist’s eyes?
Of course it’d be far too easy to misconstrue the “I” word to be referring to me, so let me emphasize that it’s my main character who is suicidal. That said…
Let our (your?) story begin…
Preface: My warmest wishes and welcome to all on this brand new day. I’ve committed my story to this word document in the weeks leading up to my demise. So sorry my tripping down memory lane must start off on a rocky road but trust me, there’ll be several unexpected detours before story’s end. That said…
Throughout most of my life, I was assaulted in various ways. Childhood’s playground bullies mercilessly, verbally punched me out. Adolescent skin problems “punched” me in the face. Adulthood’s workplace time clocks punched me out, too, by enslaving me; emotionally shackling me to non-union, non-living wage, life sucking, dead end jobs; my labors being absolutely alien to my more creative talents.
Not the best way to get into a “I love life”, “let’s party hearty” mood, eh?
Indeed, each post-workday “happy hour” involved crying in my beer. Misery loves company they say? Don’t count on it! In fact, many a time I drank alone; sometimes to excess. Although I had escaped alcoholism, chronic depression did set in. Eventually, a suicidal death seemed to be the perfect gift for the person who, at first glance, seemed to have nothing.
It had been on the day just prior to what might’ve been my last day on Earth, when I got the opportunity to take a second glance. It had been my own mother, who had, unknowingly, come to my rescue.
On that pleasantly sunny, summery, late August afternoon, she had phoned me; asked me to stop by the old homestead to help my father complete some much needed, routine household maintenance. Needless to say, I’d do anything to help my folks. And I’d be totally competent, too, since my handyman dad had successfully taught me all he knew.
Fortunately, it had taken several hours to complete these mundane tasks, for it was while we chatted, at times even reminisced, where something far more meaningful had occurred; my realization that I could never abandon my aged and ailing folks. Suicide averted postponed.
However, it was many years after my folks had passed away when I began to suspect that helping them had been my only purpose in life; discovered that my having been selfless to a fault was at fault; had played a significant role in creating my self-destructive state of mind.
You see, while being their caregiver, I had neglected to take care of myself; had let life’s parade truly pass me by. Family, friends and old co-worker contacts were long gone. Worst of all, I hadn’t paid enough attention to a potential soul mate; thereby squandering my last chance for love, marriage and parenthood?
Topping my list of worsts, this time around, there could be no eleventh hour communing with my parents to snap me out of my deep blue funk. Or could there?
On yet another pleasantly sunny, summery, late August afternoon, I found myself, once more, plotting my own death. However, it was while tying up many of life’s loose ends (in particular, loading up the recycling bin for the very last time), when I just happened to pick up a still unread, three-month-old newspaper. Despite the fine layer of dust, a front-page story headline instantly grabbed my attention.
The reportage focused on a suicidal person who had had an “exit Earth” MO eerily similar to mine; that troubled soul winding up a paraplegic who retained just enough awareness to realize the old reality had been far better than that new, bedridden alternate reality.
Stunningly, that story had not ended there. That newspaper had a very specific dateline; none other than the anniversary of my late mother’s birth! In jaw dropping disbelief I realized that, once again, my mom, even in death, had, somehow, found a way to save my life.
Knowing I always did my best thinking while traipsing through wilderness settings, in the weeks ahead, I set forth on many sunrise, Sunday nature walks. With autumn rapidly approaching, I eventually revisited my favorite park; where a recent springtime windstorm had toppled a centuries old oak tree.
While seated on a nearby bench, listening to the white noise of a babbling stream and the off in the distance church bells ringing, I marveled at the persistence of life. In barely two Earthly seasons, this once mighty, towering oak’s still viable root system had transformed that massive stump into a densely leaved shrub. If a mindless tree wanted to live why shouldn’t I?
Turned out someone else shared similar feelings.
“That oak just won’t give up,” the approaching, cheerful sounding voice first stated and then asked, “OK if I join you?” Looking up, I replied with my smile and vertical nod. We quickly exchanged introductions and other pleasantries; eventually conversing as if we’d been lifelong friends.
Was it just my imagination or was love at first sight, maybe even love eternal, in the air? Were my feelings mutual or destined to be unrequited; nothing but wishful thinking? Well, it didn’t take long to find out. One year later, with that surviving oak’s lush foliage providing Mother Nature’s backdrop, we were exchanging our out-of-doors “I dos.”
Within that short span of time, my spouse’s circle of friends had become my own; two of them proving to be valuable literary contacts; folks who could and did transform my ages old writing career fantasy into my new reality. Indeed, this freelancer’s essays were getting published, regularly, in a slew of e-mags and in print periodicals.
Before we celebrated our third wedding anniversary we had, twice, become parents. What a joy it has been to eyewitness our own combined, microscopic DNA manifesting itself in macroscopic ways; allowing us to observe all the developmental stages of our children’s lives; their imaginative, carefree, pre-school playtime; their scholastic and extracurricular successes; their career triumphs; their seeking and finding soul mates, falling in love, marrying and starting families of their own.
On yet another pleasantly sunny, summery, late August afternoon (now decades later), I realized how the thinning calendar was analogous to autumn rapidly closing in on my own life.
While gazing out our bedroom window, with the sun sinking beneath the horizon, I considered how we all start out restricted to the confines of the womb and our eventual cribs; how (if all is well) our first baby steps, in time, become steady enough to take us wherever we choose to go. Naturally, life’s circle inevitably winds up closing in on itself. First we’re limited to sticking around in our hometowns. Next we stop venturing past our neighborhoods and yards. Towards the end we become shut-ins rarely leaving our hospital / hospice guard railed beds; those, which so closely resemble our days of yore barred cribs. At the very end our remains/cremains wind up in our tombs. As for our souls? Well, what we believe or choose not to believe is left up to each individual.
And, indeed, with old age asserting itself, my final days were now closing in. Just as with newborns, my sleeping hours were beginning to far outnumber my wakeful moments. At that juncture I could no longer be seated at my computer keyboard. I’d have little choice but to merely envision how my final moments of life would be playing out.
I did ask my spouse to read my story after I had died; to comment on, and edit these final paragraphs wherever necessary; i.e., to tell you all how close my predictions (which now follow) were to the actual occurrences.
Spouse’s Commentary: In all honesty, I did read my beloved’s fine essay well in advance. It was my heartfelt intent to ensure my spouse’s final moments would meet (perhaps even exceed) as many expectations as possible. True it’d be impossible for any mere mortal to confirm every element but, my being a spiritual person, I harbor no doubts. That having been said, let’s continue.
Just as my physician had surmised, with only the minimal administration of meds, my natural death’s final moments were now playing out as an eyes-wide-open, relatively pain-free, peaceable cessation of life; where my loving spouse, children, grandchildren, relatives, friends, colleagues and other well-wishers had all assembled to see me off. We fondly reminisced and even managed to crack a few jokes.
Indeed, from my having so selflessly “been there to the very end” for both of my parents, all of that good karma had now come back to me; more than a thousandfold.
As a stray tear of joy streamed down my nine decades, wrinkled cheek, I could taste its saltiness on my lips. With a sense of awe, I gazed upon the vast sea of familiar faces; both earthbound and those who now awaited to welcome me in the great beyond. As my spouse leaned in for our “till we meet again” farewell embrace and kiss; our last exchanged dialogue involved the three best words two deeply caring souls have ever expressed to each other:
“I Love You!”
While inhaling Earth’s sweet oxygen for the very last time, I could feel my facial muscles forming my wide grin. I did experience one final, unexpected sensation; my shudder of horror as exhaled my very last words:
“Oh, the truly marvelous, joyous life I had, twice, nearly thrown away!”
Crisis Center telephone numbers, worldwide, can be found by CLICKING HERE.
Check out this phone chat between the un-american, so-called prez (#45) and his spooky kindred spirit, Guam Governor Eddie Calvo.
Admittedly, the schoolboy giggle-fest vid… below… even clocking out at a paltry 3:18… is still a YUGE [sic] waste of time. Moreover, who’d even want to watch as both of these jerks verbally “jerk off” each other? But not to worry, you can still scroll down to quickly read a summarizing transcript…
“Eddie, I have to tell you, you’ve become extremely famous. All over the world, they’re talking about Guam, and they’re talking about you, and I think you’re going to get tourism. I can say this, your tourism, you’re going to go up like tenfold with the expenditure of no money, so I congratulate you.”
My reaction…
OMG!!!! Does #45 actually envision everyone eagerly packing their bags and booking flights / Carnival Cruises™? Everyone dying to become sitting ducks, dead center, at a potential nuclear ground zero?
And were North Korea’s Kim Jong-Un to ever launch an attack, does Amerika’s so-called prez fantasize about tourists mindlessly snapping smiley-faced selfies with billowing mushroom clouds as their backdrop? Everyone partying till they puke? Well… if binge boozing wouldn’t be enough to induce “survivors'” vomiting, the radiation sickness certainly would.
True, I cannot speak for everyone, but, with a thermonuclear exchange just one Twitter stormer’s antagonizing Tweet away… so long as we have two enraged, flabby, flaccid hotheaded world “leaders” with their grubby little hands poised over “The Button”… I certainly would NOT be putting Guam at the top of my list of trendy, all the rage hotspots to be visiting.
And, were I someone who called Guam “home sweet home”, any travel plans I’d be making, MOST ASSUREDLY, would be to join the let’s-get-the-F-out-of-here, we-all-had-better-run-for-our lives exodus.
Not since post 9/11 George W. Bush had recommended Americans “Get down to Disney World in Florida. Take your families and enjoy life, the way we want it to be enjoyed” have I ever heard such a greed driven, out of touch with reality, insensitive and blasé attitude.
Of course, the present-day, so-called prez’s state of mindlessness is far worse because the more tourists he encourages to visit Guam, the higher a nuclear war’s death toll would be.
One has to wonder… while the tensions between North Korea and Amerika remain unresolved… will #45 be stupid enough to accept Calvo’s invitation to visit Guam?
You can access more original limericks, poetry and lyrical parodies by clicking onto my poetry category.
You can access more original limericks, poetry and lyrical parodies by clicking onto my poetry category.
CommonSenseTom 