Shelley: Entitled Thunderbird

   "Shelley:  Entitled Thunderbird"

   Shelley wended her weird way to Oklahoma, having great reverence for an approaching storm, using organic tobacco to purify her corporeal portion of fungi-like mites; next, while not giving a Cherokee's actual dance, as she wasn't infused with the total memories of the spirited people, she offered her Christian praise to show even more reverence to the awesome Thunderbird--So Alive with lightning in Its Eyes, and the storm did pass, morphing into Luna's feminine reflection of a Sun's kiss.
   Shelley, like all beneath the Throne of God save those symmetrically built like unto God, or the One Who was begotten, had had sin; on the contrary, pointing to the Christ-Man, and ever-questing towards Him and Absolute Truth, she was redeemed.  Yet as a Paladin, she was prone to great violence even; however, would not resort to using poison, nor dirty tricks, being merely a heart-stabber in times of war.
    When the lucid lesson exacted culmination, she rode the fossil-fuel burning light of a Ford Mustang's life-giving energy, an 8-Cylinder, roaring by way of two mufflers offering high-powered outtake--if ya know what she means.
   Away from the cowboy geography, back in the southern drawl of certain situations, she imbibed only the sublimity of all things, discarding any dastardly determination to bring her down, being fashioned by God Almighty in her own unique mold.
   She went to a tavern, and even as a classy lady, she was allowed the mildly sober effects of two golden brews, offering the bar wench, a term of two-beer endearment, a mercurial burp that seemed to escape from a source of momentary jocularity, and all was way cool and well, her wearing her battle scars without pride or shame, and believing that was the single reason she never needed to get a tattoo--not even of an angel.  For her angel was a warrior father, who endured more than his proper portion, and she was the rebellious child, who always kept that adored patriarch alive with her eternal heartbeat, hearing it always, like mighty Samson pounding the Earth better than a rock and roller's beating drum.

Shelley: Notes

   "Shelley:  Notes"

   A Mother in Russia.  Saving.  America sees through trickery.  Or Lady Liberty does.
   Host no school, shapely; specifically, innate gifts, beyond the phony degrees of a thermometer; plus, can't entertain as does true girth and grit.
   The codes.  Inherited.  Passion.  One god; next, for us--if we could see:  Orthodoxy = Transfiguration.  
   Did Vonnegut know?  Maybe Dick?  Gospels:  Blake, Jefferson, Tolstoy.
   Brothers Karamazov, minus the cunning bastard child.  Maggie Cassidy.  Twain and Tesla make TNT.  They say his white suit is on a starship now.  Jack London knew how to do it.  Make us more like him.  

Ice Blossom

   "Ice Blossom"

   Shelley ventured on, after the Sasquatch scenario, of course, a platinum blonde beauty never betraying herself, not giving an acquiesce due to a self-love, yet transcending soul preservation, though not Vulcan-like, knowing:  "The needs of the empathetic outshine the needs of the wasted collective."  Where the hell was Bones when you needed him, that cranky bastard, so pissed at bus boys and lollygagging servers, especially the waitress who inserts a sewer sour booger in your roasted duck, though the bird was plucked properly.
   Little Rock had a cruel division, proper in the form of a fading America.  A separation of man due to forged history.  Yet when America falls; next, goes Israel--and that seems the insidious attempt, not of James T. Kirk time-traveling to save the mammalian whales.
   Shelley just knew:  She needed a muscle car for this southern-fried rodeo.

Canis lupus arctos in Akansas

   

   "Canis lupus arctos in Arkansas"

   Shelley offered no care for murder and false testimony, being in a perpetual state of trans-corporeal struggle herself--or not.  Possibly, she was playing the dastardly bullies contained within the live-action theater of her magnanimous mind, often feeding a radioactive Godzilla some chilled-out breath mints, making it a bit bodacious for the monstrous fella to maybe French kiss a fellow mutation.
    Moreover, Shelley could not dismiss injustice, nor did the Lone Ranger and a galloping Silver, for as the Chinese proverb does instruct:  "For evil to prevail--all it takes is a good man to do nothing."  And in Shelley's cool case--it was a shape-shifting dame, able to pronounce herself true on the frozen terrain, looking straight into the frigid wind, imbibing the frosty struggle, for what is life without challenges, as all Old Testament giant slayers are aware.
   So, down in the dirty south, yet Hog Heaven was about to be famous, for no other State in the Union grew such an amount of Quartz Crystals, and the days of old never left man, man just forgot his transfigured portion offered by a Good God.
   Shelley thrust her cascade of platinum hair over her right shoulder, remembered those that were terribly tortured, and would always remind the delinquent darkness, that the Stars Above are a constant bitch, as was she, in a sublime sense of being a luminous lady.   

Jamming Aunt Mitzy

Blood money?

Angry people (Michael Clayton VS Karen Crowder)