ULYSSES and Urology

   
   "ULYSSES and Urology"
   
   If you experience pain in the scrotum, whether celibate and hairy, or sexually shaved for adulterous surgery--it is anguish ridden; moreover, if your Urologist hasn't read the metaphorical elongation of ULYSSES, comprehending the male attachment to his own corporeal equipment, however constructed; next, you might consider trusting in your faith, dealing patiently with having your urethra probed, or a simple yet terrifying ultrasound on your sacs of testosterone.  Sometime, all we can do is laugh at life's circumstances.  "Roll the dice and take your chances."  We all try to be like our heroes.  We better.   

Archie and Meathead on theology

   
   "Archie and Meathead on theology"
   
   We know Christ's Mother was inviolate, undefiled, Tower of Ivory; plus, House of Gold.  Possibly being from the Tribe of Levi; specifically, so pure and holy, having religious duty, able to approach the Ark of the Covenant back before Indiana Jones recovered it.
   And as Archie and Meathead bantered back and forth on an old ALL IN THE FAMILY episode, the topic of the Hebrews came up.
   Meathead said:  "Archie, Jesus was Jewish."
   Archie bluntly responded:  "Only on His Mother's side of the family."   
   Can we even talk like this anymore?  Is nothing funny save sloppy sex nowadays?  Look, there was only one perfect man--and you are not Him.  None of us are.  Till he arriveth again.     

Coyote Blue and the Kraut

   
   "Coyote Blue and the Kraut"
   
I have no real friends; plus, my Dad just died--
The Old Man got alcohol poisoning from issues driving him to transcend pie-eyed;
Regardless, he was a hard-working, steeled Pittsburgh man--
Left me a 1956 Chevy, which was not the plan
For Chevrolet--their 1955's and 1957's were the shit--
Oh yeah, it's 1958 Pittsburgh, and I'm not on a Flux Capacitor trip,
And my dog named Blue gives us great synergy,
Offering a playful, social activity,
Gravitating beyond phobias that used to keep me inside,
Where when Blue's Mom mated with a Coyote on the turf's joyride.
I've raised him since a pup, with an asymmetrical German mind,
Knowing Martin Luther is in Heaven, having followed Christ's mystical hind.
And my Mom named Michaela plays the part of the grieving widow,
A flaxen-haired lover of Bifrost--to the realm of the gods it does go.
Yeah, I dig my Catholic truths and pagan whispers from all of my life,
But having blonde hair and blue eyes in 1958--I'm always in a fight.
Especially since my name is German, and so am I--
Trust me, I'm a decent soul, but I've been served my humble pie,
But since Korea, I'm not that shy.   

Killer Tomatoes!

   
   "Killer Tomatoes!"
   
I'm fragile, easily fractured, and a bit bizarrely brittle;
Nonetheless, I eat sardines with soft bones, morphing myself beyond muscle--total gristle;
Alas, living, mostly, on bananas and good bacteria yogurt,
I honorably attempt to heal a gut feeling--never on instinct hurt.
Oh, how I'm freaked by:  RETURN OF THE KILLER TOMATOES!
Specifically, when George Clooney had synergy with B-Movies, residing in grottos.
Oh well, the tomato and its anti-oxidant zest does churn the burn;
Hence, I engage the elegant cucumber, and how with digestion it does peacefully learn.  

The Holy Spirit is feminine?

   
   "The Holy Spirit is feminine?"
   
Concerning grammatical gender,
The Holy Spirit, that Holy Dove, is an effulgent light so vivid yet tender;
Regardless, in Hebrew and Aramaic sound
It seems feminine, as if with God and Christ having gelled and been lovingly found;
Still, the Greek does neuter the word,
And in Latin, it is He being the "Helper" for the spiritually disturbed--
Saint Jerome around the 4th Century
Couldn't halt pondering dancing women so corporeally lovely;
Thus, he learned the Hebrew script,
Forging the Vulgate, further expressing that the Blood of Christ needs to be sipped.
At any rate of how the Holy Dove comes to thee--
The Paraclete is a comforter, not rotten fruit from a forbidden tree,
And there was a mystical man having a galactic twin--his name was Mani,
Possibly claiming to be the "Helper" that Christ said was holy luminosity;
Alas, they beheaded Mani; next, stuffed his body with straw,
Hanging it on a gate--many saw;
Regardless, we must all energetically love, floating above,
Like Noah's release of the platinum dove.   

Grandmas and Bullying

   
   "Grandmas and Bullying"
   
   Neither of my Grandmas accepted the humility of bullying; alas, Christ with the Crown of Thorns, meditation upon the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Holy Rosary and on that particular suffering equates to a love of humiliations; still, they, the elderly females, took no shit.
   Grandma King was English/Irish, and Dad told me she stood up to truculent neighbors armed with animosity concerning her slow-moving age--the steeled lady, holding her own.
   Grandma Bertha, had a witch bottle, like Nancy Reagan, potent with the forces of the Milky Way Galaxy, filling it with pins, needles, wine, and possibly a hefty urination.
  I adore the Irish and their Celtic Knot, that Endless, Mystical Transfiguration of Regeneration.  We must all be Doc Holliday at some point, even having a friend in Wyatt Earp, his cunning wisdom knowing that a gimp can gunslay the best of them, and that standing up for yourself against a wicked commentary aimed to take control and iniquitously aim your compulsions into a mortification of the senses beyond the Saints, well, that is hideous, and deserves Saint Patrick's wolfmake; plus, the shield and sword of Saint Michael himself, a fighting angel, armed with unearthly steel, like Tungsten, and beyond the scratch of defeat.     

Shamrocks, Werewolves, and Saint Patrick

   
   "Shamrocks, Werewolves, and Saint Patrick"
    
Saint Patrick--so infused with anagogic mystery and magic,
Yet not in a sense of sorcery cruel, like with a torturous, technological gadget;
Regardless, using the shamrock's singular bloom of THREE
To express the Divine Trinity,
And if a four-leaf clover is good luck--
Possibly, the Virgin Mother having a gel, being with God in a state of mystical moonstruck.
And did Saint Patrick morph Welsh King Vereticus into a wolf?
Moreover, was Ireland's glistening green once dubbed Wolfland, filled with many a wolf?
Archaeological evidence on Ice Sheet reverberation over 30,000 years ago:  
Across Continental Europe to Ireland did the wolves on paw pads go;
Nevertheless, there is a plethora of plenty about fabulous fable and magical more,
Concerning the truthful lore of the Emerald Isle--Her once downtrodden and poor,
Yet having the best bard in the 20th Century,
Penning better than the English with language weaponry--
Whatever, have a pint or two of beer and ponder the love of Our Lady,
Knowing in the United States, Notre Dame is a great school, offering awesome theological gravy.