Amphibology Adal (1)

   
   "Amphibology Adal (1)"
   
   Old Adal had learned the Pledge of Allegiance; plus, most of the Bill of Rights as a German immigrant launched into this wondrous web of woven America.  She didn't fly her old country's flag, but Betsy Ross' flag, remembering and having reflection upon the old ways, and thirteen already here, not seated at the table or born Nordic, but Fatima and the design of inviolate-white and cool-blue Dodging like an L.A. player in the outfield.
   She was 53 years of age, had a shotgun, merely a .410, but it would scatter some teeth, and make a squirrel into a pot of soup with one blast.  Living in Idaho she knew of much Native wisdom, adhering to not only the animism of true Americans, but old European folklore, of course, it gelled with the Trinity, her always chanting:  "Holy Trinity, One God--have mercy."  Knowing the Koran states not to put God next to the Gods; however, Saint Patrick's 3 leaf clover example displays it the best, for they are separated, yet ONE, the Father being the Crown; next, a 4 leaf clover, and you're talking the female phantom of luck known as the Virgin Mary.  But people have their heads in their phones, chasing robots, not knowing the SPIRIT is greater, forsaking Matthew 4:4, Christ bluntly saying:  "Man lives not on bread alone, but on every Word breathed from the mouth of God."  
   Adal was single, and she liked it that way.  Didn't want a yeast infection, or for John Barleycorn to resurrect her into a state of stupor, though she fancied the Green Knight, knowing decapitation puts Sir Gawain on an honorary quest for the totality of truth.
   Sad.  Every one has a nefarious agenda save the tradesman.  Sad.  Phony news.  Totally phony doctors.  Bush League schools.  But the welder always fits a pipe, baby.  And Adal cranked the fire, lit a cherry, and purified her lungs; next, exhaled prayers to the Father.  Her father.  And possibly yours too.  Perhaps . . .

Conan The Destroyer intro

Last supper

Birds and Baseball

   
   "Birds and Baseball"
   
   There are plenty flying phenoms as mascots in MLB.  Blue Jays that feed on eggs and can mimic the call of larger birds; plus, Cardinals that show us to take care of ourselves, yet counterpoise it with compassion for others; next, the Baltimore Oriole, 1 of 9 Oriole species in North America.
   Orioles generally are omnivores.  Their bill is aquiline, measuring to the same specs of their head, mostly.  Males generally taller than females.  Cal Ripken, Jr. could slam-dunk a basketball too; moreover, a sign that the hard times are over.  That the Sun is gonna rise on you 
   I wish they had a Grackle or a Robin.  Maybe a Raven would be nice too.  Anyway, wherever I go, I ask people:  "Do you like baseball?"  And they all explain that they enjoy going to live-action games, but ignore it on television.  I tell them to just make a hot dog and drink a beer, imagining that they're actually there.  We need to appreciate the game more.  One word:  CHARMING.  
   

Tim Tebow smacks home run in 2nd game for St. Lucie Mets

Kooky Lucy Frost (30)

   
   "Kooky Lucy Frost (30)"
   
   The crisp foliage of Fall had fallen, crunching beneath Kooky Lucy's feet as they pounded the asphalt ballet, her jogging, slowly, with a baby bump--walking swiftly would be wiser, as anthropological records indicate this was the way of archaic man; nevertheless, fuel to the internal toddler, already ignited with a sense of consciousness blooming, eating baby crackers, very crispy, within her hardly used womb, and the Bills of Buffalo had already won a few games, though her eyes were on the Browns; plus, Cleveland, her loyal pal, at her sneakers scurrying throughout the suburban sprawl, dynamite blowing here and there, America ever expanding, forgetting to control intercourse with prayer, crafting a deluge of delinquents, college like the credit card scams of the 80's and 90's, you not even able to rent VHS Tapes without one, and the poor man has a trade, like Christ, or mops up fecal matter, and so happy to hug his children, for him--the six pack is never cold, and reality television has not yet happened, for he has a retroactive reflection of radio and crystals, being off the grid of Facebook, and in the Heart of Christ, living not to serve a dollar, but only as James T. Kirk can't believe we're still using money; however, Kooky Lucy Frost had no regrets, loving Pap, Conor, Cleveland, her growing child locked within a graced womb, and mostly God, not minding the bizarre scenarios of blood types and agendas aged and outdated, for honesty and a path less traveled offers a fresh romp and roll for a junkyard dog with a tick collar, serving him best with fresh grass to mark his turf, Mother Earth letting him know, She can absorb it, for he is rooted in a Mother's sandals, them, as clean as a virginal whistle, never wheezing, but trumpeting the prophecy of a time terrific, when there is no change, and the rainbow's promise is returned eternal; as a result, Lucy smiled inside herself, and at the other precious life she housed within.  

Celtic Woman / Chloe Agnew - ''O Holy Night''