Mamamontezz's Mental Rumpus Room

The Master's Loving Touch

A dear friend of mine, my mentor in a lifestyle as well as in life, on Friday suffered the loss of His first teacher in the ways of the Master. Saddened at His death, my Mentor wrote this to honor the man who lead Him, guided Him, and taught Him the ways of the Dominant.

It is a beautiful window into the life that is the Master and Mentor.

The old Dom lay upon his deathbed, his body worn and gray,
His sons, students and submissives gathered about him,
Though long they had dreaded this day.
He knew that his long journey was almost done,
And that now it would end.
He looked into the eyes of those he loved
And knew of no better way this time to spend.
"My sons, students” he said to them, "My time is growing short.
I ask of no tears on my grave.
I was never that sort.
I have no need for a memorial,
Save what i give unto you.
Let not the lesson that i have taught you vanish like the morning early dew,
For you my Brothers are Dominants....the ones to whom they bend their knee,
With downcast eyes and yearning souls and so brightly soaring needs,
For the submissive woman is like unto no other
In her mind, her body and soul.
For her the journey is rocky and harsh,
But she will have no other road.
That road is fraught with peril,
Their path at best a bitter sweet run,
A lonely, soaring, searching need to find the truly Dominant one
To cast away the wannabes, the abusers and the cruel.
To find the one that she can serve,
And not be seen as less when she calls him ‘Master’
As she kneels in from of his chair.
For with that title there come a trust that no 'nilla can understand,
To take her mind, her heart and soul and mold it with the Masters hand
To protect her against all the world, be she right or wrong,
To love her enough to discipline her into the cold and night regardless of the cost
To bring forth from her the beauty that the truth was always there,
Had any the eyes which to see,
To show unto her the hardest truths,
How a chain can make you free
And how a woman that is kneeling, can stand above the rest.
And how to have the strength to offer her submission can be the hardest test.”
He felt a chill pass thru his heart,
And knew his time had come.
It was time to leave this mortal Earth,
His allotted time over.
And as the darkness closed around him,
He bid it to stay a moment more
And gasped a last quick message unto his sons, his students and his mate.
“In leather have i lived my life and in leather i die.
The leather that bonds us unto the other...
A bond as true as the cycles of the earth.
For in leather we are a family...
A bond that none save us can break.
Dom and sub, we stand together as one,
Each with a thirst for the other to taste.
Learn and teach the rules my friends and forget not the old ways
As I have taught them unto you.
Welcome the newbie, gather them in.
Protect them as once I did you,
Be their shelter against the storm of the world
That would destroy them without a care for them.
And from wherever I am,
Be it heaven or hell,
I will be proud of the fruit that my teachings have brought.”
With a tug in his arm he could say no more,
And Death did claim him that day as its own.
He cast off the old and weary flesh
And looked back upon what his words had sown
And saw them standing there, tall and proud,
Or kneeling without shame.
Both Dom and sub, each in there place,
Both proud to bear the name.
He looked into the dark clad angels face and said,
"All is as it should be.
The Doms will protect them unto their last breath,
The subs are proud to bend their knee.
I have done all i can do here, I see nothing left undone.
The journey now is over, the battle fought, the final race done.”
And as he left the lowly earth, he looked back one last time
And bid a silent and soft farewell to those he left behind,
And he turned and left them there.
He knew with all his heart that what he had created
Would never tarnish or rust
For within each of them he had left
The Loving Master's Touch.

Untitled

I wish that I could come for you
To take your lovely hands,
And you would follow through your door
And into virgin lands.
I’d come to you with cedar chests
By satin ropes entwined,
Bejeweled with opals filled with fire
And carved, richly designed,
Heavy with garments of leather soft
And of the finest lace,
With gowns of light and sheerest silk,
Smooth as your youthful face.

Then from your father’s home you’d come
And take your place with me.
On carpets spread beneath my feet,
You’d rest on bended knee
To feel my hand upon your cheek,
And know you hold my heart
Within your sweet and tender hand,
A work of heaven’s art.
In darkest night you’d lay with me
Upon my cushioned bed,
To rise each gray and rose-washed morn
And by the sun be wed.

When long our lives had been as one
As though one heart we shared,
Rejoicing in the blessed truth
That we alone are paired,
I’d take you for my chosen one
And on your neck I’d place
A circlet, smooth, of finest gold
In permanent embrace.
With this light band, you would be bound
Forever to your one,
And you would be the moon to me
And I, your blazing sun.

Lena's Boyfriend Blues

Lena loved that upstairs neighbor man.
Lena loved that upstairs neighbor man.
She gave him lov'ns
Ev'ry day.
She gave it all,
that was her way.
Lena loved that upstairs neighbor man.

Lena was a woman who'd been scorned.
Lena was a woman who'd been scorned.
Her lover found him
a new girlfriend,
and then told Lena
that it was the end.
Lena was a woman who'd been scorned.

Lena wouldn't let her lover go.
Lena wouldn't let her lover go.
He stole her heart,
and he used her body.
When he moved along,
He treated her shoddy.
Lena wouldn't let her lover go.

Lena put her lover in the ground.
Lena put her lover in the ground.
She put her gun
Up against his head.
Two trigger pulls,
and he was dead.
Lena put her lover in the ground.

Lena loved that upstairs neighbor man.
Lena loved that upstairs neighbor man.
She gave him love
Ev'ry single day.
But when he tried to leave,
she took it all away.
Lena loved that upstairs neighbor man.

Did I tell you...

Did I tell you today that I love you?
Was you able to tell just how much?
Could you feel my subliminal kisses?
In your dreams did you feel my soft touch?

Can you feel how your love wraps around me,
how it warms the sad frost from my soul?
Have you noticed the way you refresh me
when dark sadness has taken its toll?

Do my songs drift to you as you're sleeping?
Have they told you I cherish you so?
Have our hearts danced in daydreams and sunshine,
entwined as they sway to and fro?

Can you hear all the joy that you bring me?
Did you know you were sent from above?
Please, know how I value your friendship,
and cherish your sweet, tender love.

Bonnie Sue's Demise

There once was a cow named Bonnie Sue,
Who tripped in a hole and became a stew.
So tender was her meat,
They even ate her feet.

Good Master decried her awful break,
then settled right in to enjoy a steak.
He prayed she'd found relief,
then calmly picked his teeth.

Poor Mistress, collapsed upon the stoop,
was quickly revived by the beefy soup.
She prayed for Bonnie's soul,
Then had another bowl.

Old Reverend was quick to make a call
As soon as he heard about Bonnie's fall.
"She's in great heaven's host.
Please pass a bit of roast."

The cowherd's whole day was filled with strife
'Til dinner when sadly he took his knife.
He carved a juicy slice,
And ate it in a trice.

Sweet milkmaid, she sobbed at Bonnie's fate
While sopping the gravy upon her plate,
She moaned a little moan,
then tossed a knuckle bone.

Their children all wailed and loudly cried
The day that the tanner took Bonnie's hide,
But how could they refuse
New, shiny pairs of shoes?

Then just as sure as Mistress was born,
The prettiest buttons of polished horn
She stitched upon the breast
Of Master's favorite vest.

The kittens and cats, when news got round,
Cried out with a terrible yowling sound,
And pitched an awful gripe,
Then settled down to tripe.

Poor Bonnie Sue never stood a chance
The moment she faltered at Nature's dance.
For such a lowly beast,
She surely was a feast.

____________________________________

Okay, so it's a silly little rhyme, a trifle, a bit of fluff. Sometimes, that's exactly what is necessary to get one's mind off more serious matters and infuse a little lighthearted fun into an otherwise busy, full-moon Monday.

Slippery Slope

Since money’s tight and times are dire
With health costs mounting ever higher,
Care givers find one way to cope:
Push Gramma down the slippery slope.

So she is well with no diseases
That would take her home to Jesus.
Tell all the world there is no hope
And push her down the slippery slope.

Just put her in a friendly hospice
And hope her family doesn’t notice.
Pull out her tubes and up the dope
Then push her down the slippery slope.

Although most people will decry it,
There is a judge who won’t deny it.
Who cares if it’s outside his scope?
He’ll push her down the slippery slope.

Her Living Will should be no issue,
It’s worthless as a soggy tissue!
You’ll never have to fear the rope
So push her down the slippery slope.

You’ll think one day, perhaps your last one,
With Gramma you pulled off a fast one.
Think you’re safe? I daresay “Nope!”
It’s you who’s on the slippery slope!

In case you don't know what this is about, I suggest you make a quick round of the 'sphere. The Commissar has thoughts, as does the Emperor

Haiku

Locked in refuge,
hidden from the outside world,
dark freedom beckons.

Lips gape in pleasures
moist, deep and darkly profound.
Day of submission.

Eyelids aflutter,
blinking back Ecstacy's tears,
lost in the moment.

Ego overcome,
passion overtakes the soul
and inflames the flesh.

Breasts pressed onto sheets
in temporary abode
face hidden in hair.

Firm hands grasping hips
naked, white, raised, accepting.
Begging for release.

Pleasure warmly floods
from wells unsought, neglected.
Refreshed, free flowing.

Surrender

In silence and trembling in Nature's dress,
Impatient yet still, I sit here and wait
With tender white loins longing for their fate.
My deep carnal thoughts lead to sweet duress,
Anticipating your firmest caress.
Dark, animal, deep and driven to mate
Primordially, in wild bestial state,
The primitive hearts deep within our breasts.
Yes! With the arrival of my desired
I'm consumed in blazes by absence fired.
Please come to me before I can falter,
And take me upon your linen altar.
Release me, Sir, from earthly contrition
And liberate me through my submission.

__________________________________

Doggerel Pundit has been my poetry mentor and teacher for several months now, and has helped me immensely with the technical aspects of my poetry. As part of this, he has given me the assignment of writing twelve sonnets. Honestly, I bridle under the strict structure of the sonnet, but I'm trying.

One sonnet down, eleven more to go.

Rats Out

Skittering through unlocked door,
Making your way down to the floor,
Moving in manners rodentine,
Freedom for ratties, so divine!

Under the sofa, round the chair,
'Twixt the loose pillows, on the stair,
Into the bedroom, through the toys,
Curious wonders, steeped with joys.

Pestering cats along the way,
Pausing for naps and meals and play,
Fanciful pleasures keenly sought,
Wrestling matches bravely fought.

Ruckus and tussle, squeek and squeal,
Patter and scatter, taste and feel,
'Til Mistress sees you've run away,
Having Rat Independence Day.

Traitorous cats betray your lair.
(Felines are hardly ever fair!)
Spying you, she puts up a chase,
Capturing you in young embrace.

Another time will come, and soon.
Just bide your time. One night or noon
Fortune will smile upon you, then
Freedom will find you once again.

Spring

I heard the robins hollering
And spring is soon to follow. Sing
From slender limbs in naked trees
While snowflakes, Winter's final tease
Blanket the grass in fragile lace,
A dainty veil across her face.
Cocking his head and listening long
To hear the earthworms' silent song
From deep within the waking earth.
Seldom is Spring an easy birth.
With steady winds and driving rain
Weeping and whispering in her pain.
Yet still through labor's harsh embrace,
With Sun's caresses on her face,
Spring comes. Each year she is reborn
From winter's womb one gentle morn,
Gazing up at the warming sky
While robins sing her lullaby.

Ah, the smell of Flop Sweat...

Ah, Academia, methinks you have met your match.

Dearest Emma, your protests have gotten to the point of being comically absurd, and I am not the only one to find them as such, laughable and pathetic in their outrage. Particularly amusing was your pretentious and incorrect use of the word "mouldy." I still laugh when thinking of that, particularly coming from an Esteemed Academic.

The Doggerel Pundit, he who's verse is consistantly delicious and wickedly on point, has found you so as well.

And if some of you have not gotten him into your blogrolls, now is a prime time to do so.

Haiku

Clandestine coffee
Pulls me from my nice warm bed.
Possibilities.

Snug in winter coat,
Anticipatory drive
with mind wandering.

I am Churchill

To the tune of "I Am Woman":

I am Churhill, I'm a bore.
I know you've heard it all before,
But I love myself too much to shut my Yap
'cause I'm hateful to the core,
which makes the moonbats love me more
Every time I start another loonie flap.

Oh, yes I'm an Ass
but it's Assdom rightly earned
My mind is a morass,
my neurons dead and burned
If I want to, I can spout anything
I am wrong
I'm indefensible
I am Churchill!

You can hate and reprehend me
but my students will defend me
ever anxious to receive a passing grade
and I'll yell my venom longer
cause my tenure makes me stronger
Until my 15 minutes starts to fade

Oh, yes I'm an Ass
but it's Assdom rightly earned
My mind is a morass,
my neurons dead and burned
If I want to, I can spout anything
I am wrong
I'm indefensible
I am Churchill!

I am Churchill, hear me spew
hear me blame it all on you
as I spread my vitriol across the land
And I'll spout until I'm blue
and not a word of it is true
the fires of hate burn brighter when they're fanned.

Oh, yes I'm an Ass
but it's Assdom rightly earned
My mind is a morass,
my neurons dead and burned
If I want to, I can spout anything
I am wrong
I'm indefensible
I am Churchill!
Oh I am Churchill
I'm indefensible
I am Wrong!

Chapter 25

Here's the latest chapter of the book. I think that in another few chapters this will finally be finished in its first draft. Things are pulling together for the final confrontation with the terrorist, and things could get exciting from this point.

Enjoy. Feedback appreciated. Trust me, I know it's not perfect, so if you see some glaring problem, let me know.

“How long before he realizes you’re not Glenn?”

Beth looked long and hard at “Glenn” as he sat at the back of the stage. They had gone through their entire circle looking for someone to impersonate the mighty blogger, and at nearly the last minute had decided on Darth. The competition had been close, though, but George had refused to shave off his beard, thus eliminating him.

“I don’t know, Mike,” answered Darth through the small mike he wore under the collar of his golf shirt. “As long as the lights stay the way they are, and I can keep this Indiana Jones hat on, we stand a chance of pulling this off… I wonder how hard it would be to turbo-charge one of these scooters, anyway?”

“What’s he doing?” Beth had the disadvantage of having her back to the table where Quinn sat, nonchalantly sipping a coffee and biding his time.

“Nothing at the moment, Beth.” Mike, too, sipped a coffee and used his position across the table from Beth to observe Quinn discretely.

“I still think we should have used George as the decoy” complained Darth. “Think of the fun of shaving off that beard.”

Beth smiled and shook her head. “Yes, perhaps, but I prefer to think of him, beard intact, staking out the ballroom where the gay bloggers are having their cotillion and drag show.”

Then from the stage, “He’s on the move!”

Mike picked up his coffee cup and looked around the room as though looking for a waitress. After a few seconds, he put down the cup and watched as Quinn started away from the table and toward the exit into the atrium. Quickly he pulled his secondary cell phone and speed-dialed a number. “He’s on the move, do you have R2?... Contained and concealed?... And the vest?... Excellent. Out.”

“I hope that’s good news” said both Beth and Darth like some cellular Greek Chorus.

“Good for a start, anyway. Geoff’s in custody and on his way to a holding cell. Our final worry is this Quinn. We still have to get him with enough for a successful prosecution. So far, what we have can’t be directly tied to him. He could always claim it was the Reynolds kid, and we all know how a good defense lawyer can work even an open and shut case.”

“I still vote for the headshot,” Darth mumbled. Beth nodded in tacit agreement. “It’s just not worth the risk, especially during a state of declared war. We don’t need a poster child for wannabes.”

“I agree. I just have to consider the potential for gaining intelligence, too. If I thought we could get anything viable from either Glenn or his boy, I’d cap that son of a bitch myself. At this point, though, we need to get an arrest.”

“That sucks. That really sucks.”

Beth looked back toward the main doors. “Mike, looks like another problem.”

Charging toward their table was Valerie, more leading than being led by Sisyphus. Her hair was disheveled, and she looked beyond upset. She walked straight over to Mike, sat down, and leaned in to whisper “We have a really big problem. We need to take this shit out right now. We have to end this right now!”

Darth and Beth could hear her clearly through their headsets, and Mike could see their alarm as Valerie continued.

“It’s just one big bomb. The whole damned restaurant up there. One big, overpriced, snobbish, rotating bomb full of people, and we need to get them out of there now!”

“Why didn’t we know this earlier?” Mike was perplexed and angry that something had been missed. “Surely to Beejus he didn’t get anything planted today. We’ve had him under observation all afternoon, and he hasn’t had a chance to plant anything.”

“There was no way to get access to that damned restaurant until now. Some joker in hotel security refused to let me in there to search, and then stuck me in a damned holding cell in a sub-basement for 3 damned hours, like he thought I was one of the terrorists. And that stupid restaurant? They don’t even do a lunch, so I couldn’t look then. Not to mentioned they don’t open their doors for dinner until 4pm, and even then they didn’t want to let me in with Sisyphus. I had to pitch a royal fit which got me back in a holding cell, and then had to scream ‘ADA lawsuit’ before they’d release me and let me in the restaurant, bunch of moronic snots.”

Mike sat unmoving, his face stone, as she whispered this to him angrily. He looked into Beth’s eyes across the table as the situation unfolded, and watched the emotions flood across her face as she, too, listened. Mentally, he inventoried his family and friends, prioritizing them, deciding who would leave now and who was potentially expendable and would stay until the desired outcome had been achieved either by Quinn or by Mike and his small, informal posse.

“Valerie, is that it? I need to know right now.”

She stopped her rant for a moment but never leaned away from his shoulder. “I think so. I haven’t found even a hint anywhere else.”

“Freight elevators, utility chases, storage rooms?”

“If I’ve been given access to it, it’s clear. If I haven’t, well, I can’t vouch for it.”

“Go home. Take Sisyphus, Beth, you go with her, and go home. Now.”

She looked as though she had been slapped until Mike turned and took her chin in his hand and pushed back the dark glasses that masked her eyes. “Thank you,” he said quietly to her. “Now go home and be safe for another day. Go home and give this big boy a much deserved playtime and a big meal. He certainly has earned it.”

Beth pushed her chair to the table and took up her purse and wrap before walking around the table to Mike. “You tell Dave he’d better not mess-up, or there will be hell to pay when he gets home tonight,” and with that she gave Valerie her elbow and led her from the ballroom.

Mike reached into his pocket one more time for his cell phone, but sat there, just holding it. Suddenly, in his ear, Darth chided “Don’t wimp on us now, Darth Misha, or the Poo-Flinging will begin right here and now.”

“If I want your crap, Sithmonkey, I’ll issue an imperial requisition. And in the mean time, start thinking about what you’re going to do when they call ‘Glenn’ up for his Lifetime Achievement award.”

I love a Challenge

First Key got the spam, and then Acidman ran with it, and challenged someone, anyone, to write a coherent piece using these words in this order: bulky commonness netted monkish delicacy crinkle chromic. Well, okay, here's my shot at fame and fortune:

She shifted the bulky contents of the latest garbage bag and secured it to her cart. It had been a long day, remarkable in its commonness, yet it had netted her a few essentials from the household remains which sat, unwanted and unguarded, in bags and trashcans along the residential street near her resting place.

The old woman had tended to be quiet, aloof, almost monkish when she went on her weekly forage for discarded supplies. But today, it was hard to disguise her excitement at the discovery of each lovely morsel, each delicacy tossed unwanted in the refuse at the curb. A container of stew, a package of frozen balogna, even a few soft onions pitched from the refridgerators of people who had no inkling of their worth had made their way into her cart.

Today would be a feast, she mused, her soft old face a crinkle of childish delight. A celebration under the bridge accompanied by the chromic splendor of a mid-winter sunset was in order. And with her hard won prizes she purposefully wound her way back to her little lair, tucked between the piles of rotting pallets deep within the salvage yard.

Now go read his. He did an awesome job with that piece. Now, if he'd only get that damned book of his published...

Sonnet.

On George Soros after November 3, 2005

He lurks about in tawdry lairs
And feeds his dreadful, painful hate
Of all things. So misunderstood,
He finds no answer to his prayers
For death to those in scarlet state
inflicted painfully. Such good
would light the burden so unfair
upon his shoulders. Yet his fate
would seem as dire as any could.
Democracy had failed, it seemed,
His causes, laughed at and demeaned
By voters in the middle lands
with normal jobs and caloused hands.
How dare they exercise their right
to vote, and plunge us into night
so black, so evil, ruled by gold,
those men from in the Christian fold.

-Mamamontezz, 1-31-2005

Slipped the Surly Bonds of Earth

Michele points out that today is the 19th anniversary of the Space Shuttle Challenger disaster. I remember the event fairly well...and honestly, it's one of those things I've tried hard to put out of my mind.

I was 16 years old, living at a boys home in Texas. I took a library elective my sophomore year and that spring semester was able to volunteer as a teacher's aide at the elementary school.

Back then, it was somewhat of a big deal to see the space shuttle launches on T.V. The technology wasn't exactly new, but the idea of routine shuttle missions was interesting to my generation. This particular launch was special because a civilian was among the flight crew.

Her name was Christa McAuliffe. She was a school teacher, chosen to represent the average American. It was exciting because her endeavor meant a connection between us and space. It meant that maybe, just maybe, we'd no longer have to live vicariously through a few elite to discover the wonders of what was out there...

That day, I was working with the second graders, and I had talked the teacher into letting us watch the shuttle launch. There was much excitement among the children as the countdown began...then the launch...then the explosion.

I vividly remember the looks of dismay and confusion on the faces of those little boys as the disaster unfolded. They thought that the explosion was PART OF the launch. Some of them even assumed it was fireworks.

The teacher and I knew better...

There were so many questions that the teacher had to leave the room to compose herself. That left me to explain the facts of life to seven/eight year-old children. I deserved it...after all, it'd been my idea to watch the launch in the first place.

So I told them that there had been an accident and the shuttle didn't make it into space. They were still confused. I couldn't quite get them to grasp that the spacecraft had exploded and that the flight crew might not have survived.

One boy asked why the astronauts' parachutes didn't open.

Another asked if the Russians blew up the shuttle.

I became so frustrated and angry I had to leave the room as well. The principal had heard the news and was walking up as I was leaving. He saw the look on my face and let me leave without saying anything. I don't know if he was able to explain to the boys what had happened. They would come up to me for days afterward and ask more questions.

I also remember that it didn't take long for the shuttle jokes to start. I feel shitty that I had laughed at some of those jokes. I feel shitty that a classroom of boys had to learn about death because of me. But most of all, I feel shitty that our current shuttle program is a joke and personal privilege of endeavor for elite scientists.

Don't You, Forget About Me...

For those of you who have been following the Baby Jordan situation, Michelle Malkin has announced that a donor heart has been received:

Statement from Jeff and Sadaf Trimarchi

We are so happy to announce that a donor heart became available for our baby Jordan on Wednesday, January 26, 2005. Jordan underwent cardiac transplant surgery yesterday evening, beginning at approximately 7:00 p.m. and lasting roughly four and a half hours. Dr. Quaegebeur, who performed the transplant, appeared at 11:30 p.m. and stated that "the [new] heart is working well." He also cautioned that "we are not out of the woods yet," because transplant surgery is very complicated, requiring extensive recovery and constant monitoring. However, he assured us that we're off to a good start!

We cannot begin to thank the Doctors, Nurses and the rest of the wonderful people at Morgan Stanley Children’s Hospital at New York Presbyterian. They do their miracle work with compassion and understanding in the best facility we have ever seen. We are so grateful that Jordan was, and continues to be, in their incredible care...We would love to talk to all of you who gave us so much support and love during these difficult times. In time, we will contact all of you and communicate our gratitude. We hope you are all able to see our beautiful little boy grow up into an amazing man.

Finally, we will not stop our mission of spreading the word about organ donation. We urge you to continue to help us communicate this message so that other families may feel the joy of hearing that a donor organ is available … and cry tears of happiness, as their loved one gets a second chance at life.

Love, Jeff, Sadaf and Baby Jordan

Let me say that I am extremely happy that Baby Jordan has a stronger chance at life. I am forever amazed at how doctors pull us from the clutches of death, when all else looks hopeless.

But let's remember that in order for Baby Jordan to have received the heart, another life had to end.

Please, I'm not admonishing ANYONE, and I don't mean to be trite or disengenous...hell, even sarcastic. It's just that sometimes most of us forget the donor family's suffering. Not on purpous of course, sudden joy and elation tends to make us forget about the realities of certain situations.

At this point, we don't know the circumstances surrounding the heart becoming available, but I'm certain either way that someone out there is grieving.

So, while we praise the Good Lord and all the doctors for extending a second chance to Baby Jordan, let's also remember to say a small prayer for the donor's family. Keep them in your thoughts. I'm sure they could use some support too...

Christmas in Baghdad

I wrote this last year at Christmas time, and liked it so much that I thought I'd repost it. There just isn't much Christmas Spirit around the Manse Montezz this year, which makes it difficult to write about Christmas the way it really truly deseves.

So sit back, put your arm around your loved one, even if it's only in your minds eye or your soft, fleeting dreams, and enjoy your Christmas. And send a few tender thoughts overseas where there isn't much "Love and Joy" these days.

The snow flakes dance
In the cold winter air,
And people walk by
With nary a care,
Shopping for presents
For under the tree
The present I want
Won't be there for me.

I put my kisses in a little package,
And tied them with a ribbon soft and red.
I know that I could save them 'til you're with me,
But I'll hand them off to Santa Claus instead.
He'll take the little gift of all my kisses
And pack them in his regulation pack.
When he's gotten clearance through the No-Fly-Zone,
He'll visit every unit in Iraq.

I hope that Santa comes to visit you in Baghdad
And brings you all my love wrapped up in blue,
So on that chilly Christmas morn in Baghdad,
You'll know how much your family misses you.

I hold your picture up for little Billy.
He smiles and giggles when he sees your face.
He stretches out his tender little fingers,
And reaches for his daddy's strong embrace.
Your princess listens to your every letter.
I see her swell with pride at what you say
About the little children there in Baghdad,
And how their lives get better every day.

I hope that Santa comes to visit you in Baghdad
With presents from your little girl and boy,
So on that chilly Christmas morn in Baghdad
You share your little children's Christmas joy.

You're cold in the desert,
I'm warm in our home,
And although we miss you
It's you that's alone.
Please tell the Sentry
On duty tonight
To please watch for Santa
On his yearly flight.

I pray that Santa comes to visit you in Baghdad
And brings you all my love wrapped up in blue,
So on that chilly Christmas morn in Baghdad,
You'll know how much your family cares for you.

Merry Christmas, to all of our brave young men and women in Iraq, Afganistan, Korea, Yugoslavia, all the ships at sea and in dock, the many bases, forts, outposts, and naval stations at home and abroad. Merry Christmas to the people they love, and who love them in return.

And Merry Christmas to the Gentlemen of the USMC at Cherry Point, NC. Those of you who have read recently, even if you haven't commented, are welcome here any time. Don't worry about commenting. Just feel at home.

Twelve Days of Christmas, Baghdad Style.

I can imagine how nice it must be to get packages during the Christmas season when you are in a strange land 7 times zones away from home, in the middle of a mucky, cold, sandy place, where the citizens don't celebrate Christmas and the high point of any day is a toss-up between a nap, dinner, or the arrival of the mail.

So in honor of the thousands of intrepid warriors overseas today, I offer you the Twelve Days of Christmas, Baghdad style.

On the First day of Christmas
my true love gave to me
A cute little Christmas Tree.

On the Second day of Christmas
my true love gave to me
Two pounds of fudge,
And a cute little Christmas Tree.

On the Third day of Christmas
my true love gave to me
Three dozen stamps,
Two pounds of fudge,
And a cute little Christmas Tree.

On the Fourth day of Christmas
my true love gave to me
Four X-box games,
Three dozen stamps,
Two pounds of fudge,
And a cute little Christmas Tree.

On the Fifth day of Christmas
my true love gave to me
Five DVD's,
Four X-box games,
Three dozen stamps,
Two pounds of fudge,
And a cute little Christmas Tree.

On the Sixth day of Christmas
my true love gave to me
Six packs of Marlboros,
Five DVD's,
Four X-box games,
Three dozen stamps,
Two pounds of fudge,
And a cute little Christmas Tree.

On the Seventh day of Christmas
my true love gave to me
Seven cute, new photos,
Six packs of Marlboros,
Five DVD's,
Four X-box games,
Three dozen stamps,
Two pounds of fudge,
And a cute little Christmas Tree.

On the eighth day of Christmas
my true love gave to me
Eight censored Hustlers,
Seven cute, new photos,
Six packs of Marlboros,
Five DVD's,
Four X-box games,
Three dozen stamps,
Two pounds of fudge,
And a cute little Christmas Tree.

On the Ninth day of Christmas
my true love gave to me
Nine pre-paid phone cards
Eight censored Hustlers,
Seven cute, new photos,
Six packs of Marlboros,
Five DVD's,
Four X-box games,
Three dozen stamps,
Two pounds of fudge,
And a cute little Christmas Tree.

On the Tenth day of Christmas
my true love gave to me
Ten on-line hours,
Nine pre-paid phone cards
Eight censored Hustlers,
Seven cute, new photos,
Six packs of Marlboros,
Five DVD's,
Four X-box games,
Three dozen stamps,
Two pounds of fudge,
And a cute little Christmas Tree.

On the Eleventh day of Christmas
my true love gave to me
Eleven perfumed letters,
Ten on-line hours,
Nine pre-paid phone cards
Eight censored Hustlers,
Seven cute, new photos,
Six packs of Marlboros,
Five DVD's,
Four X-box games,
Three dozen stamps,
Two pounds of fudge,
And a cute little Christmas Tree.

On the Twelth day of Christmas
my true love gave to me
Twelve bags of Snickers,
Eleven perfumed letters,
Ten on-line hours,
Nine pre-paid phone cards
Eight censored Hustlers,
Seven cute, new photos,
Six packs of Marlboros,
Five DVD's,
Four X-box games,
Three dozen stamps,
Two pounds of fudge,
And a cute little Christmas Tree.

Sweet Warrior

Come to me, sweet warrior.
Take me by the hand.
Follow me to quiet places
in a quiet land.
Sleep in fields of emerald
beside the quiet sea.
Feel the sun upon your face
and stay awhile with me.

I followed you to battle, son,
and helped to calm your fears,
and laughed with you in happy times
and brushed away your tears.
I shielded you with tender wings
when you were very small,
staying close across the miles
after duty's call.

Come to me, sweet warrior.
Take me by the hand.
Follow me to quiet places
in a quiet land.
Walk with those who came before
beside the quiet sea.
Feel the mists upon your face
and stay awhile with me.

Gone's the time of duty now,
your battle has been won,
and brothers wait to welcome you
beneath a rising sun.
Take my hand, we'll go to them
it's where you need to be,
a land of gentle warriors
each one, USMC.

Come to me, sweet warrior.
Take me by the hand.
Follow me to quiet places
in a quiet land.
Walk amongst your brothers here
beside the quiet sea.
Feel the warmth of heaven's grace
and stay awhile with me.

-Lila Meyer, December 9, 2004
"Mamamontezz"

God bless and keep you, Lance Corporal Kyle Renehan, USMC. Semper Fi.

Can't help myself

(To the tune of Oh, Holy Night)

Oh, Canada,
our liberals keep whining.
Take them, please,
Let us send them your way.
Loud have they moaned,
The volume's not declining.
Let them come,
It would sure make our day.
Sweet land of snow,
Give homes to Moonbat voices.
You did before.
Ple-ase do it once again.

Paul Martin, Please?
We'll give you lots of choices.
Take Michael Moore,
Sean Penn, Carmen Diaz,
Garafolo!
Oh, please. Oh Canada!

(inst)

Sweet land of snow,
Give homes to Moonbat voices.
You did before.
Ple-ase do it once again.

Paul Martin, Please?
We'll give you lots of choices.
Take Michael Moore,
Sean Penn, Carmen Diaz,
Garafolo!
Oh, please. Oh Canada!

Sure, it's not as good as Oh, Fallujah, but do you know how hard it is to parody one Christmas song while the muzak is playing everything but the one you're working on? Made my brain hurt, dammit.

Oh, Fallujah

Dedicated to the Marines and others currently disinfecting Fallujah, making it save for its citizens to return home and restart their lives.

(sung to the tune of "Oklahoma"")

Oh, Fallujah,
Where the bombs fall right before a fight.,
and the tracer's shine
can look divine
through the cross hairs of a rifle sight!

Oh, Fallujah,
Every night my rowdy crew and I
walk a street patrol
and rock and roll
while Apaches rip across the sky.

You know we could all use a break
And we'd kill for big, juicy steak!
So when we yell (Hooah!)
You'd better run like hell (Hooah!)
We're mopping up this mess
that we found in Fallujah.
Oh, Fallujah,
Damn Straight!

Oh, Fallujah,
Grabbing sleep and chow along the way.
All those IED's
and damned sand fleas
They can really f*ck a person's day.

You know we could all use a break
And we'd kill for big, juicy steak!
So when we yell (Hooah!)
You'd better run like hell (Hooah!)
We're mopping up this mess
that we found in Fallujah.
Oh, Fallujah,
F-A-L-L-U-J-A-H
Oh, Falluuujah! Hooah!

-Lila Meyer, "Mamamontezz"

Hello Red State...

Mistress Key, the Dominatrix of the Jawja Blogfest, has a post up by her guest blogger Dave that is one of the funniest things I've seen in a long while.

Any of you old enough to remember Alan Sherman? Well, this little ode is right up his alley and a great parody of one of his more memorable little ditties.

Get thee over there and lavish some praise upon Dave, or Mistress Key may see fit to punish you.

I'm a Swift Boat Commander

I'm a swift boat commander
and I fought the Viet Cong,
patrolling muddy rivers,
in a tour just four months long.
I have a band of brothers
even though I did them wrong.
I'm a swift boat commander
and I fought the Viet Cong.

The draft was getting closer
I couldn't get deferred
so I got in line,
signed the dotted line
for the branch the rich preferred.
I would be a Reserve Sailor
and protect Nantucket Bay
but they called my name
And it's not the same
off the coast of Cam rahn Bay.

I'm a swift boat commander
and I fought the Viet Cong
patrolling muddy rivers
on a tour just four months long.
I have a band of brothers
even though I did them wrong.
I'm a swift boat commander
and I fought the Viet Cong.

I cruised along the river
blew-up rocks with an RPG
got a Purple Heart
and a real good start
on my trip back o'r the sea.
I knew I was on to something
I had nothing left to fear!
It was pretty slick.
Got two more real quick.
And they shipped my ass back here.

I'm a swift boat commander
and I fought the Viet Cong
patrolling muddy rivers
on a tour just four months long.
I have a band of brothers
even though I did them wrong.
I'm a swift boat commander
and I fought the Viet Cong.

I'm a reg'lar Steven Spielburg
just a cinematic fool
and I sure look great
on my Super-8
And the rifle sure is cool.
Gonna be a politician
Like my neighbor, JFK.
Find a wealthy wife,
Golly, what a life!
That's the Rich American Way!

I'm a swift boat commander
and I fought the Viet Cong
patrolling muddy rivers
on a tour just four months long.
I have a band of brothers
even though I did them wrong.
I'm a swift boat commander
and I fought the Viet Cong.

(spoken) Hello, Muffy? It's me.
I'm back from that horrid jungle
and all those uncouth poor people.
Oh, the little tiny indiginous people
were horrible too.
You doing anything next weekend?
Really? You want to meet Barbarella?

I'm a swift boat commander
and I fought the Viet Cong
patrolling muddy rivers
on a tour just four months long.
I have a band of brothers
even though I did them wrong.
I'm a swift boat commander
and I fought the Viet Cong.

Haiku

Pull me to your den
of crisp sheets and aching want.
Sweet, tender release.

Good Screw-up, Rather

*Sung to the tune of "Good Morning Starshine" from the musical, Hair.

Good screw-up, Rather.
The blogs say "you blow."
You passed off a doozie.
We caught you, you know.
Good screw-up, Rather,
You strung this along.
My friends and me as we post
our early morning Jammie-Blog.

Rottie, Insta-Pundit,
Lileks, Captain's Quarters
and Patterico,
LGF and Rantblog,
Powerline, Mister Hog,
la la lo lo
Malkin and One Fine Jay,
Lucianne and Frank J,
Early morning Jammie-Blog.

Good screw up, Rather.
Had Bush in your sight,
Faxes in the moonlight,
Amarrillo.
Good screw-up, Rather.
You made our whole week.
My friends and me as we post
our early morning Jammie-blog.

Rottie, Insta-Pundit,
Lileks, Captain's Quarters,
and Patterico,
LGF and Rantblog,
Powerline, Mister Hog,
la la lo lo.
Malkin and One Fine Jay,
Lucianne and Frank J,
Early morning Jammie-Blog.

Won't you link me?
Writing a blog,
Reading a blog,
Writing a blog,
Linking a blog,
Comment a blog,
Writing a blog,
Early Moring
Jammie Blogging,
blog blog blog, dig dig dig dig blog
blog blog blog dig dig dig dig blog

Ilicit

I want to feel your breath upon me,
Feel your hands so firm and gentle
Pulling me close to you.
I want to feel your breath upon me,
Feel your body, hard and heavy
Long after we are through
Making love,
Learning all the little secrets
Two people have inside,
Lying in the darkness,
So much we want to hide.

Bodies melt together,
Perfectly aligned.
Caressing in the moonglow
Bathed in light so fine.
Sometimes rough and tumble,
Or sweet as apple wine.
Boundaries fall like raindrops
Space is redefined.

We twine together in the darkness,
Bidding our innocence farewell
And sharing kisses deep.
We twine together in the darkness,
Tangled up in sweet, musky sheets
And wish that we could keep
Making love.
Your tears fall down upon my face
For lovers we betray,
And I look at you, tender eyed,
Wishing the pain away.

Faces brush each other,
in the growing light.
Another sun is rising
vanquishing the night
that covered us in velvet,
jeweled with stars aflight
within your dark sleepy eyes,
hot embers crimson-bright.

Hurricane Haiku

If you couldn't tell, hurricane Charlie was on my mind. I wasn't going to post this but I decided to go ahead. I'm just glad that none of you Florida LC's and friends were affected like they were in some areas. You all must leave charmed lives down there.

I
Cross the Gulf quickly
and probe with windy tendrils
the shore's defenses.

II
Palms rustle, anxious,
waiting for the coming surge,
roiling past their trunks.

III
Stalwart hammers drive
nails through countless plywood shields,
bracing fragile homes.

IV
Pounding breakwaters
Soaring plumes of wind-whipped foam
against rushing sky.

V
Fam'ly pets desert,
hiding in dark recesses
to ride out the storm.

VI
Quick brush of their lips.
Fam'ly packed, ready to leave.
Eyes pleading, "Be safe."

VII
Windchimes in frenzy
announce unsubtle changes.
Now it has begun.

VIII
Culverts overflow,
Impotently bear away
the murky torrents.

IX
With home reinforced,
the pick-up backs out slowly.
Garage-mate pursuit.

X
Distant friends worry,
Helpless from safer places.
Imagine the worst.

XI
Slow radar sweeping.
Reflect the fickle stormfront.
Home, untouched, remains.

Untitled

The little frog sings from his place
along the sluggish stream,
his hopeful voice a beacon
in the fading evening light.

I understand his yearning
as he sings into my dream
of you there in the desert sands,
in starshine silverbright.

His song carries me to you
Across the midnight realm.
I settle down before you.
My heart stirs with the sight.

Your BDU's are crumpled
And stubble lines your jaw.
Your eyes are hard and searching.
You hug yourself so tight.

I reach my hand to touch you.
You close your eyes and smile
as though you feel my fingers
in the desert breeze so slight.

You wrap me in your empty arms
and cradle me back home
with candles glowing amber
on sheets, bright summer white.

Your cheek is smooth, your brow unlined.
Your hands are strong and firm.
They touch me to my very core
And give my heart delight.

The crickets seranade us
in your dream and in mine
and martens wheel above us
in never ending flight.

We share our lovely dream-time
a universe away
from loneliness and heartache
and battle's you must fight.

Sadly even this sweet dream
Must fade as morning builds
Her kingdom, and the rising sun
Destroys the weakened night.

I'll live my day as always
until the sunset's glow
brings promises of touches
in dreams so good and right.

John and T'Ray-za

Since John Mellancamp is so enamored of the Kerry/Edwards ticket, I'm sure he won't mind my using one of his tunes for them.

(sung to the tune of "Jack and Diane")

Little ditty 'bout John and T'ray-za
2 priv'leged kids politic-ing cross the heartland.
John, he wants to be a big Lib'ral Star
T'ray-za's dillitante-medicated Dill Pickle Czar.

T'ray-za's hanging out the bus window at the local Wendys
Never even had a Chili, just points at what she sees.
John say "Hey T'ray-za, let's be annoying as Sand Fleas.
Pissing of the local Marines, I'm just doing like I please.

Do you know who I am?
I'm a war hero from Viet Nam.
Do you know who I am?
I'm a war hero from Viet Nam.

John sits back, consults the polls for a moment
waffles back and forth and tries his best JFK
Says, "We gotta campaign in a bunch of Hick Cities."
T'ray-za says "EggoBoy, as long as we don't have to stay.
John says, uh,

Do you know who I am?
I'm a war hero from Viet Nam.
Do you know who I am?
I'm a war hero from Viet Nam.

Gonna ride the bus, Gonna let let it roll
E'en though Bible Belt's an Abysmal Hole.
Dragging up the 60's, long as I can
Trashing other vets so I can be the President.

Do you know who I am?
I'm a war hero from Viet Nam.
Do you know who I am?
I'm a war hero from Viet Nam.

Little ditty 'bout John and T'ray-za
2 priv'leged kids politic-ing cross the heartland.

Wednesday Haiku

"Goodnight" is so hard.
Fingertips caress the keys
with furtive touches.

Sunday

Mmmm... Sunday.
I've just emerged from the warm cocoon
of jersey sheets and cotton blanket
that sits in the middle of my darkened room.

It's Sunday,
and I lay there, languid and lazy,
for the longest time,
feeling the tease of the air conditioner across me.
I enjoy its cool caresses after
the warm pleasure of a bed,
or the warmer pleasure of a touch,
a feel,
a kiss that's delicate yet insistant,
even those that existed only to fill a dream
too intense for memory to contain.
I don't remember,
but the body does
with every nerve, every fiber,
and the cool fingers of the air conditioner
do their best to keep the sensations alive
for just a little longer,
just a moment more.
Dreams given like unexpected gifts
and filled with deep tones,
and quiet words.
Clandestine whispers,
jagged breathing,
quiet cries,
sweet and hard release,
but the dreams hide themselves for now
and tease with gauzy seconds
stopped in time,
luscious seconds of dark tenderness.

Doggerel Apprentice

Well, I let the Imperial Poet Laureate know that I write, showed him a few examples, and now have a homework assignment.

I'm to write a dozen sonnets, 6 each of the Italian and Shakesperian styles. It's supposed to "work my muscle." And you know, the first one came pretty quickly, er, at least the first part of it did.

Anyway, you're going to be seeing a bit more of it here. Since if I'm going to be writing it, someone had better well be reading it. And I'll be putting it into its own catagory for all you masochists out there who just can't get enough of my poor rhymes and stumbling meter.

Oh, well, best get cracking... *sigh*