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Doug Drones On



The wriggling reliquary of Waking Ambrose.



Updated: 2017-09-10T12:00:22.399-07:00

 



The Ballad of Banana and the Big Yellow House

2012-05-19T01:30:01.361-07:00

The bursting fields of the prairie
Feed every man and mouse
And all who eat the grain and meat
Sleep it off in the big yellow house.

If you pass through Bloomington
Wanting roof or roots or rue
Find Ann Banan on Fess Ave
And tell her Doug or the wind sent you.

You'll find the softest couches,
And dark wood holds the walls
Warm blankets, floors and company
Where every renegade calls.

There's grouchy teens, full of beans
And mischievous kids next door.
There's college kids around the block-
Who knows what they're there for.

There's bread and cheese in the kitchen
And with luck a tomato or two
Take your sandwich to the front porch swing
And rest up fro and to.

Watch a movie with Banana,
And talk the whole way through
You can watch the same one
The next night, as if it were new.


All the gold in Indiana
As lucky hitch-hikers found
Are the yellow house and Annie
Shining after they've burnt down.


Happy birthday, Bananie!



Happy birthday to my nephew, Jacob

2012-04-28T08:22:30.975-07:00

9 monkeys in the jungle are a baby's dream
But nine in a field make a baseball team.
The morn was bright, the winds were mild
The score was tied, the pitch was wild
The mother monkeys in the stands stood up but not to scream.

Jake took second and Jake took third,
Jacob took the plate without a word
He dusted his bat against the plate
And raised it up above his pate
And narrowed his eyes until they blurred.

The first pitch came, outside and high
And Jacob let the ball go by.
The second pitch hit the catcher's mitt
One ball, one strike, the batter spit.
And thought of a banana split.

The third pitch came in low and fast
And Jacob swung the bat right past.
Two strikes down, two outs, what's more
Two Jakes on base ready to score
And Jacob gave the ball a blast.

Up it sailed, and over and far
"Home run!" monkey's uncles cried from the bar
But the ump picked up Jacob's bat
And wiped the middle on his hat
And declared he'd found too much pine tar.

The thing to know, or maybe not,
About monkey baseball when it's hot:
Games are won and some are lost
And cheating always has a cost
But monkey scandals are soon forgot.







Ogre Day 2012*

2012-02-15T09:31:49.544-08:00

A mourning wind keens down the vale,
And fails, then fades then dies.
A bolt of fire breaks the skies
Leaving only echoes from it's trail.

And they that sit unheard and crying
Are they forgotten and alone?
Those whom solitude has known
Find plates for two satisfying.

*Ogre Day, the day after Valentine's Day, has been celebrated since the middle ages of blogging.  It is a day to remember the uncoupled and uncloned.



For my nephew on his 7th birthday

2012-04-28T08:36:52.610-07:00

The lights are always bright enoughWhen Stevie's on the scene.The truth is always right enoughWhen Stevie's on the scene.The play is never too darned rough,The cards are always dealt to bluffHis brother's hide stays good and toughWhen Stevie's loud and mean.The girls, they always tease their hairWhen Stevie's on the scene.The women, they all stop and stareWhen Stevie's on the scene.The giggles ring from here to there,The priests, they stop to kneel in prayer,'Cause heaven knows what will shine bareWhen Stevie's getting clean.Philosophers no longer doubtWhen Stevie's on the scene.Even hermits come on outWhen Stevie's on the scene.The quiet all begin to shoutThe vegans get a little stoutAnd the kayak fills on up with troutWhile Stevie's hook stays clean.The saber's always nice and lightWhen Stevie plays the scene.The battle's always nice and tightWhen Stevie's on the scene.The dying bulb seems newly bright,The blind-drunk fool gets second sightAnd tiny mice bring flea and frightWhen Stevie's light turns green.The soccer goals fall open wideWith Stevie on the scene.The Ducks score without breaking strideWhen Stevie's on the scene.The crooks are never even tried,The catfish cook before they're friedAnd tone-deaf uncles sing with prideWhen Stevie takes the scene.[...]



Advice to my nephew on his 4th birthday

2011-11-02T16:32:50.688-07:00

One day, not long, you'll be a big older boy,
When hammers or wrenches make a good enough toy
Help your mom fix her car, help dad with his tv,
They'll be happy and grateful you're useful, you'll see.

Work hard when you're older, study well for your class.
Dress in clean clothes, comb your hair, wipe your glass.
Rise before sunup, give prayer every eve,
Stay sober and faithful and respectful to Steve.

I tell you this, Eamon, is how big boys should act
If they want all life's blessings- and this is a fact-
Be slow with your temper and quick with your jokes
To live well 'til your forties at home with your folks.



I still think it is a fish (Birth Announcement)

2011-09-14T10:48:37.362-07:00

A note to my daughter on the day of her birth
Today into this world you’ve come,
And 'ere I’m lost to age and rum,
I’m writing you from where you’re from
To describe your patrimony.

Humanity, you’ll find, can vary.
A man can be both bald and hairy,
Handsome, homely, kind and scary.
Clumsy, sneaky, fair and phony.

When first you meet that creepy guy
Who watches but can’t meet your eye
Remember dad was pretty shy
And try to cool your shiver.

And when a madman first you see
Consider your own family tree
Where twigs the lunistocracy
Like a willow by the river.

It won’t be long that you’re around,
I bet, before you hear the sound
As tongue and knuckle drag the ground
‘Neath morons such as call your father kin.

And tricksters, too, you’ll find soon,
May stalk beneath a hunter’s moon
And howl a false compelling tune.
Wolves no more than we are born to sin.

From where you start to where you’ll get,
Want to wonder, doubt to fret
To dream to doom to guess to bet,
We walk behind you and look ahead.

Be the girl I’m teaching you to be,
And who that is, we’ll wait to see.
To be yourself is to be free
In the jailhouse, jungle or your bed.

If you wander far, and I hope you will
Let each disaster be a thrill
And let no wisdom wear your will
Like your old man in his prime.

You’ll meet some fools, the weak and damned-
Offer each your sweet right hand
And see they know to call you "Ma'am."
To be aught but sister wastes your time.

"We have named it Cain. She caught it while I was up country trapping on the North Shore of the Erie; caught it in the timber a couple of miles from our dug-out -- or it might have been four, she isn't certain which. It resembles us in some ways, and may be a relation. That is what she thinks, but this is an error, in my judgment. The difference in size warrants the conclusion that it is a different and new kind of animal -- a fish, perhaps, though when I put it in the water to see, it sank, and she plunged in and snatched it out before there was opportunity for the experiment to determine the matter. I still think it is a fish"
from Extracts from Adam's Diary, by Mark Twain

Our daughter was born today, September 11 at 9:34 local time.  If I did the conversions right she is 7 pounds 8 ounces, 20 inches long, pretty as a peach and about that fuzzy.  



Memo to the TSA

2011-08-02T14:23:00.226-07:00

Sandal my feet with leopard's paws,
A claw before each toe.
Lace up my sheepskin, fleece face out
Unblooded like new snow.
At my hip, place a pirate's sword,
Polished, sharp and cold.
And let no razor graze my chin
Until my beard's grown bold.
Tie on my bandit's bandolier
A cartridge in each loop.
Among the stones, let me rehearse
My bellow, snarl and whoop.
Bind my legs with plates of steel,
Converging at the crotch.
And to my glorious last day,
Please set my golden watch.
Why does a man equip for war,
Who chose to live in peace?
He's gone to sylvan Oregon,
Three nephews and a niece.




The Universal Cataract

2011-06-20T08:26:32.830-07:00

There's a universal puddle
In which we every bob
And each one touches every one
A muddy, wetted mob.

Each motion moves our neighbor
And each neighbor wets the next
And the web of sloshing metaphor
Winds up in every text.

And we all are brought together
Each creature, girl or man
We move the world with every touch
From every friendly hand
And so, you see, we live as one,
And can't stick to a plan.



For Actonbell, a rededication.

2011-06-07T08:58:23.392-07:00

The poets pen the names of God,
And journalists will tally fraud,
Maps gather information
From strange soils explorers trod.

But what becomes of humorists,
Sardonic ropes of hemp in twists?
What brings their syncopations
Back for indexing in lists?

Who hears where the laughter goes-
When chuckles fade and snorts echo?
Does the devil reap it for decoration
In Hell? Only Heaven knows.

For my part, I'm here, I'll do my best
To make Sharyl laugh, (and all the rest.)
If I'm facing deportation
From this blog, I here attest:

Though funny I may no more be
And rhyming gets the best of me,
By diligence and application
To blog may yet be here in me.

Yes, think of Koko, gorilla caged,
Lacking speech, but from young age
Through persistent education,
Learned ASL without turning a page.

And I have friends, some fruit and Blogspot
Plus free expression ('til I'm caught)
If all it takes is concentration
Then boil me some tea to cross, perhaps an aye to dot.

So I reintroduce now Doug Drones On,
Though sometimes here and sometimes gone
Until blogging or I one day depart the nation.
(Posting may by neglect grow short unlike my front lawn.)

For is Koko really not like me?
Or trekkers, scribes, riffraffery?
Great ape, now, my invocation-
I'll try to write a joke or three
If not daily, then monthly,
Help me write for friends to see
Be my primate inspiration,
And quit shaking the family tree!



The Man Who Corrupted Hadleyville

2011-05-02T12:35:51.547-07:00

His eyes were dark as midnight,
His hat was cocked towards two,
His tongue stood still like high noon
While he stood in velvet shoe.

A turquoise scarf hid his jaw,
And silver edged his pistol.
He held his hands down by his hips
Without a word or whistle.

The honest folk turned towards the shops
Where on better days they dealt,
And every child, late at play,
Got drawn in like a belt.

The dusty stranger held his ground
As all the town receded.
Drunkards guessed his dark intent
And bartenders indeeded.

The Sheriff cloaked his gun and badge
And checked his empty cells.
The hangman tied a diamond hitch
While cowboys hid in wells.

Young Ladies slid toward shelter,
While sneaking brazen stares
And stallions tied to hitching posts
Nickered for their mares.

The banker, only, braved the man,
Rubbed his visor and he
Said "You must be a dreadful rogue
To dress so like a dandy."



Viernes Sancto

2011-04-23T09:13:37.000-07:00

Good Friday's when I wonder how
This world would meet its savior now.
Would we even notice thirteen men
Performing wonders now and then?
Could we put the LORD up on TV
For all this napping world to see?
Would the Sanhedrin and Caiaphus
And Rick Santorum make a fuss,
And call Jesus a pious swindle
Or write new gospels straight to Kindle?
Would Jesus feed the multitudes,
Loaves and Fish for gals and dudes?
Or take back all the fish filet
And make water from the McCafe?
And quiet down the constant chatter
Over things that hardly matter,
Stop the presses, hold the phone
And let the lonely be alone?
Perhaps the world, now always streaming
Needs salvation from redeeming.

Would He be King, who came to save,
On "Survivor- Isle Beyond The Grave?"



Le Roi Des Fous

2011-04-01T06:09:06.758-07:00

Here, now, on April Fool's Day,
Which returns each year in May,
Let's take time to rededicate
Ourselves to whate'er made us great.

With folly as first principle,
Let other cares be minceable
And seek in every way and thing
A nat'l hero, judge and king.

Who is the wisest fool, let's ask,
And how best to achieve our task?
I'd begin, I'll share with thee,
By searching the majority.



Corinthian Pleasure- A Carnival Prayer

2011-03-03T04:21:48.625-08:00

Paul teaches the best things are three:
Faith and Hope and charity.
I surely take his words as true
And hold them up in all I do.
But, God knows, and I'll confess
There are other ways we're blessed
And when I pray for strength, like Paul
The gifts I wish for most of all
Are similar to Paul's in number-
First, I pray, Lord, make me dumber
For which of Paul's gifts pass the dense
For fellowship with those with sense?
Then I ask a little madness
To comfort me in times of sadness
And so my will is never tested
Even once I've been arrested.
Third, I pray my spirit's small
Of lesser gifts, the best of all,
To never trust in our conclusions
Yet to doubt our own illusions.

I won't debate the good apostly,
And pray my pride won't be too costly
When, heart aroar and gut arumble,
I pray "keep thy crazy fool humble."
-Timothy Timfor



A conspiracy so vast

2011-03-02T21:45:09.965-08:00

To all but the conspirator
(Mark there's as many as before)
The thing about conspiracy
Is it's there for none to see.
Each man whether stout or frail
Conjures up his own betrayal-
A vampire banker in the night
(Or schoolmarm if you're on the right.)
Whichever shadow you pursue,
And I bet you money it's a Jew,
With all our demons aggregated
And in with our neighbors titrated
The conspiracy has grown so vast
To become democracy at last.
And once our enemies are pooled,
We're rightly glad to have been fooled.

-Burnett Holmes



Ogre Day 2011

2011-02-15T08:33:30.891-08:00

When freedom comes to Tripoli,
The despot hanged on live TV,
Love will keep the dastard's head
Entangled in its braided thread.

Yea, it's true, a tyrant risen,
Is buoyant on a sea of prison;
In this world of friends and neighbors
And charity and hugs and labors.

Shackles bind the very best
While embraces tie the rest
And affection makes the world go round,
Which as it spins, grinds us down.

Yes, love's a rose, I hear. I do,
And kindness is the truest true,
But whichever gracious heart may spawn it,
An ogre's bile be upon it.
-Amelia Roston Browning

A dismal ogre Day to all my friends!



CPA Day

2011-02-02T06:05:58.630-08:00

Today I'll meet with an accountant
Who'll prescribe the amount that
in taxes I'm due to pay
April 15th or ground hog day
Is this tyranny or patriotism?
Nah, but worth some rhyme and rhythm.



Prestidigitation

2011-01-21T08:57:17.491-08:00

I met a young man sitting between the trees
Juggling percents and trilion-threes,
Buzzing like a swarm of bees,
I asked of his anxieties.

"Exports have fallen four percent,
Unemployment's higher than the rent,
Immigrations up and still they're sent
And bankers borrow what they haven't lent.

"The reminbi," he said to me,
"Is lower than it ought to be
Gas is high and, can't you see?
Freedom's never bought for free!"

His worries seemed to be amounting
To hysteria in his accounting.
I asked, "Why sit with crises mounting?"
He said, "I'm not idle, man- I'm counting!"



Lazarus and Dives, before they went mainstream

2011-01-06T05:39:36.537-08:00

Lazarus and Dives
Met in the road one day
Lazarus, he bowed low,
And heard the rich man say:

“Judea loves me most of all
Though you and I are strangers still
I’m the toast of Rome and Susa
While Hebrews do my will.

But still I live a righteous life
And all my tithes are paid
My children worship Adonai
In every place we’ve stayed.”

Lazarus answered soft and humbly,
“My cow is dry and my land unarable
My money's soft, my grain is crumbly
My donkey’s back has grown unbearable
But a gloried life awaits me numbly
If I can get into a parable.”



To 2011

2011-01-02T04:05:05.181-08:00

2011 has at last appeared,
Reconciled, wished on, prayed for and feared
And shall we predict what this near year will hold?
Only if we’re foolish, shameless and bold-
I propose that the pessimists will again be proved wrong
Yet remain unpersuaded by reason or song
While the optimists see that the future is bright
‘Til we need them for food by New Year’s Eve night.

Note to readers: Right now, I'm thinking the title of this blog gets a new meaning and will contain intermittent posts like the Wednesdays and Saturdays from Waking Ambrose, though not necessarily on Wednesday, Saturday or any other regular schedule. To keep up, you may want to use Google Reader or with the RSS feed. I think there is one.



The Reformation of Wolfshausen

2010-11-06T04:08:46.101-07:00

(image)
Teil Fünfundneunzig
To hear Actonbell read the final episode, gather up before the angel.






Or, you can read this episode among the Wisteria.


The whole kit and caboodle are here.

This blog will now be on hiatus until 2011. Thank you to all who have read and/or enjoyed the stories here and best wishes for the holiday season.



The Reformation of Wolfshausen

2010-10-30T05:46:20.466-07:00

(image)
Teil Vierundneunzig
To hear TLP read this week's story, click on the angry man.





Or, you can read this episode with the adolescent novice at left.

The story so far is here.

And happy birthday to my separated-at-birth sister and TLP's separated-at-birth daughter.



The Reformation of Wolfshausen

2010-10-23T16:36:05.897-07:00

(image)
Teil Dreiundneunzig
To hear this week's story, listen for the cock to crow.





Or, you can read this episode on the way to the children's crusade.
The story so far is here.



The Reformation of Wolfshausen

2010-10-17T17:54:59.814-07:00

(image)
Teil Zwoundneunzig
To hear this week's story, listen for Adalbert's wrath.







Or, you can read this episode in the Chi-Rho at left.





The story so far is here.



The Reformation of Wolfshausen

2010-10-17T17:56:34.362-07:00

(image)
Teil Einundneunzig
To hear this week's story, follow Dietrich and Gretchen down the streets of Marburg.






Or, you can read this episode with Jan.


The story so far is here.



The Reformation of Wolfshausen

2010-10-02T15:03:48.843-07:00

(image)
Teil Neunzig
To hear this week's story, gather around the preacher.







Or, you can read this episode with Pontius Pilate and Barrabas.

The story so far is here.