Flyin’ To Ya

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Descended stairs
to the concourse
where piano played
a moving chorus
and he brought me
to tears
with Hallelujah.
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
always cry at
Cohen’s
Halle-lu-u-u-u-u-u-u-juah!

The sun’s not up
this Christmas morn
yet round the world
praise, “Son is born!”
As with the teeming throngs
we’re flyin’ to ya.
Flyin’ to ya,
Flyin’ to ya,
all jammed in aeroplanes
and flyin’ to
Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ya.

Though sting of tears
may mist my eyes
My heart still sings
joyous reprise:
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Halle-lu-u-u-u-u-u-u-juah.

Flyin’ to ya,
Flyin’ to ya.
Not angel’s wings
just aeroplane
that brings me to ya.
Brings me to ya,
brings me to ya.
Halle-ay-ay-ay-lu-u-juah

“Love is not a victory march,”
you cleanse my soul,
uplift my heart
(Hope you knew that.)
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Halle-lu-u-u-u-u-u-u-juah!

Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Halle-lu-u-u-u-u-u-u-juah.

Perspective and Praise

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I posted the following on Facebook:
“I can abhor Trump without demonizing his followers.”

This garnered 111 comments from friends, mostly rants demonizing the “other side.” (Le sigh!) In response to my friends’ rants I shared my poem “Base and Blind” to which my friend Tom replied, “I’ve read a lot of your writings. That may be the best.” Tom’s comment got me thinking about my writing from a different perspective, a perspective not of recording and sharing my thoughts, feelings and opinions but rather how my scribblings may be judged by others, a topic I only consider when dealing with extremely sensitive subjects. For the most part I write me with the unspoken invitation of, “Hey, y’all! Here’s what’s going through my head. Wanna see?”

Self-expression, rather than good, better, best (Or for that matter, bad, badder, worst!) is my priority, not the judgement of my readers. (Though I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit that I like “Likes” and LOVE comments.) Tom’s comment got me thinking about how my writings are viewed by me versus readers.

I started writing poems for friends decades ago and quickly learned that most people find poems about themselves FABULOUS! Sending someone a poem about them is almost sure to garner glowing praise but the praise tends to be shallow. They’re not evaluating the poem’s content, structure or ability to hold interest they’re just thrilled somebody (ME!) wrote about them.

When receiving praise from the subjects of my poems I try to remember a language lesson my tenth grade teacher MS Lyons delivered back in 1976. She warned of vapid, subject based accolades that do not reflect the quality of the writing but rather the predispositions and prejudices of the reader. MS Lyons explained that sometimes people who love kittens find any and every thing kitten praise worthy. Bad paintings, bad poems, horrid prose, doesn’t matter, if it’s kittens then they’re smitten. I love being told that something I wrote is good but praise based on subject rather than content, while appreciated, is given very little credence.

I try to evaluate my writing based on whether it works or not. Does it get my point across, does it keep the reader’s attention, does it put images in readers’ heads, is the spelling and grammar correct and therefore not a distraction? Throw in some fun alliterations and a few rhymes to make the writing fun and I may have written something I find praise worthy.

Last in my goals is word length. In today’s society a 500 word essay is considered long, a circumstance of which I am aware but rarely act on.

Base And Blind

Oh, we the righteous do decree
that all shall see the world as we
and if you dare to disagree
we righteous shall mock and shun thee

If you support the evil side
with widest brush we will apply
the taint from which can’t run nor hide:
We know the truth as testified

Inquisition not just old Spain
for we righteous bring back its reign
our instruments your blood will drain
as condescend and spew disdain

There are two camps, one wrong one right,
and you the wrong we right shall smite
for paradise, bombast, cordite
we know sole path from dark to light

Don’t speak to us of your concerns
contemptibles we righteous spurn
just get on board, backward slatterns
or be cast in bubbling cauldron

We know your hearts, we know your minds
your very souls are hateful kind
repent your sins, you unrefined
for all you are is base and blind

Blind to the truth of your cancer
that we can rout, we are the cure!
You are disease, you base adders
we righteous know how to skewer

We’ll call you out, though haven’t met,
for there’s no room for your dissent
and if you dare to share mindset
our wrath shall be your epithet

Oh, we the righteous do decree
that all shall see the world as we
and if you dare to disagree
we righteous shall mock and shun thee

Love of Ours

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The moon appeared in splendor, big and bold and bright,
watched her with my darling and felt my heart take flight.
Sky above Atlantic moon shared with sky of stars,
to south circled Saturn, red hued gave hint of Mars.

Sweet lovely, languid hours twilighted into night,
final days of summer, watch Selene’s arc of flight.
Sky of brightest azure transformed to smoke, then black:
Contrail pierces Luna, bleeds not from the attack.

On a strip of island gentrified beachy homes
laid out in grid pattern, dominoes wait for storm.
To everything a season, slipping into fall,
bright moon keeps on shining, reflection for us all.

No light does she emit, yet symbolizes love?
Both barren and frigid, why look we to above?
There’s love all around us on Earth verdantly rich;
warm hearts, human grappling, let souls entwine in tryst.

Selene with your magic you do naught but mock me;
ever cold and distant, yours is deadly beauty.
Beauty cold and distant? Without cal’rie of heat?
Never can compare to two hearts that as one beat.

Lover’s peaks and valleys, the heat of passion’s kiss,
these from Selene missing, let’s long remember this.
Give me flesh and sinew over a billion stars,
though reflection’s lovely rather have love of ours.

Solo Rider

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Colors of rainbow have all washed away
gone’s arco iris, all’s left’s black and grays.
Thought I had power and dreamt I had speed
left riding solo’s lonely place to be.

Longed for adventure, I needed to fly,
so I saddled up and went for bike ride.
Seems dark and dreary had entered my soul;
to cure winter blues knew I had to roll.

A lack of daylight and excess of mead
hitched my giddy-up so went out biking.
Goal was a roll with friendly peleton
alone at start line where have riders gone?

There’s strength in numbers, there’s value to herd,
camaraderie and to heights we’re spurred.
That’s all terrific but none of it counts
cuz on my group ride my solo-ness taunts.

Day was not tempting fact I must admit
cool temperatures and steady fine mist
but it’s been observed we don’t go to war
with army wanted as we roll forward.

Whether it’s warring or withering sky
weather’s the weather when time for bike ride.
The mail must go through in sleet, rain or snow
out in the drizzle this male man did go.

The wind was blowing to that must confess
a forty knot gale made my bike skittish
but I persevered and I fought the wind
as I cycled from home to ride begin.

Incredulous stares and a few horn honks
affronted my eyes as Klaxons did taunt
but I soldiered on despite wind and rain
I knew peleton would ease stress and strain.

Five miles I traveled by bike to get there
arrived wet and chilled at parking lot stared
expecting to find riders at the start
found I was alone it tore at my heart.

I shrugged my shoulders and inhaled deeply
made the decision to ride solo-ly.
Cursing the weather, resenting lost mates
I went for a ride turns out it was great.

Despite the weather, the wind and the rain
horrid conditions, fact I’m not quite sane,
ride on bicycle beats sitting around
but on next group ride hope lost mates are found.

Colors of rainbow have all washed away
gone’s arco iris, all’s left’s black and grays.
Thought I had power and dreamt I had speed
left riding solo’s lonely place to be.

Tony Kneel: “Daisy, Daisy,” part 2 of 3

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At the end of our ride I bid farewell to Jack, approached Nicolette and exchanged numbers. We agreed that I’d peruse the Potomac Pedalers rides and see which one fit best. I explained that I’d be riding the tandem solo to the ride start so we’d almost certainly do a ride that originated in Ashton or Olney. I didn’t explain that we’d have to start close by because I was carless, the reason wasn’t relevant, and Nicolette smiled while Geoff scowled as they drove away with their bikes atop their BMW 733i.

I cycled the five miles from Sherwood High to home, put the tandem away, (it was my most expensive possession) showered, grabbed some food and, since it was Saturday and I didn’t have to wait until after 11:00 for rates to go down, phoned Jean.

“Hey, baby,” I said into the phone, “how you doing?”

“Good,” she replied. “Just getting some last minute wedding details planned. You’re still planning to make lasagna for the rehearsal dinner at Marie’s, right?”

“Yep. Lasagna Florentine. Gotta Popeye it up.”

“Great. We can go shopping when you get here. You’re driving up with your folks?”

“Uhm, maybe?” I responded. “We’re all coming so I should have plenty of people I can catch a ride with. Maybe John and Brooke. Guess what I did today?”

“Heard from a school in Atlanta!?”

I exhaled heavily. “No. Sorry. Nothing yet. No. I went on a group ride with Jack on the tandem.”

“Oh. Yeah?” Jean responded non-committed. Jack was not one of her favorite people.

“Yeah. Potomac Pedalers? The bike club? We rode the tandem.”

“Cool. Have fun?”

“Yes. I’m looking forward to tandeming with you in Atlanta. Had a gal express interest in a tandem ride with me and so next week I’ll probably ride with her.”

“Oh, yeah? Somebody you know?”

“Not really,” I replied. “We’ve been on rides together, but we haven’t talked much. She usually hangs with her body-builder boyfriend.”

“Oh. Cool! Well, have fun! I got stuff to do. Talk to you later?”

“Absolutely. I should be home tonight. Call you around ten?”

“Perfect. Love you!”

“I love you, JPT. Later,” I said, waiting for her to hang-up before disconnecting.

I consulted my Potomac Pedalers newsletter and found a ride that started from the Olney Theatre and called Nicolette. Geoff answered. “Hi. Is Nicolette there?”

“Who’s calling?”

“Tony Kneel. I’m supposed to arrange a tandem-”

“Nikki!” I hear Geoff call out. “It’s the tandem guy.”

Nicolette gets on the phone, we agree to meet at the Theatre on Saturday the twenty-fourth and go about our days.

Saturday May 24th brings another beautiful not quite summer morning to central Montgomery County. I cycle to the Theatre and find Nicolette waiting with Geoff who scowls. “Hey!” I say, “how are you this morning? You have water bottles?”

We place her two bottles in the stoker’s waiting cages and we three sign the ride log. I explain the basics of being a tandem stoker and then we’re off, heading northwest toward Old Baltimore Road. It doesn’t takes long before the ride group splits into a slightly smaller faster portion, and a larger slower part. Nicolette and I leave Geoff behind in the slower part as we motor through the mostly rolling byways of rural northern M.C. With nearly twice the horsepower but almost no additional aerodynamic drag, tandems allow riders to go faster on flats and fly downhills, with the flip-side being a more precipitous slowing on ascents.

Peter’s Seventieth

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Image may contain: 4 people, people sitting and indoor

We all know of Peter and his fairy pal Tink,
and army of Lost Boys from fount of youth did drink.
Neverland far away, yet ever is it nigh,
ADA accessible, as we all can fly.

Fly away in spirit, God Father, Son, and Ghost!
My Cath’lic upbringing this play reflected most.
Not too far from Dubuque, in eastern Iowa,
is where I lived longest, tall corn and short soya!

I too am an orphan, I too am four of five,
play made me remember times long ago slipped by.
Sarah captures nicely Midwest mid-century,
Wendy, John and Michael, Jane and Hook all family.

First we lost our mother and then we lost our dad;
only one not present when our Royal Dame passed.
Ten years span of siblings, eldest turns sixty-two
all love one another; I’m liberal in the room.

Spread out cross the nation, triangle of vast size
from D.C. to Memphis hypotenuse inscribes.
Though great is the distance hearts are our winning suit
for love of family for all’s an absolute.

Known to act a fairy, flit merrily around,
though the years weigh heavy life still holds me spellbound.
Here’s to sister Peter, my John and brother Mike,
Jane’s our youngest sibling, I will Captain our flight.

We all know of Peter and his fairy pal Tink,
and army of Lost Boys from fount of youth did drink.
Fly away in spirit, God Father, Son, and Ghost!
My Cath’lic upbringing this play reflected most.

Joe Kleen- Southern Hospitality: 02/15/90, 35 of 41

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ONE-HUNDRED-NINETY-FOUR
Cameron arrived with six drinks and announced, “Your appetizers will be out shortly,” as he distributed each cocktail to each of the Kleens without any question of who got which drink. Delivery of drinks complete he turned his smile to Ron and Cherryl and asked, “Would you like something from the bar?”

“I’d like an Old Fashioned, please,” Ron replies. “Cherryl?”

“Perhaps some Pinot Grigio,” Cherryl says, “well is fine,” she adds.

“Very well, madam,” Cameron replies with a smile and a head nod before asking, “are we ready to order or should I add more appetizers?”

“Oh, this isn’t the couple we were waiting for,” Courtney says, “they haven’t arrived yet.”

Cameron’s inscrutable mask slips ever so slightly and Joe says, “They just looked so lost and lonely we invited them over for a drink, that’s all. The others should be here soon.”

“Joe!” Cherryl admonishes “Be nice, the man is trying to do his job.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Joe says with false contrition. “Cameron, they’ve already eaten and just stopped by to say hello. Just the drinks until our other friends show up.”

Cameron lowers his head but not his smile and looks at Joe from the top right side of his eyes. “Very well, sir. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

“Are you always so much trouble?” Ron asks, his smile at odds with his words.

“Whenever the opportunity presents itself,” Joe concedes. “Life is short, might as well enjoy the ride.”

“Can’t argue with that, can I?” Ron replies.

“Can’t argue with what?” Kat says as she limps towards the table, adding, “Oh. Hello! You two were on the bus out with us weren’t you? You spoke up when that nasty couple was abusing Idurus.”

“Oh, Lord,” Ron says with a sigh, “guilty. Did I come on too strong?”

“Not at all!” Adam says. “I was really glad you set them straight. I think you had the perfect, ‘More in sorrow than in anger,’ tone.”

“Oh good,” Ron replies with a quadruple micro head nod, “I was afraid I came off a bit, shall we say, pugilistic?”

“Not a bit,” Kat assures. “I’m Kat Lane and this Adam. Pleasure to meet you,” she adds as she extends her hand first to Cherryl and then Ron.

“Cherryl Thomason, and the pleasure is mutual.”

“Ron Thomason. Here, here,” he adds as he pushes his chair away from the big round table. “let me get out of the way some, we’re just here for a cocktail, we’ve already eaten.”

“Oh good,” Adam says before his head jerks back at his faux pax. “Not good that you’re leaving! Just good that you already ate. You can let us know what you liked or didn’t.”

A Banner Year!

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Nineteen-Ninety-Seven
it was a banner year
Featured Braves v Yankees
Atlanta’s Turner Field
There were swings and misses
but one thing that was hit
was Marisa’s birthday
Score plus four more of it

Batten down the hatches
we could not see the storm
of the fiery banshee
despite portents forewarned
that with sprite’s arrival
world turned upon its head
Approach Comet Hale Bop
Cassandra’s voice did lend

Though third of five children
First in catastrophe
it’s not that she’s evil
just loves devilish glee
Sitting on the sidelines
is not Marisa’s style
center stage commanding
as makes the crowd go wild!

Four tens equals forty
multiplicatively
but four to tenth power
grows exponentially
Exponents now comrades
thanks to rad little girl
sines, cosines, and tangents
around great circles swirl

Baseball happy birthday
she’s how the west was won!
Hope you find my nonsense
a lot of rhyming fun
but I say sincerely
happy birthday to you
Braves had stellar April
sure hope your dreams come true!

Nineteen-Ninety-Seven
it was a banner year
Featured Braves v Yankees
Atlanta’s Turner Field
There were swings and misses
but one thing that was hit
was Marisa’s birthday
Score plus four more of it!

Joe Kleen- Southern Hospitality: 02/15/90, 34 of 41

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ONE-HUNDRED-NINETY-THREE
The dinner details that the Lanes and Kleens worked out called for the Kleens to relax at the Hyatt’s Tentazione Ristorante with drinks and appetizers where the Lanes would rejoin them after they refreshed themselves in their room following the day’s hike up and down Mount Liamuiga’s which had also included Kat’s ankle spraining, clumsy Tarzan, vine fail to the ground. With drinks and hors de oeuvres order already taken but not yet delivered by their cummerbund clad, pleated tuxedo shirt with black bow tied bedecked server Cameron the Kleens were not expecting the arrival of another couple so quickly, but in short order a familiar voice declared, “I see Elijah has returned from the wilderness, or should that be Elijahs?”

All six heads swivel in the direction of the man’s voice and Joe’s face lights up when he sees Ron and Cherryl. “Ron! Cherryl! I heard good things about you concerning our driver Idurus. And just FYI,” he says with a wink, “Mount Misery wasn’t anywhere near bad enough for us to be praying for death. Are you coming or going?”

“We were on our way out,” Cherryl says. “Just wanted to say hi.”

“You’re welcome to join us,” Joe says. “Adam and Kat Lane should be here soon. She didn’t fare as well coming down Liamuiga.”

“Oh no!” Cherryl laments. “What happened?”

“Tried to swing on a vine that wasn’t up to the job,” Joe replies with a shrug. “Sprained her ankle but says she’s okay. Misty tells me that you followed up Sandra’s anti Idurus propaganda campaign with some much needed objective color commentary?”

“I think we managed to get our point across,” Ron says with a nod. “It definitely wasn’t that young man’s fault.”

“No, it certainly wasn’t,” Courtney says. “Justin and I helped Joe set the record straight and Justin suggested a small change for drop-offs and pick-ups at the airport. I’m Courtney by the way?”

“Oh, yes! So sorry!” Ron effuses, bowing at the waist. “This is Cherryl and I’m Ron. We were chatting with Justin and Joe and Misty on the bus. Pleasure.”

“Hi, Ron, hi, Cherryl,” Phil says with a nod. “I’m Phil and this is Kelsey, Justin’s wife. That’s got us covered, right? Everyone’s been at least semi-introduced?”

“At least until Kat and Adam arrive,” Misty says. “Did you two want to join us for a drink at least? Plenty of room here?”

“Well, maybe just until your friends come,” Cherryl replies, “I’m pretty sure you didn’t come all this way just to hang out with people old enough to be your grandparents.”

“Oh, please!” Courtney refutes, “don’t be silly. We’re not ageists here.”

“Plus Kat’s a bike mechanic just like Joe,” Misty adds. “If you guys get Joe talking shop that’ll mean he won’t be able to snarf down the lion’s share of appetizers when they arrive.”

“Lion’s share, eh?” Ron chuckles. “That’s an entirely different cave than Elijah’s.”

Fear Day’s Lost To Shadow

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Too dead Two dead To dead
Two dead that died today
Too dead Two dead To dead
Reaper will come what may
Too dead Two dead To dead
Friends from my long ago

Too dead Two dead To dead
A classmate from sixth grade
lived on neighboring street
a cancer took his brain
his heart no longer beats

Too dead Two dead To dead
Two dead that died today
Too dead Two dead To dead
Reaper will come what may
Too dead Two dead To dead
Friends from my long ago

Too dead Two dead To dead
the girl with once I worked
when we were in our teens
it was a heart attack
that gave her ashen sheen

Too dead Two dead To dead
Two dead that died today
Too dead Two dead To dead
Reaper will come what may
Too dead Two dead To dead
Friends from my long ago

Too dead Two dead To dead
with one did correspond
other was mere shadow
Truly too young to die
at fifty-nine years old

Too dead Two dead To dead
Two dead that died today
Too dead Two dead To dead
Reaper will come what may
Too dead Two dead To dead
Friends from my long ago
Too dead Two dead To dead
fear day’s lost to shadow

Joe Kleen- Southern Hospitality: 02/15/90, 33 of 41

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ONE-HUNDRED-NINETY-TWO
With all six Kleens primed with hunger and eager to eat they managed to descend the staircase from suite 2-C and head across the concrete expanse that separated the Poinciana building from the Hyatt’s main entrance, the quickly darkening twilight that remained in the clear sky still providing sufficient light to blot out all but the brightest celestial objects and to wondrously frame the three-quarter, waning, gibbous moon’s ascension from Poseidon’s lair to its minimally revealed glory where it bobbed astride the ocean engaged in a wet yet chaste kiss with Earth and heavens.

Entering the lobby Phil points to the reception area to their right and says, “I that Adam over there with no shirt on?” as the Kleens strid down the large central hallway that leads to the Hyatt’s myriad attractions and eateries.

“Sure is,” Kat’s voice declares from their left causing all six Kleen heads and 12 eyes to shift from right to left.

“Kat!” Kelsey declares, seeing the young woman sitting on a couch, her left leg extended in front of her so it was supported and horizontal. “Oh my gosh! What happened to you!?”

“Uh, you know that vine I thought would hold me?” she asks as the sextet alters their vector and velocity and quickly closes the gap between them. “It couldn’t,” she sighs. “Fell into the ravine and sprained my ankle. Poor Adam had to scramble and help me make this splint,” she adds, tapping the branches wrapped in a torn tee-shirt wrapped around her ankle. “Then he had to help me get down the rest of the way. Isn’t it U-Haul whose motto is, ‘Adventures in moving?’”

“Yah,” Joe says nodding, “but I don’t think this is what they meant. You okay?”

“Ah, hurts some, but I’ve had worse. How’d your hike go?”

“Really well,” Justin says, “but we nearly missed the bus. Joe and Misty ran for it as the bus was pulling away and luckily the driver saw them and we were able to get on board. We we’re just heading to dinner now. I assume you haven’t eaten?”

“No!” Kat says, her brows rising and her eyes getting big. “We were going to as soon as we’ve showered. Just wanted to tell the folks here what a great job Sholto did bringing us in. He offered to radio for an ambulance or taxi but really I’m fine, just dirty, bruised, sprained and hungry. Oh! Plus after Sholto, Adam wanted to be sure to stand up for Idurus too.”

“Excellent!” Justin exclaims. “Good for him. They both did really good jobs. Do you want help getting to you room?”

“Hmm,” Kat replies, her mouth twisting to the right. “Not sure. Wanna sit and wait a minute for Adam and see what’s up? Maybe hit dinner together if you don’t mind waiting?”

“Or we can bring dinner up to you if that’s smarter?” Kelsey asks.

“No, no! Really, I’m fine, just want to get clean and ice my ankle.”

“Speaking of which,” Misty says, “why don’t we go get you some ice now, then we can figure out the less important details after.”

“Genius,” Joe says nodding his head before adding in song, “‘That’s when I fell for -uhm!- the leader of the pack!’”

Today Turn Double Dozen

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Today is Easter Sunday
your birthday is today
Today we’re celebrating
His rising and lassie
Today is the third Easter
falls on your birthday date
Since you were born one April
made ’97 great!

The first time you were toddler
a wee lass of just two
Eleven years from birthday
converged once more for you
Today turn double dozen
alliterative treat
Sure hope you know I find you
so golly gosh darn neat

The next year of convergence
His rising and your birth
be grand dame of 86
hope have four score of mirth
You may reach the convergence
of four-four number five
I pray you make it that long
nine-seven years alive!

The sixth and final number
my numerology
come twenty-one fifty-one
age unlikely to see
Today is Easter Sunday
your birthday is today
Today we’re celebrating
His rising and lassie

Today turn double dozen
alliterative treat
Sure hope you know I find you
so golly gosh darn neat
Today is Hannah’s birthday
we wish her many more
I’ll take my Irish singing
and head right out your door!

Joe Kleen- Southern Hospitality: 02/15/90, 32 of 41

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ONE-HUNDRED-NINETY-ONE
Joe awakened alone and naked in his twilit room and stretched his arm in search of Misty. After confirming both by touch and sight that he was alone in their bed he stretched farther until he reached the nightstand that held his wristwatch.

“Six-thirty-three,” he exhales quietly, “and there’s a rumbly in my tumbly.”

Rising from his bed he grabs clean clothes from his suitcase atop the dresser which he slips into before slipping out of their bedroom and down the short hallway to the main room.

As Joe enters Justin, sitting at the dining room table, looks up from his spiral notebook and says, “There he is! We were wondering if we should wake you up for dinner or leave you behind. Nice nap?”

“Yes,” Joe confirms nodding, “which means I’ve satisfied three-fourths of my stated goals from our arrival. Water, shower, food and a nap,” he says, ticking off one finger for each listed item before throwing his hands palm-skyward from the wrist and adding, “but somehow I got out of order and napped before I ate. I’m hungry!” he finishes with a bellow.

“Cho-cante!” Justin replies, adding, “‘You’re hungry? I’m hungry. We’re all hungry! So let’s eat!’ We’ve just been waiting for you and deciding if we should wake you up before we go, go or let you sleep in peace. Misty was literally about to ask if you wanted to come.”

“’Relax, don’t do it?’” Joe sings, adding, “Yah I want to come. Tengo hambre! Let me hit the bathroom right quick and we can be on our way.”

“Cool,” Justin says. “‘Go to the temple of the ages!’”

“‘Cry, for the children!’” Phil adds. “Now go! What Justin said about all of us being hungry.”

Joe dogtrots around the corner singing, “‘Well I’m on my way, I don’t know where I’m going. I’m on my way, I’m taking my time but I don’t know where. Goodbye to Rosie, the queen of Corona, seein’ me and Julio down by the schoolyard.’”

Hormonally Hot~n~Heavy

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P-O-T-O-C-N-A-K
Come on, Eileen!
Come on, Eileen!
P-O-T-O-C-N-A-K
Come on, Eileen!
Come on, Eileen!
P-O-T-O-C-N-A-K
Hormonally Hot~n~Heavy

Both long ago and far away
Me and Eileen we used to play
The kind of games that children do
When adolescence makes ’em drool
We were both born April six-one
Her birthday’s first but’s I who’d come
Come to her house most every day
Where entwined teens we two would play

Eighth grade we met at school of socks
Her house from mine was three mile walk
Head out Stonegate’s suburban streets
I’d float on air for kisses sweet
Hot~n~Heavy hormonally
Sweetest first love she’ll always be
We met eighth grade by ninth entwined
Inebriate our April wine

P-O-T-O-C-N-A-K
Come on, Eileen!
Come on, Eileen!
P-O-T-O-C-N-A-K
Come on, Eileen!
Come on, Eileen!
P-O-T-O-C-N-A-K
Hormonally Hot~n~Heavy

We knew it’d last, we would be wed
Soar through the clouds love without end
Ninth grade through twelfth Aphrodite
Body, mind, soul loved her knightly
The Greek goddess of Love Sweet Love
Sustained us through age troublesome
But in middle of senior year
Relationship did grate I fear

Forever friends we two remain
As decades pass and aging pains
Today Eileen is age THREE SCORE!?
How’d we get here? Wish you scores more!
Primus inter pares Latin
You sure were first to make me come
Come to revere relationships
Of lifelong friends and lovely slips

P-O-T-O-C-N-A-K
Come on, Eileen!
Come on, Eileen!
P-O-T-O-C-N-A-K
Come on, Eileen!
Come on, Eileen!
P-O-T-O-C-N-A-K
We’d pet till wet Hot~n~Heavy

Happy birthday, most darling you
Though our love’s past it still was true
Sixty-years-old you turn today
But in my heart youthful you’ll stay
The brightest stars the evergreens
The moon above and bluest seas
I think of you when I see these
First love is sweet veracity

P-O-T-O-C-N-A-K
Come on, Eileen!
Come on, Eileen!
P-O-T-O-C-N-A-K
Come on, Eileen!
Come on, Eileen!
P-O-T-O-C-N-A-K
Hot~n~Heavy hormonally


Joe Kleen- Southern Hospitality: 02/15/90, 31 of 41

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ONE-HUNDRED-NINETY
True to her word Misty had placed a tall glass of ice water on the counter next to the bathroom sink which Joe found waiting for him upon his return to suite 2-C.

“Bless you,” he says to himself as he gulps the water down, removes and drops his sweat drenched clothes to the floor, hops into the water flow which still runs cold from the tap, lathers, reaches to twist the dial from far red to moderate blue as the temperature becomes uncomfortably hot, shampoos and rinses in tepid water which he stands beneath for a full four minutes in motionless revitalization before shutting off the water flow, drying himself haphazardly, wrapping the towel around his waist, stooping to pick up his sweaty clothes and crossing the hall to his bedroom.

Opening the bedroom he finds Misty supine in their bed, back leaning against the headboard, draped in a light robe, reading her book. Her brows go up as she smiles and asks, “You found your water?” 

“Sure did, thank you.”

“Welcome. Did you see Cherryl and Tom? They were sitting poolside as we were heading to the room.”

“Nope. Finished talking to a guy at the desk and hightailed it back here. I was stinky-sweaty, thirsty and beat, now I’m only beat.”

“They said they talked to Genevieve concerning Idurus?” Misty says. “Said they held back as Sandra got off the bus and watched as she goose stepped right up to the counter with her husband. Couldn’t hear what she said but that her body language was pretty telling and that Genevieve was taking notes.

“After Sandy and Mikey stepped away he and Cherryl went up to Genevieve and told their tale? Tom got pretty worked up talking about how, ‘Insufferable, shallow and callous she was,’ and I’m quoting there. He said he told Genevieve what really happened and that Cherryl backed him up of course.

“I’m really glad you stopped too,” Misty adds. “Talk about ugly Americans.”

“Yah, you can say that again,” Joe replies nodding. “Any room in that bed for me?”

“You brush your teeth, sailor?”

“Pardon?” he asks. “Oh,” he continues, a light of understanding illuminating his visage. “Oh! I meant room for me to nap but no, no I haven’t. I sure can though!”

“Why don’t you? I already did.”

“Oh. I see,” he replies. “I’ll be right back.”

“And I’ll be right here,” Misty replies, dipping her chin low to look at her husband from the tops of her eyes.

Steve Trevor To Her Wonder Woman: An essay from my past

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Another essay that popped up from my past:

February 25, 2013
I just finished another mediocre bicycle ride and have come to the conclusion that again this year the only Kenel who will be bringing home race laurels is Patricia Tierney Kenel.

Pat, you are my Artemis: I swoon in your arms and lie supplicant at your feet. I find joy in being the satyr that can scratch your itch my little goddess of the hunt. I am the Steve Trevor to your Wonder Woman.