Was planned an event for practitioners of conjugation.
The venue was to be in some exotic location.
The invitations were sent.
Seems like the effort was ill-spent.
No one registered during registration.
Author: NDExile
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Inspired to do
Inspiration comes from where she wills, comes from where she may.
Striking like a bolt in the deep night, wafting like a breeze at midday.
When she comes, its with a purpose, she remains to see it through.
Its as though my thoughts are at her whim, her will becomes mine too.
Then as she came, she goes away, Inspiration has fled from me.
My thoughts are mine, my will is too, again I’m purpose free.
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A Bit of Nonsense
He ain’t heavy
An impromptu fix is a work-around.
Sixteen ounces is 1 lb.
Say it one way or another,
My mother’s other son is my brother.
Now that is most profound.
A head above
There is a manufacturer in Nantucket,
“Never ship by rail, I always truck it.”
He’s a practical man.
A member of the MacDonnell clan.
Instead of walking into a bar, he’ll duck it.
Dress for success
There once was a man named Lance.
Seemed quite ordinary at first glance.
The mission he sought,
Was to be knighted Lancelot.
Anything to wear chain mail pants.
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Adoration Inspiration
There He hangs upon that cross,
my small pleasures became His great loss.
I indulged in every vice and whim,
yet all the opprobrium was loaded on Him.
By the blood of His stripes He healed and saved me.
Now He offers me a share in His glorious victory.
I’m confident that when I take my last breath,
He’ll raise me to new life, leaving behind eternal death.
Wonder struck, I gaze upon the Lord, yet one thing puzzles me.
I can see the wounds, but not the nails, that hold Him to that tree.
Mocked, ridiculed, profaned and scorned by those he came to save.
He opened not his mouth, remaining silent to the grave.
He intercedes for His persecutors,
praying to His Father in Heaven
above.
Then I come to understand, he was
Held to that cross not by nails,
But by His own selfless love.
Had he left that cross, with its pain and
suffering, to pursue His own free will.
I would have had to bear my transgressions
and without redemption, die upon that hill.
Here I sit with a chance once more,
Renewed and cleansed of sin.
All Because He’s conquered death, opening
Heaven’s gates to let me in.
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Just one more day of football
We know when the week ends and we know when the week starts.We seem to break it down, not evenly, but rather, arbitrarily in two unequal parts.
The work week has five days, now that hardly seems fair.
The much deserving weekend, two days, a measly, simple pair.
To ameliorate this great injustice, a simple solution I’ll propose.
Let us move Wednesday after Friday (and before Saturday, I suppose).
The work week will have four days, the weekend now has three.
Still not exactly equivalent, but moving towards parity.
Here is a more balanced arrangement between the number of days off and days on.
Would tailgating each day of a three day weekend become a triathlon?
I suppose that it could, I believe that it will, I presume that it probably might.
But the solution here is easy, have autonomous vehicles drive you home at night.
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Four Fishermen Called to Ministry
Four fishermen called as disciples
Living a life of peril, they plied their trade on a capricious, inland sea.
They were strong and stern, they were fisherman, they came from Galilee.
Not educated in the ways of Hellenists, they were Hebrews by their birth.
Their culture, their heritage, their God, were the surety to life on this earth.
Through their toil, by their wit, good stewards of God’s gifts to them;
They knew the source of prosperity, they offered theirs’ back to Him.
In the way of the fathers, formed by tradition, they reflected on God’s precepts;
Each heard the command from within their hearts, “Put down your fishing nets.”
Jesus approached as he said, “Simon and Andrew, come and follow me.
James and John, leave your father and join us, you, the sons of Zebedee.”
“What you’ve learned in a lifetime of fishing, your time upon the sea;
You will apply in the villages and towns, as you go The way with me.”
“It won’t be fish that you’ll be catching, when you go for fishing again.
You’ll be winning minds and hearts, and saving the souls of men.”
The net you’ll cast is not of this earth, of fiber it is not made,
its formed by truth and strengthened by love, a great price, yet to be paid.
Like sheep, the fishermen knew the voice of the one they had heard.
They put aside families and livelihood to follow the true, Living Word.
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Mobster Imposter
There was a seasoned Sicilian mobster.
He preferred Mediterranean scallops to lobster.
Desiring service most fast,
He had his meals DoorDash-ed.
Was he a mob boss imposter?
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A Lake by any other name
In this society full of unequal disparity.
Let us debate a point for ambiguous clarity.
If there’s a Lake Michigan, among the Great,
Shouldn’t there be a Lake Michigan State?
Let us debate it with disparate complimentary.
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T’was the morn of Cyber Monday
T’was the morn of Cyber Monday, I was safe in my house.
I was ready to shop with the click of a mouse.
To Gmail I went with the greatest of care,
In hopes that the ‘e-tailers’ would have coupons to share.
The virus software was downloading, with the greatest of speed,
The updates to stop intruders, I knew it would need.
With the firewall to defend, and anti-virus to protect,
I settled my mind, knowing nothing did I neglect.
Then from down on the taskbar there arose such a clatter,
An alarm icon opened and declared “Something’s the matter!”
Back to Gmail I navigated in a hurry and with a flash,
I perused the open message with the subject line “Free Cash”.
The possibilities of me spending some of that free dough
Dimmed my senses enough to make me think slow.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear
A pop-up that said “If You Want Your System Back, Click Here.”
The contents in the Ad appeared glossy and slick,
It all looked so appealing but it must’ve been a trick.
More rapid than eagles, the hacker’s demands came:
“Provide me your first name, and your last name, this ain’t no child’s game!
Your user-id, your password and yourMother’s maiden name.
Fill in every field, both large and small!
Now type it in, type it in!
Type it in all!
With speed and precision I moved upper right,
I closed the browser window, sending the Ad outta sight.
I listened for alerts to hear what they’d say,
“Be Cautious Online, It’s Cyber-Monday!”
Then came silence, that’s all I could hear
I wondered if I had a virus or if all was clear.
I opened the A/V console to have a look around,
I hoped and I prayed that nothing would be found.
It appeared in a folder where viruses are sent to rot,
The file was named Trojan.Downloader.MrDorkbot.
I recalled the media’s hype about this devious program,
Just the thought of it here caused my senses to jam.
It was reputed to steal data like passwords and Ids,
And, it could bring the best computer crashing to its knees.
I became frightened and nervous to say the very least,
Should I call my mother, my brother, my sister or the police?
Then I collected my thoughts and focused my eyes on the screen,
I didn’t have anything to worry about, MrDorkbot was in quarantine.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
and I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
He spoke not a word, but he avoided my glance,
For he knew when in virus jail you get no second chance.
With the click of the mouse I sent him to his fate,
Knowing he was destroyed made me feel, well kinda great.
Then I sprang to my browser, to Amazon.com I went,
But my PayPal account was useless ‘cuz every penny was already spent.
I knew in a moment, it required no second thought,
This was the work of the impish MrDorkbot.
The hard-drive light flickered,
The DVD tray popped out.
Then in the faintest of voices I heard an elfish voice say,
“Be Cautious Online, each and every day!”
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Education on the high seas
There once was a young lad from Sattahip.
A deckhand aboard merchants on many a trip.
He dreamed of a world-class education.
Far-fetched for a swabbie’s renumeration.
If only he could serve aboard a scholar-ship.
The Ethereal Scupper 