Cockamamie Celestia

Credit comes where credit’s due, and laws—

well, laws come twitterpated before the thaw

of old white men in old white suits;

They (omniscient, omnipresent, indescribable they) did it first to Galileo

then to poor sweet Mattimeo

(better known as Bob the bloviating, argle-bargling snob)

with the theory that he chose to lob:

Balls.

You laugh, but it’s quite a simple fall—

the world, the moon, the stars, and all the drumming racket between

it’s all just balls of a rather vibrant sheen.

Given, he colored himself early with the choice

of Al Gore for Internet’s first modest voice—

a tubular choice for a system clogged

with indecision blogged

for people! for substance!

Well, he’s nothing but a nuisance

some little boy crying wolf

when the world was playing golf—

but as the rest claimed ends of ice and fire

(destruction, not the Game of Thrones) desire

telescopes were found to spy The Bearded Man align

the perfect shot from His designs

too late to cry for all their hope

that God was not a golfing man or replicating trope—

Pool’s the game on which He set His celestial roots.

The Season of Letters

It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day; spring is near at hand, and the mail is beginning to stir…

Image care of Photobucket.

Spring flowers in bloom

Hope rides letters on the wind—

Rejection season.

That’s right ladies and gents, the season of rejection letters is beginning. Just got another gem of one today. Personally, I like to store them up, in that oh-so-classy of ways, so I can look back on them with a smile if and when I actually do get published. Meanwhile: c’est la vie. What do you do with your rejection letters?