Where the last of the big words dwell

Where the last of the big words dwell
By Jon Slone



I charted a course for The Brobdingnagian Plains, ‘neath the Sisyphean sun, where the last of the big words dwell.

Starting off, I intrepidly braved the Caveat Jungles in all of their convoluted glory. Nestled-in taut, under a canopy of misanthrope trees, I found a sequestered glade stitched-in on all sides by the ensorcelled, Pennyworth Peaks. Scuttlebutt purports that these Proficuous Peaks are made out of magical and mouth-watering milk chocolate. Whether or not verisimilitude inhabits said gossip is neither here nor there for I scarcely had time to respire, much less loan myself over to escarpment-licking bliss!

At this point, my knackered time-piece read 2:37pm.

Around the Pullulating Pools, I navigated my enervated person, paying little mind to the scads of Lackadaisical Durplepotts mired in empty repose. Moreover, I never bore witness to any Pontificating Panjandrums, chimerical dorps or disingenuous shoats either.

And I was so hoping to see a disingenuous shoat!

I waded through the tempestuous, Fribble Fjords. I canoed every gossamer inch of Lugubrious Loch. I hiked up endless flights of Craggy Apples and I bested many a mangy, Frog and Toad as well!

To my unbridled delight, near gloaming, after numberless hours of strenuous journeying, I had finally darkened the east entrance of the Brobdingnagian Plains.

Holey Blue-Jeans!

For as far as gapes could gander, I saw nothing but endless throngs of cyclopean words! Clustered on a lush page of earth like GooseBump Buffalo!

My inner word-nerd was a kernel of popcorn in a skinned-up microwave!

Here at the end of the last of the most precious and promethean words ever, it frightened me to know what lie just ahead. For I could see that there was more!

Ever at the ready, I quickly slipped between a plump Clishmaclaver and a courteous Comeuppance.
I think they were expatiating poppycock, though I’m not entirely sure.

Next, I crawled over an enormous Confabulate that was stacked on top of a bulbous Bumbershoot. I eschewed a histrionic Hornswoggle, a diminutive Appellation and a gloomy Salmagundi.

Ever and anon I tripped over a Traipsing Tergiversate, stubbed my big toe on a
purple Pedagogue and found unexpected respite atop a gracious but crestfallen Cachinnate.


If I had to wager a guess, I’d say that the last words I ever saw were Pelf, Bedraggled and Verisimilitude.

In hindsight, I’m really quite taken with the word, Verisimilitude. The way I see it, it just can’t help but being a big ole bit of mouth candy! The actual word means, truth. Yet there it sits, encased in all of that deliciously silly wrapping paper!

Shortly thereafter my fleshly car framed the Brobdingnagian Plains permanently in its rear-view.


Minutes later, my hangdog body found it toeing the languid ledge of Feckless Knoll, overlooking the unremitting world of Empty Chasm, the place where words cease to exist.


And I was speechless.





Jon WordNerd Slone

The Way of the White Petticoat

The Way of the White Petticoat
By: Jon Slone








I wanted to view life as a butterfly does.

So I climbed to the top of the world’s tallest waterfall in Venezuela.
And I set out for the loftiest steeple of splashy crag I could find.

A child set adrift in the deplorable drink, exhausted from looking at Picture Shows through potato sacks.

Through swells of rapturous hysteria, my countenance put-on an irrepressible smile, unlike any other it had ever donned before.
I guess it knew better, that which lay secret on the next page, and here I, the book.

Homesick, bruised and scraped-up pretty bad, I tumbled over into the lovely unknown like a jubbe of blissful beverage off an ancient breakfast table.


All at once, the pauper was made rich and the blind man could see.


A visual banquet unfurled before a pair of eyes what had never supped before.

Tears leapt from my wet cheeks like reckless rainbows.

I rifled through my word-suitcase only to find out I hadn’t packed a single thing.

An ailing world’s best kept secret was a destination of indescribable pulchritude.
And it and I were two opposite limbs of electrical discharge, screaming down a trackless swath, bound for one capstone of a hand shake.

The false coda and the authentic first chapter; two foes in one sleeping bag.

My jubilant heart tore from my suffocating person, like a kid at King's Island, and bade me to plummet faster.


In a startling turn of events, the mist-like deluge and the redoubtable escarpment became envious of a little crumb of dirt.


The Grand Canyon, jealous of a pot-hole.


There were no woebegone obstructions to crane a glance around. No intractable horizons in the yawning distance to ponder over, as to what further ambrosia may be tucked away like diffident duvets.

No more potato sacks, no more corrupted beauty, no more living on the frayed edges of the Big Picture.

Now I could see everything. And everything could see me.


And all of it was too much for a crumb of dirt, too great for a speck to know!


Colors blushed like the tip of a lit match, images were heart-stopping, fragrances became touchy-feely and my viscera wore perpetual goose bumps like a taut windbreaker.

My life had gone from nose-bleed to, no way!

The first remnants of an everlasting heaven had both hands cupped around my wrinkled-up, tear-stained face.

It too, bade me to hurry.

I was forlorn for some nebulous reason yet laughter had its way with me regardless.

The way of the White Petticoat had been slammed-up against my countenance worse than the clamorous and ubiquitous coil.


The shorter your time is at the fair, the sweeter the ride is on the merry-go-round.


For the first time, I could see as the butterfly. And it was a far cry better than plaques and playfellows to be certain.

Sickness in a second. Forever in a free-fall.


Awesome really.


The flame of forty Christmas’s had flickered out and with that, I was over.



Then I had just begun!





Jon TheJumper Slone

My Kind Of Math

My Kind Of Math
By Jon Slone












One Man Band
Plus 3 Dog Night
Plus 10cc
Plus Level 42.
Now subtract Take 6
And 38 Special
And while you’re at it
Take Maroon 5 too.
_______________________
= Naturally 7



Ain't Music Just Grand!



(P.S. UB40 and IBNUTS!)




Sincerely yours,
Jon 10,000 Maniacs Slone

Hanging On By A Gospel Thread

Hanging On
By A
Gospel Thread
By Jon Slone









Their promethean trenches transform the pliable earth all around me.

A burnt match destined for greatness.

Stamps of their subsistence hollow me out like a severed bough, deep within the Forgotten Forest.

On Sinking Street, opulent Castles blossom like bulrushes along the Nile. And I’m left to suppose how it is that my ramshackle hut resides on the same street?

Cadaverous strangers gulp-in the eesome sky, and shed their troubles in my backyard like blankets of long-tooth skin.

I’m as conspicuous as the backing of a cross stitch.

An Infinitesimal, flaxen-locked orb of nothing, buried in a brackish lost-and-found box!

Disconsolate as an empty ice cube tray.

A paper wad in the Trash-Can Sea, hanging on by a gospel thread!

Irretrievably homesick and a hardboot for what’s behind curtain number three.

Curtain one and two are but mountebank dreams.

Sinking Street is a chimerical mist.


For Tim Laagos!


Jon BigHElittleme Slone

And for the one that's in my heart!

And for the one that's in my heart!
By Jon Slone





What do you see when you look at your Christmas tree? Is it just, something pretty to look at? Possibly something you put up because, that's what everybody else does?
What does the tree do for you? What does it remind you of? Does it do anything else besides make your house look more radiant and inviting and festive?

Does the Christmas tree still hold its wonder and magic like when you were a kid?


For me personally, I've been wanting more from mine as of late! Sure, I remember how special it was when I was a child. But lately, maybe I haven't noticed much more than that.

This is what God has shown me recently:

Galatians 6:14

As for me, God forbid that I should boast about anything except the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ!



I've always told people that, sure, I'm excited that Christ was born in a manger and all........but I'm much more excited about what He did at Calvary!!!

Calvary gets my juices flowing! Calvary is who I am! Calvary is why I can keep on going! My, what-to-brag-about! Calvary is a slam-dunk in the game of life! My hope, my faith, my future and where my life is hidden.........right there on calvary!

God, pinned down upon a tree, is the best thing that ever happened to me!!

His ineffable sacrifice is my, something pretty to look at! My wonder, my indescribable gift-card!

My everything is built on Calvary and hidden in Christ!



Colossians 2:14 says that, He canceled the record that contained the charges against us! He destroyed it by nailing it to the cross! God disarmed the evil rulers and authorities! He shamed them publicly by His victory over them on the cross of Christ!


What do you see when you look at your Christmas tree?


This is what I see:

I see a place where it was finished! I see a place where life truly begins! I see a place where busted-up and broken-down sinners like me, can find that water that never makes you thirst again!

Who knew that, one unsightly tree on one craggy hill could be so important?

But it is!


That one, blood-stained moment in time is the greatest thing that ever happened to planet earth!
In the prodigious book of life, Calvary would be the best chapter! According to Galatians 6, the only thing in the universe worth boasting about!

And here's the wild part, a token of that marvelous, best-night-ever,is propped up in my house right now!


So, to that I say:


"Thank you Father for the tree that's in my living room and for the one that's in my heart!"


Merry Christmas!



Jon Big HE little me Slone

And That's Pretty Darn Awesome!

And That’s Pretty Darn Awesome!
By Jon Slone










I’m here today, I’m gone tomorrow!
An eighty year span, to God, is a cough!
I get to the end and it’s just the beginning!
I’ve gone a long way yet I’m just starting off!
I feel pretty sure, just to find out I’m bluffin’!
It’s all a dark glass,
A faith-flooded riddle!
I’m smart when it is that I know I know nuthin’!
A puny little pot with a crack down the middle!

I’m undersized, I’m inconsequential!
Yet Jesus left heaven and He died on a tree!
There on the cross while I was still sinning,
My mind can’t fathom this deed done for me!

I sure can’t wait to cry on His toes,
And wipe up the tears with my rough facial-frizz!
Heaven forbid that I boast in the slightest!
Except for the fact that I know that I'm His!

And that’s pretty darn awesome!




"I revel in my nothingness!"
Press on, Pray on, Preach on!
Jon Big HE little me Slone

Specks!

Specks!
By Jon Slone





I thought I was more like the size of Horton,
Or maybe Big Bird or possibly Grover.

Today I found out
I'm the speck on the neck
Of a Who living down on that clover!



Did you think you were the Elephant too?!

Sorry, we're the specks!


God's specks that is!




"I revel in my nothingness!"
Press on, Pray on, Preach on!
Jon Big HE little me Slone