Seat-Thief Simone

Seat-Thief Simone
By Jon Slone






She’ll say, could you get me a cup of cold juice.
Or maybe just turn on the light for me Dad.
And when you get up to get lights and libations,
You’ll come back to find you’ve been had!

That worn-out dimple on your favorite old couch.
That sunken-in left-side spot on the bed.
She’ll pilfer your seat in a country-fried second
And make your bottom stand up instead!

She’ll hide like the dead on the floor by the bed.
And she’ll dirty up the wall with her feet for some reason.
And when you come back from rekindling the fire.
Your tot’s got your spot and you’re freezin’.

That seat by the chimney with the red-checkered cushion.
That spot by the vent where the warmth coddles dread.
She’ll snatch up your warmy just as soon as you’ve parted.
And she won’t budge a skosh or a shred!




Jon Mack-got-my-seat-again Slone

Sixty-Forth Chapter

Sixty-forth chapter
By Jon Slone











Can’t somebody see that orange juice is yellow?
And why do rugs move and where’s my adaptor?
Life is just one big super-huge story
And I don’t come in ‘til the sixty-forth chapter.



Jon 1970th Chapter Slone

Sharing Size

Sharing Size
By Jon Slone





So I purchased a King-Size bag of M&M’s the other day (One of Mack’s favorites) and I noticed that it didn’t actually say, King Size on the package anymore. Nope, the replacement slogan reads, Sharing Size.

Yeah, cause that’s what’s going on now….lots of sharing!

As the obesity numbers in America have climbed to a staggering 66% (Men, women and children combined) it is glaringly apparent that we’ve been buying the Sharing Size to do just that!

If that big bag of M&M’s is called the Sharing Size, what do they call that large drink at the movies?

The, Keel-over-and-die?
The, Hey-I-can’t-feel-my-big-toes?
The, Gain-Six-lose-six? (Gain six pounds. Lose six dollars)
The, I’m-gonna-share-this-with-everyone-in-the-audience-cause-I-like-drinking-after-complete-strangers size?

Make no mistake about it.

Sharing Size is on the package to not pelt the feelings of the corpulent customers as well as to peddle a lot more M&M product.

Store Clerk: Hey Ronald, I see you’re buying six bags of the King Size M&M’s today.
Ronald: Actually they’re called Sharing Size now.
Store Clerk: Right. Plan on doing some sharing are we?
Ronald: Maybe.
Store Clerk: Riiiggghhhttt.
Ronald: Hey, it could happen!
Store Clerk: And I’m sure it will Ron, I’m sure it will.



Jon don't eat the red ones Slone

Felicia's Fix'er Elixir

Felicia’s Fix’er Elixir
By Jon Slone










Right after bingo on Thursday I think.
Felicia made granny a medicinal drink.
A “Pick-Me-Up” cocktail
A “Get Well” spritzer.
A sort of a “Cure what ails ya” Elixir.
It had to have kick! (Even if she was brittle.)
Maybe hurt going down or just cripple a little.

So off to the attic with a cast iron skillet.
She trotted with her fancies of how she would fill it.
She started with paint from an old crusty can.
Then some fuzzy fur growing on the blades of a fan.
She threw in some tinsel and shoe polish too.
With sacks of gun powder and a petrified shoe.

She plopped in a Gumshoe and juice from a Pickle.
And tree sap stuck on an Indian-head nickel.
A plastic toy train.
Some fresh window pane.
And a glob of wet hair from the bath tub drain!

A pop-top lid that was steeped in red.
And something that the cat coughed up in her bed!

She threw in some Crumples and Chocolate-plated Pushins.
And stuff that she found under all the couch cushions.

Some cheap window cleaner.
Some Jam.
Some Jelly.
And that white stuff you drink for an upset belly!


Oh by the way, granny hated it!




Jon writer's hut Slone

Johann Debonair

Johann Debonair
By Jon Slone






When Johann Debonair said he loved you so much.
That So that he spoke was the biggest So ever!
For no one could stretch out a So like that Joh.
And his So-stretching So-ness stopped So-ing like never!

His So’s indescribably loved you and dug you.
Then somehow his So’s became arms for to hug you!

Those So hugs would shut eyes and force Gobs to show yawns.
And so forth and so on went those So’s of Johann’s.

Just one single So would but burgeon one’s pelf.
And then prop up one’s hope upon life’s flimsy shelf.
And then make you not sure as-to-what just really happened.
Save the fact that you're craving some more So for yourself!

People would try to like, pay for a Joh So.
Please Mr. Joh, they would say, could you go slow?
And then that there So would set in near a wee toe.
While Guido and Milo savored So’s by the kilo.

And a So in the hand is worth two in the push.
And if push comes to shove,
Cup of Jo in the bush!

Yeah, I’m not really sure what the bush and the Jo…
Have to do with the So-gracious, So-giving Joh.
But just know that you’re lacking and your woe needs to feed.
And that Johann has something that you probably need.



Jon The-So-Supplier Slone




If Johann had ever put out an album

Lemon Lime Quiche and Meatball Soda

Lemon Lime Quiche and Meatball Soda
By Jon Slone









There once was a horse named Melancholy Mass.
And all day long he ate nothing but grass!
He chewed and he swallowed the same lookin’ stuff.
Blades and blades of Gribble Green Fluff.

Brown ones and round ones
And lousy leaf lean ones.
And thin ones and thick ones
And really, really green ones!

Blades for breakfast
And blades for lunch.
And more blades for supper
With Gribble blade punch!

Grass! Grass!
Nothin’ but GRASS!
I’m sick of this GRASS said Melancholy Mass!

LEMON LIME QUICHE AND MEATBALL SODA!
Served in a diner in South North Dakota.
Thought Melancholy Mass
Now that sounds yummy!
With Fresh Potato Cakes and some honey in my tummy!

And a BuffyBacon Burger and a Carrot Cake too!
And some Deep-Fried Chocolate with Funnel Cake Stew!
Now that would be scrumptious with Soda in my glass.
Eatin’ LEMON LIME QUICHE
Instead of Brown Grass!

A Fish and Chips platter
Some Tangerine Cheese.
A Grapefruit Spritzer
A Peanut Butter Freeze.
Some White Chicken Chili
And Pumpkin MapleMoss.
With Bubblegum Omelets
In Worcestershire sauce!

How tasty that sounds
Yum YumpleDum Stuff!
Yet here I sit stuck
Eatin’ Gribble Green Fluff!

Of course,
If you drive down Interstate 5.
And look for the house of Cucumber Clive.
Right to your left through FoggyDog Pass.
You might see a horse that stopped eatin’ Grass.

And if’in you see him
Stop in and say hi.
And bring me some Brisket and Sloppy Joe Pie!

Of course if you’re ever in South North Dakota.
Then LEMON LIME QUICHE AND MEATBALL SODA!





Jon Secretariat Slone

The Escape Hatch

The Escape Hatch
By Jon Slone









Its here I think thoughts
About Becks and of Birds.
And I bully some words
Cause I push them for fun.

Ideas are like bubbles that you blow from a bottle.
And I want one so bad to repair and remodel.
But those sly little orbs, they alight on green stubble.
And what can you do with a pool of broke bubble?

Ensconced in this glen.
With a belly of chagrin.
The ink in my pen
Weaves a magical pun.

And maybe my quill
Is the one at the wheel.
And I’m just the guest riddin’ shotgun?





Jon outside-the-box Slone

41 Words

41 words
By Jon Slone







These forty-one words are probably the reason why I love words today. As God would have it, the first time I heard the word, technology, I was bitten for life, though at six, I probably wasn’t aware of the vicious word bug what leaves brobdingnagian nibble-marks. Nevertheless, technology did it to me.


Enjoy this sonnet of 41 words:


41 WORDS

Steve Austin, astronaut, a man barely alive.
Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the technology!
We have the capabilities to make the world’s first Bionic Man.
Steve Austin will be that man.
Better than he was before.
Better, stronger, faster!


41 words for a 41 year old.

If you ever wanted to know who to blame for my sesquipedalian behavior, look no further than the intro to The Six Million Dollar Man T.V. show.


Jon Better-Stronger-Faster Slone

Blackmail?

Blackmail?
By Jon Slone






My Mom and my Dad
They lecture
I sit.

But the stuff they emit
Why I just don’t get!

I asked for a puppy
Then I started to beg.

But Mom said the dog would cost an arm and a leg?

I like my limbs
And no way for a pup.
Would I ever think
About giving them up!

My parents they tell me to not lose my head?
Then ask if I got up on the wrong side of bed?

I’LL NEVER AMOUNT
TO A HILL OF BEANS!

My Dad always says
Whatever that means.

Caught red handed?
Down to the wire?

LIAR LIAR
PANTS ON FIRE?

My Mom always says
She’ll pull a few strings?

But I could care less
If she tugged on such things.

CAN I BE FRANK?
My Dad will exclaim.

But why at 40 would he change his name?

Mom quit smoking COLD TURKEY she huffed!
But I never knew she was smoking the stuff?

FLYING COLORS?
SCARED TO DEATH?

ELBOW GREASE?
SAVE YOUR BREATH?

How is a pen,
Mightier than a sword?

And what in the world
Is a Handsome Reward?

What is a Dreamboat?
Explain CLOSE SHAVES?

And does Grave Danger only happen at graves?

HE’S A PISTOL?
SHE’S A PILL?

HOLD THE FORT
And FIRE AT WILL?

I HATE YOUR GUTS!
Some say on a whim.

But what have my guts ever done to them?

TOP OF THE MORNING?
JERKIN’ MY CHAIN?

PAINT THE TOWN?
RAISING CAIN?

YELLOW BELLY?
HIGH AND DRY?

CROSS MY HEART AND HOPE TO DIE?

Oh how my folks
Are crazy I feel.

For they don’t make sense
And I fear never will!




Jon hay-hitter Slone

My Five Favorite Cats (A picture post)

My Five Favorite Cats (A picture post)
By Jon Slone









Number 2
















Number 3





















Number 4















Number 5


















And why not throw two more in huh!























Jon Wildcat Slone

Georgie Profile & Charlie Red-Cheeks

Georgie Profile & Charlie Red-Cheeks
By Jon Slone








Something you should know before the story begins; I like quarters.

The reason I have a like-affair (Okay fine, love-affair) with quarters can probably be traced back to one man. And he goes by the name of Charlie McKenney.

(This next bit is me recalling a man from an argosy of mental pictures what have been stored up in my brain for forever and referencing a time between the years of 1976 through 1981)

Picture Santa Claus without his beard and incognito, hiding out in the hallways of a big Baptist church off of Nicholasville road…..that about sums it up. I say Santa more for his genialness and larger than life personality than any weight comparisons. Also, I swear Charlie’s cheeks were rosy every time I laid eyes on him.

Here’s how the quarter thing happened.

As fate would have it, the first pivotal encounter probably went down on your typical Wednesday night supper venue. As a kid (And even now) I loved soda. Sweet tea, milk, lemonade, water and prune juice were weighed and measured and all found wanting. They just couldn’t hold a candle next to a can of frosty-cold Coke or a gelid glass of arctic Mountain Dew fully equipped with those saturated ice particles that gorgeously slither down the outside surface of the damp decanter in a damp decanter soda commercial.

I asked Charlie if I could borrow a quarter and he smiled like you’d imagine Jesus would, from a kid’s perspective that is. He then dug his hand into his clinkety-clank pockets and fetched to the surface, a glimmering and dazzling quarter.

As a quick aside, why do we even say, “Can I borrow something?”

My objective as a 5 or 6 year old was not to temporarily sponge a quarter so that I could make a mad dash for the bank or my Mom’s purse and draw twenty-five cents out to then scurry back to Mr. Mckenney and make good on a sentence that had the word borrow in it.

This is no lie! On my 6th birthday, a friend of my aunts (Don’t know which one, though my mind’s eye is leaning toward Paula) asked if he could (Wait for it…) borrow my tee ball stand. Here is the priceless kicker….He was inquiring about the tee ball stand that I had just received as a birthday present that day!

Who does that?


29 year old man: Wow, cool Stretch Armstrong figure. Hey listen, you think I could borrow that for a few days?
Paula: Sure, that’s not spooky weird at all!
29 year old man: Come again?
Paula: Let’s see, Jon just opened it and they’ve already taken a picture of him with it…..and I’m not his Mother so I really couldn’t say with any certainty….sure, go on and take the little kid’s brand new toy!


Here’s how the rest of that story played out. On August 25th 1976 (The same day that Boston’s debut album dropped….which would go on to sell 17 million units) my tee ball stand left the birthday party and to this day, has never returned.

No lie!

Borrow my butt.

Needless to say, a few months later when baseball season came back around, I was totally off my game. The trauma of losing a birthday present on your birthday and to a creepy, can I borrow that line………well, it was just too much for me to shoulder. I switched to basketball and the rest is slam-dunk history.

Back to Charlie.

With one loaned-quarter transaction under my belt, a week later I asked to borrow another. Charlie smiled and lent me the 25 cent piece. I’m not gonna lie, I was sensing a pattern here.

I ask
He gives.
I need
He supplies.
I stick my hand out
He quarters it.

Not to mention the fact that I was falling for both Georgie Profile and Mr. Red-Cheeks respectively.

From there on out, I would ask for a quarter every time I saw Charlie. Most of the time I didn’t need a quarter at all. I just liked Charlie. It was our, “Hi, how are ya?”

Instead of,

Sup
Whut up
Aloha
Good day
Top of the mornin’ to ya
&
Fine weather we’re having here.

We had:

Do you have a quarter I can borrow?


Truth is, Charlie looked like he could put a beating on you if he needed to. But that was not the way he operated.

Mr. McKenney was always soft spoken.
He always smiled.
And his cheeks were always red.

(I’m telling you, around him, the only thing missing were the reindeer.)


I saw Charlie a few years back. It was the first time I’d seen him in twenty or so years. It was at our old church. (My old church….his, I’m still going here church) He was in that same kitchen not fifteen feet away from our first encounter some thirty-two years earlier.

I asked him for a quarter.

He smiled as his hand quickly made contact with the interior fillings of his right pants pocket. Immediately, I heard the din of coins as they noisily bunched up with one another. In no time at all, Charlie presented me with a shiny new quarter, as if they just magically materialized within his enchanted pockets.

I now keep that quarter in my car.

I will never spend that quarter.

That’s a Charlie quarter.

Way too special, a Charlie quarter is!

Why am I talking like Yoda?


There in the kitchen, I told Charlie what he meant to me and how I probably loved quarters so much because of him. I also thanked him for never borrowing my basketball goal or my Stretch Armstrong. He was like, what? And I was like, never mind. Then he was like, hey, did you hear about that guy who was stealing tee ball stands? And I was like, huh, what are you talking about?

On a serious note, Mr. McKenney told me something really interesting. He said that for over thirty years, he had been keeping a dollar or two in change in his pocket at all times as a form of ministry. Sure, to help kids in need, but to also have perhaps a small moment to witness to them. To show, in words as well as actions, God’s love by giving what he had in his pockets as well as his time. And just think, I may have been his first customer.

So why presently do I like quarters so much?

I would first have to answer that by saying that there are way more reasons that I am completely unaware of than ones that can be articulated.

That said, two that do come to mind are:

1. I like to do magic with them. Make them disappear and stuff.
2. They transform into dollars real quick, and money is a nifty thing to have around.


I wrote a poem about my love of quarters. It’s in my book, Riggleberry Bloke and other silly whatknots.


SMORGAS RICKLY

Quarter Quarter
Yep I Got’er.
Might just Spend’er
Might Ought Not’er.

I like the Quarter
Said Smorgas Rickly.
It’s right much fun
And it adds up quickly!

Quarterly Quarter me
Scream some and Holler!
Three more Georges and we got us a Dollar!

Stick’em in Loafers
And place’em in Lockets.
They play nice with others
And sleep in my pockets.

Maybe I’ll whip one out to buy Gum.
Or could be I’ll get me a Soda with some.

Quarterly Quarter see
Shouldn’t thee Quarter me?
Rows nice and Orderly.
Borders on Forty-Three!

Sure likes the look of that Shiny new . . .


Hello, I’m Shminkle Shmoo. Smorgas just spotted another Quarter and went to procure it
(That means “Get it”). He told me to finish his poem but I don’t know how to write!
So, see ya later.



Charlie and Sharon McKenney













Jon Loves-Charlie-Red-Cheeks Slone



P.S. Charlie, every time you read this post could you drop me a quarter in the mail?



P.S.S.

Great Album!

A Morsel of Madness

A Morsel of Madness
By Jon Slone










Good-news is coated in a popular paint.
But lonely is the man who has a complaint.






Jon good-news Slone

Flea Market Mortie

Flea Market Mortie
By Jon Slone







Flea Market Mortie was a Flea Market Nut!
‘Til the sign was turned off
And the gates were locked shut.
You could find that Mortie neck deep in some Bissels.
And non-stick Skillets and Faded-Red Missiles!

And broken old speakers
And saddles from battles.
And busted bug zappers
And ping pong paddles.

If it was useful and if it was spicy.
And if it was ugly and stupid and pricey.
Mortie would buy it and bag it and haul it.
Why every 2 seconds he was grabbin’ his wallet!

Spending that money for deeds to sewers.
And Sure-Grip Basters and Bamboo Skewers!
Some records and marbles and Lug Nuts and Food.
And a peed-on couch that was partially chewed!

An 8-Track player that was totally fried.
And puzzles with not all the pieces inside.
A Street-Cleaning truck and a Grand Father Clock.
And a Red Rocking chair that forgot how to rock.

And one of those toys where you pull on the string.
And the cow goes Moo and the bird starts to sing.
And the cat goes Meow and Hiss goes the snake.
But Mortie’s of course
Not a sound did it make!

Load it up
Load it up
Take it all home!
With some cheap plastic vomit and a shiny black comb.
I’m sure that his Linda will love all that Chrome!
For you can’t have enough of that junk in your home!

That Mortie he’s got him a head full of rocks.
He bought that Death Star Space Station box.
But only the box!
There was no toy in sight!

That Mortie was never mistaken for bright!

He bought him some Post-Its
And Handy Wipe Packets.
And Pepsi Dispensers
And Badminton Rackets.

If it was Iffy or worn-out or wacky
Or torn-up or broken or busted or tacky.
That Mortie would buy it
From marbles to mall.

The only thing wrong now
His house is too small.



Jon Stormtrooper Slone

Lead Reflections

Lead Reflections
By Jon Slone







There on the paper, thought a wee lead smear;
How easy it would be to just disappear!





Jon K.C. Slone

Scrawny Rupe

Scrawny Rupe
By Jon Slone









They watch in amazement with Wows and Chuckles.
As Rupe spins the ball on his fingers and knuckles.
Twirling and twirling ‘til tips get numb.
Then Rupe moves the ball to the tips of his thumb.
And all for a bet
Five bucks was the deal.
And sure enough Rupe won a Five Dollar Bill.

With God-given talent and practice galore.
He dazzled the crowds on the Basketball floor.
When it came to putting that ball through the hoop.
No one could do it as easy as Rupe!
His passing and dribbling abilities were smokin’!
His stats and his records won’t ever be broken!

Then one day
He simply laid down.
Much too soon
Did he give up his crown.

He closed his eyes
In the midst of a group.
And that was the end
Of the great Scrawny Rupe.



Jon Flopalong Maravich Slone

Ten ran away but one came back (A psalm of unbridled thanks)

Ten ran away but one came back (A psalm of unbridled thanks)
By Jon Slone









Ten ran away but one came back.
And one grabbed a thanks from his gratitude sack.
And one gave his master a gratitude shower.
And he thanked his best friend for what seemed like an hour!


He could have come down
But He chose to stay up.
He could have stayed up
But He chose to come down.
He could have called out
And they would have come running.
But He didn’t come down.
And He didn’t stay up.
And He didn’t call out.
And I’m saved because of this.


And he hugged both his ankles
Where he stopped to repose.
There were no thorns in sight
Just a rose for to coddle.
And he built his abode
At the foot of his Father.
And he poured out his sobs
As if born from a bottle.


He could have come down
But He chose to stay up.
He could have stayed up
But He chose to come down.
He could have called out
And they would have come running.
But He didn’t come down.
And He didn’t stay up.
And He didn’t call out.
And I’m saved because of this.


And the one hid himself within the master quite neatly.
And the love of the chieftain changed the one guy completely.

And he sat with his teacher
And his flask filled with red.
And he sang to the Savior
And he ate the bard’s bread.
And he wished of me one thing to not go unsaid.
To begin with, you have to part ways with your skin…

Are you one of the nine or the one from the ten?


He could have come down
But He chose to stay up.
He could have stayed up
But He chose to come down.
He could have called out
And they would have come running.
But He didn’t come down.
And He didn’t stay up.
And He didn’t call out.
And I’m saved because of this.




Jon psalm 32:7 Slone

My Favorite Christmas

My Favorite Christmas
By Jon Slone






Of Christmas trees
The favorite of mine.
Is not a Frazier Fur
Nor any kind of pine.
It’s not an Evergreen
And a Spruce is no good.
Instead my favorite tree was made from Dogwood.

It’s not a dangle with tinselly sights.
Nor is it strangled with strands of lights.
No ornaments hang from my favorite tree.
Except for a man who hung there for me.

For life eternal that I might share.
He took my sins and died with them there.
More than anything I opened as a kid.
The greatest gift is what this man did!


That was my favorite Christmas.



Jon front-yard-Dog Slone

facebook f's and cereal-box-backness

facebook f’s and cereal-box-backness
By Jon Slone





So I’m eating my sour cream and onion chips the other day
when I noticed an f on the back of my bag.

Nervously, I went in for a closer look.

It was a facebook f.

Shut your gob you say?

No for real!

facebook had crept up on my afternoon snack.

This got me thinking. And the more I thought the more gobsmacked I found myself.

Jeez, I reflected inwardly, what did my bag of sour cream and onion chips want from me?

Was I supposed to send it a friend request?

Did my spuds really wanna be buds?

Was proper protocol for me to have written on Mr. S. Cream’s wall, pontificating how much I adored the taste of their flakey-green construction. Or should I have seen the post, “Now 20% more!” and, “Guaranteed Fresh!” And then promptly clicked the like button?

Shoot fire, I thought. What was I to do?

Should I have meandered through all of the delectable pictures?
Do chips take good pictures?
Are chips photogenic?

I know the ones with the most sour cream and green specks are the popular ones.

Then that got me thinking….do the popular ones have their own pages? If so, would I find them as a link in the family column at the bottom-left side of the fb screen?

What if their picture wasn’t posted and instead it was that nondescript blue and white outline guy that you always see.
At that point I would have to go purely by potato chip monikers!

Ugh!

Maybe they just want me to announce to the whole world that I love sour cream and onion potato chips.

I could do that you know.

I do indeed love them so!

I could eat them with some water.
I could eat them with an Otter.
Greasy good and creamy sour!
Devour
Devour
The salty hour!
Mangle-munch ‘til nothin’s leff!
I just don’t know what to do with the F!

(Creative liberties taken with the leff of course)

You remember how when we were kids, we would stare at the back of the cereal box while we ate the cereal? Sometimes if there were three boxes of cereal out on the table, we would form like a, half-octagon of cereal-box-backness?

It’s a good thing I don’t like to do that with my chips.

facebook f’s……


Huummph!


Jon Friend-me Slone

PoppaSquat Yo Yo McNoinkle BackTrackit

PoppaSquat Yo Yo McNoinkle BackTrackit
By Jon Slone






Now they’ve invented a brownie flavored breeze!
And money grows nicely on four types of trees!
In PoppaSquat Yo Yo McNoinkle BackTrackit!
Where Relish is soon to come out in a packet!

Thanks to those packets of pieces of pickle.
Now paper cuts tickle
And homes cost a nickel!

We’ve superstar status
Our face is in Flicks!
We work for just one day and party for six!

The needy don’t need
And the homeless have houses.
And people are kind to their mooses and mouses!

Our bodies can fly and karate-chop bricks!
And Sardines
Taste like Bubble gum sticks!

And mean people melt
And all wash away!
And rainbows stop in for lunch every day!

And all because relish is coming to a packet!
In PoppaSquat Yo Yo McNoinkle BackTrackit!



Jon relish-my-blog-if-you-must Slone

Dad's Mug

Dad’s Mug
By Jon Slone









I sure can’t wait
To give Him a hug.
To cry with joy
When I see Dad’s Mug.
To fly with my Father
To laugh and to play.
To hear His stories
Day after day.
There in His love
That nothing can sever.
Eating pizza in heaven with Jesus forever!
To feel His smile
In a home without strife.
To see those scars that saved my life!
For now, in His word is where I snug.
Counting the days
‘Til I see Dad’s Mug.




Jon At-the-foot-of-His-feet Slone

The Stranger

The Stranger
By Jon Slone









When I was just seven
Or maybe a little more.
I heard this Stranger
Knock at my door.

To find this door
I began to hunt.
It wasn’t the backdoor
It wasn’t the front.
Instead
This door
Was one I couldn’t see.
And that was because
It was inside of me.

Inside of my body
Near a very important part.
That Stranger was knocking at the door of my heart.

His name was Jesus,
The one at my door.
I knew I was right
For I’d heard Him before.
He brought a free gift
To save me from sin.
So I opened my heart
And I let Him come in.

There in His new home with changes to tackle.
He pulled out some polish
And he got out some spackle.

He brought with Him trash bags
And paint cans and powders.
With Stain Picker-uppers
And Spot Getter-outters!

And day by day
This Clean-up Whiz.
He makes my heart
Look more like His!

He died for my sins
Up there on the cross.
And now in my heart
He’s Lord and He’s Boss.

He’s at the controls
Of all that I do.
Except when I’m bad
But those times are few.

He keeps me safe
He helps me grow.
He loves me more
Than I’ll ever know.
He guides my steps
Wherever I go.
I’m sure, cause His word
It tells me so.

With Him in my heart
Life is neater!
Life is fuller!
Life is sweeter!

He’s built me a home
It’s up in the sky.
I’ll live there forever
Whenever I die.

That fills me with joy
Yet the world is sad.
But they’d be happy
If they had what I had.


I bet if they’d stop
For a second or more.
They’d hear that Stranger
Knock at their door!




Jon Jesus-Freak Slone

FiveOneSeven

FiveOneSeven
By Jon Slone










My name is Docktress Von Fangersank-Green.
Don't wanna sound tall, rub it in or wax mean.
So I just tell the people that I'm five foot 17.



Jon Alto Sax Slone

Long-winded K

Long-winded K
By Jon Slone











Could you turn in the Dew bottles and get us some change?
Could you stomach the move if we took to the range?

K

Could you mow the front yard?
Could you guard the front row?
Could you come get this splinter up out of my toe?
Could you stop at the store, could you answer the door?
Could you sleep in the attic for a fortnight or more?

K

Could you get some more soda cause this here won’t fizz!
Could you go wash the mat where your cat took a wiz?
Could you help little Cal with his calculus quiz?
Could you fill up the hole where the septic tank is?

Could you go change the light-bulb out there in the shed?
Could you live with a brother if we all called him Zed?
Could you fetch me a fork and some needle and thread?
Could you go get the plate out from under your bed?

K

Could you pick up the guitar and play Terry Kath?
Could you call up the plumber about the hall bath?
Could you clean out the gutters and bag all the needles?
And wash Mr. Tweedles?
And spray for the beetles?

Could you go wash your hair?
Could you go pick a pear?
Could you stand on a stair and like steady a bear?
Could you bathe your whole body in a bottle of Nair?
Could you come over here?
Could you go over there?

Could you get on the treadmill, you look a bit doughy?
Could you take up the Macrame to Aunt Chloe?
Could you rethink the pants, they’re a little too showy?
Now what do you say to all that, little Joey?

K

Could you cash-in your cashews for cups of cachet?
Could you eat a fillet be it caked in flambé?
Could you call Uncle Ray down in Crambazzle Bay?
Could you track in some clay?
Could you wait to go weigh?
Could you see about Mother’s delicious Souffle?
Could you charter a cherry-colored cabriolet?
Could you lacquer the sleigh?
Could you bounce a bouquet?
Could you fetch some sorbet out in west Santa-Fe?
Could you maybe just maybe,
Delay or defray?
Could you quit saying K
Maybe sometime today?


Que?





Jon Angel-Actor Slone