tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130065862011-12-14T18:51:39.408-08:00Fablespinners! Welcome to our web! Fablespinners welcomes you and invites you to our web of thought provoking poetry, short stories, and commentary. We invite constructive critique and analysis of the literature you find at this site, as well as, invite you to submit to us literature for us to consider for blogification. N.B.: Submission for blogification acknowledges agreement with the Publication Agreement, as it may be modified from time to time.fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.comBlogger771100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1135505057973426912005-12-25T02:04:00.000-08:002005-12-25T02:18:47.536-08:00

Thanks to William A. Robinson, M.D.Ocean Beach Mental Health ClinicIt may come as a surprise to some but not many that poor Mr. Scrooge wasn't so much a bad man, as much as, an unhappy one, with the Holiday Blues.For many people, the time between Thanksgiving and Valentine's Day is the most unhappy time of the year. Everyone, including themselves, expects them to feel a joyousness they do not

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1135123108723520672005-12-20T15:55:00.000-08:002005-12-25T02:25:46.780-08:00

by Victor Om Shanti[Must be sung in a "Betty Boop" voice](Chorus)Please buy my mommyFor Chris -mussOr they 'll be no Chris-mussFor meeeeeThe curly haired dollyAnd the bright red lollyWill stay in the storeIf mommy can't go out 'n' whoreIt was cold and snowny when Daddy went awayWe didn't have a dime for a treeMomma prayed to Baby Jesus for a signWhen Santa sang, Ho! Ho!Momma cried then saidI know

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1135122819207234862005-12-20T15:53:00.000-08:002005-12-25T02:28:24.073-08:00

Story by Victor Om ShantiSanta Claus was sad.Good kids were mad.When they went to their tree. No gifts did they see.Why? Because someone was bad.Who? I do not know, yet. Can you tell me?What happened is this.Santa had gifts for good girls and boys.Santa had the gifts in his sled.Santa went to the house of boys and girls, when they were in bed.Santa had red boats and yellow dolls.Santa had blue

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1132470052861096182005-11-19T22:55:00.000-08:002005-11-19T23:00:52.883-08:00

by Victor Om ShantiThe quality of mercy is not strained...It dropeth like..The twisted web we weaveWhen we practice to ...Live according to the magisteriumof the Church of Jesus Christ, Roman. While in New AwlinsThe lower ninth wardgrovels in supplicationWithin Xavier's chapelExpectin Lord Jesus NaginOn a riverboat casinodown Tchapatoulous to drive.In Houston, a Nuyorican weeps.In Cali, from the

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1126262656851159422005-09-11T01:30:00.000-07:002005-09-11T01:30:20.063-07:00

by Victor Om ShantiMost, who think, believe to shrink from visiting violenceWithout causeOn innocent neighbor is a must.But, the deferring of force due to amoral stanceIs not peace.Violence absent of consequences is not just.I see the best (?) minds of my generationOrgasmically howl when theyhear "Somebody Blew Up America".To these incipient ebidiots, This I want to make perfectly clear:Nobody

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1126259202007326672005-09-10T02:42:00.000-07:002005-09-10T07:04:31.050-07:00

by Victor Om ShantiO Lord, as we bow our heads before thee,On this memorial of the slaughter,By poisonous gas,5000 children,women,and menin Halabja, Iraq,Grant us, O Lord, the courage,That we,Who suffered no losses of loved ones,Who on that day,and even today,Were, and are, ignorant of its horrors,Will be able to turn the other cheek,Revealing, O Lord, our blind eye to theirContinued suffering,So

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1126257895749749342005-09-09T02:21:00.000-07:002005-09-09T02:24:55.756-07:00

by Victor Om ShantiI want to stand in the streetScreaming profanities at helmeted copsDefending national policies I oppose.I want to weep openly, unabashed,In rippling warm sun, gazing at Old GloryWafting in the breeze.I want to sip mocchacinos under mindnumbing neonEnsconced in Starbuck's sanitoriiTo spill the latte of labrette pierced cafe revolutionaries Playing verbal tennis across red-plaid

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1126071950999210202005-09-06T22:40:00.000-07:002005-09-06T22:49:13.643-07:00

by Victor Om ShantiSmooth wordsFrom rough facades flowInviting mirthIn listener feeling low.Lofty lines of intellect growFrom fertile minds Of those born low.Suffice it saidThat what I know Most valuable, most dear,Comes not from themWho crowAbout their attractive beauty external,(or so they think so),But from them whose lives are eternalBattles with -- too much weight, that children stare, - or

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1125909496803048332005-09-05T01:32:00.000-07:002005-09-05T01:38:16.803-07:00

by Victor Om ShantiWeave a thread of cornsilk and dredlock Tie up the world in loveWeave a thread of cornsilk and dredlock Tie up the world in loveIn Jah's love there's one MotherI & I is you & meAll Rastas come togetherOne GodOne AimOne DestinyNyabingiWeave a thread of cornsilk and dredlock Tie up the world in loveWeave a thread of cornsilk and dredlock Tie up the world in loveA homeland in the

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1125826654350595792005-09-04T02:34:00.000-07:002005-09-05T01:22:13.400-07:00

by Victor Om ShantiGnarled cobblestones.Hand hewn and placed.As a protective, strong barrier.Succulent green vine,Pushes up through muck,Holding aloft her headleaves,proudly.The wall gives strength,foundation, and a baseline,for freedom to the vine.The vine holds the walltogether;Covers its blemishes,From the world.20040316

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1125650860838614052005-09-02T01:35:00.000-07:002005-09-02T01:48:49.726-07:00

by Victor Om ShantiOld New Orleans Is Dead. Bury It. Long Live Newer Orleans!Thousands are already dead. Thousands are dying in the street,televised, but sanitized, right in front of our eyes.It is time for the President of the United States, and the Republican Party, to immediately and ostentatiously rescueall, and significantly, the predominantly African-Americancitizens of New Orleans.Moving

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1125281453673554592005-08-28T18:53:00.000-07:002005-08-28T19:10:53.680-07:00

by Victor Om Shantii loves mea tar black nigga.but, i can't abideeven a high yaller one,whooz assfault sticky.do y'all know wherei'm comin' frum?i mean, it's like,you've just run ten milesup de ruff side o' da mountain,tru a blizzart of snow,ta where all you can see aheadis dat smooth blacktop highway.ya jest know it's gonna bea lazy trot to Canaan Land,when up jumps some squat uglytar baby

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1125149965992303022005-08-27T06:38:00.000-07:002005-08-27T06:43:30.503-07:00

by Victor Om Shanti"Hard work is what will get you up in the world boy. Always give 110%, if you want to succeed."How many times had I heard my grandpa make those statements? I don't know. Innumerable. He must have known of what he was talking. He wasn't a naked tailor. He was a very well dressed owner of his own shoe store, with aspirations of owning a chain of them, who had started his business

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1124993833876071482005-08-25T11:14:00.000-07:002005-08-25T11:17:13.880-07:00

by Victor Om ShantiThe serious poets withinThe rebel poets withoutFighting the common foeof platter clashand cycle engine crashStriving to be heardBy unhearing herdStruggling by dint of spiritTo be heralded based upon meritTrusting that word power magicWill catalyze a tragic love affairInto that plowshare which will bustThe tough rough sod of musty lifeKnowing that alliteration will plant seedsIn

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1124913743854899792005-08-24T13:00:00.000-07:002005-08-24T13:02:23.860-07:00

by Victor Om Shanti"I think I'm pregnant.",said she.There was a pause."Pregnant?",said he."Pregnant.""I think I'm pregnant.", pausing for effect,said she."Pregnant?", his brain on connect,said he."Pregnant as with a baby.", crying said she."Pregnant! No need to cry, baby."said he."Pregnant. Does not the word scare you, as it does me?""Pregnant? No. A child of ours would remindme of thee.""

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1124788624918092382005-08-23T02:13:00.000-07:002005-08-23T02:17:04.926-07:00

by Victor Om ShantiI am a man of constant sorrowThat email chain I did not sendTo fourteen friendsAnd close-knit kinfoldI was to send it on its way.To close-knit kinfolk He was to send.I did not send itAs was instructed toAll my friendsOn the internet.It promised me before tomorrowUnbounded sex, and cash for free.If only I'd clicked The forwarding key.But there was a warning So filled with dreadI

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1124717886871321692005-08-22T06:38:00.000-07:002005-08-22T06:41:42.383-07:00

by Victor Om ShantiOn the dark road to DestinyMugged, was I, by LoveWhile distracted, I stood, holding my gunHer Cupid fletched arrowHeart pierced me to the marrowI accuse, and I convict her,With no chance of pardonBy the governor,Of stealing my heart.For she's the One.She's the one, the arsonist of loveWho inflames my heart and fires my passionsHauled into the line-upWithin the fortressed

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1124404661988565032005-08-18T15:37:00.000-07:002005-08-18T15:58:43.556-07:00

by Victor Om ShantiTwo mutually escorting women in cafe laughingLonging lips brushing flashing teethWar clouds rumble on horizonThe WTC burnsAs the conversation turnsOne holds high a placardSupported by the other,No War, Save the Babies, Give Peace A Chance,A feeling well takenLet's think it throughUnder Shar'iah,If not for war,Two women on a soccer field,Beheaded.

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1124309767504253582005-08-17T13:16:00.000-07:002005-08-18T11:29:36.183-07:00

by Victor Om ShantiIn response to favorable comment concerning my recent publication here, August 12, 2005, of "Yo Grito De Lloras (Me recuerda el PSJ)", I wrote the following:Thanks for your comments and your offer to ride your pony to Crawford to read it to the fringe elements encamped there. Make sure the pony (a la , my short-story, 'Las Zanahorias') gets real carrots as a reward. Cindy

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1123853045154218212005-08-12T06:17:00.000-07:002005-08-17T00:45:11.390-07:00

by Victor Om Shanti.Well the revolution came.Oh, by the way, we didn't win.I'm pretty sure, as,I saw the factoid on CNN,That Purple Berets were on sale, In the Napster discount bin.Remember back whenThe people's armySeized the racists' armored car?You gotta remember.It was back in the day,Before you armored yourMercedes-Benz.You know back before you became A poetry whoring recording star.Around

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1123633821126007142005-08-09T17:30:00.000-07:002005-08-09T21:47:42.246-07:00

by Victor ShantiWe have abolished the insane asylumWe have by fiat and concensusNormalized the mentally ill.From that self-righteousness,is it consequent thatIn our streets scores perambulateMuttering aloud within earshotOf those to whom they are not speaking?Some are wirelessly wiredTo cellular net.Those not netted are slainBy insane coward police.We thought we'd abolished the asylum insane,When

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1123627614771359422005-08-09T15:43:00.000-07:002005-08-09T15:46:54.776-07:00

C O M I N G S O O N !If you like the literature you've read at Fablespinners: Literature's Online Open Mic, then listen to it at Fablesingers: Literature's Voice.(http://fablesingers.blogspot.com/fablespinners.xml)

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1123479829396668262005-08-08T03:58:00.000-07:002005-08-08T04:26:17.356-07:00

by Victor Om ShantiI sat upon the shoreFishing, with the arid plain behind meShall I at least set my lands in order?London Bridge is falling down falling down falling downPoi s'ascose nel foco che gli affinaQuando fiam uti chelidon-O swallow swallowLe Prince d'Aquitaine à la tour abolieThese fragments I have shored against my ruinsWhy then Ile fit you. Hieronymo's mad againe.Datta. Dayadhvam.

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1123454033230642192005-08-07T15:33:00.000-07:002005-08-07T15:35:34.186-07:00

by William Ernest Henley; 1849-1903Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1123187294543149212005-08-04T13:28:00.000-07:002005-08-04T14:19:11.916-07:00

by Victor Om ShantiThe phosphor glow of the CRT, instead of your smile, Does not warm my heart. Softly caressing the keyboard keys, instead of your breast, Does not passion start. I'm doing fine, I've been first rate Searching for an analog date. I'm on my Don Quixote quest Devoted night and day, sans rest, To find my Dulcinea. You expressed a wish, more like a want, To exercise your perogative

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1123095623880441392005-08-03T11:57:00.000-07:002005-08-03T12:59:23.250-07:00

Our world is circumscribed by one-way glassWe see our image of reflected goodThey see us as we are

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1122985336025307312005-08-02T05:22:00.000-07:002005-08-02T05:24:43.430-07:00

Mother Africa stands in the doorway of her roomShe is weeping angrily 'bout the children stolen from her wombshe sayI named my child Amafrica'for the slavers stole him awayThey beat me and raped methen told him I threw him awayI'm Crying O O O O O.Down in Babylon Amafrica imprisoned in a cellSays 'I know my life wasn't always seventh Hell'Though stolen from Mother AfricaI love her just the sameMy

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1122385646362113902005-07-26T06:47:00.000-07:002005-07-26T06:50:24.450-07:00

by Victor Shanti The first flush of water from above the subway car, after it pulled away from the Bedford Park station, was barely noticed. Much more interesting, I thought, was the way the men were reacting to the rear view of the tall woman with long black hair, tight waist and up to here mini-skirt, solidly perched on monumental platform shoes.It was the second wave of water, which hit the

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1122242821481385102005-07-25T01:45:00.000-07:002005-07-25T01:48:25.863-07:00

LOS ANGELES, CA - Dodging a hail of Egyptian security forces' gunfire, several items of the King Tut exhibit made a dash for freedom. A highly placed official within the State Department said that up to fourteen pieces are seeking asylum, as a direct response to the largest loss of life due to terrorist attack, in Egypt's history. The official refused to categorize the nature of the pieces

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1122231538266071552005-07-24T11:58:00.000-07:002005-07-24T12:01:47.830-07:00

by Victor Shanti`Twas snifflerAnd the glassine packets filled with cacheWere pried and pilfered from the thatchWhile Guy the chaufferHeld the match For the mons-rats who outgrabbed.Beware the cannabis, mon filsThe scent that soothesThe toot with catch.Forsake the frivolous midnight bluesIn the bountiful candy-patch.Who heeds experience when youngWho needs experience when oldSo then empassioned by

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1122164217867859402005-07-23T17:16:00.000-07:002005-07-23T17:20:47.133-07:00

Those who would sacrifice the rights of liberty for the sake of security deserve neither.The end justifies the means.If one has done no wrong or has nothing to hide, then one has nothing to fear.Whether an action succeeds in its purpose or not, if it is done with a "good will" it is morally acceptable.Who is not guilty:An action is not truly moral unless it is done in the belief and because of

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1121948964753488632005-07-22T02:49:00.000-07:002005-07-22T02:49:24.946-07:00

by Victor Om ShantiToo many words for haikuFill and spillOne span of lifeVolumes of poemsCreate need for reincarnation

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1121949050686470822005-07-21T05:29:00.000-07:002005-07-21T05:30:50.693-07:00

by Victor Om Shanti I want to stand in the streetScreaming profanities at helmeted copsDefending national policies I oppose.I want to weep openly, unabashed,In rippling warm sun, gazing at Old GloryWafting in the breeze.I want to sip mocchacinos under mindnumbing neonEnsconced in Starbuck's sanitoriiTo spill the latte of labrette pierced cafe revolutionaries Playing verbal tennis across red-plaid

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1121809068861688602005-07-20T02:37:00.000-07:002005-07-20T04:15:23.750-07:00

Two former Afghani Taliban apologists who spent time at the U.S. base at Guantanamo, Cuba stated that their time in the camp gave them inspirational time to write poetry.During investigation from May 2002 until April 2005, Abdul Rahim Muslim Dost said he had written more than 25,000 lines of poetry in his native language of Pashto, in a strict Pashto form of poetry somewhat similar to the sonnet:

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1121699357218450482005-07-18T08:09:00.000-07:002005-07-18T08:13:54.820-07:00

They say Eve was tempted by Satan with an apple. I have always believed that they were wrong. I believe the instrument of the fall was Chocolate Cake. I know that was Satan's lure of deceit, in my case.It was partly Mrs. Johanson's fault, too. She had the gall to put a chocolate icing, Devil's Food cake, right at counter level in her bakery on the corner. Then she compounded her crime by charging

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1121657222541275222005-07-17T20:27:00.000-07:002005-07-17T20:31:11.746-07:00

by Victor Om ShantiOld people in new carsDriving down the highwayOf love this far.Thinking 'bout the back in dayAnd how they begunWhen they wereYoung people, in old cars.Mama was a debutanteJust sixteenIn a shaky jalopyOld enough to be her dadDriving in the rainFeeling so sadWhen she picked up a boyWho'd make her heart glad.Old people in new carsDriving down the highwayOf love this far.Thinking '

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1121536070059123082005-07-16T10:47:00.000-07:002005-07-16T10:50:47.426-07:00

by Victor ShantiSome would think me profligrateBecause of all the surrogatesI took in search of you.In some I saw your face and hairOthers had your laughing smileBut my darling all the whileI was in search of you.Forgive me if I failed to findthe Holy Grail I held in mindWhen, Oh! the pints of blood I drewas obstacles I had to climbgave way to cast me into slime bound my resolve, besot my

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1119995241820688722005-07-12T14:47:00.000-07:002005-07-12T09:35:43.826-07:00

by Marie Delgado TravisSnowflakeon my window sillShimmers briefly and fades --Like your caress

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1117476030644000202005-07-10T10:57:00.000-07:002005-07-10T00:39:24.346-07:00

In the latter half of my first decadeMy lip would droop forlornWhen mother commanded That I rise upEarly in the morn"It's too early",I'd protest,"for me to get up now."Engulfed in fear That I'd lose some sleepTo heaven I would pray,"Just this once, Lord, let me lay down late,and not get up so early in the day."At evening's wane "To bed" commandedI would dismissWhen best T.V.I feared I'd

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1119893537074064452005-07-09T10:30:00.000-07:002005-07-09T22:37:38.750-07:00

by Marie Delgado TravisI ended the day inComplete frustration.Unable to penetratePetrified heads,Desiccated hearts.Then, all at once...Rage turned inward...Depression to thoughtsOf drinking myself numb.Ending life's strugglesOnce and for all.Tonight, Lord Jesus,I let myself simply Rest in You.And in Your Comfort,BlessedAll the painand hurt I felt today.

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1120816633262206242005-07-08T02:57:00.000-07:002005-07-08T02:58:53.866-07:00

by Marie Delgado TravisYou pop a vitamin Every morning,Eat the right foods,Exercise regularly,Work hard to support your family,Attend church on Sundays,... do all the right things.But how do you keep fromBeing blown up by your localfriendly neighborhood jihadist?Obviously, you can't reason with him.Fact is Osama has18 children And not one of them Has blown him or herself up. They're all in

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1120755654165961202005-07-08T02:00:00.000-07:002005-07-08T03:06:47.083-07:00

July 7, 2005 (AP) Ziad al-Khasawneh, an Arab nationalist who has often expressed support for Iraqi resistance, and Saddam Hussein's chief lawyer quit the Iraqi dictator's Jordan-based legal team, saying some of the team's American members were trying to control the defense and tone down his criticism of the U.S. presence in Iraq. Saddam's legal team includes 1,500 volunteers and at least 22 lead

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1120754095402498552005-07-07T09:34:00.000-07:002005-07-07T09:50:32.423-07:00

Today, July 7, 2005, those forces which have declared war on Western Civilization struck the heart of Britain, the center of the City of London. I have already heard, prior to the recovery of the remains of the last proletariat corpse from "the Tube", the willingly duped allies of those pig-blood stained miscreants raising their voices in defeatist self-recrimination. Since they bleat without

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1117471704697475132005-07-06T09:40:00.000-07:002005-07-06T21:47:22.766-07:00

The shaft was deep in Gallo MineThat night disaster struckAnd whether fate or destinyThe foreman's "Wha da fuck?"Gave portent to the impotence ofthe vital hydraulic linethat from the start had bored so deep a major vein was hitWhere in the past "Eureka!" moansSuccumbed to panicky "Oh Shit!"sOut of the North without the prick of sensors placed to feel,all hands turned out to probe about the

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1120513485235894132005-07-05T14:43:00.000-07:002005-07-05T11:32:41.950-07:00

by Marie Delgado TravisYou want me to reach deep inside and pull out "stuff"for your consumption,Without revealinganything of your own.To pour my guts out,entertainingly,between your tomato basil soupand cappucino.Stand before youdishing out portionsof my soul, while you say, "Pass the salt" and"Check please"Applaud lightlyand walk out, just as I get to the part where I really hurt.

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1117474082185103932005-07-04T10:22:00.000-07:002005-07-04T03:21:24.400-07:00

I pledge allegianceTo the dreamOf a united state called AmericaAnd to a republicWhich would stand forLiberty and justice for all.I pledge allegiance To the land In a united fate called AmericaAnd to a democracyWhose sands are wet With the blood of patriotsof every race, creed and sexI pledge allegiance To the cause In a united love called AmericaIn whose defense Freedom passes the torchTo

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1120458453226907832005-07-03T23:27:00.000-07:002005-07-03T23:51:49.893-07:00

"Close the door, you'll let in the flies."It was too late. A passing breeze, leaf litter, or God knows what, had already spooked the swarm of mosca verde (the common green housefly, to the non-scientific tormented) into a funnel cloud that headed for the open screen door like a tornado to a mobilehome park.I had been sitting on the porch steps watching them partying on a heaping mound of why the

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1117473447507256892005-07-02T10:15:00.000-07:002005-07-02T06:17:37.586-07:00

I fear my neighborMy neighbor fears meI could walk overExtend my handShare a beeror threeGet to know himSo he'll know meBut I would ratherHave a copFingerprint,Grille,And servaille himHe the same with meMy neighbor likes to walk aroundAnd drive his car on whimBut he could plant a bombYou seeSuch lowers my securitySo I require my governmentTo keep him under lock and keyWithin the walls of

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1117471176817373442005-07-01T09:39:00.000-07:002005-07-01T12:29:03.173-07:00

by Victor Om ShantiTo the Museum of FreedomI take my sonThat he might glean for himselfThe anachronism called fun.That algae tinged bottlePerched high on a shelfIs the last vial of pond water(I trapped it myself)In which folksWould swim bareWell, my gawd, look over here!A box full of airOnce laugh expelled in gleeAs they dared to tell jokesWay before the dayWhen security camsMade clothing

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1119893414050050252005-06-30T10:29:00.000-07:002005-06-30T05:45:36.313-07:00

Sylvan orchid -- cut, Admired briefly, Then carelessly Tossed away.

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1119893278848493352005-06-29T10:26:00.000-07:002005-06-29T08:50:51.636-07:00

by Marie Delgado TravisBloodflows, flowsthrough the street,into the air,across the river,over the meadow.It flowson the balcony,under the door,down the corridor,between the sheets,against the wall,detonating inour hands.

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1119892776245344872005-06-28T10:19:00.000-07:002005-07-01T12:23:58.220-07:00

by Marie Delgado TravisAll these years.All these tears.And still...My face flushes,Knees weaken.But even as I gaspFrantically For breathat the thought of you,I can't help But recall How you Treated me.And wonder ..."Why?"

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1119858229600173962005-06-27T00:43:00.000-07:002005-06-27T00:46:18.573-07:00

by Marie Delgado TravisI am rainingAs the city soak Distances shrinkFrom view.PearlsAt 35,000 feet.Engulfed now in Cloud layers.I rain.###

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1119783493364955362005-06-26T03:58:00.000-07:002005-06-26T04:00:36.040-07:00

"Believe it or not you can read this: I cdnuolt blveiee taht I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrdwaht I was rdanieg. The phaonmneal pweor of thehmuan mnid. Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at CmabrigdeUinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer inwaht oredr theltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoatnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be in the rghitpclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you cansitll raed it

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1119674885899385282005-06-24T21:48:00.000-07:002005-06-24T22:01:00.416-07:00

Guapo y Aislado attempted a painfilled heroic vault over the stall rails.Somehow his forelegs made it over, but not his hindquarters. He landed on the top rail with a resounding thump!The thump though compressed the gas in his belly to a degree no longer containable. The discharge of noxious vapor turned the candleflicker into a methane-fed blowtorch flame.The bomberos arrived quickly so they

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1119548059534686432005-06-23T10:34:00.000-07:002005-06-23T10:36:02.090-07:00

by Marie Delgado TravisI was very privileged to attend CCNY in the late 60's. It had been my choice, not only because there was no tuition at the time, but also because my professors and the learning environment at the college were world class. But times were turbulent. Almost any day, you could count on some of the 30,000 students to be protesting something. There was a student strike for every

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1119784226423630172005-06-23T04:05:00.000-07:002005-06-26T04:12:49.943-07:00

A poem could I start,That somehow would circle And fill up, The hole, your absence Has left in my heart.It would be filled,I'm sure it's true,With smiles and tearsFormed by the milesBetween me and you.The tears come when I fearMemory of you might fade to blue.The smiles return when Memory remindsThat in my soul I still love you.sonichi shanti 050623

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1119069163765950992005-06-17T21:32:00.000-07:002005-06-17T21:35:52.216-07:00

"'It was extremely kind of you to drive me all the way to Sacre Merde! so that I could deliver this special handling document, Hermano Santuron.''Think nothing of it. Praise Gaw-D. It is written, 'whatsoever you do for the least of mine, know that you do for Me.' Thankya Jee-zus!''Muchas gracias, I'm sure. Look, there's the address 2101 Calle Casucha. Stop here. I'll only be a minute.'Don Pedro

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1118735171168580592005-06-14T00:46:00.000-07:002005-06-14T03:54:55.746-07:00

Dawn, as crowed by Kri-Kri, the dyslexic cock, awoke Guapo y Aislado, when the sun was directly above the highest steeple of the modest church at the north side of the town square. Guapo y Aislado completed his arising grooming activities and chores. Primary of which consisted of swatting away swarms of biting black flies and increasing the fertilizer destined for Don Pedro's garden.Completing

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1117729620283089672005-06-12T09:21:00.000-07:002005-06-12T08:02:16.530-07:00

by ROBERT MC KENNA I guess you can tell from my name that I am not a Latino by birth. I was born into an Irish Catholic family in the South Bronx of N.Y. in 1949. Growing up in the South Bronx and living in the police district called “Fort Apache” was quite an experience because as you will see, I was the minority. All my friends were Latinos. Most of them were Puerto Rican, but I also had

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1118407380658995522005-06-10T05:43:00.000-07:002005-06-10T05:49:10.403-07:00

"Please come to order! Please come to order!!", the Alcalde, Gordo Funcionario del Gobierno, said again - this time pounding his coffee-cup-cum-gavel to add weight to his words. "Don Pedro, Jefe, that includes you two, also. Please, everyone find yourselves a seat."Don Pedro reluctantly broke off his grave conversation with Jefe Tienda, owner of the largest transportation company in the area.

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1118351809875751162005-06-09T14:16:00.000-07:002005-06-09T15:00:39.086-07:00

Veralento, is a bustling bailiwick nestled in a hollow of the greater Aldehuela Aburrido Valley. It is there that the splendiferous office of Don Pedro Grande Entre Las Sabanas, Postmaster of all Veralento, is easily discernible. Its low adobe structure supporting a ramshackle roof obscures for its occupants views of the low clouds that perpetually hug the sides of the the Hormiguero Mountains

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1117475693642251052005-06-07T09:36:00.000-07:002005-06-07T09:39:35.753-07:00

Yes, I was staring into your eyesYou, in your ego thoughtHe just wants to cleave my thighs.My thoughts, 'tis true, were overwroughtPondering if mercurial passionI could even buy.My dick on your breast In yesteryearWas a means to an endNo longer clear.Conjuring a core soul-stirring explosionClimaxing in rest.Now, I can't even pretendTo understand the whyOf the jealousy I feelAs you hug your

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1117473118155943662005-06-05T18:53:00.000-07:002005-06-05T18:54:05.590-07:00

I cannot handle the fact that I truly love youand in the night when I'm with my wifethat I'm thinking of youIllicit love affair can bring me downIllicit love affair has no fertile ground to grow.You were my saviour when I was sad and lonelyBut I can't break my vow to my one and onlyIllicit love affair can bring me downIllicit love affair has no fertile ground to grow.When I see you on the

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1117719801399700022005-06-02T06:43:00.000-07:002005-06-02T09:17:17.773-07:00

by Bob McKennaMost people who live on Long Island don't know it but there once was a mountain right in what is now the town of Brookhaven. Hardly anyone knew about it so there aren't many who can testify to its existence. I can for I was privileged to be on it. About twenty years ago my wife and I decided to move to Long Island from the Bronx. Ellen had just given birth to our firstborn, Jason.

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1117474805237683252005-06-01T06:47:00.000-07:002005-06-01T06:47:51.956-07:00

(In a slumping economy, Success has many fathers) I built it,But they did not come.The grand opening,Announced it's demise.Twenty years by twelveBlood, sweat and tear-letting hoursTo dig a dot-common grave.Oh, they'll heap praise uponThe entrepreneurs upon whomCorporate bounty falls.But will they pause, or think at all,To toll one mournful bellOn he who tried but fortune stalled,On he who sunk a

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1117476337431964462005-05-31T06:20:00.000-07:002005-05-31T06:20:57.233-07:00

Well gather 'round boysAnd I'll tell you a storyThat's funny as it is trueIt concerns moralityIn the face of hypocrisyIt's 'bout the time They burnt the whorehouse downChorus: Well the water on the flamesCouldn't wash away some namesThe night they burnt the whorehouse down (Burnt it down)Oh (well) many men went paleWhen they ended up in jailThe night they burnt the whorehouse downWhy Police Chief

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1117477644987149492005-05-30T11:21:00.000-07:002005-05-30T11:31:36.600-07:00

We're riding the tip of the spearWe charge in where lesser men fearTerrorist tyrants bewareScrew with us if you dareWake this beast Then you've messed with a bear.Terrorist tyrants tried to silence our voiceBut we pulled out our weapons of choiceDefensively raised up a shieldOffensively threw them a spear.We're riding the tip of the spearWe charge in where lesser men fearTerrorist tyrants

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1117261203865831642005-05-27T23:20:00.000-07:002005-05-27T23:37:36.773-07:00

There was a truly dumb plot to kidnap TV mogul, David Letterman's son. Happily, it was thwarted before it became unfunny. Nevertheless, as the father of a young son, I offer to Dave these: Top 10 Ways to Avoid Kidnap Threats10. Appear on "The Maury Povitch Show" to deny paternity.9. Les Moonves makes a public announcement thanking you for your 30th year of volunteering to host the show for free.8

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1117087180723329682005-05-25T22:54:00.000-07:002005-05-26T04:11:21.986-07:00

Revolution to you is romanceNot the infant disemboweledTo promote a red-covered bookLiberally pigmented with blood From bleeding-heart lance.Revolution to you is romanceNot holier-than-thou leftistsHeart-felt knowing what's bestFor your lifeHint to disagree at your perilIn the people's democracyThe dictatorship of the prolesHas soul notches on its' beltFar in excess of the alleged

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1117012288116739872005-05-25T02:10:00.000-07:002005-05-25T02:15:27.546-07:00

I sat amongst the serious poetsSuch serious guiseThought long into the distant pastWhen first the Last PoetsStomped and shoutedCall and responseFiring hip noble venacularAs they hopped about stagesSpawning gangsta rap crap.Gawd, did they blow it.I sat amongst the serious poetsAngst filled youthsReminding me of my ownLofty future pastGuerilla theater in subway tubeCast in serious jest Verbal

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1116911996344323892005-05-23T22:13:00.000-07:002005-05-23T22:22:04.170-07:00

As i look 'round for ahard days workthe poly graphs my lifeLookout for bugs in the bathroomSpys in the backyardThe tele's tapped, use cautionwe're trusted as much as we're known.sociology bids me buy breadanthropology sells me a home.my motivations throughly researchedthat I do not think alone.1/66

Victor Shantihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04159249705054109731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1116632629798646642005-05-20T16:39:00.000-07:002005-05-27T23:52:42.363-07:00

by Marie Delgado TravisWhat fun it would beif you could tatooyour name on mein a tiny placeonly seen by you!And if you thought about it, where would you place it?And how would you insureno one else came nearyour little secret place on me?Oh, what silly thingsI say, do andwould do for you!And it's because you are my joy,the finest jewelry-- never fake! that adorns every contourof my body and heart

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1116618773671579592005-05-20T12:48:00.000-07:002005-05-20T12:52:53.676-07:00

We asked an internationally known pen and paper author to join this blog and gave him instructions as to how to post. His response was:"Wait a minute. Those are way too many instructions for me. Ha ha. I barely know how to turn on my computer."That, immediately, to us, begged the question of, did Ogg responded in a similar manner, when told by Ugg, that he'd have to switch from oral tradition

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1116516645732097802005-05-19T08:30:00.000-07:002005-05-20T17:39:51.056-07:00

There is more to the sunlight on the beaches of Papeete, Tahiti, French Polynesia, than on other sun-drenched island beaches. The heat is more the warmth of intense passion as the sweat pours from one in the same manner. But it is the brilliance of colors, that somehow intensifies the aroma of Tiarae blossoms that is most strikingto the senses.It was on just such a beach that they lay. He bronzed

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1116459933521565072005-05-18T16:36:00.000-07:002005-05-27T23:59:39.733-07:00

by Victor Shantithe carney came t'Powaywrapped in Summer heatI looked at her with ice cream eyesI lust knew I was in for a treat.the midway slick and crowdedsweat trickled down her thighI held my balloon so firmlyit almost made me cry.when carney licked it my waythe treatment was so sweetno big surprise when looking downice cream was in my seat.

fablespinnershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12459975650133758580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13006586.post-1116451005566833582005-05-18T13:52:00.000-07:002005-05-18T15:00:32.140-07:00

Fablespinners welcomes you and invites you to our web of thought provoking poetry, short stories, and commentary. We invite constructive critique and analysis of the literature you find at this site, as well as, invite you to submit to us literature for us to consider for blogification.Please note that all submitted material will become the sole property of fablespinners.org to exploit, edit,

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