tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-130065862009-02-20T17:04:13.077-08:00Fablespinners! 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.comBlogger77125tag: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.com31tag: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/08992663569259102753noreply@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/08992663569259102753noreply@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/08992663569259102753noreply@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/08992663569259102753noreply@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/08992663569259102753noreply@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/08992663569259102753noreply@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/08992663569259102753noreply@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/08992663569259102753noreply@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/08992663569259102753noreply@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/08992663569259102753noreply@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/08992663569259102753noreply@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/08992663569259102753noreply@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/08992663569259102753noreply@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/08992663569259102753noreply@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/08992663569259102753noreply@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/08992663569259102753noreply@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/08992663569259102753noreply@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/08992663569259102753noreply@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/08992663569259102753noreply@blogger.com0tag: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/08992663569259102753noreply@blogger.com0