Be prepared.  I am not in a humorous mood.  I'm angry, in fact, feeling abused by a system that is supposed to inform as well as entertain.  Hence the title.

Do not mistake my meaning.  I'm not referring to boredom or an insult to intelligence.  My premise that entertainment could abuse is based, rather, on content and example.  It has nothing to do with quality.

High-Def version with extra features. A funny spooky animated dance video promoting the humorous fantasy novel DANCE OF THE CHUPACABRAS by Lori R. Lopez.

The mood strikes to write in a peculiar manner.  To speak of that which cannot be described except by the bizarrest-meaning terms.  To stretch vernaculars like putty, craft the craftiest of hodgepodged whimmeries, then skip off merrily through the leavenings of Fall like a bansheed fairy!

Thus we have the following, the result of all this "linguistic linguini" - to quote Volume One of my lifestory - a poem about the sheer oddity of it all.  Whatever "it" might be.  So, without further t'ado . . .

Did I spell it wrong, as in "Halloween"?  Or "Hollowing", as to carve a pumpkin's snaggled grin?  Let me rub my chin and contemplate.  Nay, I think the word should be this way.

Another month, another poem.  When all is said and done, as I look back on my achievements - and lacks thereof; the list of unfinished goals - this column is one thing I will not regret.  It reminds me to exercise my love of verse.  To spare some minutes for a cherished pursuit.  I have too long forsaken my songwriting passion.  Too easily ignored other beloved penchants, the dreams and druthers that shape who I am.  It is these glaring omissions that plague me most as Time courses too swiftly past.