How to chop fire wood

'Hello, is this the Police Office?'

'Yes. What can I do for you?'

'I'm calling to report 'bout my neighbor Jack Murphy...He's hidin' Marijuana inside his firewood! Don't quite know how he gets it inside Them logs, but he's hidin' it there..'

'Thank you very much for the call, sir.'

The next day, twelve St Johns Police Officers descend on Jack's house. They search the shed where the firewood is kept.

Using axes, they bust open every piece of wood, but find no marijuana. They sneer at Jack and leave.

Shortly, the phone rings at Jack's house.

'Hey, Jack! This here's Floyd....Did the Police come?'

'Yeah!'

'Did they chop your firewood?'

'Yep!'

'Happy Birthday, buddy!'

Christmas Constructed for All to See

Life Sentences

The world lives in our minds, through our perceptions, as a collection
of sentences. And images, pictures, capture many relationships that
allow us to draw sentences from their essence. The power of language
is then driven from sentences, but also ultimately limited by them. A
painting is not a landscape, any more then a sentence is the world,
and the truth is not singular in language.

---
George Dyke

Body of Music

Body of Music

Sunday morning, sunshine soul.
Sunday morning, softly plucked.
Body of music, from chello flows.
Body of music, leaves on ground.

Stories from sounds, ears open wide.
Melody of times, good gone by.
Rythm of days, promise to come.
Resonates with heart, glow in the room.

Breeze will blow, and clear the air.
Still those songs, hanging there.
Trips you took, while never left.
Tuning of the heart.

Whos words run free.
Across plains so plain.
Images more vivid then true.
And all shared in a moment.

---
George Dyke