Writings from ALASKA

A POEM a DAY,

for Thirty Days

S. Pam MaGee

I could find not a better way to enjoy the days of late December and early January then to take refuge writing. In essence, efforts to help whittle away the seconds captured by the long and dark cold days of the “solstice” months. Within this frame of time, which really lasted into early February and ended around groundhogs’ day, my frame of mind insisted on poetry. I had authored six novels by this time in my amateur writing career, but poetry? So secluded away with my thoughts, totaling about 30 days - had to break off the writing affair for the holidays - came a collection of poems. A POEM a DAY, for Thirty Days, where the subjects of interest - my victims - came from random day-to-day acquaintances.

CopyRight 2004 MSK Media

~ The Poems ~ Back to MAIN Page

1) SLEEPING LADY (p.3) - Link

2) MY TIME (p.4) - Link

3) At Life’s End (p.5) - Link

4) FREEDOM (p.6) - Link

5) SOCIALISM for One and All (p.7) - Link

6) My Lion Dandy (p.8,9,10) - Link

7) STAND the RAIN (p.11,12) - Link

8) MAGGIE MAGPIE (p.13) - Link

9) STUPID NOISE (p.14,15) - Link

10) WIND SONG (p.16) - Link

11) DAMN IRISHMEN (p.17) - Link

12) FAT LEONARD (p.18) - Link

13) STRANDED (p.19) - Link

14) FRED CHASE (p.20) - Link

15) DON’T FENCE ME IN (p.21) - Link

16) NOBLE LAUREATES (p.22) - Link

17) DON’T TREAD ON ME (p.23) - Link

18) WAR WHORES (p.24) - Link

19) OCTOBER FEST (p.25) - Link

20) TIME REWIND (p.26) - Link

21) DECEPTIVE GRACE (p.27,28) - Link

22) JAMMING (p.29) - Link

23) To Vote, or NOT! (p.30) - Link

24) RICH MAN, POOR MAN (p.31) - Link

25) DIRECTION or DECEPTION (p.32) - Link

26) MY MASTER PEACE (p.33) - Link

27) MENTAL SLAVERY (p.34,35) - Link

28) INHERITANCE (p.36) - Link

29) THE DEFENDER (p.37) - Link

30) DECREPIT MILE (p.38) - Link

31) By George (p.39) - Link

SLEEPING LADY

Resting so peaceful,

Yet, so forceful an image.

Even from so far away.

Upon this soft earth,

Upon this gentle earth.

Hair locks beginning from on high,

A trademark feature so robust with beauty;

Descending across the horizon,

Descending yet never ending,

Melting into the glorious sunset.

Face of charm, lifted, towards the heavens above.

A smile against the sky blue,

reflected downward.

Upon the surrounding waters,

And felt upon the surrounding terrain.

Sacred ground invaded.

So saintly protected.

If not by monumental tides,

By monumental surrounding peaks.

All upon this soft earth.

All upon this gentle earth.

All upon this beautiful earth.

Sculptured body, a shrine to surrounding life.

All seek her.

Sleeping Lady,

My beautiful Sleeping Lady.

MY TIME

Doing nothing with time,

Is no fine and so fine.

Self ridicule unjustified, denied.

Imprisoned in a sanctuary at its best,

So secure in all directions,

So serene surroundings claim.

Travel takes hold,

To a journey bold.

Transcendental like,

Acceleration across a multi-dimensional universe,

So socially fragmented,

Heavenly.

All at the speed of dreams, that of light places second.

Did I see into the future?

Did I look back on the past?

Oh doing nothing with time, a nap is so fine!

Copyright 2004 MSK Media Back to List of Poems

At LIFE’s END

At the end of my life,

When I meet my Creator,

I will fall down on my knees;

And thank the Creator for the rest of my life!

Copyright 2004 MSk Media Back to List of Poems

FREEDOM

Deny me my constitutional freedom;

And I shall plan my strike.

At a distance is paramount.

As a singular army can stand no casualty,

else the battle is lost.

Choice of weapon?

The pen shall do, loaded with projectiles of diversity,

To execute my enemy’s freedom prejudicing my freedoms.

As I am a man of my word.

And above that,

I am a man bound by the word!

SOCIALISM for One and All

I heard one whisper,

That Einstein was smart!

I heard a thousand yell back,

That Einstein was a socialist.

I heard one whisper,

That he himself was a socialist!

I heard a thousand yell back,

That he was not Einstein!

I heard one whisper,

That he wasn’t so smart.

I heard not the thousand yell back.

So with the jury now silent,

the verdict was in.

Einstein was smart,

Einstein was a socialist.

The defender was a socialist,

The defender was not so smart.

Now with the sentence before us,

The gavel did fall.

And signified without prejudice,

That Socialism is for all.

My Lion Dandy

Rotting snow losses ground,

Underneath,

a new world found.

So comes a particular annoyance,

quick to growth,

no lion sleeps tonight.

So paramount for success,

to reach heavenly heights,

So disdain upon our views of scientific reality,

So true with distrust,

negating all known theories claiming an understanding to development,

negating all known laws claiming an understanding to deployment.

So dandy, this dandelion!

And arresting the morning sun’s claim to fame,

of being first to awake,

Before us, a spherical wonder of dazzling brilliance soon emerges.

Uncloaked,

diminished security,

gone are the mighty camouflaged defenders,

individual armies dressed in green,

all of the highest degree of ability.

Maybe that existence, also a miracle.

All in all, a daily possessed procession,

With each day providing justification,

to diversity.

So dandy, this dandelion, my dandelion!

With such a secure dome,

so structurally sound,

so alive with purpose,

Protecting something,

maybe innocence.

If something,

a hidden agenda.

If innocence,

well honored.

Dressed in an un-patented yellow hue, augmenting a peaceful like existence.

Against a backdrop of springtime’s massacre. Against the remaining blight,

of winter’s white coat,

almost gone far and away.

Making way for new life.

So abundant that it reeks,

with optimism,

with pessimism.

So adamant,

that survival of the fittest is for all,

all of heaven’s thriving species.

The dome of the lion matures,

Transforming,

into the likeness of a Greek goddess,

with acclaimed virginity,

a mathematical accomplishment,

it is Bucky’s geo-delight.

And each delicate pillar,

that functions to support this spherical fortress,

Eternity now sports the emergence of a seed,

Clandestine fruits to extend this lion’s existence.

With the wind comes a noble mobility,

along with a enchanted serenade.

Each and every seed transforms into a ballerina,

selfish free flight,

unrestricted movements,

so beautiful.

Propelled along with assistance,

from deteriorated remnants of what was once a wholesome castle,

becoming wings,

T’was no doubt the Master’s plan.

Now each relative part,

taking on a task of significance,

taking on a task of magnificence.

With an inherited talent, an un-choreographed dance of life begins,

a journey beyond the domain,

beyond any security,

beyond any secrecy,

of its earlier existence.

All in all,

thousands of tiny dancers,

unleashed in each and every direction. Traveling in all fathomable dimensions. Propagating, unadulterated,

in tune with nature’s song,

heard aloud,

felt aloud,

reigning on high!

So dandy,

this lion,

The Creator’s miraculous dandelion!

STAND the RAIN

Scorched lifeless earth,

Sun dried into a death wish existence.

Where pre-armed dust plumes wait to explode,

from every attempt to trespass upon this atrocities grip,

from both human and other creature intervention.

Then like a disdaining miracle, rain reigns, a soothing bombardment.

Disturbing the already chaotic pace of city life,

awakening panic.

Then cooling the frustration from heated tempers,

a damning relief,

from this innocent intruders delivery.

Oh what a nuisance to daily life,

This fallout from somewhere above.

Oh really just a nuance,

This gift from the heavens above.

I can’t stand the rain.

Such a blessing,

a cornucopia of wealth.

Nourishing the seeds,

of my earth,

of our earth.

First unleashing a bouquet of primitive sounds. Evolving into an intimate serenade.

Climaxing as an opera of greatness,

upon the greatest of stages.

Then the ether of unfamiliar smells,

waking up the hidden sensors.

Discharging back alley contraband,

man made wastes are no match!

Soon it is over,

Oh what a joy.

Damn rain I said.

Damn rain I heard.

All bets off on a lifeless earth.

I can’t stand the rain, can you?

The Creators gift,

a renewable gift.

Stand the rain.

MAGGIE MAGPIE

Maggie Magpie

Masquerading maniac,

Mendel misinformed.

Magnificent mobility,

Miscalculations manageable,

Miscues miniscule,

Merlin magic.

Mother mentor,

Michelangelo man,

Militant maniac,

Mobius mixer,

Melody maker,

Mahatma mobster,

Magnetic magnumopus.

Magpie Maggie.

STUPID NOISE

Why on Sunday?

For this matter, why on any day!

The morning hours,

Then daylight hours,

For this matter, all hours must surrender to the intruder’s reeking madness.

Reverberating air pulses,

A self induced masturbation.

A warning of the inevitable to come.

Nowhere to hide from such an attack.

Like water trespassing to freedom,

throughout all paths of least resistance,

and evermore.

Sacred gardens.

A kingdom of diversity,

alive with a multitude of both classified and unidentifiable things,

stagnant photosynthesis,

multi-colored winged and racing legged, squirming!

So far, untouched by human or inhumane intervention.

But the attack has commenced.

Like a leveling blitzkrieg,

every hair must be in place commands the raider.

Soon, a linear victory.

As uncontrolled growth is considered chaotic.

Unpolished lawns a dereliction to neighborly duties,

against the norms of society!

Then as soon, comes the sweet stench of victory, of annihilated growth.

So fresh.

So refreshing.

As if signaling that this atrocity upon nature is OK.

A sudden aphrodisiac.

Lasting not long, as vapor bombardment from inefficient correspondence between mechanical components displaces any notion that such interference is righteous.

A sudden and lasting impression of disdain.

I retreat.

Well into summer.

Manicured lawns in all directions.

The robin treads no more!

Neighborly snarls, ridicule, fake smiles abound.

Where hides my mower, as I forfeit my will to be different, to abide socially.

Lost? Misplaced? Overgrown by an invader?

For this matter, a good thing.

Not my lawn, I am civil!

WIND SONG

Solo musician,

A great stage awaiting.

A gracious audience, no doubt.

Audition début,

And now comes the cue.

First sounding tune,

Worse off then the loon.

To those that follow,

A tempo hollow.

If the blues, it knows no Ray,

The stage display now in disarray.

Instruments gone wild,

Provoked out of style,

With due respect to Lyle,

We ought wait a short while.

Time be the remedy,

To all that entrust patience.

With memory mesmerized,

Now comes a melody.

Familiar and soothing,

Transcendental and begging,

And I long for a stay,

Of this wind song today.

DAMN IRISHMEN

An Irishman is a bold man,

Confrontational constitutionalist.

Some would say foolish.

Some don’t know history.

No fight is a frightful sight.

A dull day I would say.

Like a day without shine,

A day, no moon shone.

I know, as I am Irish.

And for so many years,

Where age does not discriminate the cause,

The gloves of glory find a meaning.

And the ring be me life.

Maybe no simple reason,

to take up the cause,

As there exists an infinity of excuses,

to side-line prejudice laws.

A tall order it is,

to defend a better society.

Damn Irishmen we are.

FAT LEONARD

Convoluted, convex, an undefined shape,

far from humane, but human!

Inside out hour class,

this referees opinion.

Maybe a mere guess,

but at least evolutionary.

Center of gravity confused,

sometimes lost.

Constant motion necessary,

momentum to keep erect.

Physical laws of fall defied,

Newton’s Principia challenged.

Floor pacing menace,

Fat Leonard makes his appearance.

Stalking the maze of tables and chairs,

Sending annoyed patrons into sheltered lairs.

Like a bump car driver extraordinaire,

fender benders make us beware.

A one man parade,

not absent a float,

Teasing the structures design,

Will there be fines?

Yes indeed,

good old Fat Leonard makes the scene.

Patrons know his smile,

his friendliness goes the extra mile.

Non-acquaintances show fear,

Anger they wear.

But that smile,

from such a happy man,

from such a big man.

Fat Leonard leaves his legacy.

If you don’t believe in a fallacy.

A big man with a big smile.

A big man with a better smile.

STRANDED

I had an affair,

It came about from out of the blue.

A stranded leaf.

It seems,

carelessly cast away from on high.

Finding refuge,

against the glass of a window pane.

And like glue,

the morning dew,

insisted on this loner’s view.

So each morning,

Came an attractiveness,

One that persuaded my undivided attention.

It won my election for affection.

As each and every day,

came a begging kaleidoscope,

a choreographed transformation,

un-patentable attributes.

It became my prisoner,

or had I became its prisoner?

It stayed, all winter long.

As if this encampment gave it an extension on life!

It hibernated,

protected against nature.

It inebriated,

my fondness of nature.

Then one day,

the sun released winter’s grip.

No longer was the window’s captured domain obscured by this lonesome invading intruder.

Was it by choice?

Was it for freedoms sake?

To join the ranks,

of last season’s nucleonic affair.

I pondered to rescue, but to no avail.

I was inside. It was outside.

A stranded leaf no more!

FRED CHASE

A rough man,

A tough man,

oh such a gentle man.

A meant for smile,

A not for sale smile,

Oh such a gracious smile.

A rough man from a tough life,

A tough man from a rough life.

A river man,

A hunting man,

A fishing man,

A church going man.

A family man.

My old friend Fred Chase.

A real man.

A meaningful man.

Webster’s protégé extraordinaire.

Collegiate catch!

DON’T FENCE ME IN

Fence to my left,

Fence to my right.

Locked gate in between.

Fenced in?

Fenced out?

Fenced in between!

Fences hold us out.

Fences hold us in.

Why fence me?

Restrictions from the left side,

directed against the right side.

Restrictions from the right side,

directed against the left side.

Center attacked from both sides.

Maybe something can be learned,

on the other side,

Nothing on my side.

No lucky child is left behind.

And a sibling follows right behind.

But someone is left behind.

Please don’t fence me in!

NOBLE LAUREATES

Bob Dylan

Said the executioners face was always well hidden…

John Lennon

Imagined no possession…

Chuck Berry

Had no particular place to go…

Van Morrison

Thought the crack was good…

Johnny Cash

Walked the line…

Willy Nelson

Had Georgia on his mind…

Mick Jaeger

Couldn’t get no satisfaction…

Joan Baez

Found rivers that know our destiny…

Louisiana Phillips

Hailed Ave Maria

Any Lennox

Liked going out into the rain…

Keith Richards

Had to get the shit off his shoes…

Cat Stevens

Rode a peace train…

Peter, Paul & Mary

Frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honah Lee…

Jimi Hendrix

Was experienced…

And Janice?

NO BULL Laureates!

DON’T TREAD ON ME

Fresh road kill,

summons a thrill.

Name that maimed,

once a creature untamed.

Tarmac Satan unrestrained.

Fox? Not.

Raccoon? Neither.

Raptor not a factor either.

Oh, can’t you see,

By old glory colors three,

That it was once free.

Still waving in the air,

Proof of a flag,

Its owners outsiders fear,

Was still there.

I retreat,

In efforts to defeat.

Those that tread on her.

But signs in the battle field says beware.

And cops on the beat,

deny this feat.

Fingers of the highway sinners,

the gesture for non-winners,

testament to my vain efforts to save.

Old Glory, now gory.

Shredded to threads.

By those that know her,

All to well to tread on her,

And tread on me!

WAR WHORES

Rotten to the core,

our masters of war.

Battle plan approved,

exit strategy stranded.

Black sheep doctrine,

fit to be tried,

for our sons and daughters sake!

why denied?

Nothing but a whore machine,

this modern day war machine.

With masquerading cheaters,

disgustingly disguised,

just war monger breeders,

hardly world leaders.

My Red, My White, My Blue,

becomes the venom of fools.

Nothing but a poor machine,

this modern day war machine.

Profiteering looters,

Showing off at Hooters.

Wool eyed believers,

Stool stuck.

George hides in the bush,

Don is drunk on rum.

Paul digs the big bad wolf,

Richard seeks his mother of pearl.

While Willy sees it crystal clear.

This PNACkle debacle!

Democracy, Hypocrisy, Lunacy.

War ejaculating whores,

rotten to the core.

Warlord masturbators,

enjoying the orgasm of war.

And Portnoy had a complaint!

OCTOBER FEST

Upon the place that welcomes my present existence, upon the ground that extends beyond my domain,

another one’s place of existence, maybe no one’s place of existence, the attack is upon all targets, occupied and vacant, armed and unarmed, from the heavens above, the march begins, the dance begins, cast off from reaches out of reach, following undefined trajectories, destination a hearsay, from wind currents, heat currents, artificial man made currents, unknown currents, a seductive flow, a breach signaling a retreat, from summer’s grip, totalitarian resignation, by orders from the Creator, controlling clientele on a mission to administer slave like conditions, no rest, no vacations, no freedom, around the clock romance, ending nature’s call to produce to survive, this annihilation has begun, an order from on high, the fruits of labor have been rewarded, this fall to freedom, free-flight away from the incarceration, started as an infinitesimal reaction, culminated with a glorious rendition, smiling leaves, frowning leaves, colorful leaves, ugly leaves, now beseeching everything, like a new life canopy, laid down chaotically, maybe not, maybe rhythmic, maybe sane, even infiltrating the black and white boundaries of society, tar and concrete, stagnant leaves, corralling water droplets, providing seekers with love, ramble on this love fest, this October Fest.

TIME REWIND

It is a rewind of time,

that rings this season unto its prime.

And maybe to some a paramount,

but nothing to be sad about,

or for that matter mad about,

When seconds forward do not count,

And answers toward seem so difficult,

Stalling winter’s ruthless insult.

So right before the slaughter,

That commands winter’s white daughter,

To cover the remaining disgrace,

So appropriate at the end of this race.

And before allowance of the next of time,

This replay is mine.

It can last but a day,

Or enjoy an extended stay.

With the harvest of light,

from the bright yellow moon,

a heavenly invite,

soon to quiet the outspoken loon.

All the past colors,

all through the past time,

Are renewed one last time,

at this time proven shrine.

So a rewind of time past,

And last season’s old winter grip,

Takes me along on one joyous trip.

Starving off a Fall,

All over again.

So play it again Sam,

As I am an addicted fan.

Fall all over again.

DECEPTIVE GRACE

Where once stood a brave and mighty birch,

Now exists a singular perch,

A withered branch,

Onto its own,

Lonesomeness so seemingly so.

Abandoned and stranded,

As if it were branded.

Against the approaching quagmire,

Bold trespassers and new life satisfiers.

Yet remaining,

And fit for framing,

A tiny demonstration.

Determined to hold it’s own without fear.

As it did for so many years,

before my time,

before your time.

When all is hushed, it resounds,

Taking the stage on the rebound.

Catching my frame of consciousness,

Corralling my attentiveness.

Until reverberations startle my awareness.

What it is?

So difficult to comprehend.

Like a blessing cast down to defend,

Grace from the heavens above,

someone did send.

Comes now,

To this menacing eyesore,

with no worth to make a score,

a strong revival,

as if writing the next chapter on survival.

The last remaining branch captures the stage.

And even though struggling for survival,

demanding respect,

and in effect,

surrendering the blitzkrieg,

calming the bulldozing intruders.

Alas, there is no threat, just rewards.

Altering all cruelty,

And ending any preconceived brutality.

As new life kneels,

Before it steals.

Oh hail Mary, Mother of this earth.

Deceptive death,

Receptive grace.

Prayers for the sinners,

Now and at the hour of death.

JAMMING

The fate of the wait,

Melting snow never to late,

Early on, never a hate.

Run off runs on.

Runs here,

Runs there,

Runs just about everywhere.

Torrential spoiler,

Pristine moment foiler.

Contraband displacer,

Debris chaser.

Gravy train disciple.

From here,

From there,

From just about everywhere.

The jamming has begun.

Water flows here,

Water flows there,

This wine, flows just about everywhere.

But this miracle,

that was once a spoiler,

that was once a displacer,

that was once a disciple,

Now is nature’s apostle.

Melting snows of spring,

New life it does bring.

To Vote, or NOT!

Shall I vote?

Or shall I vote not to vote?

Would the negative deny myself the privilege,

thus fostering a derailment of my liberties?

Or is the privilege the underlying choice,

To satisfy my liberty and voice?

RICH MAN, POOR MAN

The paths in life are many,

Oh so often we’ve heard that said.

The chosen path a choice.

We’ve been warned by many a voice.

The path to riches seemed my plight.

As was the majorities show of might.

When indeed many were derailed,

And wandered without hope.

The yellow brick road became chaotic,

Smoldering the horrors of a war torn advance.

And family woes and legal woes,

Made me a hungry man.

Conscious thought made enemies,

Denial of freedom a sin,

But to the end and without a win,

I had nothing but my soul.

And the meek shall inherit more then earth,

And be the keeper of His light.

DIRECTION or DECEPTION

Fall in,

Socialite.

Fall out.

Socialist.

Fall left,

Communist.

Fall right,

Capitalist.

Fall Down,

Atheist

Fall Up,

Must be Heaven!

What the hell way is Hell?

MY MASTER PEACE

“When I paint my masterpiece”,

I can still hear my friend Bob sing.

Why wait till when?

I’ll offend.

Then why?

I can defend.

John knew why, as

“Life is what happens”;

And Lennon knew when,

“You are busy making other plans.”

My master peace, your master peace,

What piece of life does the Master lease?

Accomplishments many, maybe not so.

But with all disregards,

to the factor of time,

The Creator paints that master peace,

each and every day.

From dawn to dusk,

Without failure.

His accomplishment, my accomplish to life.

So my master piece,

is being part of the Creator’s master peace.

MENTAL SLAVERY

Mental freedom,

We were told,

Mental slavery,

We were sold.

Disguised so bold,

Appraised like gold.

Not to fret,

Sounded in the soldiers bet,

As we are worriers,

sworn to obey.

Doing whatever it takes,

to make our pay.

Mental hate, invades my mind,

No more excuses to be so kind.

Mental sweat, stains my mane,

No more excuses to remain so sane.

Mental sin, tarnishes my soul,

No more excuses to hail God’s role.

Mental freedom,

We were told,

Mental slavery,

We are sold!

Here again, there again,

With the bitter battle of old.

It continues it’s hold.

Now an hourly battle anew,

all workers continue to pursue.

Sworn to obey,

To make our pay!

Sworn to obey,

In order to stay.

They say this slavery,

Insisting our bravery,

Defends our rights,

And focuses our sights,

To save the fight.

All for a freedom,

Damn, that can’t be sold.

So I prefer to scold,

Fools “only” gold.

INHERITANCE

It comes from the good book,

That the meek,

shall inherit the Great Spirit’s earth.

I am of the meek,

but I feel so weak!

Should we be bold,

And begin to take hold?

As our inheritance is in vain.

And our negligence to refrain,

Allows for the thieves to maintain our domain.

It is the mortalist of sin,

SO WE MUST BEGIN.

Our inheritance is in vain,

Insane is the practice of non-violence.

We gave peace a chance,

They laughed at that advance.

So we must prostitute our beliefs.

This inheritance is ours,

and revolution is the solution.

A revolt for the cause,

will strangle their selfish laws.

I am of the meek,

And summoned to seek.

With numbers to fight,

putting aside what was thought to be right.

We say forward this revolution.

And our reward be an act of contrition.

And inherit this earth,

shall we the meek!

THE DEFENDER

Oh, say can you see

What it takes to be free.

By the dawn’s early light,

We went secure through another dark night.

What so proudly we hailed,

Where the enemy had failed.

At the twilight’s last gleaming?

I fort for a country that has meaning.

Whose broad stripes and bright stars,

Warned other’s against our wars.

Through the perilous fight,

We would utilize our might.

O’er the ramparts we watched,

That the land was not scorched.

Were so gallantly streaming?

A place to continue dreaming.

And the rocket’s red glare,

Commanded a stare.

The bombs bursting in air,

So fashioned to bring fear.

Gave proof through the night,

That our leaders would not loose sight.

That our flag was still there.

Continues the victory cheer.

O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave,

O’er the land of the free,

And the home of the brave.

DECREPIT MILE

Smile from the pharmacy man,

Mile long line.

Smile from the liquor man,

Mile long line.

Smile from the traffic man,

Mile long line.

Smile from the banker man,

Mile long line.

Smile for a mile,

Man’s chaotic style.

A smile for my pain,

That guy must be insane.

A smile for my habit,

He must enjoy the profit.

A smile for my rage,

He’s thankful for the cage.

A smile for my pay,

What can I say?

These free time deprivers,

Are hard time drivers.

Decrepit society?

Reality!

Decrepit smile,

It goes the mile!

By George

By Bernstein,

Musicman.

By Feinstein,

Stateswoman.

By Wittgenstein,

Philosophy.

By Bronstein,

Penielist.

By Einstein,

Activist.

By Lictenstein,

Rabbi.

By Edith or Gloria,

Stein is fine.

By George,

Frankenstein!