Noon At Night Publications

08/08/2024

Hello friends. Just a quick hello! And this.... we will post more in a complement of information!! Yay!

08/08/2024

Freedom means keeping weapons of war off our streets and out of the hands of extremists—and no one is better prepared to tackle this issue as president than Kamala Harris.

Throughout her career, Harris has been a vocal advocate for reinstating a ban on assault weapons, the weapon of choice for mass shooters and extremists. As a senator, she co-sponsored the Disarm Hate Act to help keep guns out of the hands of those convicted of violent hate crimes. She also co-sponsored Senate legislation to regulate ghost guns, large-capacity magazines, 3D-printed guns, and bump stocks. And, as vice president, the Biden-Harris Administration implemented life-saving rules to regulate ghost guns and arm-brace-equipped assault weapons.

We know as president, Kamala Harris will do everything in her power to get weapons of war—and their deadly accessories—off our streets and out of the hands of extremists, and we’re going all out to ensure she gets elected. Join a virtual phonebank to mobilize voters! Sign up here: bit.ly/3X2mJiH

08/08/2024

RIP my friend, and be blessed, apparently sooner than me. Right on!

Jack Karlson, the man made famous for his arrest while enjoying a Succulent Chinese Meal, has died. He was 82.

06/29/2024

07/01/2022

“The Edges of Jacob's Ladder.”
a poem by Rob Krabbe

The cry!
The wail!
The sorrow,
The wall.

The struggle is real,
Grab the demon by the heel.
The break in defenses, and
the climbing of fences.

Why cry?
Because …
You high?
Why die? Even …

Because you always
feel better when you
take a moment to
have a good die!

No matter,
the patter of
little thoughts
like raindrops on a
hot tin roof.

Shatters me.
Scatters me.
Until, one day, it
cadavers me.

This particular front matter,
sometimes is a masterpiece;
the real masterpiece!
Fleecing the logic,
bypassing the paper
and the very boring colloquium.
Raise up the religious, even the contiguous,
the soul buried
next to the treasure.

A hard thing to measure.
The sociobiologic despot.
Call it ethnologic studies!
Yet why sociological antisemitism?
Actuality only muddies the waters, right?
Then a less-than-hotter other daughter
Leah, offered, nay, proffered,
for the marital slaughter.

Rachel to the rescue.

I don't mind,
such a turn in kind,
even when not a kind turn,
for such as, costs a “butt-full
of money and sleep, keeps
you warmer at night…
frankly nothing but more weeping.

That takes us to…

Consequences.
Second chances.
Mending fences,
Operating expenses,
likened inferences;
The Neo-Manichaen
dogma of the ambigences,
leaving you wanting
clearer rules and tenses.
Philosophical dualism;
You see …
Manichaeism.

You know …
No matter how old I get,
I still love me a little
milk and cookies.

© 07.01.2022 by Rob Krabbe
and NoonAtNight Publications

06/29/2022

“The Last Hope of Holy Hollow”
a poem by Rob Krabbe

They're family heirlooms
of a sort; and amen!
Held tightly to my
chest for years, and then…
I cracked open the bone
and let loose all the fears.
Its been a long, long way
since I stripped all my gears!

So I empty the stores;
the shelves and the stalls;
Crowded hearts in the halls;
and the waterfalls of tears.
Remember the jeers!?
Mere desire is not enough,
we're going to have
to get rough dear! You know…
when the going gets tough.

I see a day not too far off, when
change is unchangeable,
The “same,” becomes
the unsameable.
The future, all the days,
when the ways, were gazeable.
and oh, my eyes were ablaze,
in praise of the battles we won.
I ended up hung, out to dry,
when I was still so very young.

So who were they?
Tangled up in sharp greenbrier.
Death would be solitude, yet
consumed by fire, the
tales of lost time, when
life and love were like being
stuck in the mud.
Not like now; back when the
tapestry breathed life,
from the heavenly
beings above.

One should never count-out
the stubborn power
of the “human.”
Yet we should never get
too set on just posing.
For now that’s what
I'm disclosing.

So, child, don't you cry,
in another time, we
would try, try, try!
Until there was
no time left to die.
Yet, you and I
looked to the sky,
seeking the wisdom,
we already know the end,
and we know it just in time.

We die to live
and we live to die.
Do I hear 100? SOLD!
Yet someday we'll fly! Free.
We’ll go hard, and go bold,
seal the tomb and the catacombs.
and we’ll find a new way home!
Or we’ll keep on trying what we know…
‘til there's nowhere left to go.

© 06.29.2022 by Rob Krabbe
and NoonAtNight Publications

06/22/2022

Carnitas and Manic Mango Salsa
~
(A poem and recipe by Rob Krabbe / sorry it's longish)

~ So far the only “real Mexican food”
in the Land of Saint Fernando,
is in my memory of some of the best
music, cooked up in a giant soup pot
on the front lawn of a rented house
on “Avenida De Los Arboles” back in
the day before I figured out it wasn’t
the worst thing to be so crazy. ~

A breadcrumb-trail of hopes on
the orange and green tiled floor,
so I could find my way back in
the angst ridden fog of that dry
San Fernando Valley spring.

Not at all a bad memory; I used
to love the smell of the hot spicy
carnitas simmering in salsa over
the wood coals in the back of
Elena Consuela’s neon blue and
orange crumbling-plaster kitchen.

Cumin, tender pork and green
pepper aroma,thick, like the
steam bath in the
“Oahu Gentleman's Club,”
that invariably wafted through the
room where we rehearsed
Hawaiian party music in an
actual “working band” called
“The Udda Brown Boys.”

I was the only “haole” playing
slack-key steel guitar island tunes
in a Mexican cover band with
two Mexicans, two Spaniards and
a Brazilian on that side of the
San Diego County Line, and me?

I lived day by day to sneak me a
lungful of air, free from mental
tyranny and a mass conspiracy
that kept me sleepless, and
hunting sanity in the poetry of
the great masters; kind of an
odd place to look for
answers, or healing but it
made sense to me so long ago.

One day after a particularly hot
set, we sounded so much like the
famed “Gabby Pahinui Band” the
year they won the Moloka’i Folk
Music Festival, on the big island,
that we all thought, clearly, we
“have what it takes.”

We’d make the top ten Hawaiian
pops and turn the Polynesian music
charts inside out without leaving the
mild early-May weather in
La "Mesa Cabasa," California.

Turns out, five Latinos, and a puffy
white guy, can’t get many gigs
playing Hawaiian folk music
in East LA, gangbanger, beer
bars and dives, let alone birthday
parties for the rich Westwood
business suits, and their
young, eager sexually energetic
media assistants.

Just a thin self-medicated
line separated me from the
entire world.

What we did have, was a pound
of good “Mexican Mayhem,” in
a bag, bought for less than street.
The bag? …had a damned hole in it
and the hole had a first name, and
seldom looked you in the eye,
and always owed me twenty bucks,
and my latest former girlfriend,
usually named Jaunita or the like.

We left, a bit less than stoned, in a
rusty back-firing abandoned 1970
sundried oxidized-to-light blue
Grand Marquis, a fine and noble
automobile, with a trunk full of
nothing but dreams and almost
enough desire to get anywhere
but where we were that day.

I prayed to my darling majestic Lithium,
dear and sweet gatekeeper of the
expansive plans to rule the world, and
achieve a record breaking or**sm,
"Let us have a good soulful set!"

Accept, then, my offering; the keep
of my realities and fantasies; my tithe
and my adoration, as I laud yet another
random god while chasing a better
wounded healer down with a warm
leftover-from-the-night before beer.

Why did my psych, a tall lanky
cottonswab of a man, say “we don’t
know much about this thing we call
a brain!” laughing; He was the expert
and yet as confident as a close-to
retired w***e in the back pew of any
self-aware, celebratory community Church,
he says “take these pills three times a day,
anyway. Please don’t miss a dose, or even dream
of tongueing and doubling up at night."

Hmm, thought I. Pills that we “don’t
know how or why they work but they do."
But “call me a-sap, if you pass out,
seize or go toxic. Better yet, get to the ER.
I may be on the ninth hole, being watered
down, so ring twice.”

All in all, everything considered, and
a lot unsaid, and unreported, that leaves
me sitting here thirty five years later in
blessed remission, deep in the forest
of the Upstate of South Carolina,
still not sure about this thing we call
the human brain and it’s mysteries,
between two fall creeks, and a lazy
but kinder, gentler rebellion.

I am off medication legitimately now,
eating carnitas and mango salsa, with
baked pita bread chips, instead of fried
tortillas, and a big ol’ pile o’ cheese and
pepper grits, a bit melancholic, thinking
back on a wonderful funky place
in the heart of Los Angeles.
Fond food memories, at
“Ticos Fine Mexican Food,” with a nice
tableside-fresh-made guacamole
and a boat-load, butt-load of tequilla.

Nice end to the day, when an old
friend of mine named Jose, stoned
on Negra Modelo, sits down in my
front porchin’ memory to play some
nice Brazilian love songs on his
hand-made, worn deeply,
classical Spanish blond
guitar, and his vihuela de mano. Ok, it was personally signed by the
great, Jose Miguel Moreno,
the night my brother would stumble and fall off his chair in
an effort to remember his lovely
Isabella Adriana Savanna Martina, who had been the only
One for him for most of his life
Until she died years ago of
tuberculosis, when she wouldn't
go to a doctor.

Manic Mango Salsa
By Rob Krabbe, (my personal recipe! And gift to you)

Ingredients
2 ripe mangos, peeled and diced
1 cup peeled, diced cucumber
1-1/2 tablespoon finely chopped mild jalapeno
(remove seeds for extra mild salsa,
or leave a few for some heat)
1/3 cup diced red onion
1/3 cup diced sweet onion
1-1/2 tablespoons lime juice
1/3 cup roughly chopped cilantro leaves
1/8 cup finely chopped mint
1 finely diced medium bell pepper
1 cup seeded tomato, chopped
2 tablespoons finely diced garlic (roasted)
2 tablespoons rich virgin olive oil
Salt and pepper

Directions
Roast garlic cloves for 45 minutes at 325 in foil and oil pack, cool then dice. Combine the mango, cucumber, jalapeno, red onion, lime juice and cilantro leaves and all other ingredients and mix well. Season with salt and pepper, to taste. Dip fresh fried tortilla chips, pita chips, or use as a marinade, or just enjoy by itself by sipping from a glass, mixed with a fine blond tequila!

ENJOY, MY FRIENDS!

© 06.22.2022 by Rob Krabbe
and NoonAtNight Publications

06/04/2022

“Somehow, I’ve Got to Go”
a poem and song by Rob Krabbe

Sometimes I just
want to kill you,
so I can raise you
up from the dead.
I just want to watch you high,
but not see you fall
down to earth again.
I want to be your life’s blood,
But you cut me and
I'm bleeding on the sand.
I never wanted us
to hurt each other,
til that night I put my
life in your hands.

Gets to where
I don't understand you
after all these years.
I want try to
make love to you;
more and more
yet, that won't
dry your tears.

I want to touch you
and feel your pain
Most of all I want
to make you smile.
But after a while
Girl,,, after a while…

We found each other
in a whirlwind.
Spun down
to human needs.
We moved so fast and
we loved so slow,
It was chaos and beautiful
healing peace.

I want your fragrance in my head
I think you really don't know,
just how much I worship you;
That's why I've got to go.
I think you really don't know.
Just how much I love you.
That's why I've got to go.

So take me as I am,
In the candel light;
slip the pain into my heart
like a razer blade at night.
Take away my soul,
make an offering instead.
As I breath my last breath,
baby, i just need you to know,
That it was time to go.
Somehow I need you know,
Just why I've got to go.

Sometimes I just
want to kill you,
so I can raise you
up from the dead.
I just want to watch you high,
but not see you fall
down to earth again.
I want to be your life’s blood,
But you cut me and
I'm bleeding on the sand.
I never wanted us
to hurt each other,
til tonight, I put my
life in your hands.
Til tonight, I put my
life in your hands

06.04.2022 by Rob Krabbe
and NoonAtNight Publications

05/27/2022

“Ode to the Body Parts ”
a poem by Rob Krabbe

Long and straight.
Just wide enough.
No kink, or bend,
man’s best friend?
Probably not, but OK?

Knock yourself out,
have yourself a ball.
Need something? call.
I remember a painting,
And fainting on the floor,
at an art show in Raleigh.

Quite somber while jolly,
a code de bonne conduite,
not a thing like Cindy Crawford,
the great Salvador Dali!

So comforting, the surreal,
calming, healing, and more!
Unlike the visual proffered,
alors, mon seul souci;
he was half deaf it seemed.

The profits counted
and coffered,
nothing lit on fire,
or fell to the floor
and nothing except
a listening ear
was clearly,
quite sureally
offered.

© 05.27.2022 by Rob Krabbe
and NoonAtNight Publications

05/09/2022

“Love, on a Shelf”
a poem by Rob Krabbe

I don't usually see
myself that way.
My heart often
has too far much to say.
How in our entire
vast relationship,
do you explain
the cause of delay?

Words are oft times
a bargaining chip.
But what gets
in the way of love,
the feelings, being
solidly new,
stand at a distance
in white gloves;
the last person to
ever know, is you.

Why don't people
say what they feel?
Instead of worry
about everything else?
Love is good,
fears seldom real,
But you end up,
at some point putting
your love on a shelf.
Like that effing elf!

Everyone ends up
grieving instead;
an emotional three
hots and a cot;
until dead!
Thinking on all I should’ve
said; and all I should not;
Truth?

We both end up,
lamenting instead.
All the best in us
in the ground to rot.

Does everyone make peace
with realities fraught?
with a pile of grief?
you subconsciously,
laboriously,
ridiculously,
lay in wait for?
bought… and paid for?

Of course not!

© 05.09.2022 by Rob Krabbe
and NoonAtNight Publications

03/21/2022

Into the Keep
a poem by Rob Krabbe

Harried moment of final decision.
Confusion, cuddle-casting a shadow.
Delusion worked its powerful magic,
on reality's new and restful plateau.

A minor magnificent mental contusion,
and a spoonful of effusive illusion;
a tune-full of clichés, riddled with rhymes,
and we’re guilty of the lies of collusion.

To bear that familiar catchy melody,
as it pries headlong into our awareness;
It was a humorous foregone conclusion;
That the purulent priest offered absolution.

No matter how many bodies hastily tossed
into the trenches of our wastefully lost.
The cost of life should be more than enough
were we changed by the hella-holocaust.

Lives were crushed to dust, din and dirt,
By hobnailed Jack boots and flirty stones.
gnarled tree roots, become my total worth,
measured in desiccated mirth and dried bones.

Take your war, with your reasons for;
the lies and schemes, and little man’s lost dreams.
Keep nothing beyond frantic freedom cries.
Live for each other till each other have died.

Brother walk with me into the roiling sea.
Sister, let wave, and current carry thee,
into the frigid dark, and black deep; we
sink like stones into the keep.

CR 03.19.2022 Rob Krabbe
and NoonAtNight Publications

03/12/2022

Bargaining With God: a Lasting Accord
a poem by Rob Krabbe
(View sideways if on a phone)

Out of desperation I call, in the loud, loud wind.
When I’m gone, let good thoughts echo here.
A legacy, but please don't leave but my bones
in this hateful and compassionless place.
Leave not a drop of my tears here.
Leave not an unspent thing in my years here.
Leave only a foot print from my journey here.

Lay me in the shade of a beautiful old tree,
on the cool banks of a quiet lazy brook.
Beneath the colorful sky, the day's failing years,
as vibrant colors dim, old eyes, spent well
with laughter and with a good many tears.

Not all life was bad amongst the bristles and
the thorny briars, fires and damning crimes yet;
Time of soft and beautiful moments still remain;
and forgiveness for any wrongs ever played.
Let me stay, yet longer, if that is your way and will,
while these moments, hours and days are coming still.

Within the halls, beyond the walls, I will sing praise.
Let my life’s-dance go quickly when in that moment,
and in the dry earth, my soul, be not forever tied,
but sing life … and love, no severance can ever hide.

When, carry then, my funery to an old orchard,
of thin, spent apple trees; and old hopes fulfilled.
Harvests of luscious fruit, as bright as lover's eyes.
This day I’ll carry on, the legend of love’s daily kiss!
Life with my one true one, and still my beautiful miss!

Rise up tired life! Quell the spirit of doubt and fragility;
Follow the quest for more knowledge, as it even fades.
Bring me near; and nearer to my redemption;
Let the Spirit be the strong wind in always new sails.

I still have passion to serve and mend; not apportion,
not divide, but conquer with unified intent, and compassion.
My eyes, seeking, tired and weary from the journey,
Yet my years eternal as they feel; no time for fear.

I am some days, a weary pilgrim, and an alien here;
this strange land, I’m holding vigil for love; for you.
I am so very far from home; from all I *truly* know.
Keeping tribute for care and for service where I go.
Healing the wounds of the wounded healers.
Worship on all the days, I am remaining charged.
With every ounce of power’n life, left in me.
With every flame of love left in my heart:

And . . .
every bit of faith;
all Spirit and with hope;
my full love and any spark,
left within my bones.
Leave me day by day,
To accept all and always
a song within my heart;
a thankful list each day,
that I remain alive.
Jesus hand, one day,
upon my shoulder
finishing then, my
need to roam;
Once God of heav’n
and creation below,
has lovingly, finally
called me home.

For it’s been a very …..
very long time …
since I was home.

CR 01.05.2021 Rob Krabbe
and NoonAtNight Publications

01/27/2019

2 years of health issues have ended, transitioning into a year of hope, better health, healing and VICTORY.

07/31/2017

Cloudy, dreary day. More coffee, and a good book.

07/31/2017

07/31/2017

08/16/2016

Rumors are, Rob is writing again. Beware . . .

01/28/2016

In part 1, I discussed common fears people have about going to therapy. In part 2, I'll talk about the 8 reasons to process and overcome those fears, and go to therapy anyway. It can make such an impact on your life. Do the benefits outweigh the risks for you?

10/02/2015

10/02/2015

If you're within driving distance, this Sunday, 11:00 A.M. you're going to want to be here!

08/12/2015

www.westchesterhandwash.com a new client, in Los Angeles, near LAX offers the "Best Hand Wash in the West! Keep them in mind Cali friends! When you're downtown and need that car looking good.

10/14/2014

TATTOO IDOL CONTEST, is a community of people who design, create, and love tattoos. It’s is a place where tattoo artists can come and talk tattoo, enter contests, promote their designs and their art, and just have a great time competing and meeting others as obsessed as they are. It is a place where…

09/30/2014

Rescued: A Tale of Two Dogs. Here is the full cover. Birgit Stubblefield and Debra Wagner are the authors. Birgit tells me there will be a series of rescue books, stories of rescued animals coming. Stay tuned! This book will release in the next day or so. I'll post the web site soon.

09/25/2014

Juliette Douglas, releasing the new editions of the Freckled Venom Series. We are proud to be helping Indie authors like Juliette. These two are hours, not days away. Stay tuned.

09/18/2014

Rob Krabbe | Rock | Galveston, TX

09/17/2014

"A Tale of Two Dogs." (description below by author(s)) We are about to release this book in a new edition. NANP.

"A story of two dogs so different in breed and size - both considered "rejects" by some - and their adoption into a new home. It is also the tale of challenges, unconditional love, patience, giving, happiness, and the friendship of the owners of two furry "kids". These are true tales and are meant as encouragement and support to anyone thinking about adopting a new dog into their life. While we have found happiness with our choices, and giving these dogs a new lease on life, it has not come without its challenges and frustration. Our advice: Hang in there! The rewards will come if you are willing to love and open your heart and allow your new friend to take a spot in it... Just make sure to tell him to "stay!" "

09/17/2014

09/09/2014

Book Covers we have design and published.