99 Luftballons rise up towards the skies.

Is that why they called the new TV show RISE?
The phone rings. It’s Wayne Thiel of the ThielUtes.
One of my sons calls me Utes. On YouTube
guitarist and artist , Wayne Thiel, and I are the ThielUtes.
Thiel rhymes with eel and Utes with lutes.
Wayne’s last, followed by my first name, becomes the ThielUtes.
Wayne saw a black beetle inside his fridge.
He picked it up gently, blew on it for warmth until, at long last, it flew away.
Looks like the Beatles have something to say.
Their song, REVOLUTION, popped into my mind. Were they giving me a sign
just before I heard of my daughter‘s visit to the Philadelphia
Museum of the American Revolution she deemed eminently fine?
I was listening to Beethoven when Wayne called. I found
it can be the spelling of a word – in this case the word “beetle” –
which prompts associations, not only the word’s sound.
Some time later Wayne tells me more. He saw red balloons outside a store.
That’s when I found out there’s another song, namely,
99 RED BALLOONS. Siri played it for me and I hummed along.
Mom called me eine wilde Hummel when I was young. Don‘t get me wrong.
I was born in ´31. In the current Alpenland International catalog
the entire page 31 offered Hummel figurines, some specially priced just for fun.
In the following catalog they were offered on page 29, for Jane Roberts, of course. She was born in ‘29. We watch the police officers show, BROOKLYN 99.
There’s hilarious banter; it’s a favorite of mine.
The firefighters show, STATION 19, boasts high drama rarely seen.
Rob’s 99^thbirthday sums to 19.
The day I started what became this ongoing story poem, I turned on the TV.
We had taped the show, TIMELESS, and what did I see?
To assist the suffragettes, in their time machine
they went to Rob’s birth year of 1919.
While telling Madelon about these TV shows, though not all,
I received a satellite TV telephone call, not as I previously thought, robocall.
Jane called coinciding incidents unofficial information.
They come in sudden bursts in times of quiet, not agitation.
When they come, it‘s not easy to keep track of them all.
Dear Rob, Jane and Seth, we love you! Dear fellow black sheep, let‘s have a ball.
Let us celebrate and cheer expanding our consciousness.
Right now, right here.

Ute Kaboolian