My Career as a Scribe
No longer do they ask I take minutes
In the committee meetings I attend.
I guess they did not like to begin its
Next meeting with the verses which I penned.
Or maybe ‘cause I left some motion out
When for a key word I could find no rhyme.
Reading of minutes preceded a shout
That how I record was a waste of time.
Now I sit and just quietly doodle,
While others take assiduous notes.
With luck I won’t even use my noodle,
And I can pay no attention to votes.
Carnival Sins: More Ogdenish Limicks
Or Are They Just Nashty?
If you’re a manatee,
May you have vanity?
Seaweed for each meal
Would steal my sanity.
Where does lion keep his pride?
Is it gals at his side?
Most teens can tell you,
It’s manely in his hide.
Does a mule ever lust
For an ass or a bust?
Sterile is not fun --
It seems to be unjust.
Does the sloth mean to sin
When too slow to begin?
Maybe he just thinks
Exercise makes too thin.
Watch out for the giraffe
When moved by fearsome wrath.
One kick from above
Will knock you off your path.
Chimp has one but wants two,
Greedy he steals from you.
He drops what he has
And holds less when he’s through.
When whale opens his maw,
He sucks all into his craw.
To leave isn’t easy --
You can just ask Jonaw.
Ode to Ogden
Nash wrote four line limicks --
The change gave him some kicks.
Some thought them too short
But less rhyme made them quicks.
When I use Ogden’s form,
With less than is my norm,
Thoughts must be kept small --
Just a minor brainstorm.
But it’s good exercise
To hold thoughts down in size.
Concise sounds like smart
When none knows otherwise.
Over What Hill
I may be over the hill, heading down,
Although it still looks fairly far to town.
Sometimes I take a moment, a brief stop,
To wonder when it was I was on top.
So many ups and their offsetting downs
Pass by unremarked as we go our rounds.
They are simply what there is at that time --
You could buy a dozen for just a dime.
We don’t build a road, jumping peak to peak,
But it’s the easy valley path we seek.
So to build a life, maybe it’s the same --
Rate by how well, not high, we play the game.
Likely I have never been to the top,
But that will not make all my life a flop.
There will still be small bumps in my descent
To test old knees ‘fore I’m completely spent.
Star-Spangled Banter
Hey, over there. Did you see that bright flare?
All through the night, ‘twas such an awful fight.
Who’s outta sorts, bombarding some old fort?
What is their beef, to give us so much grief?
Whoa, look at that, it came through the whole spat!
With stripes and stars, that flag there is still ours.
It didn’t come down, despite bombs all around --
It's in tatters, but some holes don’t matter.
That’s the spirit, you love it or fear it,
But not defeat people who won’t retreat.
They die for cause when other folks might pause.
They will be free whatever cost may be.
So, hoist the flag and let it for us brag,
Don’t tread on us, we’re just too full of cuss,
We will rebound, you cannot keep us down --
Thanks for the shells, we'll make Liberty Bells.
Taxonomy
A hamster is not a gerbil,
‘Though a tortoise is a turtle.
Mosquitoes are what you swat at -
Hundred twelve genera for that.
If you want to classify,
Taxonomy is what you try.
You compare for what is the same
And then give them a Species name.
But now the fun has just begun --
Two's too different to be one.
They aren’t the same but share sameness;
Let us give them the same Genus.
The Genera with common traits
In a Family can be mates.
Families in the same border
Can be placed in the same Order.
The Orders can combine en masse
To make a very diverse Class.
We almost there to compile a
Joining of Classes into Phyla.
The last step is the mighty Kingdom
Under which the broad Phyla come.
Some add in sub- and super- levels --
Let’s ignore hair-splitting devils.
Ennui
(tune: Meet Me in St. Louis, Louis)
Wrap me up in weary ennui,
From out of nowhere.
Don’t tell me the world’s still shining.
I no longer care.
It seems I’ve done more than enough,
To go repeating that old stuff.
So cover me with dull ennui,
And I’ll snuggle there.
Wrap me up in weary ennui,
I am fine, I swear.
Within myself I’m unwinding
From nothing out there.
So much has passed hurly burly
And it all stopped way too early,
So I need time of listless ennui
To rise fresh somewhere.
Atrophy
Atrophy is not a prize you can win,
Although it is easy to compete in.
You just give up something you once did use,
And soon enough find it something to lose.
A muscle, a mind, or any old skill,
Can weaken and fade if too long too still.
One thing to not vanish like a rabbit,
Seems to me, is an old and bad habit.
Idling Hard
Things not worth doing may be worth not doing well;
When you are doing nothing, your best will not do.
From career you retire in idleness to dwell
Unless you find former nothings to amuse you.
Work is a labor, perhaps a burden to bear,
And yet a purpose and a process to move us.
We wish relief from exertion in our soft chair,
Until endless rest changes it to immobile truss.
Then we must idle hard to recapture what’s lost;
Do to be doing and fighting not to be done.
I need not be better than Seuss, Whitman, or Frost,
As long as I can fill the hours and still have fun.
Remembering Memorial Day
Do you remember Memorial Day
Beyond the Indy 500 Speedway?
At which soldier’s grave do you decorate,
His or her service to commemorate?
Is it merely the summer’s starting gun,
Time to shed winter and soak in some sun?
A holiday without too much holy --
Get outside and pass the ravioli!
Lest we forget, we’d once solemnly say,
Of why the sacrifices our war dead pay.
Whether their true causes were won or lost,
They did not see for what they paid the cost.
As a boy, it was the day I hated war;
It caused only grief, pain and loss, I swore.
I’d never partake, never support it --
I wished war to end if we ignored it.
Childish wishes ride on butterfly wings --
We learn to not count on such fragile things.
With distrust in peace, we prepare for worse,
Blaming human nature which is our curse.
Although they did not go to war to die,
They seldom knew what else was left to try.
Their deaths are not defeat nor victory.
But enduring steps in our history.
World Turtle Day
(May 23, 31st anniversary)
If you party with a turtle today,
Please do not ask him to come out and play.
They are rather shy and won’t take it well --
They much prefer the comfort of their shell.
If you find one crossing the street so slow,
Keep in mind, he knows where he wants to go.
You might help finish his trip to safe ground,
But, ‘though it’s closer, don’t turn him around.
This day was made to help turtles be wild,
Not the captive beloved pet for a child.
You may visit in their natural home,
Then leave it clean and let them freely roam.
Thought for the Day
He thought. She thought.
He said what he thought she thought.
She thought he said what he thought.
Whether he ought
To say what he or she thought,
All that thought has come to naught.
Like Yoda We Talk
(41st anniversary of “The Empire Strikes Back” release)
Master Yoda we celebrate today --
Syntax we torture to his way we say.
Try you not only the thing you must do --
Your tongue we untwist can when you be through
In Dagobah swamp him first we do meet --
Skywalker Yoda trains, head below feet.
Away undone raw Jedi called to fly --
Swamp back he comes in time Yoda to die.
Gone then he was, henceforth one with the Force,
Later in the past returns he, of course.
Angry Anakin he trust not to train
But rash Ben Kenobi he not restrain.
Clone Army he commands, Republic fix,
But not foresee he Order Sixty-six.
Darth Sidious he duels, but failed, he did.
Into exile he went, in swamps he hid.
There him Luke finds before in the future --
Back us Lucas takes to that adventure.
As Force spirit he pops up when scripts need --
His cryptic words haunted Jedi must heed.
With you the Force be, so powerful is,
If like Yoda you learn to use talk his.
If which words you know not sentences end with,
At least do not condescend like a Sith.
You’ve Gotta Believe?
The suspect says, “You’ve gotta believe me!”
How often have we heard that urgent plea?
“Believe me when I tell you,” starts each line,
And you wonder if that is a bad sign.
“Matters of faith,” says Preacher, so aloof,
“Do not need, indeed deny, any proof!”
It will not be seen if it’s not believed,
But in such ease, your thinking is relieved.
Decide before you know untidy facts
Which from your resolved certainty distracts.
Trust what you are told and not what you think,
And you can act in a mere eye’s hoodwink.
Maybe take your time and puzzle it out,
Explore your options, consider your doubts.
What is knowable for you to analyze?
What other things are not, you recognize.
In the end, when you are done either way,
You still will need to get on with your day.
Happy Limerick Day
There once was an Englishman named Lear
Who composed poems too witty to bear
He is responsible
For so much runcible
‘Cause it was such a good word to hear.
If you ever wrote a limerick
Thinking you had a wit oh so slick,
Likely you soon did find
And to it was resigned
Even friends think you’re a lunatic
Happy No Pants Day???
The first Saturday in May
Has been declared No Pants Day --
For me it was a surprise
To see legs before my eyes.
For some alone in a room,
Or maybe meeting on Zoom,
They like to feel a small breeze
Blowing gently through their knees.
But I like to keep pants on
Even when everyone’s gone.
Maybe shyness, I suppose,
But my legs I don’t expose.
Oh no, I’m not Donald Duck
With tail feathers to get stuck.
If you want, relax that way,
But at my waist my pants stay.
That should make everyone happier!
Facing Your Fantasies
Reality is a crutch used by some
When they cannot cope with their fantasies.
To what is done they too simply succumb,
Not the suspense and hope in the breeze.
Oh, yes, I guess, it is easy to walk
On the solid ground there under your feet.
You don’t live aloft as the soaring hawk,
So you need to look when you cross the street.
But would you fly, albeit by airplane,
If none had let the mind ride on birds’ wings?
What you think of now as real in your brain
Were, once upon a time, just fanciful things.
So, pay attention to what surrounds you,
But do not ignore what might not be there.
The dreams (and terrors) which your mind can brew
May also, someday, lead you to somewhere.
Nibbling on the Neighbor’s House
When I was a kid, in our neighborhood,
There was a house with a fence ‘round its yard.
We were told, ‘though we never understood,
That with that neighbor, we should be on guard
When parents won’t tell their children the why,
Curiosity will soon make them itch.
So explanation was for us to try --
And we decided, there must live a witch.
We had heard tales how witches lived by tricks
And of the lures which into their traps led.
Her house might look like it was made of bricks,
But we knew it was really gingerbread.
The gumdrop trees grew just beyond our reach
In the lollipop garden inside the fence.
There must be owls guarding, ready to screech,
And lawn gnomes to come alive in defense.
This challenge was in need of a great plan,
One that would require all of our whole squad.
Tom, Pete, Rick, Ashley, I guess even Stan --
A perfect assault, completely unflawed.
We would have to be fast and go at night;
Two to stay behind, protecting our backs,
Two with wiffle bats if there was a fight,
And two to gather treats to fill our sacks.
But Stan had to be home before sunset,
Tom lost his bat and could not think of where,
Rick was unsure of what share he would get,
And Pete was pretty sure he did not dare.
Ashley was still ready and raring to go,
But now that great plan seemed certain to fail.
How good were the treats we would never know,
But the gingerbread was probably stale.
Intelligent or Smart?
When they’re wrong, it’s intelligent to know,
But it’s likely smart not to tell them so.
With this you may not totally agree --
Often I wish this was a rule for me.
Falstaff says that valor needs discretion;
He preferred very passive aggression.
If nobody noticed, that would be fine;
He still knew without his butt on the line.
Should you keep your opinions to yourself;
Just bundle them and set them on the shelf?
Who needs the benefit of your learning
When it’s their beliefs you’re overturning?
Well, you may say some things are worth the fight.
Sometimes someone must set what’s wrong to right.
Perhaps that someone sometimes should be me,
But when, I would bet. you would not agree.
St. George - Patron Saint of Dragons
Saint George, they say, was known to slay
A mighty dragon in his day.
But dragons scold, those whom I polled,
I should not believe all I’m told.
Holier than this saintly man
Were not so many a Christian.
Ready with Might for what was Right,
He believed in the Holy Fight.
While in Silene, George saw a scene
With a dragon, so fierce and mean.
There a princess was in distress,
Wearing her last and finest dress.
‘Twas her duty, said this beauty,
To be sacrificial booty.
Chosen by lot, as she was taught,
Any objections were for naught.
She tread the swamp with proper pomp
To save Kingdom from Dragon’s stomp.
Alone she faced, both calm and chaste,
With none to see her be disgraced.
George intervened, stepping between
The princess and the dragon green.
From mounted stance, he drove his lance,
Smote his foe a staggering glance.
While beast was felled, down George hurdled,
Asking Princess for her girdle.
While still so weak, wrapped ‘round his beak,
This female garment made him meek.
They marched to town, all gathered 'round,
And at her feet, Dragon laid down.
But people feared, something so weird,
As Dragon tame as he appeared.
They did demand to free their land
That Dragon be killed while at hand.
It is alleged, to Christ all pledged
As George held Dragon with sword edged.
Dragon did plea, What about me?
I would also a Christian be.
I would repent, from here be sent,
And live in peace whither I went.
Mercy, new found, folks did astound --
In George's heart this plea did resound.
It was the Way, not heartless slay,
But let Dragon go free that day.
Few can know how beast kept his vow
But he stayed faithful until now.
By George, they swore, truce evermore --
That's the last dragon-human war.
Optimistic About My Past
Does what you have seen, to some degree,
Lead to what you are going to see?
Maybe less of what and more of how
Are affected by your life up to now.
Survive your lows and enjoy your highs
And the next good thing is less surprise.
Forget the good and dwell on the bad
And what comes next may well make you sad.
It does not change what did happen then
Nor prevent nor make it come again.
But what you take from experience
In attitude makes a difference.
Enjoy National Poetry Month --
It's not all that bad.
IRS Tax Day
(tune: My Way, lyrics by Paul Anka,
sung by Frank Sinatra, et al)
And now, the time is here
And so we face the final deadline.
Accounts, we’ll make all clear,
We’ll state income on the right line
We’ve made some cash, that’s sure,
We invested here and there along the way
But now, time has arrived, IRS tax day.
Expenses, we’ve had a few,
Too few to itemize deductions;
We filled forms as best we do
And made sure to subtract exemptions.
We checked math at each step,
Each detailed line in the taxing fray
And now, the money’s due, IRS tax day.
Yes, it’s the time, I’m sure you know,
When we say bye and watch our cash go.
Something to do nothing about;
Checkbooks open and we shell out.
Through all, we hear the call, IRS tax day.
We earned, saved, and invested;
Some shares gaining, others losing.
And now, dues are requested
And there seems just no refusing
To think companies do too
And yet they say, not in a shy way,
No, we do not pay on IRS tax day.
For what is a man, what has he got?
The IRS will tax the lot.
But aren’t companies people too
And should pay their taxes as they’re due
When their math’s done, their income is gone
On IRS tax day.
IRS Tax Day!
El Rana
(tune: El Paso, by Marty Robbins)
Out in the Florida swamp called Big Muddy
I fell in love with an enchanting frog
Nighttime would find me waist deep in the water
Pepena would sing as she sat on a log
Sweet as music were the croaks of Pepena
Surely and slowly I was under her spell
My love was deep for this small amphibian
I was in love but in vain I could tell
One night a strange young bullfrog stopped by
Swollen up like a balloon
Belching and honking, he attracted the eye
Of pretty Pepena, the frog that I loved
So in anger I
Challenged his right for the love of my girl frog
Out flew his tongue to snatch a dragonfly
I answered with bug spray to poison his prey
The bullfrog croaked there in a blink of an eye
In a moment all went totally silent
Shocked by the pollutant I sprayed about
Swamp creatures stared at me with rage rising
I had one choice and that was to get out
Out of Big Muddy I splashed so quickly
Fast as my legs could churn
I reached the dry land, ahead of the mad band,
Jumped in my Jeep and the rubber did burn
Just as far as I
Could from the Florida swamp of Big Muddy
Out of all wetlands I used to study
Back in the city my life seemed so pointless
My herpetology degree was a waste
But I dreamt of my beautiful Pepena
My love drew me back to the place I disgraced
I packed my bag and loaded up my car
Driving all night on back roads
"Maybe the next day a predator will find me
But I must get back before my head explodes"
At dawn I got to
The dusty parking lot at the Big Muddy
I heard it singing its sweet song to me
My love was strong and it drew me swamp-ward
Into the muck my Pepena to see
Off to my right a Crocodylus acutus
All around me swarmed Aedes aegypti
Splashing and slashing, I couldn’t let them get me
I had to reach Pepena ‘though I might die
Something was dreadfully wrong for I feared
A. piscivorus swim here
‘Though I must walk through this murky water
I struggled on almost frozen with fear
‘Though my love for
Pepena was wrong, yet perversity raged
‘Though I was scared I can’t stifle the need
I saw her log where so often I watched her
Now for all their forgiveness I must plead
From under a leaf, Pepena sat besides me
Oh, a Rana okaloosae so near
I cradled her between my loving fingers
One little kiss and I changed my career.
Anhedonia
(tune: Pachalafaka, by Irving Taylor (1958)
Also sung by Soupy Sales and by the Muppets)
Anhedonia, anhedonia
It’s sweeping all over the nation
Anhedonia, anhedonia
A symptom of our long stagnation
Oh, I know the term
Will make you sadly squirm
For it reminds us of bygone days
There’s no pleasure in
This year’s endless tailspin
Leavin’ us in a bleary weary daze.
It’s not apathy
Nor quite misery
For those don’t express what we’re feeling
Even fiddlesticks or
I-can’t-get-no-kicks
Just don’t describe with what we’re dealing
But anhedonia, anhedonia
Makes us wonder if it cured by vaccines
So confused we’ll stay
Lest comes the day
We find out what anhedonia means
We find out what anhedonia means
The Lonely Rabbit Revisited
Oh woe, I am such a wretched rabbit --
Homebound is now a deep-seated habit.
The past year I ate undelivered treats,
And now I think my rump has ingrown pleats.
I used to have a job to do each year,
Now I have nothing as Easter grows near.
Once people would root for me; that was nice;
And now they want to shoot me; maybe twice.
No candy to make, no baskets to fill,
No prep, no eggs, and no children to thrill.
Another Spring gone down the CO-VID drain;
Check back next year if I’m canceled again.
