Shot Three, You’re Done?
(tune: Take Me Out to the Ball Game
Norworth & Von Tilzer (1908))
Take me out to the clinic
Take me out in that crowd
Line us up six feet apart
We all know this part by heart
Let me boost, boost, boost with the vaccine
If that don’t work, try again
For it’s one, two, three shots you’re done
‘Til the next CO-VID strain
For earlier shots/songs:
Shot 1:
COVID Vaccine Dues
Shot 2:
I'm Free
Thanksgiving Prayer
Empty out your horn of plenty
When you count your blessings many.
Dig down deep and then go deeper
To thank the giving bookkeeper.
Put aside any pile of woe --
Accept the to, ignore the fro.
Tomorrow you can fret again --
Today, say thanks and then amen.
Monday Morning Quarterback
(tune: Sunday Morning Coming Down,
Kris Kristofferson (1969)
sung by Johnny Cash)
Well, I wake up Monday morning
With no part of my body that doesn’t hurt.
And I feel a need for a beer so bad
But Coach says I gotta eat yoghurt.
Then I think about six sacks yesterday
And I still taste the turf and dirt.
Then I turn on the television set
And force myself to watch the game replay.
I’d tried my best the day before
With plays but nobody I was tricking.
I took the hike and watched them come at me
And soon our punter was again kicking.
Then they’d drive and score a touchdown
And I’d go back out for my next licking.
Then I could sit back on the bench
Thinkin’ I lost someway, somehow, again today.
Oh, a Sunday football defeat,
It can make me feel all alone.
Who else is there to take the blame
When my blockers leave me on my own?
And there is no use for crying
At twenty-five yards for first down.
I know the blitz is coming
And I will soon be on the ground.
At the park I saw a daddy
With his eager little son he’d brought to see
His first hometown pro football game
And I could hear them both booing me.
Oh, why do I play this game
When on every down for my life I must flee?
And it’s dragging down my career
Like my disappearing dreams of yesterday.
Oh, a Sunday football defeat,
It can make me feel all alone.
Who else is there to take the blame
When my blockers leave me on my own?
And there is no use for crying
At twenty-five yards for first down.
I know the blitz is coming
And I will soon be on the ground.
I Can Get to Work Now
(tune: I Can See Clearly Now,
by Johnny Nash (1972))
I can get to work now, the rain is gone,
I can see all the fallen leaves in my yard
Gone are the dark clouds that had me inside
It's gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright) Leaf-Raking day.
It's gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright) Leaf-Raking day.
I think I can rake it now, the pain is gone
All of the back achings have disappeared
Here is the clear day I've been waiting for
It's gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright) Leaf-Raking day.
Look all around, there's nothin' but blue skies
Look straight ahead, nothin' but blue skies.
I did get to work now, the pain is back,
I still have many fallen leaves in my yard
But gone are the huge piles that I made
It was a long (long), so long (long) day.
I’m gonna need a long (long), so long (long) Bone-Resting day.
I’m gonna need a long (long), so long (long) Bone-Resting day.
World Philosophy Day
When the world grants me my life’s trophy,
Will it be for my love of -sophy?
For a wit of wisdom I created?
For an unspoken truth I stated?
If all of the world needed to share
The output which philosophers bear,
Would not all the debates soon be closed
And nothing new ever be exposed?
Each their own philosophy to choose,
My own idiosophy to use --
Does it matter whether you agree
If my thoughts do (or not) work for me?
It is not products we need to love,
But the pondering process thereof.
We learn when we philosophize
And that’s truly our collective prize.
Take Us There, Country Roads
(tune: Take Me Home, Country Roads,
Denver & Danoff (1971))
Down the East coast, to Florida,
through the mountains, over the rivers;
Life on the road, driving by the trees,
rolling down the windows, feeling the cool breeze.
Country roads, take us there
on a trip that’s so long
Interstate highways, state routes also,
Country roads, take us there
All previous trips went there by air,
Two hop plane flights, routed through JFK.
Dark departure, head out by taxi,
Afternoon arrival, sailing through the sky.
Country roads, take us there
on a trip that’s so long
Interstate highways, state routes also,
Country roads, take us there
We hear the voice of our GPS,
She tells us, her messages remind us
Of the routes yet to go.
And driving down the road our rears can feel
We won’t be there ‘til the day after tomorrow
Country roads, take us there
on a trip that’s so long
Interstate highways, state routes also,
Country roads, take us there
Country roads, take us there
on a trip that’s so long
Interstate highways, state routes also,
Country roads, take us there
Take us there, our country's roads
Take us there, our country's roads
Putt, Putt
(tune: Beep, Beep, Winn & Joyce,
Sung by The Playmates (1958))
While shooting at my country club, what to my surprise
A guy with a putter was following me, about one-half my size
The guy must have wanted to show me up
As he matched my every shot.
I’ll show him that I am the pro and he is not so hot.
Putt, putt. Putt, putt.
Putt, putt. Putt, putt. Putt, putt.
His shots were all putt-putts.
I pulled my two wood from my bag to drive down the fairway
But that little guy used his putter off the tee;
He still hit one far away.
He must have thought he had the best stuff
As he matched my every shot.
I’ll show him that I am the pro and he is not so hot.
Putt, putt. Putt, putt.
Putt, putt. Putt, putt. Putt, putt.
His shots were all putt-putts.
My sand wedge was my chosen club
And I took careful aim
I lift the ball ninety yards --
Show’m how to play this game
Inside three feet, I looked back from the green
I couldn't believe my eyes
The little putter guy let fly his shot
And closer his ball lies.
Putt, putt. Putt, putt.
Putt, putt. Putt, putt. Putt, putt.
His shots were all putt-putts.
With my seven I teed off next par three
And I laid in an ace
But the guy stepped up with his putter --
He kept up to my pace
The guy must have wanted to show me up
As he matched my every shot.
I’ll show him that I am the pro and he is not so hot.
Putt, putt. Putt, putt.
Putt, putt. Putt, putt. Putt, putt.
His shots were all putt-putts.
At the par four, I hit farther than ever before
And I was on in one
The guy and his putter hit his shot --
He matched what I had done
After we each sank our eagles,
The guy asked as I moved away,
“Hey, Buddy, could you lend me a club?
I broke this one yesterday.”
Putt, putt. Putt, putt.
Putt, putt. Putt, putt. Putt, putt.
In the Glow of the Golden Sun
(tune: By the Light of the Silvery Moon,
Madden & Edwards (1909))
In the glow of the golden sun
Let’s have some fun.
Out in the sun, we’ll shun no one.
Just have fun, keep a-playing ‘til done.
Those golden rays will last for days.
We’ll be on the run
In this golden sun.
Place, pool, scene cool.
Golden sun is peeking through the clouds
Cast, two. Me, you.
In lounge chairs just watching the crowds.
Act one, begun
Dialog, would you like to putt-putt?
Say when. Now then.
Let’s go, we got stuff to strut.
In the glow of the golden sun
We’ve had our fun.
Out in the sun, we shunned no one.
Just had fun, kept a-playing ‘til done.
Those golden rays have lasted for days.
We’re going home soon
From this golden sun.
Act two, scene new.
Sunrise still hours before it will glow.
Cast three. You, me
The car, all packed up ready to go.
Gas, check. Flex neck.
Highway, it’s time to head back up north.
Trip done. ‘Twas fun.
There’s a back for every forth.
Bye to the glow of the golden sun
We had our fun.
Out in the sun, we shunned no one.
Just had fun, kept a-playing ‘til done.
Those golden rays did last for days.
We will be home soon
From that golden sun.
The Late Visitor
When Bigfoot comes to your door
Late on Halloween night,
Should you his demands ignore
And not turn on your light?
Should you take this photo op
When given the rare chance?
Do you think when next he’ll stop
To give more than a glance?
Will you still have treats on hand
To sate his appetite?
Was his visit too unplanned?
You snacked too much tonight.
I’m not sure what I would do
With Bigfoot on my stoop.
I hope if it becomes true,
It’s not a family group.
Planning of Whippets
I live my life in snippets
With the focus of whippets,
Chasing rabbits around the track.
If I had a longer span
And was one to make a plan,
I’d notice the success I lack.
But keeping my goals so short
Gives me success of a sort,
Making me a contented man.
I puzzle from clue to clue,
Bites well sized for me to chew,
With no need to see the whole span.
When you need to see the end,
With in its blank, you portend
Failure before the effort began.
You may hesitate too long,
Fearing outcome will be wrong,
And you do not do things you can.
Do not fear you won’t finish
For the chances will diminish
For all projects you never start.
You also may be like me
And best achieve by degree --
Doing, not being done, is art.
Previous carols at:
Carols for Halloween
More Carols for Halloween
Trick or Treat to You
(tune: Happy Birthday to You)
Trick or Treat to You
Trick or Treat to You
Come up with the treats now,
Or we’re gonna yell boo!!!
Edgar the Scarecrow
(tune: Frosty the Snowman)
Edgar the Scarecrow was an itchy, scratchy guy
With a flannel shirt and torn blue jeans,
And feedsack with one eye.
Edgar the Scarecrow is a folklore tale, I heard.
He was full of straw, but, I was told,
He couldn’t chase a bird.
It was Halloween when he suddenly jumped down --
He could not get back up on his pole,
So instead, he went to town.
Oh, Edgar the Scarecrow, was as lost as he could be,
For the kids that day in costumed array
Looked just as strange as he.
Stumbily bump stump, bumpily bump stump,
Edgar walked so slow.
Stumbily bump stump, bumpily bump stump,
Edgar knew not where to go.
Edgar the Scarecrow lost some straw with every step.
The kids said “Come with us”, so without a bit more fuss,
After them he did schlep.
He followed them, house to house, and at each door,
Folks with surprise so loved his disguise,
They filled his bag with more.
The trail of straw behind, Edgar saw, as it grew and grew;
In only a few moments, his adventure would be through.
So Edgar the Scarecrow went back to his cornfield,
And farmers tell where his candy fell
Improved twofold that year’s yield.
Loot the Houses
(tune: Deck the Halls)
Lock the doors, get out the sherry,
Bwah ha ha, Bwah ha ha, ha ha ha!
‘Tis the season things turn scary,
Bwah ha ha, ha ha ha, bwah ha ha!
Don they now their weird apparel,
Bwah ha ha, Bwah ha ha, ha ha ha!
Tonight kids have all gone feral,
Bwah ha ha, ha ha ha, bwah ha ha!
See the begging grins before us,
Bwah ha ha, Bwah ha ha, ha ha ha!
Shut the lights, they may ignore us,
Bwah ha ha, ha ha ha, bwah ha ha!
“Gave to us your sweetest treasure,
Bwah ha ha, Bwah ha ha, ha ha ha!
Or you will feel our displeasure,
Bwah ha ha, ha ha ha, bwah ha ha!”
Fast they pass from door to door,
Bwah ha ha, Bwah ha ha, ha ha ha!
Bags all ready to hold more,
Bwah ha ha, ha ha ha, bwah ha ha!
They will come in any weather,
Bwah ha ha, Bwah ha ha, ha ha ha!
On Halloween they loot together,
Bwah ha ha, ha ha ha, Bwah Ha Ha!
Twelve Hours of Halloween
(tune: Twelve Days of Christmas)
In the first hour of Halloween, my neighbors sent to me
A toddler as a pumpkin.
In the second hour of Halloween, my neighbors sent to me
Twins dressed as mice
And a toddler as a pumpkin.
In the third hour of Halloween, my neighbors sent to me
Three blue smurfs, twins dressed as mice
And a toddler as a pumpkin.
In the fourth hour of Halloween, my neighbors sent to me
Four cawing crows, three blue smurfs, twins dressed as mice
And a toddler as a pumpkin.
In the fifth hour of Halloween, my neighbors sent to me
Five superheroes.
Four cawing crows, three blue smurfs, twins dressed as mice
And a toddler as a pumpkin.
In the sixth hour of Halloween, my neighbors sent to me
Six ghosts a-booing,
Five superheroes.
Four cawing crows, three blue smurfs, twins dressed as mice
And a toddler as a pumpkin.
In the seventh hour of Halloween, my neighbors sent to me
Seven spooks a-wailing, six ghosts a-booing,
Five superheroes.
Four cawing crows, three blue smurfs, twins dressed as mice
And a toddler as a pumpkin.
In the eighth hour of Halloween, my neighbors sent to me
Eight fairies dancing, seven spooks a-wailing,
six ghosts a-booing,
Five superheroes.
Four cawing crows, three blue smurfs, twins dressed as mice
And a toddler as a pumpkin.
In the ninth hour of Halloween, my neighbors sent to me
Nine witches brewing, eight fairies dancing,
seven spooks a-wailing, six ghosts a-booing,
Five superheroes.
Four cawing crows, three blue smurfs, twins dressed as mice
And a toddler as a pumpkin.
In the tenth hour of Halloween, my neighbors sent to me
Ten creeps a-creeping, nine witches brewing,
eight fairies dancing, seven spooks a-wailing,
six ghosts a-booing,
Five superheroes.
Four cawing crows, three blue smurfs, twins dressed as mice
And a toddler as a pumpkin.
In the eleventh hour of Halloween, my neighbors sent to me
Eleven teen girls giggling, ten creeps a-creeping,
nine witches brewing, eight fairies dancing,
seven spooks a-wailing, six ghosts a-booing,
Five superheroes.
Four cawing crows, three blue smurfs, twins dressed as mice
And a toddler as a pumpkin.
In the twelfth hour of Halloween, my neighbors sent to me
Twelve teen boys bumming, eleven teen girls giggling,
ten creeps a-creeping, nine witches brewing,
eight fairies dancing, seven spooks a-wailing,
six ghosts a-booing,
Five superheroes.
Four cawing crows, three blue smurfs, twins dressed as mice
And a toddler as a pumpkin.
(International) Skeptics Day?
Do you believe in Skeptics Day?
It may be today -- I’m not sure.
It’s on the thirteenth, so they say,
October, January. More?
Any time it falls on a Friday?
Such limits I do not care for.
Some also add Election Day --
Believing it is quite a chore.
Can they prove whatever they say
Or must they still show you more?
Where are the facts for you to weigh
And the theories yet to explore?
It is not proof the other way
To ask why of the common lores.
No answer yet does not hold sway
Even when the belief is yours.
GPS Exhortation
(tune: I Will Follow Him
(Pourcel & Muiriat, 1961,
Sung by Peggy March (1963) and
in Sister Act (1992)))
Use me, Please use me, Please use me
And where I show, you follow, you follow, you follow
You should follow me
Follow me wherever I may show
There isn’t a road trip too long
An address so lost I cannot find a way
You should follow me (follow me)
Ever since you touched my pad I knew
That with me you always ought be
And nothing is better than me
I know your destiny (destiny)
Please use me. please use me, please use me
And where I say you follow, you follow, you follow
I’ll always tell you true routes, tell true routes, tell true routes
From here to wherever, wherever, wherever
You should follow me (follow me)
Follow me wherever you may go
There may be other ways there
They are many ways you might err, err the wrong way
You should turn around (u-turn here, u-turn here, u-turn here)
Please use me. please use me, please use me
And where I say you follow, you follow, you follow
I’ll always tell you true routes, tell true routes, tell true routes
From here to wherever, wherever, wherever
You should follow me
Follow me wherever I may show
There isn’t a road trip too long
An address so lost I cannot find a way
And where I say, please follow, please follow, please follow
You know I’ll always guide you, I’ll guide you, I’ll guide you
And where I say, please follow, please follow, please follow
You know I’ll always guide you, I’ll guide you, I’ll guide you
And where I say, please follow
Edgar Allan Poe
(on the anniversary of his death)
It was many and many a year gone by,
More than a century ago,
That a poet then lived whom was known by
The name of Edgar Allan Poe;
And this poet he lived with fanciful thoughts
Of lost love and where it did go.
I was a child and he was well chilled
In his graveyard long ago,
But I thrilled with a thrill almost as chill
As words by Edgar Allan Poe.
With the skill that Calliope had instilled,
Tingles would through me flow.
This may be the reason, way back then,
In my bedroom so long ago,
With pen and paper in privacy,
I aped Edgar Allan Poe;
So I hid my poetry away
And thought none would ever know,
Of my shallow flights of fantasy
Where my dreams often go.
The angels, too bored in Heaven above,
Envied the talented Poe --
Yes! -- that is the reason (as we now see
In a life so filled with woe)
That nightmares came out of his dreams at night,
Plaguing and breaking Edgar Allan Poe.
But his voice it was stronger by far than the voice
Of those who lived longer than he --
Of many more clever than me --
And neither the angels in Heaven above
Nor the demons way down deep below
Can ever endeavor to take the wonders
Of the fantastic Edgar Allan Poe.
For the pages ever turn lighting the tales to burn
Of the fantastic Edgar Allan Poe.
And the bells ever peal, but the pulse we feel
Of the fantastic Edgar Allan Poe.
And so, I may tonight, by my screen’s glowing light,
From my mentor -- my fair Poe - get a chilling fright,
In his legacy there in the glow
In the depth of Death’s lasting shadow.
I Don’t Want to Call the World a Liar
(tune: I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire
(Benjamin, Durham, Marcus, and Seilor, 1938))
I don’t really care who’s in power
When I tune in the nightly news hour.
For the facts is what I seek
But what I hear makes me shriek.
“I don’t want to call the world a liar;
I just want to hear that something is true!
In my head, I am in a crossfire --
Whatever they say is denied by you!”
I’ve lost my dreams for worldly unity;
I just want a little peace in my life.
If you agree, I might have some sanity
And I won’t need to scream at the strife,
“I don’t want to call the world a liar;
Just say something you all think is true!”
The Household Brownie
(tune: Wichita Lineman (Jimmy Webb, 1968;
Sung by Glen Campbell))
I am the lonely household brownie
And I do the chores here
Workin’ in the night for just a sip of beer
I sweep out all the cobwebs,
I polish every doorknob,
And the household brownie is still on the job
I know I need a small vacation
But chores are never done
There are never enough hours from set to rise of the sun
And I need work more than want to,
But this is home to a slob
So the household brownie is still on the job
And I need work more than want to,
But this is home to a slob
So the household brownie is still on the job
National Punctuation Day
Why, Where, and How do you (and yours)
Celebrate in some special way
“National Punctuation Day”?
‘Cause those misplaced marks could cause wars
Wherever one lands/misses in error,
You should study it like grammar.
When a colon, dash, or comma
To break your thoughts in proper parts
Isn’t a matter of whimsy’s arts.
Learning how should not cause you trauma --
Their good usage is guided by rules;
Say what you mean with those small tools.
The Majestic and Wonderful Fred
He came on an elephant astride.
To dismount, down its trunk he did slide.
Why he was there or where he came from --
These questions through our small crowd did hum.
With a flourish of his golden cape,
On the beast’s side he lowered a drape.
The letters glistened and there read,
“The Majestic and Wonderful Fred”
We laughed a bit and politely clapped
As his wand from some silks was unwrapped.
He spoke not a word as he prepared --
A hush settled on us as we stared.
Next a table he pulled from a sack
Which had floated down from his ride’s back.
Out came a chair and napkin and plate --
Then milk he drank and a snack he ate.
Smacking his lips, he packed all back in.
Wand wave to put the sack in its bin.
The curtain rerolled up the beast’s side
And the wand into its silk to hide.
Fred reached up and the trunk came down.
The elephant picked him off the ground.
Again astride his enormous steed,
He strolled away with no show of speed.
Kam and Joe Go to the Hill
Kam and Joe, where do you go
To fix our broken nation?
Get a bill passed through the Hill
Oh, such a great frustration
Push to left, the right’s bereft,
Insists on compensation.
Favor right, the left will fight
Without Mitch’s provocation.
Trillions plus trillions,
For reconciliation.
Tricky plan, we hope you can;
Beware retaliation.
National Cookie(s) Holiday(s)
If you need a holiday
To lead your diet astray,
Some are in the cookie jar
Even though that seems bizarre.
We can start with generic
Before the esoteric --
December 4th, so they say,
Is National Cookie Day
If you favor plain Oatmeal,
April 30 is your deal.
Lacy Oatmeal is your scene?
Your feast is on March 18.
You love the Peanut Butter?
June 12 makes your heart flutter.
Pecan is your nut for fun?
That’s September 21.
Sugar cookies are just fine?
Soon it will be July 9.
Chocolate Chip you like more?
A few weeks ‘til August 4.
Spicy Hermit are your chew?
November 15 for you.
Gingerbread give you a yen?
November 21 then.
Oreo for the can’t-cook?
March 6 gets you off the hook.
If your favorite was missed,
Add your own day to the list.
The Wit of Nonsense
(tune: The Sound of Silence
(Paul Simon, 1964))
Hello, out there, my old friend
I hope to rhyme for you again
Because boredom is on me sinking
And its onset has me thinking
How new memories haunt my brain
With an odd refrain
Of the wit of nonsense
In the weird world I ponder in
Thoughts can make me moan or grin
Twists will unwind under my skull
That might only amuse a laughing gull
But they may blossom and bloom from within
When allowed to begin
To show the wit of nonsense
When I start I do not know
Where the strolling troll will go
Stopping for tea with a witch
Swapping gossip with a snitch
His adventure is in to where he walks
And to whom he talks
With the wit of nonsense
“Friends,” I say, “I apologize;
Nonsense seems a lot like lies;
Read my rhymes that I might please you;
I tease my wits that I might seize you
With a chuckle you did not expect
From the wit of nonsense.”
I know none may clap and praise
All the silliness that I raise
And your brain may flash its warning
That this drivel is for avoiding
And the blog calls, “The words of this poet
Are written just for the fun
And maybe a pun
By a nitwit of nonsense.”
The Age of Asparagus
(tune: The Age of Aquarius
(from Hair, Rado, Ragni, and MacDermot (1967)))
When the grown child is in the parents’ house
And college life confronts Mom’s
Then change will guide her diet
And meat will give her qualms
This is the dawning of the Age of Asparagus
Age of Asparagus, Asparagus, Asparagus
Broccoli and tofu hummus
There are now vegans among us
No more red meat, eggs, milk, or cheese
Only eating from stems and trees
Novel cuisine exhibition
Balanced against malnutrition
Asparagus, Asparagus
When the grown child is in the parents’ house
And college life confronts Mom’s
Then change will guide her diet
And meat will give her qualms
This is the dawning of the Age of Asparagus
Age of Asparagus, Asparagus, Asparagus
Let the vegan, let the vegan in, the vegan in
Let the vegan, let the vegan in, the vegan in
Let the vegan, let the vegan in, the vegan in
Let the vegan, let the vegan in, the vegan in
Oh, let her in, c’mon
Now everybody just eat along
Let the vegan in
Improve your heart and let the veggies in
When you are hungry, have veggies now
Got to let her in your heart and let her diet in
And when you feel like you’ve been mistreated
And cannot live this way
Just open your mouth and sneak ice cream in
Fairy Tales Haiku
Fairy Tales Haiku
Short plot points sketch storyline
Your mind stretch the rest
Erect defenses
Straw/twine, sticks/mud, brick/mortar
BBQ at 8
Bear home invasion
Too Pa, too Ma, Right Baby
Change tonight’s menu
Wood boy, telltale nose
Hard to be good or be real
Splintered persona
Large egg off tall wall
No knights, no horses, no repair
Job for cleanup crew
Girl without stylist
Lonely tower without doors
Just golden hair stair
Forgot to invite
Witch with nasty future curse
Spindle and good night
Queen cheat, not compete
Poison apple for beauty
Seven sad small men
Gala ball for all
Fairy godmom trumps stepmom
Glass slipper wins
Thirsty day for two
Treacherous slope trips them both
Who put well up there
Skinny man, fat wife
No problem, no leftovers
No washing needed
Rodents feel their way
Mistake farmer wife for cheese
Three mouse tails for sale
Girl’s lamb goes to school
Children laugh, teacher eject
Lamb will never learn
What a Wonderful Weird
(tune: What a Wonderful World,
Theile&Weiss (1967)
Sung by Louis Armstrong)
An Anthem for Wonderful Weirdo Day
September 9th
I think tales untold
Out of the blue
I watch them grow
To me they’re true
And I think of myself
It’s wonderfully weird
I write the first line
Unknown what’s next
Out on the keys
Arrives the text
And I think of myself
It’s wonderfully weird
The wonders of our weirdos
Fill the world with delight
Once you’re over the shock
If you look at it right
You see folks shaking heads
Saying “What’s wrong with you?”
They’re really saying
“That’s so cool!”
When I see you try
I see you grow
Weird shows us more
Than what we know
And we think of ourselves
It’s wonderfully weird
And we think of ourselves
It’s wonderfully weird
Oh Yeah
Wonderful Weirdo Day - September 9th
Finally, a day for me --
It’s Wonderful Weirdo Day.
To be as I want to be;
To say what I want to say.
If the neighbors inhibit you
And you hold it back inside,
Your tongue you politely chew
And thoughts you discreetly hide.
But Wonderful Weirdo Day
Is the time you can let go.
Whatever you do today
Is gone with tomorrow's dew.
Today we will laugh with you;
Overlook disagreements.
We cherish your point of view;
Tomorrow’s for aggrievements.
Wingless Eagle, Anyone?
Our politics is a flightless bird,
Wings flap in opposite directions.
It is by design odd and absurd,
Leaning in favor of rejection.
Good ideas are trampled under foot
Even by its ardent proponent.
They start the debates to get input,
Soon bicker over each component.
If one wants this, he does not want that;
All want less, except those wanting more.
But despite all furor in the spat,
Party votes when it comes to the floor.
Majority rule isn’t good enough;
With all balance checked and then knocked off.
Getting the House to agree is tough,
But watch for one Senator to scoff.
But perhaps we do not need to fly;
We can limp along to some effect.
Our too winged eagle can still try;
It’s not fully broken, just hen-pecked.
Homebound Troubadour
I might have been a troubadour
When I was eager to leave home;
To sing songs of news and folklore
Along the far pathways I roam.
It might’ve helped if my singing voice
Was then more than a happy croak.
Folks listened if they had no choice
To that darn singin’ paperboy bloke.
Oh yes, I sang and I performed
Both in the shower and on stage.
But around me then no crowds swarmed;
Of my talent, ‘twas a fair gauge.
Now I’m a silent troubadour,
Comfy nestled in my living room chair.
I may hum a tune, but no more;
You can sing the lyrics I share.
