Once in a Blue Moon

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The leaders in the Senate
and the House of Reps have failed
to get their money package
by their colleagues shut and nailed.
Up for re-election,
most politicos are shy
of making any wavelets
or the thought of "Wolf!" to cry.
Paulson and his cronies
better have another ace --
maybe they can rob us
after spraying us with Mace.
Once in a blue moon our congress
pauses to give thought,
instead of giving in to
plans the lobbyists have bought.
 

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The Communists were Right!

The communists were right --
they were absolutely right!
Capital is finished;
it is dying in the night.
Instead of revolution
snatching means of all production
the government is buying it
at quite a large reduction.
They're buying all the banks
and insurance companies.
They'll soon own all Detroit
and the airlines, if you please.
Healthcare can't resist them
any longer, I am sure;
universal coverage
is campaign literature.
The communists were right --
they were totally correct!
The government owns everything,
as Karl Marx did expect.
 

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checking in w/the Man

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I like to go to church each week
and check in with the Man
so I can let Him know
that of His work I am a fan:
The sunsets and the rainbows
and birds in airy flight,
the ways of little children
(all excepting when they bite.)
The burnished colors of the leaves
as seasons come and go;
the stillness of a winter night
(if I don't shovel snow.)
The stars affixed above me
and the valley's sloping green,
the variety of foodstuffs
(I'll ignore the lima bean.)
Communications from good friends
who comfort me like nectar.
And the stranger at my gate
(except the tax collector.)
All of it is good and great
and long may it continue!
(I only wish some of my fat
He would convert to sinew.)
 

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First Debate

---

Down in Mississippi
where molasses is thought fast
McCain and young Obama
debated for broadcast.
Stating all the obvious,
refusing to lock eyes,
nothing that they said or did
would come as a surprise.
Avoiding the big picture
with a vagueness quite unique,
the candidates could summon
nothing more than gentle pique.
The moderator never could
elicit more than rote;
so when it was all over
poor Jim Lehrer slit his throat!
 
 

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Those Magic Ads

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I spent my gilded youth upon
the floor with comic books,
with Superman and kryptonite
and Batman smashing crooks.
But even better than the clash
of titans in a pack
were the ads, those magic ads,
that shouted from the back.
Soldiers by the millions spilled
from boxes for combat --
X-ray glasses let you see
through skin and bone and fat.
A monkey in a teacup
could be bought for chicken feed.
Magic crystals in a bowl
that grew with lightning speed.
Sneezing powder, pepper gum,
exploding cigarettes;
supersonic, atom-bombing
cardboard Air Force jets!
I sent in all my quarters
ever-hoping for a coup
to make my pals so jealous
that their faces would turn blue.
But all I got back in return
broke down, could not abide;
even my poor monkey
in his teacup up and died.
And so my super heroes
were all working as mere shills
for plastic Japanese junk,
rubber vomit, other frills.
I learned a fool with money
will not keep it very long,
if he insists on heeding
Advertisement's siren song.
 

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thrift store

---

Thrift stores have some bargains
if you run a haunted house
or plan on raising bedbugs
or perhaps a little mouse.
You cannot call it junk because
that hurts too many feelings --
as with vodka, you can't say
it's just potato peelings.
"Slightly Used" and "Almost New" --
they both have the same meaning;
broken, worn out, shabby,
and in need of lots of cleaning.
Still, the thrift store customers
will throw away their dough --
cuz they saw something like it
on the last Antiques Roadshow.

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school daze

---

Education in our schools
is surely out of whack
when every child must tote to school
a mountaineer's backpack.
I see them stagger on the bus,
expressions all forlorn.
They look like they're about to climb
the dreaded Matterhorn.
Why do schools insist upon
supplies in such excess?
A notebook and a pencil
ought to do the trick, I guess.
But no, there is the laptop
and a box of Kleenex, too --
a cell phone and a rule book
and a jug of Elmer's glue.
A quart of bottled water
(guess the drinking fountain's broke).
Calculator, paint set and
some handwash -- what a joke!
Scholars are not made from
all these knick-knacks in a bag.
No wonder kids play hooky
and their test scores always lag.

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the prodigal son

The prodigal son,

Having spent all his loot,

Came back to his father

And got a new suit.

 

The son who stayed home

Still got the estate,

But after the taxes

He lived in a crate.

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fishing, or not

I don't think I'll write about fishing.

The subject has been written out.

Like politics, sex and religion,

The stories are subject to doubt.

I don't think I'll write about fishing.

As sport it's an absolute dud;

You sit in a boat gently snoring

Or you're up to your butt in cold mud.

I don't think I'll write about fishing.

There's certainly no sex appeal.

Impaling a worm is disgusting;

The person who does it, a heel.

---

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timericks

The game of golf suggests to me

A droll form of insanity.

Pebble Beach or Interlachen,

People there just keep on knockin'

A little ball of blazing white

On it's senseless, futile flight.

Where it lands becomes most sacred –

Any doubt will faces make red.

The clubs all cost a kingly ransom.

The clothes they wear are rarely handsome.

Keeping score with handicap

Oft reveals a moral gap.

The greens are manicured each day

And treated with Oil of Olay.

Golf is neither play nor work;

It's lawn care that has gone beserk.

 

 

 

The planet Mars has water,

Now says NASA in amazement;

They could've saved the trouble

Just by looking in my basement.

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timericks

Eggheads claim the bumblebee

Defies the law of gravity;

Way too large for such small wings,

How if flies much anguish brings

To researcher and savant –

Leaving them quite pale and gaunt.

But what keeps me awake at night

Is not the bumblebee's mad flight.

Instead, I wonder all night long

How could our airlines go so wrong?

Flying used to be a treat,

A pleasure in each catered seat.

But now it takes an iron nerve

To fly with only rude self-serve.

No meals, no room, the bathroom stinks;

They've even cut out lukewarm drinks.

The only part without surcharge

Is when your luggage goes by barge

To some Antarctic frozen shore,

There to rot forevermore.

The pilot's drunk, they've closed the gate;

But never mind, the flight is late.

The next time I am forced to fly

A bumblebee I just might try.

 

 

I, for one, can hardly wait

For the nursing home's glad fate.

Nurses at my beck and call;

Free eats in the dining hall;

Pills to make me sleep at night;

Pills to spur my appetite;

All the TV I can view;

Wheelchair races – quite a few!

Napping in my favorite chair;

Lounging in my underwear.

Living in such classy style,

Boy, it's great to be senile!

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dew point, don't stare

If you'd like to have my viewpoint

On this thing they call the dew point,

I will tell you, like the wind chill,

It is tilting at a windmill.

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sound effects

When I was barely twenty

My records were LP's;

The needle kept on skipping,

The woofers buzzed like bees.

When thirty years had passed me

I piled up eight-track tapes

Until they reached the ceiling

And toppled on the drapes.

When forty years attacked me,

Cassette tapes were my bag.

I put them in my walkman

And watched my belly sag.

Then fifty years did find me

With CD's everywhere;

My belly still was sagging

But now I didn't care.

As sixty fast approaches

My kids urge an iPod.

I tell them it won't happen

Without an act of God.

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car commercials

How I hate commercials

Showing all those brand-new cars –

Do they think my lifestyle

Is the same as movie stars?

And all those acrobatics,

When upon a dime it stops –

If I tried such shenanigans

I'd be dead meat for cops.

Now, inside all these buggies

There are gizmos past belief;

They guide you, test your blood pressure,

Advise on tax relief.

Everything is leather,

Solid gold or platinum;

The only thing that's missing

Is a place to park my gum.

Innuendo hints that if I

Do not buy the brand,

My IQ is deficient

And my pants are filled with sand.

But buying their jalopy,

I would need to raise more dough

Than the whole darn GNP

Of well-heeled Monaco.

So when such ads are on the air

I simply change the channel

To something less expensive but

Most likely just as banal.

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soybeans

I don't care how you slice it,

Whether pink or white or green,

You will not find me snacking

On the wretched soybean.

Roast it dry like peanuts –

I will just turn up my nose.

Cook up tofu burgers –

I will toss them to the crows.

Soy milk I abominate;

Soy butter's even worse

And if you give me soybean sprouts

You're gonna need a nurse!

Feed it to the poultry, pigs,

Or fatten up your cattle.

But put it on my dinner plate

And there will be a battle.

I tell you they're unnatural

And are not fit to eat;

After they are processed

They cost more than Grade A meat.

The only form this bean can take

That's not a total loss

Is when it's brewed into

A bottle of good soy sauce.

Patrick Henry – wasn't it? –

Did cry with his last breath:

"Give me meat and taters

and give soybeans quick death!"

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FW: from tim torkildson

---

From: tork49@hotmail.com
To: bb@pioneerpress.com; tork49@hotmail.com
Subject: from tim torkildson
Date: Mon, 16 Jun 2008 16:46:29 +0000

I wonder if the circus tent
still sets up in the park,
coming in on deisel fumes
while morning slips from dark,
and the squalid roustabouts,
tepid coffee swilling,
roll the canvas sections out,
as the dew is chilling.
Pennants snapping in the breeze,
arthritic bleachers cracking,
sawdust sprinkled frugally,
prop boxes unpacking;
guy wires thrum constantly,
laundry on them drying,
as the cookhouse opens up
with baloney frying.
Water for the animals
from a hydrant pumping --
elephants and stable boys
in the shade are slumping.
Weary early morning work
for circus folk, no doubt,
as they battle dust and flood
each day of summer's route.
I haven't seen a poster
for a circus in a while.
I wouldn't mind some peanuts
or the clown's extended smile.
The big top in a field of grass
is such a mythic sight
for youth who bask in sunshine
and the old who face the night.
Symbol of a passing age
when leisure was more fun,
I wonder if the circus tent
with charming us is done?

---

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hideabed

There is nothing worse I dread

Than the nasty hide-a-bed.

A coal sack has much fewer lumps;

The thing is made by manic grumps.

How they must laugh when I awake

To find myself just one big ache.

Nobody ever slept in peace

On one without a lasting crease.

To purchase one is not so wrong:

It keeps your guests from staying long.

---

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the hemorrhoid

Maybe a deep thinker

Like the brilliant Dr. Freud

Could tell me why I'm tortured

By this constant hemorrhoid.

All I know is mornings

When the bird is on the wing,

I'm locked into my throne room

Hoping this time it won't sting.

Ointments?  I have many,

But the little that they do

Isn't worth the bother

Of the way I'm spreading goo.

A hot bath is a pleasant time

To soak this care away;

But how long can a working stiff

Inside his bathtub stay?

Often when I'm sitting down

I'll feel a little tickle,

Which keeps on getting worse and worse

Until I'm in a pickle.

I have to then excuse myself

And hope that a bidet

Is somewhere in the building

And there's nothing in its way.

Maybe I should have the doc

Go in and do some snipping;

But that's all that I really need –

A new hole in the ripping!

---

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the dentist

The dentist is a family friend

Who looks between your jaws

For any budding cavities,

While fingering his saws.

The dentist is as gentle

As the dew upon the grass –

At least that's what he tells you

When you're high on laughing gas.

His drills are quick and painless

And his skill is unsurpassed.

(See the couplet up above

concerning being gassed.)

Hockey players love him,

Even when they are back benchers,

Since he's the only guy in town

Who's working on their dentures.

Little children need not fear

That overhanging lamp –

When their parents get the bill,

They're the ones who cramp.

Braces and retainers

Are worth every costly cent –

Even though they're not paid off

'til dad is old and bent.

So when you see your dentist

Walking down the street, smile big –

Otherwise you'll find he wants

A root canal to dig.

---

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timericks

"Disposable income", you'll learn,

is not all the money you earn.

But, sadly, instead,

What's left when you're bled

By Uncle Sam at every turn.

 

 

 

The boat has sailed,

The barn door's shut,

The night has come,

I'm in a rut.

Ambition's dim;

Hope long deferred

Leaves me behind

The common herd.

I'll buckle down,

Fill in the blanks,

And rise again,

To rob some banks.

 

 

 

Boys are drawn to trouble

By a gravity unique

That causes them to tumble

From the highest mountain peak.

Advice is wasted on them,

To example they are blind,

Threats are cause for laughter,

As more mischief they will find.

Somehow parents love them

And forgive them time again.

Now that I am past all that . . .

I wish that I were ten.

 

 

 

I don't know why the necktie

Is demanded everywhere.

Me, I'd rather walk around

With collar proudly bared.

Circulation is restricted

When you tie the knot;

Your brain is starved of nourishment,

Your thinking goes to pot.

The necktie is a menace,

Hanging limply down your shirt;

It could catch on fire

And you'd sure be badly hurt.

Neckties are as silly

As a rhyme from Dr. Seuss,

And they do remind us

Of the hangman's awful noose.

Every meal you ever eat

While wearing a necktie

Just adds to the disgusting filth

Of this nylon pigsty.

So liberate your neck, my friends,

Remove that choking frill!

And leave them with the nice folks

At your neighborhood Goodwill.

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