Mountains

Climbing mountains just for fun seems very much to me

A form of deep psychosis or profound insanity.

The air is thin, the rocks are sharp, there's ice on which to slip.

To masochists this must be all a bunch of sweet catnip.

To brag you've climbed a mountain peak to wallow in the view

Impresses me about as much as music by kazoo.

So take your rugged mountains and your glaciers all aglow

And wrap 'em round a piece of string to make a grand yo-yo.

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The Firefly

The firefly is glowing

To attract a fertile mate.

Once the courting's over,

He grows dull as heavy slate.

Nature thus reminds us

That romance is but a ruse.

Sparks that are extinguished

Cannot light another fuse.

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A Bowl of Steam

Scientists say birds don't sing to cheer us up – oh no;

They're marking territory, putting on a mating show.

Studies prove that rainbows do not lead to pots of gold

And marriage made in heaven is a misconception bold.

A bowl of cherries is just fruit – our life it won't explain.

Astronomers say wishing on a star is simply vain.

Scholars claim the Bible is a gruesome fairy tale;

Casting bread on water is an insult to the whale.

Miracles are humbug, so our dreams we should deride.

(Maybe that explains the prevalence of suicide.)

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The Title

Judging books by covers is an honorable pursuit,

Though there are old fogies who would give it the old boot.

Books on economics need to feature words like "sex" –

And everything from history to Yellow Pages' Dex.

The fact is if you put "sex" in the title of your book

You will be top-listed even though you are a schnook.

"Sex and Apple Strudel" makes a cookbook off shelves fly.

"The Sex Life of Pinocchio" will make your agent cry.

Use the F-word, softened with some winking asterisks

And you will be dining on sweet caviar and bisques.

Should you hesitate to prostitute the written word,

Remember that the iPod makes all reading quite absurd.

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The Nose

Among the body's organs that is never in repose

There is none so busy as the solitary nose.

Throned in grandeur on the face like ancient pyramid,

putting men a step above the ostrich and the squid.

Vigilant in sniffing out an onion or a rose –

Everybody wishes that they had a second nose.

One to poke in business that is none of their affair –

One to signify contempt by pointing in the air.

Whether yours is button cute or something from Durante,

Pampered in a mansion or ground down in tumbled shanty,

Browned upon the bosses' rear or bent quite out of shape,

Our nose is what keeps all of us from looking like a grape.

So raise a Kleenex in salute to noses sweet as sugar . . .

 when your pride is at the flood you're bound to drop a booger.

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Automated

 

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Everything is automated --
doesn't make me too elated.
Phone calls are of no avail --
all you get is cold voicemail.
Checkout lines, you do the scanning.
Cashiers are out someplace, tanning.
No need to be a grand aesthete
to know we'll soon be obsolete.

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Lincoln was a homely man

Lincoln was a lonely man.

He knew the bite of want.

He lawyered in the stolen fields

which Red men used to haunt.

The slowness of a river bend

Where turbulence runs deep

Is underneath his starched white shirt

And keeps him from his sleep.

But Honest Abe is sleeping now

And cannot be dismayed

At the wars his country spreads,

At principles betrayed.

Lincoln was a homely man.

Today he'd have no heart

In the juggernaut we bless

To break the world apart.

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The Fly

The fly is innocent of guile and also all hygiene.

It lands upon our steaming food and garbage quite unseen.

It crawls about on baby's knee and road kill without pause.

It walks upon the ceiling with no thought of higher laws.

It rubs its little hands as if it wants to celebrate,

Then finds a bowl of soup in which it can regurgitate.

Oh why is it that creatures that must mess around with feces

Never ever do become a rare endangered species?

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The Good Life

The invention of alarm clocks was a blow to mankind's ease.

The safety cap on aspirin has caused some mutinies.

And the parking meter is a bane, along with one-way streets,

As well as karaoke and the rise of those spread sheets.

The telemarketer is such a cursing that I shudder

Lawyers stir up anger, pitting brudder against brudder.

Computers crash, inflation soars, and savings melt like ice cubes.

Video has turned our children into packs of nice boobs.

Divorce is strictly no-fault and quite easy in obtaining.

Need I add that chastity and virtue all are waning?

And that is why my daily prayer does ask the Lord to permit

Me to live like men of old, a solitary hermit.

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Travel

I love to look at maps to plan the trips I'll never take,

The beds I'll never sleep in and the sights I must forsake.

I plan these trips most carefully to places that I crave

And then rejoice while counting all the money I will save.

The world is full of beauty and excitement, it is true.

But if you never say 'hello', you will not need 'adieu'.

In my mind I travel quite a bit around the globe

And never worry that I will pick up a stray microbe.

Let others scamper round about in search of who-knows-what;

I can have adventures when I go for my haircut.

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My Bank

A rose by any other name is still a thorny weed.

A bank by any other name is welcomed like nosebleed.

They can change the sign out front as often as they want

But the best a bank can hope is for a slight détente.

"Forgive!  Forget!" and "Let's forge on!" come quickly to their lips

But when it comes to lending they are still the same old drips.

All the PR in the world won't cover up the tale

Of how our banking system has grown lackluster and stale.

You notice 'mea culpa' is not part of their design,

Though we've hung 'em out to dry upon their own clothesline.

My bank is not my bosom friend, and should not so aspire.

Like the old-time Western, they are just a gun for hire.

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Fearless Leader

When the poor and hungry ask their leaders for a break,

They're "communists" or "terrorists" or something else quite fake.

Their leaders go to Washington for cash to stabilize

Governments so rotten they repel the very flies.

And Uncle Sam is willing to provide the ready loot,

Which these grasping leaders seem to think is their tribute.

They salt away the money and their children have it made,

While the hungry masses are tossed scorn or a grenade.

If Uncle Sam wants money for these sticky-fingered goons

He'd better keep us drunk and raise the taxes on saloons.

 

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The Fisherman

A fisherman will never lie, at least not consciously.

He wouldn't tell a falsehood just to burnish his glory.

If his fish has got away he'd not exaggerate.

He'd be as honest as the men who handled Watergate.

You can trust the fisherman; he's steady, firm and brave.

He knows the truth is often stiff, so gives it a close shave.

 

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The Elephant

The elephant has got a trunk.

The other end has always stunk.

His eyes are small, his ears are big.

He's bald but doesn't wear a wig.

His feet are round and flat and firm.

The snobs all call him pachyderm.

He's always grey, unless he's white.

And mice do not give him a fright.

He eats a lot, but wouldn't you

If you were cooped up in a zoo?

He's awful mild, the elephant,

And never was malevolent.

But should you tease him with some food

You'll find he can be slightly rude;

And slightly rude, the elephant

Has the muscle prevalent

To flatten toes and feet and more.

So do not ever make him sore.

Just treat him square, the elephant,

And he will be benevolent.

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North Dakota

The state of North Dakota doesn't have a deficit.

Neither does it have a pair of tailored pants that fit.

Unemployment is below the average nationally.

They're also below average as a whole society.

Commodities have kept their state economy on track –

Maybe their state flag should show a picture of fatback.

Wind turbines are everywhere and so are lefse jokes.

The Sons of Norway run the place and keep out Swedish folks.

You betcha, that's the state I love when I am far away.

But when I get close to it I feel nothing but dismay.

It ought to be a parking lot, and not a civil state,

Making it more useful for a partying tailgate

 

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mass transit, sic transit gloria

Seems like money isn't scarce when building our freeways;

We've exit ramps and clover leafs to last 'til end of days.

You can drive straight from New York to bright Laguna Beach

And see less of the country than the fuzz upon a peach.

But transit funds for bus and rail are always running shy;

People want to drive their cars while all the subways die.

We tax the gas we guzzle for the trolley cars we dread

Will not keep our economy from hanging by a thread.

So let's build better highways while the bus line closes down –

This will keep the paupers segregated in downtown.

Those who can't afford a car or even motor bike

Still have two good thumbs at hand and might as well hitchhike.

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Top Ten . . .

TOP TEN CAUSES OF DEATH WORLD-WIDE

 

ü Heart Attack

ü Stroke

ü Plaque

ü Buyer's Remorse

ü Heartbreak of Psoriasis

ü Will Ferrell

ü Paper Cuts

ü Godzilla

ü Escalators

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sittin' & thinkin'

 

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Little bug upon the wall,
no one looks at you at all;
no one but myself, that is --
will you stay or will you whiz?
Will you creep so far above?
Will you drop down, for all love?
Have you fangs and venom sleek?
Are you rather mild and meek?
Do you wonder at your lot,
that the angels for you fought?
Or if not, at least they know
how you come and where you go.
Little bug upon the wall,
you are lucky I'm not tall.
Otherwise, in my huge pride
I'd commit a pesticide.
 
************************************8
 
I never know when someone
talking might not be alone
but instead be jabbering
away on their cell phone.
"Hello!  How are you?" they will say
and I will start to speak,
only to discover
it's their cell phone, cheek to cheek.
A proper fool I am, I am,
to offer my reply
to someone who don't know me
from a slice of pizza pie.
Some day I'll fix their wagon
and keep talking 'til I'm blue
and then when they start staring
I will jump and holler: Boo!

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Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

Now I lay me down to sleep,

Though the cost of drugs may creep

Higher than I can afford –

Who will pay for them, oh Lord?

Trust in thee and Medicare

Doesn't get me anywhere.

Guess I'll pick and choose today

Hoping symptoms go away.

And if I die before I wake

Because of pills I didn't take

Please dress me up and carry me

To Congress for those schmucks to see.

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The Hanky

 

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Growing up, I saw the hanky carried everywhere;

Put in a breast pocket, used in dusting off a chair.

Grandma kept one in her purse, quite dainty, edged in lace.

She cleaned her glasses with it and would pat down her damp face.

My mother ironed them at night to keep them crisp and neat.

They came in awful handy during summer's throbbing heat.

(and for blowing noses they could never have been beat.)

A box of them with monograms was just the thing for dad;

For Christmas or his birthday, they sure seemed to make him glad.

Now I find that handkerchiefs are relics of the past,

Shunned as unhygienic, they leave youngsters all aghast.

Most people carry tissues which are easy to dispose,

But tissues are not sturdy and cannot stand many blows.

I carry a bandanna and I do not give a rot

If there's some that call it a recipient of snot.

'Twas good enough for grandpa and it's good enough for me

And if you do not like it you can soak your head in tea.

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