Today's timericks.

 

In Heidelberg cars are verboten/mare's shank is what they're promotin'/So take the bus line/And fossil fuels? Nein!/Then down the Neckar you be floatin'.

Razor wire in D.C./is the brand new normalcy/militias prowling all around/make D.C. a battleground/land mines are the next big step/in our nation's combat prep/Now we are a Third World state/filled with nothing but cheap hate.

Is that you, Joe, behind the mask?/The reason that I have to ask/is cuz no one looks quite the same/playing this here masking game/The other day I thought a guy/was my old mother's sis, Aunt Vi/I'm agreeing with those wags/who say we need to wear name tags!

Photo Essay: More Postcards to My President.

 These are original postcards that I fabricate myself, then mail to President Joe Biden c/o the White House. I have been told they are subversive, enigmatic, funny, threatening, and profound. I prefer to think of them as just pure Zen.

The welfare of my soul

 

The welfare of my soul

lies with the Great Physician,

who cures me of my ills

upon complete submission.

No bill does he submit;

his prescript is that I

serve all my fellow men

with kindness in my eye.

Prose Poem: Valid Information.

 

There was a man in our town

who gave away golf balls.

He always wore a gray fedora 

and a white shirt 

with a bright floral bowtie.

His name was Mr. Peters.

He owned the hardware store.

I think he gave away the golf balls

because, in reality, 

he didn't want to own a hardware store

but a sports shop.

When he grew old and blind

he lost the hardware store

and had to move in with 

a daughter who went bowling

every night, leaving him alone.

He got disoriented one night

and wandered onto the highway,

offering golf balls to passing semis.

One of 'em ran him over.

There wasn't much left of him,

so he was buried in a golf bag.

Everyone agreed it seemed appropriate.

But before the accident,

before he went blind and

lost the hardware store,

Mr. Peters told me an interesting tale.

It seems as a young man he 

hunted jaguars in Brazil.

He put jaguar bait on 

strips of duct tape,

and when the jaguars 

took the bait they got

entangled in the duct tape

and collapsed from nervous

exhaustion.

Then he sold the jaguars 

to Indian maharajahs 

and Hollywood starlets.

The interesting part,

according to Mr. Peters,

was that there are no jaguars

in Brazil.

When I asked him why he would

tell such a nonsensical story 

in the first place he replied:

"I give away golf balls, 

not valid information."

He may have meant something 

by that,

but I prefer to think

he just liked to hear himself

talk.

Today's timericks.

 

Stomach rumbles come with age/old folks have a pressure gauge/that sends spices, cheese, and nuts/roaring through their inner guts/and MUST there be an audience/when it ends in flatulence?

Tittle-tattle reigns supreme/from pool room right to academe/We are spied on and reported/for innocence and things most sordid/Friends and fam'ly now are snitches/so watch out for those sons of . . . glitches?

When pastors flout the law they show/the Lord is just a cameo/in their ego-sodden creed/as from mask-hood they secede/Congregations follow suit/as gospel love they prostitute.

How I loved the milkweed plant/when I was knee-high/to a hopper and could watch/the silky seeds drift by/Food for monarch butterflies/and imagination/those vagrant plant still offer me/a bit of consolation.

And would none of my reproof.

 

The Lord reproves his servants oft,

and not always with phrases soft.

He lays it on the line when we

come nigh to some iniquity.

Be thankful for a reprimand;

'twill help you gain the Promised Land!

Photo Essay: New Postcards to My President.

 

Today's timericks.

 

Getting rich is easy/This is all you have to do/Marry into money/with a spouse of great value/Then invest their moolah/in a ship to outer space/and suckers will buy tickets/with gold bars in a suitcase.

Countries promise greenhouse gas/they will cut down, but alas/what they say and what they do/rarely is the same world view/the only way to assuage/this thing is going all stone age.

Texas vaccination site turned away undocumented immigrants over their status, against state policy.  (WaPo)

Need a vaccination, chum?/To our clinic please do come/Unless, of course, we find that you/don't fit in -- then whoop de do!/We'll run you out of town for sure/and you can find your own dang cure! 

Joy and gladness shall be found therein, thanksgiving and the voice of melody.

 

You just might be a Christian

if you burst into song

when things are far from perfect

and so much seems so wrong.

For faith in the Atonement

and charity performed

causes folk to warble

as their heart is warmed.

Prose Poem: Lake Erie.

 

As America becomes more partisan

and divided,

I have found a way to become

filthy rich.

It's a simple case of adopt

and then adapt.

Since everyone is sticking up

for their rights and no longer

fears being disagreeable,

our nation's infrastructure has 

come unraveled.

My company's solution:

the extendible flag pole.

When a governor wants to honor

some dead liberal or conservative

by lowering the flag to half mast,

there's always a riot and legislative

deadlock.

My poles solve the problem

by leaving the flag in place,

and sending the pole up another ten

feet or more.

In other words,

you don't move the flag --

you move the pole.

I've got orders from every state in the Union --

and Puerto Rico and the District of Columbia.

And I'm going to use my wealth

to buy Lake Erie and drain it

 for a parking lot.

In our bodies we shall see God.

 

The largest truth of our existence

is there isn't any distance

'tween ourselves and God above;

we all shall see him with great love

on that day when He shall reach

out to us to heal the breach.

Today's Timericks.

 

Mother's in the cellar

and father's on the roof;

they are wearing jackets

that are bulletproof.

Toting guns like cowboys,

they declare with glee

that a new world order

with Trump will come quickly.

They feed us kids on sardines

and powdered milk -- that's all.

And we are drilled each morning

for invasion protocol.

It's getting kind of scary;

I wish the internet

had not made them desire

to own a bayonet!  

I've thrown away a sofa;

I've thrown away a sink;

a pair of rusty fire tongs;

a coat that might be mink.

I set 'em on the curbside

to let the scroungers scrounge.

They congregate like barflies

at a cocktail lounge.

I've thought about my in-laws,

and how I wish that they

could also be discarded

on the street and hauled away . . . 

Anthony Warner knew lizards from space/were coming to conquer the whole human race/and so he decided to blow up a truck/to show all those reptiles that they'd have bad luck/messing with humans, cuz we are so crazy/we act like the movies of Mr. Scorsese. 

Photo Essay: Brand New Postcards to the President.

 

Here's the link to my very first podcast, with sports maven Steve Vincent:

https://bit.ly/3dyYa6P

Today's Timericks.

 

Bear one another's burdens,

as the scriptures tell us to --

and while you're at it criticize

the things that others do.

Each kindness to another

ought to have a little sting --

so they are not forgetting

that their life's a boxing ring.

Half a million people dead

as the Covid illness spread.

Did they have to die that way

here in our own USA?

Many might have been so spared

had our country been prepared.

Leaders bickered while we died,

so charge them now with homicide!

Monkeys are in short supply

for testing of vaccines.

So I say use Republicans;

they're close enough, it seems.

They like to howl and caper

and throw nastiness about;

and when they do not get their way

they scratch themselves & pout.

Cops and press don't always mix;

one has pens, the other sticks.

When the two cross paths too oft,

reporters learn their heads are soft.

Today's timericks.

 

Tax returns

from Donald Trump

will soon be seen

from clump to clump.

If this annoys

the right wing crowd

let them go chew

a nimbus cloud.

Doctors

are not

my best friend.

Avoiding them

is a godsend.

Ignorance

is bliss to me,

when medicos

I do not see.

Riding in a Boeing Jet

leads to something like regret.

Since it falls apart midair,

make sure you've

paid your Medicare.

In King Lear Cordelia spoke

of best and worst intentions.

The good we do, or wish to do,

are often just inventions.

How many die from violence

or from a broken heart,

to give another liberty

to make another start?

Need a good laugh?  See my latest podcast here:  https://bit.ly/3dyYa6P

Work and Pray.

 

Work and pray consistently

if you want God's guarantee,

not for wealth and fame per se,

but for hope each living day;

those who won't lie down when beat

find the Lord makes hardship sweet!

Today's timericks.

 

There was an old man in Texas/supplied by the electrical nexus/who during a storm/was not billed the norm/but got a blow to the solar plexus.  

In North Korea live a folk/most of whom soon will croak/if sanctions are not lifted/yet their blame is never shifted/to their leader who's a joke.

Lindsey Graham made a vow/No More Trump No Matter How!/Now he's golfing with the jerk/doing all his paperwork/Like the flame attracts the moth/Graham seeks that Ostrogoth.  

infrastructures cross the land/shaking like a palsied hand/no one knows just when they'll fail/from tornado, snow, or hail/raising taxes for a fix/will be Biden's greatest tricks.

Left up your heads forever.

 

Lift up your head and bow down no more.

The Lord in his mercy has settled the score.

What once was a wasteland, scattered and gone

by foolish actions now thrives with the dawn.

Fountains of honey and milk do await

those who believe God alone is all great.

 

Photo Essay: New Postcards to the President.

 

Companion, Comforter, and Guide.

 

When you have the Holy Ghost,

When it sits upon your heart,

You will feel a warmth unknown

to the carnal and upstart.

Seek this gift beyond all measure,

disregarding other treasure,

and your days will all be blessed

until you enter God's own rest.

Prose Poem: Thomas K. Plofchan and the Impenetrable Wall of Interlocking Plastic Bricks.

 

Thomas K. Plofchan ran away from home

at the the age of fifteen.

He made his way to a West Virginia 

coal mine, where he worked as an 

underground mechanic for six years.

Then he joined the Army and

served with distinction in Afghanistan.

He was honorably discharged in 2016,

and somehow wangled his way

into law school.

He passed the Bar in 2019.

Now he was sitting here

in front of me,

smoking a meerschaum pipe,

while I interrogated him.

I shuffled through his file

one more time, while I gathered

my thoughts.

"You have quite an impressive record"

I told him.

"No comment" was all he would reply.

"Do you know why you're here?" I asked him.

"No comment"

"And that you face a minimum of twenty years

in a maximum security prison if found guilty?" I 

rasped harshly. I was getting sick of his lack

of cooperation.

He needed to know I could do more

than just polish truncheons.

"My mouth and my stomach are

disconnected" he finally said.

"What?" I asked him.

"My mouth feels hungry even

when my stomach is full" he continued.

"Are you trying to obfuscate things?"

I asked him sternly.

He leaped out of his chair like a madman.

"There! I knew it!" he exclaimed.

"With that kind of a vocabulary

You're no more a barbarian than I am."

I tried to hide my blushes, but couldn't.

"Why, thank you" I said. "No one has said

anything so kind to me in years."

"You're just the kind of person we can use in our organization"

he whispered to me in small fonts.

"How so?" I asked him, in the same manner.

Once he explained things to me I began to see how mistaken

my unquestioning obedience to the state had been.

So I helped him escape.

We fled in an unmarked Agency car.

With my help, Plofchan's group was able

to hack into Lego's data base --

so the next time we march on the Capital,

it will be behind an impenetrable wall 

of interlocking plastic bricks.

THEN we'll see who laughs last . . . 

Today's timericks.

 

When life is dull and dingy

in all of your affairs,

just sit right down and holler

loud to everyone:  "Who cares!'

You will feel so much better

that capers you will cut,

and then you'll start to order

cheap kitsch from Fingerhut!

President Biden plans to warn Friday that “democratic progress is under assault” in many parts of the world, including the United States and Europe, in a major address to the Munich Security Conference as part of a morning focused heavily on foreign policy.    (WaPo)

The democratic process is in danger of decline/as fewer countries find it fit to tow that blessed line/Giving orders, gagging speech -- so cheap and simple, too/Leaders turn to gangsters for some sneaky jujitsu/and thus another government goes down the old cesspool/as the people mourn beneath their damn Lords of Misrule.

One night in Cancun was all that it took/to show that Ted Cruz was just a big schnook/His neighbors were freezing, with no power grid/while Teddy sipped rum and then dined on fried squid/When Senators know that their district's in peril/they head someplace warm with their tropic apparel.

 

God loveth a cheerful giver.

 

God loves a cheerful giver;

He blesses those who cede

of their earthly bounty

to those who are in need.

There is no secret to it;

just smile and give away

more than you think prudent,

and happy you will stay!

Prose Poem: The Mighty Bopp.

 

On a foggy, frog-choked night

I was visited by the ghost 

of Kay Kyser.

His wavering whisper gave me

to understand there was 

connivance afoot.

And I must spend millions

to dig it out, root and branch.

So I went to see the Mighty Bopp.

Now . . . I can't give you all the details;

there are too many lives at stake.

But there were ballots on an island

in the middle of a lake called Nimue.

Missing ballots. Hidden for centuries.

I was to bring them back.

Even if I had to hire

the Varangian Guard

to do it.

The Mighty Bopp promised 

that if I could bring those ballots

back in time,

virtue would triumph.

We marched through canebrake and enchanted glebe.

We camped amidst nettles and hardened muesli.

Our rations were just butterless scones and frisked out milp.

Nuncios barred our path, but we scattered them

by chanting 'Crinkum-Crankum.'

When we reached the Lake Nimue

the water was flecked with bosco petals,

while the murmuring scent of shaken ferns

stirred our souls to the quick.

And far out on the flaxen waters

stood the Isle of Lost Ballots.

We waded in.

The mud pulled at our spurs.

Slimy weeds slithered up our thighs.

We hacked our way through walls

of agar agar until the ballots 

lay at our feet,

fetid and complicit. 

My burliest men shouldered them

back to civilization --

 we lost half a dozen

good men in an ambuscade by

Cornish pasties before we reached

Headquarters.

Only to find that our ballots,

for which we had spilled our blood,

had turned into useless tin whistles

at the stroke of midnight.

And so . . . 

the Mighty Bopp had struck out.

Photo Essay: All New Postcards to the President.

 

Today's timericks.

 

The age of applesauce is here/there's no more steak for me, I fear/Soda crackers are but scant/comfort for no fried eggplant/Schlag and chocolate cake recede/from my plate with cheerless speed/What good are teeth remaining firm/if all I munch on is wheat germ?

Who says a toxic workplace/is bad for staff morale/I've never liked my bosses/to think they were my pal/I like to have my grudges/whenever I'm at work/I get more done when knowing/that everyone's a jerk/If you want easy living/a beach bum you should be/Don't work for corporations/sans animosity.

When hedge funds buy a newspaper/ reporters mourn in droves/They know they'll soon be out of work/to beg for daily loaves/The newsroom will be gutted/and the coverage will shrink/until real news becomes as rare/as the missing link/As long as hedge funds make a profit/for their old stockholders/no one cares if local news/ turns around and moulders.

Be reconciled to God

 

Be reconciled to Christ, and know that He is all

that ever we will need to triumph 'gainst the Fall.

The world's a masquerade; the devil leads the dance --

change partners while you can, your safety to enhance! 

Today's timericks.

 

I cannot help but thinking God/when looking at the Earth feels odd/He had such high hopes for mankind/But now he's seen how we've declined/He just may end the honeymoon/and start all over on Neptune.

Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates/is in some awful dire straits/Rush Limbaugh wants to enter quick/before the devil gets his pick/Conservatives upon their cloud/cheer for Limbaugh long and loud/But Mr. Scratch has prior claim/and wants Rush for his Hall of Fame/To avoid all objurgation/they'd better try reincarnation . . . 

North Korean hackers/stealing money left and right/for their starving people/makes an edifying sight/Patriotic bandits/Kim Jong-un will likely pay/by taking all the moolah/and then shooting them as prey.

My witness is in heaven.

 

The witness is in heaven/the witness is on earth/the witness of the Savior/is given all at birth/His light is everlasting and reaches ev'ry soul/and those who will receive him/are finally made whole.

Today's Dirty Verses.

 

Dirty verses are not written/by those with a conscience smitten/Dreck like that is better left/to those whose morals are bereft/I will never write such reek/(my libido is way too weak.)

From Pizzagate to QAnon is not a lengthy distance/if you have convinced yourself of Peter Pan's existence/Scamper down the rabbit hole to sniff out all the treason/then join the happy throng that's already lost their reason!

So-called Christians who reject/vaccinations as suspect/and against the Bible's will/must to God seem like a pill/He provides us cures to ease/ills, which some do treat like sleaze/Perhaps another Flood would aid/in making them less renegade. 

For out of Zion shall go forth the law

 

The law of Zion spreading wide

shall tear down unjust rules and pride.

So once again Edenic views

will surely all the earth infuse.

Then mountains ring with promise sweet

that Zion's rule parts chaff from wheat!

Today's Timericks.

 

George and Abe sell mattresses/upon this holiday/Auto loans are offered/in their patriotic way/Americans are shopping/to show they won't forget/great presidents by going/so darn deeply into debt!

No place there is like home sweet home/for terrorists to grimly roam/born and bred in USA/they lust to kill us every day/they carry guns and don't wear mask/and shoot you if you dare to ask/just why they hate their own country/to them it's all conspiracy.

I'm the Dali Lama, though I do not like to boast/That other guy I leave alone; he's just a whipping post/I was chosen as a child by monastery staff/but when I learned what it entailed/I sat right back and laughed/Who needs that kind of pressure or the expectations great/People either love you or, if Chinese, really hate/I abdicated quickly and became a dharma bum/I never have regretted living my life so humdrum.

Make me not a ruler of the people

 

Make me not a ruler over men, but just my heart.

So I can have the power to begin a brand new start.

Elected or hereditary, power in my hand

without the Savior in my life leads to a desert land.

Mercy, grace, and justice, are not mine to take or give;

the Lord alone administers the way I ought to live.