Timerick: Gas Prices Pressure Drivers’ Finances

 

When driving down the road of life

you have to meet a little strife;

but when the price of gas explodes

you can't afford those handy roads!

Instead you stay at home and sulk

or as pedestrian go skulk

on sidewalks, paths, in alleyways --

muttering of 'end of days.'

A bicycle will melt some fat --

if you can be an acrobat.

Or try a skateboard, gnarly dude,

if you have got the fortitude.

Public transport would be nice

if buses smelled like edelweiss.

And trains showed up on time, you know;

instead of running awful slow.

A horse might do the trick, by Jove!

But then, it costs a treasure trove

to feed it in a stable where

they cater to the millionaire.

If I had wings, O how I'd soar

these holidays like pterosaur!

Back to the family manse I'd flit

around the Xmas tree to sit,

cracking nuts and singing Yule 

instead of feeling like a fool

by bumming rides with Uncle Fred

who drives his car like some bobsled.

But who am I to so complain,

about gas prices inhumane?

I'll drive my car but once a year,

and travel just for Xmas cheer!

Timerick: Workers Quit Jobs in Droves to Become Their Own Bosses

 

I dreamed of going solo,

of being on my own;

no boss to give me anguish --

I'd be a real cyclone!

So office space I rented,

and desks I did install.

I got a secretary

(who'd been laid off at the mall.)

I did some online branding

and offered service quick;

but no one clicked my website;

my ads sank like a brick.

The bank would not extend me.

My secretary quit.

I moped around my office --

felt like a pile of leaves.

I asked my old boss meekly

if I could rejoin staff.

She said that would be okay --

then cut my pay in half.

If you think going solo

is just the thing to do,

I would advise you strongly

to stick with sniffing glue.

Haiku: 詩人は喉が痛い

 

Newspapers work good

to keep out the stark white cold

when greenbacks have fled.

新聞はうまく機能します

真っ白な寒さを防ぐために

グリーンバックが逃げたとき。

Stalked by celery

Vichyssoise is Soupy Sales

My life a fillet  

セロリにストーカー
ヴィシソワーズはスーピーセイルズです
私の人生はフィレット

Storm in the mountains;

bouncing discord and grey mist --

such a shallow noise!

山の嵐;
跳ねる不和と灰色の霧-
こんな浅い音！

Haiku: いびきについて書くことは何ですか？

 

On the bed snoring

An alluring steam engine

A glass of warm milk

ベッドでいびきをかく

魅力的な蒸気エンジン

温かいミルクのグラス

A crumpled silk robe

shedding long strands of white hair --

the smell of hyssop.

しわくちゃのシルクのローブ
白い髪の長い髪を落とす-
ヒソップの匂い。

The distance of stars
The mooning glow of a cloud
And a woman's sigh
星の距離
雲のムーニングの輝き
そして女性のため息

Haiku: 詩人は妻のためにドラゴンを殺します。

 

Holding bony hands

as the wind plucks at our hair --

yours white, mine extinct.

骨のある手を握る
風が私たちの髪を引っ張るとき-
あなたの白、私の絶滅

Deflecting your fate

is as arrogant as cats

learning how to fly.

あなたの運命をそらす
猫と同じくらい傲慢です
飛ぶ方法を学ぶ。

The dirty skyscape

attracts certain kinds of birds

not to our liking.

汚い空の景色
特定の種類の鳥を引き付ける
私たちの好みではありません。

Journalist James Macintosh of the Wall Street Journal: A Man for One Season.

 

As a small boy James Macintosh once asked his tutor at Saint Burley-on-the-Cue Boy's Municipal Fluoride Academy what the difference was between premonition and intuition.

His wise tutor, after filling his pipe with sage and turkish taffy, and lighting it from a nearby burning bush, replied:

"A premonition is hatched from a promontory; while intuition is free to anyone who can play a decent game of soccer."

Macintosh never forget those stirring words. He often tells this story to his adoring acolytes, over a flowing bowl of butterscotch punch down at the Fluffy Sheep's Head Pub.

Jimmy, as he is known to practically no one but his accountant, is the kind of writer who will walk a mile in another man's shoes rather than buy a new pair of his own. He writes a ten-thousand word essay each morning before dawn on the importance of Stilton cheese to the British Commonwealth, and then punts up and down the Thames, taking potshots at mudlarks.

His prize-winning work at the Wall Street Journal includes an in-depth look at the Marmite Cartel and its sinister influence on Brexit. He won the prestigious Arthur Q. Poppinjay Award for his expose of sentient vending machines. His journalist colleagues agree that no one writes a passive/aggressive sentence the way Jimmy Macintosh does.

His hobbies include distilling artisan embalming fluid and cultivating colanders at his villa on Capri.

He is currently under indictment for posting photos of his cats on Twitter. 

Haiku: 詩人はマグロの缶を食べる

 

How to open up?

With a gray and cautious squeak?

Or a purple roar?

開く方法は？

灰色で慎重なきしみ音で？

または紫色の轟音？

Coins in a fountain.

Thirty pieces of silver.

Bowling for dollars. 

噴水のコイン。
銀貨30枚。
ドルのためのボウリング。

All the homeless hearts

face the winter's harsh flurries

so alone alone.

すべてのホームレスの心
冬の厳しい風花に直面する
一人で

A silent chapel

redolent of polished pews

Salted frozen shrimp

静かな礼拝堂
磨かれた会衆席のあふれんばかり
塩漬けの冷凍エビ

Prepare to write verse --

sharpen the red pencil --

hunt for a toothpick.

詩を書く準備をしなさい-
赤鉛筆を研ぐ-
つまようじを探します。

Are those rocks or mice?
Are these the tires or the wind?
Has the road ended?

それらの岩やネズミですか？
これらはタイヤですか、それとも風ですか？
道は終わりましたか？

My favorite quote

I don't quite recall too good;

but I'm telling it.

私のお気に入りの引用
あまりよく覚えていません。
しかし、私はそれを言っています

The rustle of leaves

upon the dry winter wind --

warms my heart for her.

葉のざわめき
乾燥した冬の風に-
あなたのために私の心を温めます

Timerick: Grocery chains are stocked up on Thanksgiving staples like turkeys, though some expect tight supplies of items like pie crust and cream cheese.

 

Pie crust and cream cheese are shades of the past;

the stores have run out and my stockpile won't last.

It's true that the turkey is plump as can be

and cranberry sauce, like the sands of the sea,

abundantly flows round the gravy boat lee;

but where is the butter for rolls and the like --

are we now to face a petite hunger strike?

The dill pickle relish is plentiful, sure --

but glossy black olives have become quite obscure!

 The only boxed wines are uncorked antifreeze.

The heck with it . . . where is that darn mac and cheese?

Today's Timerick: With Vaccine Mandate Looming, Business Owners Face Wary Workers

 

Wary workers won't get vaxed;

they run the risk of being axed.

Bizness owners do complain

that their staffers still maintain

that a puncture to the skin

is now tantamount to sin.

Where they get this addled thought

is probably from some crackpot.

America would rather shirk

common sense than stay at work.

People know that smoking's bad.

Drinking may kill your doodad.

But somehow with a simple shot

people go all Huguenot --

martyrs to some Fed intrigue;

victims of a quack blitzkrieg!

Phooey to such aberration.

Employers will use automation.

Today's Timerick: Airlines Gird for Thanksgiving Travel Test After Rocky Year

 

The time has come, the time is near

to visit relatives so dear.

And so upon the plane I board

with nothing but a harpsichord.

I never bring my luggage now

cuz it gets so lost anyhow --

I'd rather get insurance paid

on some antique that is mislaid.

My seat has shrunk since last I flew;

they must think I'm an allen screw.

The meal I'm served is vulcanized

and so stale it has crystallized. 

The in-flight movie is so dull

it's cracking up my fragile skull.

And in the seat right next to me

a man is snoring blissfully.

He shifts his bulk to block my view

of anything but his muumuu. 

And then it's time to you-know-what,

but how will I get past this nut?

My busted bladder's not severe;

I just won't fly again this year . . . 

Haiku: 詩人は便秘です

 

the little tin pan

with not enough oil in it

burns the anchovy

小さなブリキの鍋

オイルが足りない

カタクチイワシを燃やす

the green hollow air

reverberates with nothing --

shreds of bark remain

緑の中空の空気
何も響かない-
樹皮の断片が残っています

lefse on the grill

flour covers her apron

the smell of burnt grain

グリルのレフセ
小麦粉が彼女のエプロンを覆っている
焦げた穀物のにおい

The gray clouds are scrubbed

clean and white again tonight --

the moon stays unwashed.

灰色の雲がこすり落とされます

今夜もきれいで白く-

月は洗われないままです。

The Latest Proctologist Jokes.

 

Aren't you ashamed of yourself

for clicking on this link?

Don't you have anything

better to do?

Timerick: Gun-Control Support Drops Amid Growing Crime and Firearm Purchases.

 

Lemme tell you something, son;

there is nothing like a gun.

Hefted in a manly hand

it will make you feel quite grand.

Did you know the Feds curtail

guns and ammo when for sale?

Used to be you'd pay in cash

and got your gun as quick as hash.

But now, alas, that ain't the case;

the red tape is a huge disgrace.

Try buying a Kalashnikov;

you will be told to bugger off!

And when you want to buy a Glock

they'll tell you they are out of stock.

No dum dum bullets or hand grenades --

How can a guy go on crusades?

Now down in Mexico, my lad,

things are not yet quite so bad.

If you have enough dinero

you can be a bandolero.

Guns and apple pie, amigo;

that's the true blue Yankee ego.

So start with BB guns, my boy,

to join the brutal hoi polloi!

******************

I ordered a new oven but it's still in port they say/I need it for the pumpkin pie on this Thanksgiving day/I guess I'll light a fire in the basement on cement/and roast the turkey over embers with no decent vent/And if my cooking is all charred and turns out to be smelly/I guess I'll order something from The Brothers Kosher Deli. 

Timerick: Gun Law Allowing Police to Seize Weapons From Potential Shooters Often Isn’t Used.

 

A crazy man walked down the street;

his eyes you did not want to meet.

For if you did he'd yell at you,

and scream just like a cockatoo.

He had a gun; he waved it madly.

He crooned to it, and called it Bradley.

Was he a vet; what was his race?

The cops ignored him, just in case.

He shot up windows, aimed at birds;

he was a menace, in other words.

No John Wayne would face him down,

and so he terrorized the town.

Until, that is, he shot a bear,

who didn't take it debonair.

The critter pawed him right and left

and gave his head an awful cleft.

So now the crazy man reposes

in a nursing home with roses.

The nurses took his gun away;

twas easier than mowing hay.

When cops their duty shirk so well,

then madmen with their shot and shell

can walk our streets quite unmolested --

knowing they won't be arrested!

Haiku: 詩人には腰痛があります

 

no one rends chickens

the red puddles dry crusty

they want a desk job

誰も鶏を引き裂かない

赤い水たまりは無愛想に乾く

彼らはデスクの仕事をしたい

with one ping dinging

and another one singing

my hands are wringing

1回のpingで
そしてもう一人は歌っています
私の手は絞っている

under a dead tree

grass crawling with cockchafers --

there's only black mud.

枯れ木の下
コフキコガモと草を這う-
黒い泥しかありません。

Try Smiling When You Shave . . .

 

When I make the effort to smile, to grin broadly, while I shave, I find I cut myself much less often.

You can draw any conclusion you like from that; or none at all, hoping, perhaps, instead, that a man who simpers at himself in the mirror deserves to have his throat cut.

Waking up this Sunday morning I immediately thought about baking and/or cooking something to serve to my neighbors here in Valley Villa Apartments. I often have such thoughts upon awaking. And I often act on them. But this morning as I stretched and yawned like a cat, turning over on my left side to caress my new bride, I felt a distinct distaste for the hurly-burly involved in making a big meal to serve out our front door or as a Potlatch in the Community Room.

(As I write this Amy is already in the kitchen making pear butter to give away to our neighbors after church.)

Then a vagrant yet pleasant thought drifted into my unfurnished head. Why not make something . . . not to portion out as servings, but as a whole casserole meal to give away to some couple or family at church this morning? I am intrigued by this idea. What will be the reaction when Amy and I approach a couple at church after Sacrament Meeting, to offer them a pan of spaghetti casserole and a Tupperware container full of Amy's cookie crumble pudding? I will carefully note the reactions and duly report them back to you, faithful reader, at the end of this essay.

For I am now beginning a new phase in my writing. I am become another Montaigne -- writing reflective essays on my life and the life around me. This is as a result of the heightened state of aufklarung I enjoy as a newly-wed. A newly-wed who has just married the same woman he lost 26 years earlier.

Writing a slick limerick about such a subject just doesn't cut the mustard.

I can't think that my musings will be very profound or original. They will be rambling, anecdotal, and, for the most part, inconsequential. Which disclaimer, of course, is how all writers have fished for compliments down through the ages. But, somewhat like Montaigne, I feel so self-contained in my own happy contentment right now that I don't give a rat's patootie as to the opinion of others who may read this. 

************************

As we smoothed ourselves down for church, it came to me that the casserole and pudding should be given to the ward clerks, secretaries, and the Bishopric. With Tithing Settlement in full swing, this is a busy time for them -- I doubt they get home for Sunday dinner.

So that's what we did. I have no idea if any of it has been or will be eaten -- but there it sits in the clerk's office; a thank-offering for those who toil long hours over church membership, finances, and godly administration.

*************************

We have such a very small kitchen that both of us cannot be working in it at the same time. Only when doing dishes can we companionably stand side-by-side washing and drying. 

Walking home from choir practice at church this afternoon I spotted one lorn red rose about to unfold, surrounded by a herd of rose hips, in the front yard of a staid brick house. Reaching through the mesh fence, I gave the stem a violent tug, nearly uprooting the entire bush. But I got the rose. And I gave it to Amy.

The last rose of summer. How corny can you get?

A Message from my New Bride.

 

Dear Tim,

Awake this night, pondering what responsibility I am running away from. Thoughts of our conversation while walking the track came to my mind, I began to think tonight about how I could best support you. I read Mosiah 12-13, I read 3 Nephi 21-22. I prayed for you. Then I began to listen to things on YouTube. Just random things but God knows all things. My understanding was opened. 

Your goals are small compared to what God wants them to be. Think bigger than just you and me. How can you help the world?  What touches your heart and gives you a desire to help the world be a better place?  What do you need to study in order to have the knowledge to support that idea? To support us until you reach your goal? 

If the answer is that working for Adam will get you to the next level, then that is great. In January will I still need to be part of this venture? If so then there is something else for you to learn. Let's ask God to help with that. What I am saying is that I don't want to earn more than you. If I do then I am a usurper.

I know that you are God's man. What you are seeking is seeking you. I thank God for the wonderful and beautiful marriage we have. I thank God for the intelligence and wisdom He has blessed you with. I thank God for answering our prayers according to the faith we have.  I Love You,

Amy

Timerick: Hi, I’m a Leaf Blower. Everybody Hates Me. (Thanks to Jason Gay.)

 

why can't the leaves be left alone/instead of being ever blown/across the lawns of middle class/folks who love their tidy grass?/bagging leaves is such a bore/ a mindless pointless bourgeois chore/I'd rather plant a Norway pine/than listen to a blower's whine.

Timerick: Homes Now Typically Sell in a Week, Forcing Buyers to Take Risks (WSJ)

 

a week ago I bought a house;

at least I thought I did.

but when the realtor called me up

he said I still must bid.

for other buyers were on board

and jacking up the price.

I didn't think that sporting and 

it certainly ain't nice.

So I upped my ante a few thousand --

what the heck.

but when my realtor called me back

he wouldn't take my check.

I pleaded and I hollered

but that villain simply said:

"the housing market is insane

and standing on its head!"

My money cannot buy a home;

I rest my weary bones

on a park bench till the day

I get some bigger loans!

Haiku: 冬にガスを渡す

 

a cloud of feathers
with a red wattle waving
in brown gravy death

羽の雲
赤い編み枝細工を振って
茶色の肉汁の死で

a braid of water
weaved with mudlarks and clinkers --
now reflects sunlight
水の三つ編み
マッドラークとクリンカーで編まれた-
太陽光を反射するようになりました


死んだ白鳥のように白い
深いほこりの中のスラグの山に
隙間のある穴の隣
as white as dead swans
on slag heaps in the deep dust
next to gaping holes

Haiku: 詩人は豆のスープを作っています

making white bean soup

the wooden spoon has a crack 

onions fry in oil

白豆のスープを作る

木のスプーンにひびが入っている

タマネギは油で揚げる

 

スカッフィングの芸術は失われた都市の芸術形態です-葉の上でもっとサーフィンをしましょう！

the art of scuffing is a lost city artform --more surfing on leaves!

potatoes are dear
red meat is a memory
the damn vaccine's fault
じゃがいもは傷ついた肉は記憶ですいまいましいワクチンのせい

Timerick: How Cities Could Spend $1 Trillion on Infrastructure: Roads, Trains and Highway Exits

(thanks to Jim Carlton)

If I had lots of moolah I can tell you what I'd do;

I'd make our cities livable, not smelling like a zoo.

The flowers and the bushes would be planted with panache;

I'd put in lots of sweet peas and a bit of Hubbard squash.

Pushcarts full of candy and selections of ripe cheese

are offered up for gratis midst the oyster cracker trees.

The parks would have no benches; only sofas by the score,

where any weary citizen could lay right down and snore.

The cops would be required to flip pizza dough all day,

then bake it in big ovens and just give it all away.

The jails would be repurposed for a video arcade,

and crooks and judges made to offer lawyers marmalade.

Cats and dogs and pigs and goats, plus sometimes an iguana,

would all be shipped off to a farm down south in Tijuana.

Anchovies would swim upstream and unpolluted air

would support box kites while birds played online solitaire.

There's be no condos to fall down, or busy four lane streets;

everyone would ride a bike and look like buff athletes.

If any money still remained I would invest in pearls

and send 'em all to Bangkok for the pretty Thailand girls! 

 

Haiku: 詩人はスクランブルエッグを切望します

 

Brown hands change diapers

feet walk in widening circles --

hair brushes unite!

滴る水
轟音と漂流-
茶色のシルトは汗のにおいがします。

the water dripping

then roaring and drifting off --

brown silt smells like sweat.

滴る水
その後、轟音と漂流-
茶色のシルトは汗のようなにおいがします。

faded green colors

reflected in washed out pools --

damp tree bark is black.

色あせた緑色 洗い流されたプールに反映- 湿った木の樹皮は黒です。

Haiku: 詩人は彼の妻の健康が戻ったことを喜んでいます

 

The empty platter

amidst the chatter of home --

have some more skim milk.

空の大皿
家のおしゃべりの中で-
もう少しスキムミルクを持っています。

A damp bush at dawn
and shreds of cloud overhead --
merely distractions
夜明けの湿った茂み
と雲のオーバーヘッドの断片-
単に気晴らし

Chasing a white ball

across a green field in sun

is man's blissful right.

白いボールを追いかける
太陽の下で緑の野原を横切って
人間の至福の権利です