Limerick

 When voters will not lean your way

a new party name you display.

But it should be clear

unless it's "Free Beer",

the new tag is just a toupee. 

I intend to outwit Death

 I intend to outwit Death, no matter what the stats;

what care I for healthcare or location or trans-fats?

When that rascal calls for me I'll not be home at all,

but shall instead be browsing at the largest shopping mall.

If he can find me in the crush and press of bargain chasers

he can have me fair & square -- that king of dull erasers. 

The Kaleidoscope

Mosiah 29:11 -- " . . . and we will newly arrange the affairs of this people . . . "

Each day I live again, reborn, and newly managed, too;
my affairs can change as fast as any burning coup.
The mundane tasks and dull concerns that weigh my spirit down
are scattered far and wide beneath my Savior's tender crown.
Perhaps I'm treading water to the undiscerning eye;
 but I will turn kaleidoscope in wonder by and by!  

Limerick

When Adam was placed in the Garden

of Eden his heart he did harden

and ate of the fruit

that made him unsuit-

able for any kind of Green pardon. 

I hated someone once

Mosiah 28:2 -- " . . . that perhaps they might cure them of their hatred . . . "

I hated someone once, someone close enough to rip
the tendons of my soul and make my eyelids drip.
Betrayed and left alone, I vowed to keep awake
such bitterness as would preserve my deepest ache.
Yet slowly as the poison spread throughout my frame
I saw its only purpose was to cripple and to maim.
At last the Great Physician in humility I pressed
to cure me of this malady that left me so distressed.
He ever listens close to those who plead in trust;
and thus the venom drained away and turned to harmless dust.
Now my heart is on the mend and my spirit leaps amain
as I walk more fearlessly in this ardent world of pain. 

The Tarzan Zerbini Shrine Circus

We were six in clown alley on the Tarzan Zerbini Shrine Circus many years ago.

This was durng my 7-year hiatus from Ringling Brothers, after getting into a fight with the World's Smallest Man, Michu -- but that story will have to await another time.

Half way through the season we were down to two clowns; the rest had succumbed to the rigors of two shows a day in primitive rodeo grounds where the dust was thick and the audiences were thin. Our juggling and magician clowns were gone; so was the producing clown, who had supplied all the clown props for our gags. There was just me and Victor – who doubled as the Human Cannon Ball.

The boss still expected a grand clown gag with plenty of boffos from the two of us, so we put our bewigged heads together and came up with a weird pastiche that used every remaining piece of equipment we had between us. It went like this . . .

We come out lugging a large wicker laundry basket, full of dirty clothes. In the center of the ring is a huge washing machine (hammered hastily together out of plywood scraps and painted an unconvincing white). We begin tossing the laundry into the machine and set the dials. Working several concealed foot pedals at the base of the machine, I am doused with water and suds from the sides of the washing machine. In a passion I start beating on the washer, and Victor helpfully boosts me up so I can peer inside the rebellious contraption. And then Victor casually pushes me inside the washer. Inside we had placed a propane canister rigged up to some pipes along the top of the washer. I turn on the gas, light it, and WHOOSH, the washer is suddenly aflame! About here all logic and sanity disappears, cheerfully subsumed by the clown mandate that the bigger the disaster the bigger the laugh. While the flames roar I put on horns, a red cape and a long red tail. Then I turn off the gas and unlatch the sides of the washer, which collapse outward. The whole thing ends with me, now inexplicably changed into a leering devil, chasing Victor out of the ring with a plastic pitchfork.

For reasons that still elude me to this day, the gag went over big with the circus crowds. Even the boss, a hard-bitten veteran of the tanbark and not given to praising his joeys, came right out and said he thought it was a pretty good gag.

When the show reached eastern Wyoming my wife Amy brought our (then) six kids to see daddy at his job. I never traveled with my family, preferring to send my paycheck home each week. Clowns always got free room and board, such as it was. Mine was the back of a concessions truck; I smelled of cotton candy for 2 years after leaving the show.

After the matinee I was eager to find out what my children thought of their old man’s comic ability. But when I approached them, still in my clown regalia, their eyes started out of their heads in terror as they ran squealing to their mother, pleading with her to save them from the “daddy devil!”

It was only after I removed my makeup and took them out to McDonald’s for all the Happy Meals they could handle that they warmed up to me again.

For years afterward whenever I needed to lower the boom on their youthful mischief all I had to do was casually mention that I was going to do a load of laundry –they would immediately stop whatever they were doing and start towing the line again.

I wonder what Dr. Spock would think about that?

The Masters

When watching the Masters from greens,
whether in tux or in jeans,
beware of chair sharks,
glide like Groucho Marx,
and know where to find the latrines.

Poets are . . .

Poets are liars and scoundrels and drunks;
grandmas with doilies inside cedar trunks.
Truck drivers brooding on Route 51;
unwary schmendricks who think it is fun.
Waitresses hoping their tips will increase;
mechanics all covered in Bardahl and grease.
Anyone dreaming without sharp deadlines.
And especially those who wrote Burma Shave signs.

The trouble with drinking LaCroix

From the Wall Street Journal:

Most LaCroix drinkers are women—as is the case with diet sodas—but men are discovering the brand, too. Orlando, Fla., resident and former Diet Pepsi drinker Kevin Glennon dedicates much of his fridge space to LaCroix, which he calls “soda’’ for water drinkers.

“There’s no guilt for a guy like me. I can pound five or six of these a night,’’ said the 37-year-old TV ad agency employee, an avid weightlifter and runner.

The trouble with drinking LaCroix
begins when the bubbles do cloy;
after 8 or 9 cans
you have to change plans,
and bedpans discreetly employ.

Limerick for Trillin

When Trillin lampoons the array
of Chinese cuisine, some do say
he's being offensive --
and so they are pensive
(and might serve him up curare . . . )