Prose Poem: The Camera Moved.

 

The camera shifted,

so everyone moved to the left.

"C'mon, Uncle Joe" I said,

"get in closer."

I smelled sandalwood

and then the wind picked up,

stirring up a haze around us.

"Wait a minute, folks" I told everyone.

A baby started crying.

There was a marching band

somewhere down the street.

I put my right hand on 

Jennie's shoulder.

She didn't shrug it off.

And the wind died down.

"Don't look directly at the camera"

I entreated everyone.

"Look slightly to the left."

"We should have hired

a professional photographer"

said Grandma Rose.

But I had forgiven her

for this, and for many other things,

a long time ago.

The wind picked up again

and just before it started to 

rain

the chartered bus arrived.

Family members scattered

down the steps

like so many slinkies --

but I took the picture anyways.

Then got on the bus to face 

 egg salad and Jennie sitting

next to a stranger named Mike.

Today's Nifties.

 

My landlord is so mean and petty he puts muzzles on humming birds.

On my budget I eat so many beans that I'm being investigated by the EPA for methane emissions.

I kinda liked face masks on store clerks -- at least when they said "Have a nice day" you couldn't see their snarl.

when an atheist dies, he'll walk toward the light and turn it off.

We already have the bread -== now where are the circuses?

Today's Timericks: Your ability to focus may be limited to 4 or 5 hours a day. Here’s how to make the most of them. (WaPo)

 

I'm always out of focus/and my view is never clear/my brain has turned to latex/and my nerves to mold, I fear/I think a moth or beetle/has more acumen than me/and it's always been that way -- since I was twenty three! 

Dress codes for a graduation/seem to favor degradation/if your duds aren't up to snuff/you will face a sure rebuff/thankfully, what students lack/teachers will give off their back!  

At your barber get a shot/as a prudent afterthought/MD's stationed at your bar/are not fetched that very far/seized by wellness agitprop/we want medics in each shop/is this really so outrageous/while the world remains contagious?   

Prose Poem: Texas Votes Washington Cyberattack Mass Shooting and Joe Biden Coronavirus Lab Leak with China John Krasinski.

 

It all started as I turned the corner

going home from Fresh Market.

It's a blind corner, and a girl on a bike

nearly crashed into me as I came up

to the corner.

It was a close shave.

That got me to thinking about how

dangerous that blind corner is.

They should put up one of those convex

mirrors or something, so people can see

if some mad bicyclist is careening towards

them.

But I don't know who to talk to about that,

and I doubt the city would do anything about 

it anyway.

So now when I go to Fresh Market I walk way

out in the parking lane when I take that turn, giving

the dangerous blind corner a wide berth.

Of course I'm blocking traffic, and I get some

dirty looks, but my life is worth more than some

moron's middle finger.

And now I take many more precautions

as well.

Because all movement and thought 

invites danger and discomfort.

So, even though I don't believe in it myself,

I wear an aluminum foil hat --

even to bed.

Laughable, yes. Ridiculous, certainly.

But . . . 

where there's smoke there's fire.

And I no longer use my computer

keyboard, or my computer for that matter.

All that electricity coursing through circuits

and microchips -- don't tell me there isn't 

a chance of getting electrocuted.

No -- paper and pencil are good enough for me.

I gave away my big screen TV.

You could feel the heat radiating from it

when you got close to it -- that can't be good.

I sit in a wooden chair.

I drink vinegar constantly.

I bathe in distilled water.

I've stopped going out.

My door is locked

and I sleep on the floor,

on a pile of old newspapers --

their wonderful old-fashioned 

printed words are a wall

around me.

I feel completely safe.

 Inertia is beautiful.

Tomorrow's Timericks: Biden set for G-7 boost in bid for all nations to impose minimum global corporate tax

 

all the world loves taxes/loves to pay 'em through the nose/global corporations/love to work those ratios/but after you have taxed 'em/you will find Swiss bank accounts/for corporations growing/in amazing large amounts.

The summer streets are running red/the violence leads to mass dread/the heat waves always melt restraint/so gangs touch up their old war paint/the latest horde of thugs suggest/we ought to hide in our ice chest.

The price of meat is elevated/leaving wallets much truncated/a piece of liver costs the same/as losing at a poker game/even pork and beans are priced/like it was a diamond heist/like that king of Babylon/we'll soon be forced to eat our lawn!  

Today's Timericks: Dogs sniff out Covid-19 carriers in Thailand and other countries. (NYT)

 

A Labrador knows if you're sick/their able noses do the trick/so when you travel, without fail/see if the Lab does wag its tail/cuz if it does you're Covid blighted/and off the plane you'll be invited.

Chinese demographics aging/are most other news upstaging/no one's growing up to be/ready as an employee/everyone is old and gray/on a pension, wits astray/Chinese babies, please come quick/and don't you be a Bolshevik!   

The gumboot chiton has hard dentures/as across the sea it ventures/scraping algae off of stones/cleaning up for Davey Jones/It is full of iron bits/They don't serve it at the Ritz.

Prose Poem: My Ghost Tree.

 

I was raking up ghosts

from under my ghost tree;

they fell throughout the 

year, not just in autumn.

After filling several black

plastic bags full of inert ghosts

I threw them in the pickup to

take to the landfill.

Just my luck,

the landfill was closed for 

Memorial Day.

So I dropped them off with

Andy, the caretaker

at the local cemetery;

he grinds them up  

 for mulch.

Back home I sat under

the insubstantial shade of my ghost tree,

drinking cold buttermilk.

I began remembering my dad,

who liked cold buttermilk

and shot off the little toe

on his right foot so he 

wouldn't be drafted,

when another ghost fell off

the ghost tree at my feet.

But this one was a lively little cuss.

It sprang up and danced about,

flinging its shroud around like

a hula-hoop.

"What makes you so lively, little ghost?"

I asked it.

"Oh, I been taking ghost vitamins" it replied,

doing a somersault. 

"What're those?" I asked.

"Made from tombstone dust, bat wings,

and cypress bark" it told me, looking up at

me with a wistful smile -- as if

it might like to try to be alive again.

"Seems a shame to take you to Andy

to be ground up for mulch" I said to it 

kindly.

"Must you?" it asked meekly.

"Can't have you ghosts cluttering up

my yard, now, can I? The neighbors 

would complain" I said, avoiding its 

black hollow eyes.

Suddenly the lively little ghost

floated quickly up into the sky.

"I didn't know I could do that" 

I heard it say as it drifted out of sight.

I decided to grill a steak for

dinner that night.

Tomorrow's Timericks: Fermented incentive? Minnesota rolls out free beer to cheer the vaccinated. (MPR)

 

Vaccination papers mean a schooner of free beer/for those Minnesotans who enjoy some liquid cheer/Pity the teetotaler, who doesn't get a thing/for being vaccinated, other than a sober sting.

I've entered a new country/and the customs are so strange/I see I'll have to find a way/my thoughts to rearrange/arriving at senescence/ain't what I set out to do/but now I'm stuck in this locale/my passport won't renew.

the governor of Utah says "no masks around this place"/"mandates for their wearing are a criminal disgrace"/no matter that the doctors think we ought to take it slow/the governor of Utah has got mental lumbago.

Americans are buying guns/like they were sweet hot cross buns/Pandemic fears give to munitions/gigantic and deep sales commissions/so on the bandwagon go leap/and be another shooting sheep.

He has led captivity captive/and ascended to his throne/No longer are we bondsmen/to a master unbeknown/Christ proclaims our freedom/with veracity supreme/The hardened world around us/grows as muted as a dream.

Please Help Feed Hungry Seniors.

 

Hello. 

My name is Tim Torkildson.

Many of you know me through my humorous verses that have appeared in the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal, and the Washington Post.

I worked most of my adult life as a professional circus clown, before being forced to retire due to arthritis.

For the past six years I have lived in a senior citizen subsidized housing apartment called Valley Villa, in Provo Utah.

I am very grateful to have this pleasant place to live on my very modest income.

But I'm sad to say that many of the residents here are not getting the proper nutrition they need. So often I hear about, or see, residents my age and older who try to get along on a single can of soup and a few slices of stale bread each day. That isn't right.

So I've taken it upon myself to do some home-cookin' for free for anyone hungry at Valley Villa. I make big pans of mac & cheese (not from a box!) I do a lot of spaghetti with meat sauce and green salads.  My slow cooker cabbage soup is in great demand. I make my own cornbread from scratch. And I am a wiz at putting together a healthy, nourishing casserole from whatever I can find in my pantry and a few fresh veggies from the local supermarket.

After all, my wife and I had 8 kids -- so I know something about cooking for a crowd!

I'm telling you all this because it takes money to buy even basic groceries today, as I'm sure you know.  

I'm not asking you to send me anything or donate anything; I ask you to simply read this blog at least once a week. It's painless, takes about five minutes, and you might get a laugh.

As I gain viewers I am paid a little something for them from Google. Not much, but a few bucks extra means I can put some hamburger in my next potato casserole.

You get the picture.

Thanks for your help!

Today's Timericks: House Hunters Are Leaving the City, and Builders Can’t Keep Up. (NYT)

 

Let us build a cottage sweet/where they plant the sugar beet/out in country so remote/your nearest neighbor is a goat/once the internet's installed/stay home where it's safe and walled/as a hermit you'll do fine/living all your life online.

Sydney has a million mice/and that number's imprecise/many more are likely there/chewing on upholstered chair/they are eating all the crops/just like they were lollipops/Sydney needs a lot of cats/but all they have is bureaucrats.

I believe that God takes care/to record our ev'ry prayer/no request or word of praise/is to Him an idle phrase/all our doubts and shocks and tears/will be resolved in coming years/He's intimate with all our stress/Have faith in Him for true success!

小丑