Today's timericks.

 

It's the little things in life that count/not what's in your bank account/It may sound corny and too glib/pablum for a babe with bib/But a haircut or handshake/is better than a t-bone steak!

Children lost and parents grieved/is all that Mr. Trump achieved/with his immigration plan/Now we have a better man/in the White House who might fix/this problem without politics/May his task force soon succeed/in repairing this foul deed.

Paper napkins and tp/need wood pulp immediately/otherwise the scarcity/will bring on emergency/China seems to have the pulp/for paper cups from which we gulp/Me, I think the best relief/would be to use banana leaf . . . 

Today's timericks.

 

The news ain't good from Myanmar/the military's gone too far/The generals have took control/which no one thinks is very droll/Civilian leaders are detained/Democracy again is chained/Around the world, and in Rangoon/tyranny is in monsoon.

 Free expression's very fine/Do we have to draw a line/so that nitwits who insist/on the use of hate and fist/have no forum for their trash/Or should we just let 'em gnash?/Make them mail their balderdash/and they will soon be out of cash.

Oh, a crisp ten dollar bill/always gives me quite a thrill/So it crawls with microbes vile?/Holding one still makes me smile/If you intend to be a skeptic/just hose 'em down with antiseptic!

Today's timericks.

 

Bubble, bubble; toil and trouble/stocks on Wall Street seem to double/like a glass of boba tea/filled with balls of rich bounty/How much longer can it last/until it bursts with mighty blast?/All I know for sure, my friend/I always jump in at tail end . . . 

Teaching kids at home is fun/Education as homespun/Parents teach all that they know/It's a job that's made of snow/Then the child, when grown at last/becomes a true iconoclast/Online courses can be added/It's a way to make time padded. 

A grizzled curmudgeon is what I may be/but my heart is open to romantic spree/I'd spend all my money on some great affair/and wind up a pauper who plays solitaire/On second thought, ladies, this Valentine's Day/I'll give myself choc'late, and solvent still stay . . . 

Prose Poem: Mr. Peabody.

 

"Show Mr. Peabody into the library, please."

That's what the lady said to me.

That's exactly what she said.

A complete stranger.

Never saw her before in my life.

Then she walked away.

At first I was able to put it

out of my mind.

A random remark from

a random stranger.

Not worth a second thought.

But then, about a week later,

I began wondering --

who is Mr. Peabody?

Could be a coded message

meant to warn me,

or threaten me.

Or throw me off the trail.

But I've never been involved in

any kind of spy business

or criminal activity.

I work in lawn care.

"Don't let it get to you, kid"

I told myself.

I thought about telling somebody

about all this -- 

but couldn't think of anyone

who would take an interest in

this odd, admittedly trivial, incident. 

And that thought --

that nobody in the whole

wide world took much 

interest in me --

depressed me badly.

So I went down to the 

Animal Shelter

and got me a dog.

A real mutt he is.

Ugly as sin.

But very affectionate

and intelligent.

I told him all about the strange

lady and what she said to me.

He listened attentively;

he seemed very interested

in the whole affair.

The dog and I worked out a theory:

It was a case of simple 

mistaken identity.

Like in a movie.

I owe that dog a lot.

And that's why I named him

Mr. Peabody.

Today's timericks.

 

I intend on aging well/looking for a magic spell/to give me both health and vigor/I take vitamins with rigor/Saw palmetto is the thing/With ginseng I'll take a fling/If these potions don't succeed/I'll check in to Walter Reed.

Let's take up a collection/for starving CEO's/so they will have some carfare/and a decent set of clothes/Their salaries declining/in this pandemic year/instead of champagne cocktails/they'll settle for a beer/If you should see one begging/with a cardboard sign/be tactful and don't tease them/about their small gold mine.

No catalog will suit me/because I'm roly-poly/my waistline is tremendous/my shoe size is unholy/From catalogues I'll order/only in the event/that they have outdoor trappings/so I can buy a tent.

Today's timericks.

 

Tainted software is endemic/not a problem academic/We are being squeezed like fruit/so that hackers get their loot/Since they float around like fog/we'd better switch to analog.

Household spending takes a dive/as pandemics still do thrive/Uncle Sam will send more checks/hoping spending muscles flex/But I gotta tell ya, Sammy/I ain't going to Miami/Any checks you send to me/go in the bank, that's Q.E.D.!

Marjorie Greene from Georgia still claims/voting conspiracies are playing games/with the election; that Biden's a cheat/Her brain cells apparently are Cream of Wheat/Why voters put her in Congress remains/something to puzzle the smartest of brains.

But with everlasting kindness will I have mercy on thee

 

Rude men and their justice raw

have no place in God's own law.

His justice mixed with mercy mild

all mankind has reconciled.

Everlasting kindness he

 shows to all eventually.

Prose Poem: A few years ago, New Yorker Jen McKenzie stood in line for two hours to eat at Emmy Squared, a Detroit-style pizza place (from the WSJ)

 

Standing in line is where it's at.

I mean, once I lock my knees

and stare straight ahead,

eyes unfocused, 

the world becomes Zen.

I become Zen.

My breathing encompasses

eternity.

And the long wait is 

a sacrament.

I first discovered all this while

waiting in line for a Detroit-style

pizza.

At first I was distressed

at the long line,

but then I thought to myself:

"There are no problems,

there is only the Line."

Detachment followed immediately.

The Line and I became one,

and time disappeared 

into a warm fuzzy blanket.

And when I got my order

I gave it to a homeless person.

I was no longer in need

of physical sustenance.

Now I seek out lines to stand in to wait.

For vaccines.

For toilet paper.

For artisan bread.

For polo mallets.

For Godot.

And sometimes I stand in line

all by myself

on my patio --

And sometimes I stand 

on street corners

with a sign reading:

"The Line Starts Here."

And people get it.

They really get it.

They line up behind me

for hours and days.

Sometimes weeks.

When the world is ready

I shall start the never-ending 

Line,

which has no stop

in either time or space.

And Detroit-style pizza

shall descend on us all

from the heavens

without money and without

cost.

Selah.

Sing praise to the name of the Lord.

 

Sing to the Lord in most glorious praise;

each mortal voice in sweet melody raise!

Our King and our Savior; his enduring zeal

makes our salvation and comfort all real!

 

Photo Essay: New Postcards to the President.