Today's Timericks: Featuring Onions!

 

Why does mankind want a king/or emperor or anything/to tell him what to do and say/and where to live and what to pay/Since ancient pharaohs, and before/even in the Trojan War/royalty means avarice/I'd rather live just like the Swiss. 

Storming the Bastille is not/what the DC mob had thought/Paris rose impulsively/but DC was planned carefully/With the two events compared/the cops both times were unprepared. 

I eat onions for dessert/because I am an introvert/My breath means interlopers find/my presence kills their peace of mind/Even tho it may seem kinky/I chew scallions with my Twinkie.  

Jakarta doesn't have clean air/in fact it smells like underwear/Particulates do run so thick/they'd even make a hantu sick/So tourists, take a word from me/and detour straight to pure Bali. 

Australia's keeping borders closed/They do not want to be exposed/to viruses and other drek/so they have made a bottleneck/You can't get in for years to come/unless you bring them chewing gum.

 So China now on Mars has landed/and the planet they have branded/so they'll start to set up shop/and ev'ry Mons will have a cop.

Companies cannot get workers/seems to be too many shirkers/so they automate instead/the shiftless can just stay in bed/so if you want to work today/with robots you should learn to play.

Today's Timericks: Featuring Krill!

 

Antarctica has got the krill/that give the southern whales a thrill/Other creatures also dine/on this fast food thing in brine/But now the algae that krill eat/are growing rare as earthworm feet/It's all because man ruins the land/and makes the place an ice cream stand!

Ten Commandments has mankind/which they rarely bear in mind/as they go about their span/thinking they are Peter Pan/Someday Father will return/and we'll either smile or burn . . . 

I like cooking for my friends/but the pleasure always ends/with the dishes in the sink/where they stay until they stink/No one offers help to me/to make my platters gravy-free/So now I open up a can/or put an egg in frying pay. 

UFOs up in the sky/common as the old housefly/so say pilots nowadays/taboos ready to all raze/no one thinks you're crazy when/you espy some small green men/buzzing 'round the aerodrome/wanting just a quick phone home.  

Today's Timericks: What if Space Junk and Climate Change Become the Same Problem? (NYT)

 

space is full of junk, you know/tho it's going awful slow/astronauts into it crash/giving NASA quite a pash/global warming makes debris/up in space quite fancy free/even good old Santa Claus/now avoids the tropopause!  

peacocks on the lawn, I swan/strutting there from dusk to dawn/think I'll write a book that shows/they do not breathe through their nose/and some other crazy fluff/readers love such offbeat stuff!

I'm a senior, got that straight?/Cryptocurrency I hate/People buying that fool stuff/are lemmings running off a bluff/If investments you desire/do like me: buy chicken wire!

The widow and the unjust judge/is known by one and all/how that poor woman importuned/a soul like a brick wall/Finally he favored her/because she was a scold/which only goes to show that/nagging often gets the gold!

The walrus has a funny face/it looks to be from outer space/it flops about like gummy squid/it cannot dance -- it never did/global warming is destroying/ice packs -- which is so annoying/to walruses of ev'ry stripe/that they may fly away like snipe.

Prose Poem: The Long Shirt Society.

 

So Chico asks me if I want to come to their meeting.

"There's a dinner afterwards" he told me.

"What meeting?" I asked him.

"The Long Shirt Society" he said.

"Never heard of it" I replied. "Sounds dull."

"Well, yes" Chico admitted. "We mostly meet

for the good food afterwards. The secretary is

a fabulous cook; you should taste her braised ribs!"

"Is this a membership drive?" I asked suspiciously.

"Well, yes" admitted Chico. "We need more dues-paying

members so we can afford to buy

a DeLonghi espresso machine."

"No thanks" I said firmly. "I'm not a joiner.

How about a ride home?"

We drove in silence for a while.

"Here you are" Chico said, pulling

up to my house. "That'll be one-hundred

and seventy-five dollars."

"What are you talking about?" I nearly screamed at him.

"You never said anything about money when

I asked you for a ride home!"

"Mister" said Chico, "I drive a taxi cab.

I picked you up three hours ago at 

the airport."

"I thought you were my friend, 

a good friend" I said bitterly, as I 

got out my wallet.

"Well, I did invite you to a meeting 

and dinner, Mister" he said quietly

as he ran my card.

"Well, I guess it's okay" I said,

trying out a half smile on him.

"Would you like to come in for some

Postum and a quick video before you head back

into town? The gridlock is terrible this time of

day."

"What video is that, Mister?" he asked, 

squinting at me.

"Meet the Mormons" I said cheerfully.

 

Today's Timericks.

 

Reporters cannot make up facts/They hire good internet hacks/the 'truth' to display/so they earn their pay/with non-fiction that's pretty lax.

Wild horses once under the care/of Uncle Sam need to beware/The market for meat/makes folks indiscreet/They'll wind up on menus, cooked rare.

Investing in good ransomware/can make a guy a billionaire/It can't be stopped; it's spreading fast/potential for it, unsurpassed/Like the Mafia of old/just join a gang to get your gold!

Photo Essay: Postcards Mailed to my President.

 

Prose Poem: The Gift.

 

Nymphets sporting at a mountain stream.

"I'm getting a gift today"

I told the nurse from my

hospital bed.

"How nice" she responded.

"What is it?"

"Oh" I replied, "it's a surprise.

"I won't know until I get it."

She said "How nice" again

and then gave me an

enema.

Actually, I wasn't expecting anything

from anybody during my hospital stay.

I wasn't dying, so nobody but my

brother Casey had come to visit.

He brought me a sports magazine --

he knows very well I loathe sports.

I told him, too crossly, to come back

with something worthwhile to read,

and he left suddenly, silently,

and sullenly. 

I didn't expect him back.

I don't know why I told the nurse

I was getting a gift -- it just

popped out spontaneously,

like a bit of chewed food flung

from my mouth during an animated

dinner conversation.

I do it all the time --

once I told a friend that I was

being published in the New Yorker.

He was duly impressed,

so I had to drop him completely

to keep from ever answering his 

embarrassing questions about when it would

be published.

In grade school I told all

my teachers that I was extremely

allergic to jute twine --

so I was excused from the annual

paper drive, and any time

I caught sight of a piece of twine

at school I began to sneeze like

crazy.

But that same day Casey

surprised me by coming back with

a book for me.

"Well, thanks!" I told him.

"S'all right -- hope it's deep enough

for you" he said, then patted me on

the shoulder and left.

It was a copy of Lolita.

The nurse saw it when she came in.

"Dirty old man" I could hear her thinking.

My oncologist saw it that evening on his

rounds.

"Read that in college" he told me.

"It wasn't as dirty as everyone said."

When he left I threw the book into

the wastebasket.  

And read the damn sports magazine.

Photo Essay: Spring Haiku.

 

Spring is aching green --

the color of summer still

remains to be seen.

There is purple here --

strangest of colors by far

and never fearful.

Brown is part of spring --

the illegitimate child

of waiting too long.

Today's Timericks.

 

First there was the Cold War/now it's Cyber Clash instead/If we don't take stern measures/then our infrastructure's dead/We do not know the hackers/and their bosses stay obscure/They haven't got the guts/ for open conflict, that's for sure!

Oat milk, almond cream, and such/do not move me very much/They ain't dairy, which I love/I won't switch despite the shove/And there's proof their benefits/don't amount to musty grits/Give me moo juice ev'ry time/cuz milk from hemp is just a crime!

The Census shows our birthrate has declined in recent years/this has given rise to speculation and sharp fears/that the country's shrinking and our vistas have a ceiling/We no longer can be thought of as a folk freewheeling/I refuse to bellyache about a future bleak/America is still the place that hopeful people seek.

Prose Poem: A Touch of Prinkweed.

 

This Mother's Day

give your mother 

a touch of prinkweed.

Yes, this common 

garden variety plant

can do a lot to please

the most demanding mommy.

Drop some in her tea --

she will break into song.

Sprinkle it down the back

of her neck --

she will begin to dance like

Vilma Ebsen.

Stuff her pillow with it --

her dreams will be sweeter

than gulaab jamun.

Present her with the seeds

to plant around her cottage --

the vigorous prinkweed will

lift her little home like Baba Yaga's

chicken legs, turning it ever 

counter-clockwise.

Last, but not least,

add some to her skin cream

and watch as she happily

transforms into an Old World babbler and

flies away to the Grampian Hills.

Prinkweed is available wherever

fine botanicals are sold.

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