Prose Poem: We Never Know.

 

My neighbor Tom got very rich

selling a non-fungible token.

He bought me a string of sandalwood

meditation beads,

and then moved to Flathead Lake

in Montana,

where he built a huge log cabin.

He let me buy his old place for a song,

and I was happy to get it;

my house needed a new roof and

all the downstairs windows replaced.

Tom's place was in very good repair,

and nearly a third larger.

When I  moved in I found a trapdoor

down in the basement laundry room.

It was sealed shut, so I put a rug over

it and forgot about it.

Years later, after I had moved 

into one of the first terrariums

designed for humans on the Moon,

the new owners managed to pry open

the trapdoor to discover a complete set

of Maryknoll magazines from 1933 to

1969. In mint condition.

They weren't worth anything,

really.

But it just goes to show

that we never know,

do we?

Today's Timericks: Texas Lawmakers Move to Drop Most Handgun Licensing Requirements (NYT)

 

I read where money's pouring down/upon the Feds in DC Town/the taxes paid this year surpass/the growth of even pampas grass/I hope another stimmie check/is in the works for this redneck/cuz I done spent my last few cents/buyin' food and payin' rents.

In Myanmar good poetry (unlike this wretched piece of mine)/is powered by a moral force and savored like the finest wine/And so the autocrats agreed to put their poets all away/to keep Rangoon a wasteland where liberty can never stay.

everybody's got a pet/so they need to use a vet/they, in turn, have boosted fees/now they're banking overseas/don't invest in higher techs/horse doctors get bigger checks. 

Alexander, called the Great/conquered lots of real estate/till his soldiers did rebel/telling him to go to hell/they did yearn for the Aegean/never more to go sight-seein'/so they quick marched back to find/their wives had all turned nonaligned.  

Texas Greg is packin' heat/all common sense he sure has beat/Any Texan worth his salt/can buy a handgun with no-fault/the Governor is proud to guide/his people to more homicide.

In my foolish middle age/I yearned for fame with steady rage/for interviews and viral force/and money to prevent divorce/But now I'm old and fat and shrewd/I only wish my prunes be stewed.  

Prose Poem: Written on Jam.

 

Remember in all those old movies,

how the plot always blew up after

a newspaper headline appeared?

Announcing a birth

a death

a fortune won

a fortune lost

the start of a war

a new hero

or old villain found out?

Boy, that's what I always wanted --

a huge black headline with

my picture underneath

proclaiming me the Eighth 

Wonder of the World.

People would run down the hallway

waving the newspaper headline

like they were signaling a zeppelin.

My friends and family,

especially that snooty cousin

of mine,

would gape until their jaws

hit the floor.

Meanwhile

I would modestly disclaim

any special virtue or talent,

 telling reporters I was just an

average American boy with

an average American sweetheart

and an average American mutt

named Pomeroy.

Well

I finally got my name 

in big black headline letters

last week

after I saved a baby

from the talons of a hulking

Philippine monkey-eating 

eagle.

Single-handed.

Every newspaper in the country

ran the story, with my photograph.

And nobody, but nobody,

ran into the room waving

the paper above their head --

or glanced at my headline and

swooned in a dead faint --

or even had the decency to 

yell "Jumping Jehoshaphat!" 

in my face.

The whole thing might just

as well have been written

on jam.

And get this --

my snooty cousin just

went viral with an NFT

of him wearing a crown

of dandelions. 

Today's Timericks: Their Own Private Idaho: Five Oregon Counties Back a Plan to Secede (NYT)

 

five counties out in oregon think that they ought to split/and stick themselves in idaho, where there is holy writ/I hope they like potatoes and the horse and buggy age/and trains that only ever run on very narrow gauge.

do not kill the kangaroo/tho tasty in an aussie stew/be kind to hopping critters, since/you can always eat a quince/then feel humane and kindly too/oh, do not kill the kangaroo!

there's this guy named sabatini/who must have had a large martini/when he said that socrates/would be canceled like bad cheese/sabatini's point seems dim/since ancient athens poisoned him.

We're running out of babies/or so the experts say/women do not want them/and men are turning gay/but oldsters grow like mushrooms/they live so long that we/are entering an era/of post-senility.

Nowadays some gummy bears are laced with THC/and skittles get you higher than a tall sequoia tree/no telling where they'll put it next; perhaps in chicken soup/I wouldn't be surprised if hagen-daz/puts out a scoop.  

Russians think that melting ice/is as bad as loaded dice/without polar ice to keep/enemies at bay, they'll creep/right around the old north pole/putting ruskies in a hole/but by then, with water rised/we'll all be fully bapatized.  

Prose Poem: The Little Games.

 

Death came for me 

bearing a bag

of Krispy Kreme Donuts.

"That's thoughtful of you"

I told him.

He wore dirty white sneakers,

which took away from

the solemnity of the

whole thing.

"Do I get to play a game

or something first with you

in order to keep my soul?"

I asked him.

Silently he produced

a checkerboard.

I beat him in a dozen moves.

"Another game, perhaps?" 

I asked him politely.

He handed me a deck

of Uno cards.

His mistake:

I played Uno with my

family every Monday

night for nearly twenty years.

The cards kept slipping

through his bony fingers,

slowing him up considerably.

We had finished the donuts

and I was thirsty.

He ate most of them,

by the way.

"How about a drink of milk

before the next game?"

I asked.

He gave me a tepid glass

of buttermilk.

That's when I discovered

 Death is a sore loser.

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!