Category: POEMS (Page 14 of 30)

Rhymes of all kinds

Retirement is not without Hassles: Words to Die By #920

April 25, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Not everyone can be upbeat all the time, and not all poetry can be humorous. I heard these words from Imagine Dragons on the radio several years ago, and it made me think about the powerful force of gravity.

“My love
Gravity won’t stop us from taking off
And if we get lost
Galaxies apart
Gravity won’t stop us from taking off
And if we get caught
Trapped inside the dark”

In the case of these song lyrics, “gravity” can’t stop love or even keep lovers apart. Love is the strongest force of all and these words are a beautiful tribute to this power. In my notes, I wrote down the phrase, “gravity can’t keep me down,” and left this kernel of an idea untouched for some time. Through the years, depending on my mood, I’ve added to the poem, content with knowing that I would finish it some day. There are hundreds of these thoughts written in the One Note document that I can pull up on my smart phone when I have time to expand on the kernel and make it pop. (See Post #595). Even though I finished this one today, it does not necessarily reflect my present state of mind. In fact, it turned out rather dark, considering that most of my work tends to be humorous and on the lighter side. Maybe too much Game of Thrones drama? I would interpret it to be the dying words of a brave warrior consoling his lover. Maybe someday they could be repeated over and over like most songs we hear?

Gravity

Can’t keep me down,
Or prevent my rising.
It’s very clear.
There’s no disguising.

I’ve been holding on,
Trying to wait.
But I’m in,
A dying state

I’ve served my time,
For the greater good.
I’ve done everything,
That I possibly could.

But it’s time to go,
I’m ready to fly.
I’m bound for heaven,
No reason to cry.

Not even gravity,
Can keep me down.
Just look up,
No need to frown.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Retirement Requirements #919

April 25, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Here’s a little poetic inspiration to those who aren’t sure if they can keep busy in retirement:

Retirement Requirements

There are rules,
In starting retirement.
And having a hobby,
Is a requirement.

You can always,
Be a Volunteer.
And get together,
With friends so dear.

Travel the world,
Or wash your car.
Get new clubs,
And strive for par.

And just in case,
Check your Bucket List,
To see if there’s,
Anything you missed.

Give blood,
Ride a bike.
Make a donation,
Take a hike.

Go for a walk,
Or something faster.
Search to find.
A greener pasture.

Watch a movie,
Read a book.
You might even,
Learn to cook.

Community Service,
Aid those in need.
Be a mentor,
Help others succeed.

Do a dance,
Walk the dogs.
Paint a picture.
Water the plants.

Go someplace where,
You’ve never dined.
Stretch your muscles,
Exercise your mind

Now that you,
Have the chance.
Put some effort,
Into your romance

Solve a mystery
Write a story.
Do some laundry,
Study history.

Any activity,
Done for pleasure.
Seek satisfaction,
Hidden treasure.

This might define,
Your current position.
If you’re still filled,
With great ambition.

But most likely,
Your job’s a drain.
With little hope,
If you remain.

If you’re nearing,
Age Sixty-Five.
Smell the roses,
And act alive.

Find new ways,
To fill 8 to 5.
Because The Reaper,
May soon arrive.

Creature Features: Animal Crackers #917

April 23, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

When I was a kid, a box of Animal Crackers could provide a lot of entertainment. It doesn’t seem right now to want to bite off their legs one at a time, to decapitate before devouring, or drown them in my soup.

As an adult, I still like to play with my food. I also like to play with words:

Animal Crackers

Imagine a pot of Panthers,
With Rocky Raccoon afloat.
Pigs playing Possum,
The chef’s a Billy Goat.

It’s a Rattlesnake brew,
With Dinosaur eggs.
Nothing makes sense,
Like a Crow with Five legs.

An Appetizing concoction,
Created in a petting zoo.
Add a little eye of Newt,
And Duck season to suit.

A Dog day afternoon,
Leads to a Cat nap.
Can’t catch a Whale,
In a Beetle trap.

It’s the day of the Jackal,
After three Dog nights.
Bats in the Belfry,
Deer in headlights.

Float like a Butterfly,
Or sting like a Bee
Be wise as an Owl,
Eat “Tuna Of The Sea.”

Step on a Camel’s toe,
And have a hump day.
Does that Fish have a tale?
Are Pigeon’s made of clay?

Add a can of Worms,
Can Buffalo wings fly?
And why would Blackbirds,
Be baked in this pie?

You could be a Cheetah.
Or simply play fair.
Dream of Pink Elephants,
Or have a night Mare.

Treat your Foxy lady,
To Golden Goose for two.
Or sip some Turtle soup,
Out of a Horse’s shoe.

Laugh like a Hyena,
Sing like a Mocking Bird.
To howl like a Wolf,
Might be preferred.

Sharp as a Wildcat’s claw,
Focused as an Eagle’s eye.
A dinner for Lions and Tigers,
And Grizzly Bears, Oh My.

Dine in a Penguin suit,
Or perhaps Shark skin.
Don’t Monkey around,
When you spot the fin.

Animal Crackers for dessert,
Don’t go with this Goat’s stew.
‘Cause if you bite the heads off,
You can’t tell who is who.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Elephants #915

April 19, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

It’s our 18th wedding anniversary, and apparently the appropriate contemporary gift for the occasion is porcelain. This, of course, ties in perfectly with our Limoges Box tradition dating back to the beginning of our relationship 20 years ago. During our recent trip to Thailand, my wife rekindled an interest in elephants and brought home several ceramic and jade souvenir tuskers. However, I was the only one to actually spot a real live pachyderm out the window of our cab. There was also an elephant sanctuary near our resort, but she had no interest in going there. In fact, we joked about one of her former co-workers who suggested that we ride one while we were in the country. Fat chance.

My wife grew up in Rochester, Indiana, just a short drive away from the winter headquarters of several famous circuses, including Ringling Brothers, Hagenbeck-Wallace, Cole Bros. and Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show. In fact, during a circus fire in the 1940’s elephants were running down her home town’s Main street. In addition, monkeys were found on the islands behind her parent’s eventual home on Lake Manitou, nearly a year after the incident. She talks fondly of when the circus came to town and showed me the neighborhood near her mom’s assisted living facility where they would pitch the tents and unload the animals.

To add to our frequent exposure to this fascinatring jungle beast that never forgets, a few weeks ago we went to the movie theater and watched Disney’s latest release of Dumbo. As a result, I decided that her porcelain anniversary gift would be an elephant. I also made arrangements to take her to The Joel Palmer House, an Oregon wine country restaurant for a romantic dinner. Because of its distance from Portland and there would be some drinking involved, I reserved a room at the Atticus Hotel in Historic Downtown McMinnville. When she found out they take dogs, she insisted that we bring our schnauzer pups along. After all, we’ve been away from them a lot over the past month, and we’re getting ready to leave again.

My plan was to give her the elephant and this poem during dinner, but the shipment was delayed, so I picked up some chocolate-covered strawberries (another anniversary tradition from our Las Vegas honeymoon) to at least have something for her to open on our big day:

Forget You Not

Here’s to our love,
And the day we wed.
“Will you marry me again?”
Can’t enough times be said.

This occasion calls,
For a porcelain gift.
A Limoges surprise,
With a hinge to lift.

But it’s not here,
An order delay.
Only this poem,
On our big day.

Our schnauzer pups,
Get to Go.
Joel Palmer,
Will put on a show..

As you well know,
Elephants move slow.
When it gets here,
I’ll let you know.

Your time in Thailand,
Not a Trunk in sight.
But one came home,
On our long flight.

Childhood memories,
Of the circus in town.
You favored the elephant,
Over any old clown.

In a giant barn,
They lived near Peru.
One escaped,
In Rochester, too.

Just like the movies,
A Disney fantasy.
This lovable creature,
Set himself free.

Dumbo’s ears,
Let him soar.
Look out below,
Should I yell “fore?”

Our Atticus weekend,
You won’t regret.
Like the elephant,
I Didn’t Forget.

Wine country celebration,
Love is in the air.
18 years of marriage,
We’re the Perfect Pair.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Ashes and Ivy #908

April 14, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

With my upcoming 50th high school class reunion, I will morn the loss of close classmates Grant and Dennis. My good friend Grant passed away decades ago, but just four years ago I had dinner with Dennis and his wife Sue at Michael’s in my hometown of Elkhart, Indiana. Two months later he died unexpectedly. On July 5, 2016, I took Sue to a Cubs game at Wrigley Field and she surprised me with a small metal film container of Dennis’ ashes. Together, we spread them down the first base line along the brick right field wall. I wrote this poem to honor this occasion while watching the Cub’s game from the stands yesterday. Maybe someday I’ll join him on the field?

“Ashes to ashes,
Dust to Dust.”
To rejoin the Earth,
is final must.

A special spot,
Where memories lie.
Set them free,
When I die.

Beautiful white flakes,
They fall like snow.
And come to rest,
In a place I know.

Where Ernie Banks,
Played the game.
And earned his place,
In the Hall of Fame.

Where home runs fly,
Over ivy covered walls.
And destiny is forged,
By bats, gloves, & balls.

Bricks and Blue,
Is what I choose.
An eternal nap,
Win or lose.

It’s my last wish,
To take the mound.
And be a part,
Of sacred ground.

Grave reminders,
Are not for me.
Make me part,
Of that grassy sea.

When my fate
Is finally sealed.
Just spread my ashes,
On Wrigley Field.

I also ran across a similar request from a Steve Goodman called, “A Dying Cub’s Fan’s Last Request:”

Build a big fire on home plate out of your Louisville Sluggers baseball bats, And toss my coffin in. Let my ashes blow in a beautiful snow, From the prevailing 30 mile an hour southwest wind. When my last remains go flying over the left-field wall, We’ll bid the bleacher bums adieu, And I will come to my final resting place, out on Waveland Avenue.

Steve, I hope you meet Dennis!

Retirement is not without Hassles: Toilet Humor #905

April 12, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

When you’re traveling on an airplane, stuck by the toilet, you write things that are often out of character. This poem will definitely be stored under the category of “in questionable taste.” I suggest that you don’t read it while having breakfast, but it’s something that we all have in common.

Toilet Humor

Bottoms Up!
A toilet humor toast.
I don’t want to brag,
Never want to boast.

But I just gave birth,
To the biggest turd.
It’s a Guinness record,
Have you heard?

When potty time comes,
Some treat it as an art.
And face the disappointment,
When it comes out a fart.

If you give a crap,
About your need to pooh.
You’ll sit upon your throne,
When a dump is due.

It’s a rule of nature,
Regardless of your species.
So after eating supper,
You have to deal with feces.

But no pooh is pretty,
But can feel pretty good.
A pooh can be poetic,
It certainly should.

It’s always a relief,
But can get a bit sticky.
Given a choice,
You can’t be picky.

Some days it’s runny,
On others it’s a pain.
It’s best not to look,
Just flush it down the drain.

Corn adds texture,
It’s not a pretty sight.
It’s mostly a function,
Of your dinner last night.

Nuts can be a problem,
Beets give you a scare.
Don’t forget the spray,
To freshen the air.

There’s the perfect pooh,
That leaves no trace.
Toilet paper’s optional,
If that’s the case.

The least pretty poohs,
Require the entire roll.
You only want to wipe,
With a ten foot pole.

Some pooh is like clockwork,
While others need a push.
Then there’s the unexpected,
And the need to find a bush.

If you’ve ever had the squirts,
You may not have made it.
There’s a mess in your pants,
So go ahead and say it!

Oh Sh*t.

The END..

Retirement is not without Hassles: Home Sweet Home 3 #893

April 1, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

It’s our 20th “Limogesiversary,” as we head home from Phuket, Thailand. On this date, I gifted my wife her first Limoges box and hidden poem, a tradition that has been extended to include many of our special occasions. Her collection now consists of over 314 of these porcelain pieces in the twenty years we’ve been together. It seemed appropriate for this year’s gift to be a Thai temple, so I ordered one on-line and had it shipped to the house for when we arrived.

It took us over 36 hours to get home after numerous delays. As we arrived in San Francisco late for our last leg and missed our connection, there were seemingly no options to get back to Portland because of the massive number of Spring Break travelers. I’ve never seen stand-by lists that long! It was looking likely that we would be spending another night away from “Home Sweet Home.” Instead, we were fortunate to get some seats and be reunited with our pets.

While we were waiting at the airport, I wrote a poem summarizing our adventures in Thailand to accompany the Temple Pagoda Shrine hinged-box. As we posted pictures on Facebook, many of our friends were questioning the pronunciation of Phuket. They jokingly wanted to believe that the resort area was called puck-it (but with an “f”). Instead, it’s pooh-ket and not an offensive expression of “being fed up with, bothered, or uncaring.” However, I guess you could say that while we were there relaxing in paradise we didn’t have a care in the world.

We saw a lot of Buddhas and Shrines in Bangkok, had some great dinners, were teased by a monkey at James Bond Island, reconnected with my cousin, and met some new friends along the way. For my wife, it was definitely a destination to cross off her “bucket list.” I’m just glad to finally get back home for ten days before we head to Chicago and Indiana. After seeing more and more of the world, there’s truly “no place like home.”

Temple Tour

United we fly,
Bangkok destination.
For my working wife,
A ten-day vacation.

Temple Tours,
Dubbed a “ Buddhathon.”
Trying to figure out,
Which Day we’re on.

Vacation Clubs,
Luxurious suites.
Baht conversion,
Crowded streets.

Thanying and Nahm,
Great Thai-kok meals.
Bells to ring,
Bows and kneels.

Palace grounds,
Golden Shrines.
Buddhist monks,
Election Signs.

“Buddha Butt,”
No pictures please.
Embarrassing tips,
Elevator keys.

Taxi Drivers,
We can’t understand.
Thirty-one bucks,
Is worth a grand.

“30 Seconds,
Over Tokyo.”
On the way back,
A stop in Seoul.

There’s no “F,”
In Phuket.
With every run,
Relentless sweat.

Cousin Jim toast,
Under a waterfall.
But had no luck,
Watching basketball.

A favorite spot,
By the pool.
The Andaman Sea,
A turquoise jewel.

Resort dining,
Lights out.
Whiney kids,
Who love to shout.

Soothing massage,
But long delays.
Wonderful weather,
And plenty of rays.

Monkey business,
Inside a cave.
Number Nine,
Your canoe fav.

James Bond Island,
The “Honeymoon Hong.”
On or in the water,
All day long.

Tom and Julie,
Fellow Hoosiers we met.
Dinner with Sinee,
Watching the sun set.

Another Honeymoon,
With my Sweetie Pie.
Time with my love,
In the Land of Thai.

Retirement is not without Hassles: National (Pi)e Day #872

March 11, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Most husbands and wives have pet names for each other. I happen to call my wife “Sweetie Pie,” and wanted to celebrate her day, National Pie Day with this bit of silliness:

Sweetie (Pi)e

It’s a special day,
All about Pie.
National Recognition,
Mathematical Tie.

Third Month,
Fourteenth Day.
Time to honor,
Mrs. J.

Three Point,
One Four.
One Five Nine,
Infinite More.

Pie are Square,
No, they’re round.
Inside the Crust,
Surprises are found.

Hidden away,
Could be meat,
Or its contents,
Might be sweet.

It can be filled,
With Big Blueberries,
Georgia peaches.
Or Lambert Cherries.

For Halloween,
There’s pumpkin spice.
On Thanksgiving Day,
You’ll eat it twice.

When the Pie Man offers,
Sample slices to compare.
As Simple Simon says,
“Let me taste your ware.”

Key Lime in the Summer,
Hot Shepard’s in the Fall.
If there’s no time to make it,
There’s a bakery at the Mall.

Chicken Pot Pie,
Pizza Pie for dinner.
Mom’s Apple Pie,
A Blue Ribbon winner.

Chess is not just,
A board game.
Curds is where,
It gets its name.

Lemon Meringue,
Is fluffy and light.
Cream Pies in comedy,
Often take flight.

You wouldn’t throw,
A Strawberry Pie.
Or scare away pests,
With a Shoofly.

Pork or Peanut Butter?
Buttermilk’s better.
Is that Blackberry?
On your sweater.

A Ray Charles tune,
“Sweet Potato Pie.”
If you like s’mores,
Enjoy a Moon Pie.

But, the favorite dish,
That money can’t buy
Is a slice of YOU,
My Sweetie Pie.

This way it’s not just another day of retirement – it’s Pi Day. Now excuse me, I’m hungry for some pie!

Retirement is not without Hassles: Cliffhanger #870

March 11, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

On the train to Seattle, I also wrote this baseball gem with shades of “Casey at the Bat.” Apparently, I was also thinking of the National Geographic documentary Free Solo about mountain climbers who truly hang from the cliffs, since baseball is not a life or death sport. It’s only a game:

Cliffhanger

The object is simple,
I once said to Cliff.
Hit it where they ain’t,
Pitch where they’ll whiff.

Cliff is my pitcher,
Who’s learning the rules.
I told him I’ve studied,
At the finest baseball schools.

You see it’s a game
That may seem quite boring.
But you’re certain to win,
If you keep them from scoring.

Don’t let them on base,
For any damn reason.
This is the key,
To a great baseball season.

If they can’t get to first,
They can’t make the steal.
Just strike them out,
It’s no big deal.

If they do hit the sphere,
Just be where it lands.
This maintains quiet,
With the fans in the stands.

If it falls to the ground,
Just throw them out.
But if it spins away,
There may be some doubt.

Don’t let that happen,
Keep it away from the bat.
You don’t want that hit,
To be a troublesome stat.

Keep the scoreboard at zero,
And YOU get the hits.
The logic behind this,
Doesn’t take wits.

Outscore your opponent,
And victory is yours.
In case that first score,
Somehow occurs.

Don’t make it complicated,
And make that mistake.
Keep them hitless,
For Heaven’s sake.

Cliff simply nodded,
As if he understood.
Then threw his first pitch,
And it hit wood.

It sailed into the sky,
And over the fence.
And I looked at him,
As if he was dense.

I tried to explain,
Don’t give up any more!
Because now we too,
Will have to score.

He give me a wink,
Then blew it again.
If Cliff keeps this up,
We’ll never win.

So I called for time,
And pulled him aside,
But the very next batter,
Gave it a ride.

Cliff is no genius,
It’s clear to me.
We lost that game,
‘Cause Cliff gave up 3!

Retirement is not without Hassles: Seattle Bound #869

March 10, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Took the Union Station train,
To downtown Seattle.
With a clackity, clack,
And a rattle, rattle.

With the throttle up,
It’s a three hour ride.
The rails are our guide,
And you at my side.

I gaze your way,
Don’t mean to stare.
Another adventure,
For us to share.

The whistle blows,
Another stop.
Side to side sway,
Cloppity…Clop.

The way I stagger,
From car to car.
You’d think I’d come,
From the nearest bar.

Despite the bumps,
I’m rocked to sleep.
And feel relaxed,
No schedule to keep.

It’s quiet on board,
I get a snack.
Could touch that train,
That’s speeding back.

No checkpoint hassles,
No security unpacks.
Never on the wrong side,
Of the tracks.

No traffic jams,
The hours pass quick.
A tunnel of darkness,
Only Clickity…Click.

Everyone has to,
Stop for us.
As we cruise by,
I watch them cuss.

The view flashes by,
While we hold hands.
As time flies by,
Love firmly stands.

Whoosh go the doors,
Tickets please.
Water on the left,
Then a forest of trees.

It’s warm inside,
There’s a mist in the air,
Mount Rainier on the right,
I haven’t a care

Rockin’ & Rollin’
On railroad ties.
The steel highway,
Under Northwest skies.

Last stop King Street,
We’ll Uber from there.
We’ll Amtrak again,
But don’t know where?

All Aboard,
Got-to-Get.
Chug-A-Lug
Then Lickety-Split.