Category: POEMS (Page 14 of 30)

Rhymes of all kinds

Retirement is not without Hassles: Hawaiian Time #928

May 2, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

I would have to say that the Hawaiian Islands have been poetically inspiring these past few days. There was plenty of time on the five-hour plane ride to write. We were also up early this morning with the three-hour time difference from Portland. Dinner last night was at 7:30 but really 10:30 for us. Most importantly sports scores have gone my way with the Cubs, White Sox, and Trailblazers all recording victories. As I wrote to my dad years ago, “Hawaii is a magical place where {insert favorite teams} always win.” (See Post #49). I hope this continues for the next 7 days that we are on Maui.

It’s a bit cloudy today, so burning these pail shoulders shouldn’t be a problem. I’ve started reading Into the Wild, a book by Jon Krakauer. I actually stole it from our anniversary hotel room in tiny McMinnville, Oregon last week. The Big Apple, New York City is next week. Both cities are mentioned in the silly poem that follows. Yesterday’s poem (See Post #927) was a bit personal and heavy, so I felt that that today’s effort should be lighter. My wife and I were walking along the beach path this morning and we saw a partially clothed statue of Buddha, reminiscent of our recent trip to Thailand. (See Post #884). She couldn’t help but laugh about “Buddha Butt.” I know it’s sacrilegious and disrespectful but that’s what sick humor is often all about:

Buddha Butt

Thailand islands,
Maui sun.
The Big Apple,
Among all we’ve done.

McMinnville magic,
Wrigley vines.
Phoenix to Tucson,
Temples and shrines.

O’ Canada yet,
San Francisco next.
Each new adventure,
A bucket quest.

It’s been a good year,
Of traveling around.
And next fall,
We’re Egypt bound.

We’ve been to the top,
And even underground.
We’ve searched the world,
And here’s what we’ve found:

From naked David,
To tomb of Tut.
Nothing’s sexier,
Than Buddha Butt.

Diary of an Adoptee: The Girls Who Went Away – Part Two #927

May 2, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Mother’s Day in in a few days and yesterday I did a voluntary “book report” on Ann Fessler’s The Girls Who Went Away. (See Post #926) One of those girls, who was not part of the book, was my birth mother. She was sent from her hometown of Shelbyville, Indiana to Indianapolis and the Suemma Coleman Home for Unwed Mothers in 1951 to give birth to me. As I tried to imagine her experience, it inspired this poetic tribute to her:

The Girl Who Went Away

When you went away,
There was no choice.
They likely decided,
You had no voice.

Alone and afraid,
No one understood.
Now labeled “bad,”
Once always “good.”

How could this,
Happen to you?
Being pregnant,
Just can’t be true.

If you were married,
It would be a blessing.
But you were shunned,
For finally confessing.

They were quick with,
Blames and shames.
They probably even,
Called you names.

They’d raised you “right,”
Where did you go “wrong?”
And under their roof,
You didn’t belong.

It was your “mistake,”
Or so they said.
Maybe you wished,
That you were dead?

So in secrecy,
They loaded the car.
And whisked you off,
To someplace far.

“We’ll bring you back,
When this is done.
Once you’ve had,
Your daughter or son.”

You’re left with strangers,
Their “problem” gone.
You cried and cried,
Before the dawn.

Your life had changed,
You were on your own.
But this wasn’t caused,
By you alone.

Where was he?
Maybe didn’t know?
Or disappeared,
As you started to show?

Society dictates,
As reality sinks in.
“You can’t raise,
This baby in ‘sin.’”

Your self esteem,
Begins to suffer.
And giving up a child,
Gets even tougher.

“It’s my baby,”
You want to say.
“But adoption is
The acceptable way.”

“Don’t be selfish,
You can’t provide.”
You’re not even given,
A chance to decide.

You do as told,
For the child’s “good.”
What you can’t give,
Someone “better” could.

“Don’t get attached!”
Then birth day came.
And you couldn’t resist,
Giving me a name.

They might have let,
You hold me some.
But sad goodbyes were,
Soon to come.

Then you leave,
With an empty heart.
And left with promises,
Of a “fresh” new start.

You start to wonder,
If I’m all right?
But they’d taken away,
Your will to fight.

Tho’ seamlessly loved,
By someone new.
Then many years later,
I’m reminded of you.

Papers are signed,
You try to move on.
But the glow of youth,
Is suddenly gone.

“You’ll forget,
As time goes by.”
But that turns out,
Another lie.

There’s this hole,
That you never fill.
And “what ifs?”
Can make you ill.

I now understand,
As they drove you that day.
You’d given me life,
But they took yours away.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Honeymoon #924

April 29, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Typically in retirement, you’ve paid off the house, gotten the kids through college, and have any wedding expenses behind you. With both of my wife’s daughters getting married this year, there seems to be good reason that my wife is still working. They are both in their late thirties, so we’ve certainly had plenty of time to prepare. However, digging into the 401k is a given.

The girls all went wedding dress shopping yesterday, so I had time to work on another poem. I once again went through the archive of unfinished work, and in honor of the occasions found some thoughts on honeymoons. My personal philosophy is that if you don’t take a honeymoon, you don’t give romance a chance to come to an end. Instead, the whole marriage experience should be an eternal honeymoon. Here’s a few rhyming words on the subject:

Honeymoon

Where are you going?
They ask when you wed.
The Honeymoon question.
What trip is ahead?

Hawaii or Europe?
Or maybe Niagara Falls?
Perhaps some other,
Exotic place calls?

A couple weeks,
Spent In Paradise.
After they shower you,
With best wishes and rice.

You can’t get any happier,
After taking this vow.
So you don’t need a trip,
To bolster your WOW.

Let the honeymoon start,
When you say, “I do.”
Start your new life,
Living as just two.

The Honeymoon’s never over,
If you just stay home.
Instead of wasting money,
On a pricey trip to Rome.

Besides you’ll be in bed,
Until well past noon.
And anxious for more,
Anytime soon.

Those first weeks together,
Forget about the sights.
Turn down the covers,
And turn out the lights

Make a practical transition,
Into domestic life.
As you first settle in,
As husband and wife.

The glow of nirvana,
Often quickly fades.
Without room service,
And helpful maids.

Returning to reality,
You’ll then realize.
That spending all that cash,
Maybe wasn’t so wise.

The very best solution,
Could very well be.
Don’t take a honeymoon,
Many would agree.

Your commitment is forever,
While a honeymoon is short.
Choose time at home together,
Over a fancy resort.

In Your new life together,
You should never depend.
On starting with a vacation,
That will quickly end.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Get Up And Go #921

April 27, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Here’s another poem that I started years ago and finally finished. I’m not sure where it was originally headed, but in the end it has a twist.

Get Up And Go

My get up and go
Has got up and went.
All that I saved up,
Has quickly been spent.

The “Tiger in my Tank,”
Is little but a kitty.
I should be going strong,
Instead I’m feeling pity.

There’s no giddy-up,
In my step.
And my stride,
Lacks any pep.

My drive,
Has been driven.
I’m deflated,
That’s a given.

Tired and pale,
Is my complexion.
When I stare,
At my reflection.

I’m slow and sluggish,
As if I’ve been drugged.
There’s no spark,
Like I’ve been unplugged.

Give me strength,
To carry on.
All my instincts,
Are Dead and gone.

I will need,
Some inspiration.
So I’m leaving,
On a tropical vacation.

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..