Category: POEMS (Page 15 of 30)

Rhymes of all kinds

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.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Bucket Battle #867

March 7, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

When you have a bucket list, you also need a bucket of money to go with it. To get to the places you want to go it takes both time and money. Retirement guarantees that you have a lot of time on your hands, but that bucket of money often develops leaks. On the other hand, your bucket list tends to grow as you begin to explore new places, so you might need a bigger bucket to hold your dreams. Life in its simplest form is nothing more than a “Bucket Battle.”

Those of us from Indiana know the true significance of “The Bucket.” More specifically, the Old Oaken Bucket. It’s the prize the winning team receives when Indiana University and Purdue University play football every fall. The coveted traveling trophy was first awarded in 1925. The actual bucket was found on the Bruner family farm between Kent and Hanover in southern Indiana. An “I” or “P” is attached to its chain each year in honor of the victor. However, the inaugural battle ended in a tie, so an “I-P” link was added. My mom had a miniature replica of this trophy that she passed along to me.

The Old Oaken Bucket
By: Samuel Woodworth (1784–1842)

HOW dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view!
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wildwood,
And every loved spot which my infancy knew;
The wide-spreading pond and the mill which stood by it,
The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell;
The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it,
And e’en the rude bucket which hung in the well,—
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well.

That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure;
For often, at noon, when returned from the field,
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,
The purest and sweetest that nature can yield.
How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing!
And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell;
Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing,
And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well;—
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket, arose from the well.

How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it,
As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips!
Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it,
Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips.
And now, far removed from the loved situation,
The tear of regret will intrusively swell,
As fancy reverts to my father’s plantation,
And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well;
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket which hangs in the well.

As the poem describes, the bucket was how we once retrieved life-giving fresh water, as opposed to just turning on the tap. The “green mossy” references do not exactly sound appetizing. It was also made into a song that only Hoosiers like myself would recognize. The poem was written 8 years before the Old Oaken Bucket became a football trophy and long before making a “bucket list” was considered to be a positive exercise.

“Kicking the bucket” was once a common phrase in reference to death. The “bucket list” therefore originally meant a list of things to do before dying. There was a popular 2007 movie starring Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson called “The Bucket List” that perhaps inspired each of us to make one. However, to fulfill your list, you need to be constantly filling a real bucket with cash in the form of an IRA. The real life “battle,” as opposed to just a game, is how many buckets do you need to fill before you retire, and how do you keep them from leaking?

Retirement is not without Hassles: Wedding Plans #858

March 2, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

It’s my wife’s weekend but just another day of retirement for me. We’ll start out her Saturday with the dogs and exercise with them on our “Schnauzerthon.” Tinker, our oldest schnauzer, just turned 15 and is limping badly. Her 105-year old little legs deserve a carriage ride. This is why we bought the Air Buggy that we push her in while sister Tally scampers ahead. The “Schnauzerthon” combines my morning run with a long walk for my wife. We take turns pushing the stroller and trying to contain Tally on her leash. It takes about an hour and is part of my working wife’s weekend routine. There are Marathons and Triathlons, but every great endurance athlete should try a “Schnauzerthon.”

My wife is taking her oldest daughter shopping later this afternoon for a wedding dress. She and I are also going to a birthday party luncheon for a 70-year old friend – at least he won’t be keeping us up late. Both of these life events were once hard to imagine – 70 year old friends and married children. We must be growing old. I’m only a little over my two years from my 70th “blowout.” Weddings are about as positive as it gets any more, since at this age it’s mostly funerals.

The birthday event today was at McMenamin’s Edgefield, a venue that we had always wanted to check out. It’s the historic site of a former “Poor Farm,” as well as a vineyard, golf course, spa, and popular summer concert hot spot. I read a custom poem as part of the traditional “old man” birthday roast that highlighted the drawn-out ceremonies. It made fun of the proper pronunciation of the birthday boy’s name – silent “k” and “i before e.” As a fellow Cubs fan, I buy some of my baseball cards from him, so it’s not been a long-standing relationship. I got a few scattered laughs for my efforts:

KNEIS not Niece

Seventy-year old friends,
Are rare for me.
I like to hang around
With younger folks, see?

Parties are for kids,
Not those turning gray.
But now that I’m here.
Happy Birthday anyway.

Turn up your hearing aids,
And lean on your canes.
Enjoy some cake
Forget about your pains.

You went over the hill,
Twenty years ago.
Social Security is now,
Your main source of dough

This makes you desperate,
To sell us KNEIS cards.
To protect our life savings,
Needing more than shin-guards.

Ernie couldn’t make it,
Or any top draft picks.
Sherm would be here,
But he died at fifty-six.

Bryzzo was busy,
Joe Maddux sends regrets.
Wrigley Field Management,
Warns of optimistic bets.

Nice-ler or Niece-ler?
It’s pronounced how?
As long as you’re buying,
Either version you’ll allow.

This has been an issue,
All of your KNEIS life.
Then you shared this problem,
With your daughters and wife.

For the “Mr. Cub” title,
You’re next in line.
They’ll win it again,
In year 2109.

Crib to Classroom,
Office to Booth.
Your career has focused,
On educating our youth.

You’re a kid again,
Every baseball season.
Being close to the game,
Gives all if us “reason.”

Buying and selling,
Making a trade.
Just like in teaching,
Comes down to a grade.

You get us together,
To share what we love.
We bring our leather wallet,
Instead of a glove.

Thanks for the invite,
And not keeping us up late.
Now take out your dentures,
And Step up to your Plate.

His last name is memorable because it is pronounced the same as one of my college fraternity brothers, who eventually stole and married my girl friend. He probably did both her and me a favor, so I held only a short grudge. It was great to get out of the house on a beautiful, sunny afternoon and see some of the Portland area peaks that have been recently hidden by rain clouds. From a couple wearing bath robes to those holding golf clubs, we got the full perspective of the property. My wife will spend the rest of the day with her daughter talking wedding plans. I’m glad they’re getting together because it keeps me from going to a local production of the musical Jesus Christ Superstar. I’m free to join a friend for fried chicken and beer tonight. Cheers to both the bride and my birthday buddy!

Retirement is not without Hassles: Defend, Secure, Protect #853

February 26, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Don’t roll the dice and keep yourself safe. It’s all about Protection! This is what I was trying to emphasize in yesterday’s post about “Grampons” (See Post #852). My thoughts inspired yet another silly poem:

Defend, Secure, Protect

Cameras and Lights,
Then set the alarm.
Protect your family,
From any harm.

Fasten your Seat Belt,
Air bags a must.
And always ride,
With someone you trust.

Bumpers on cars,
For passenger protection.
And car seats for kids,
Need regular inspection.

Latch your windows,
And close your drapes.
Take no prisoners,
No one escapes.

Locks and deadbolts,
Keep your doors Secure.
Hire a Body Guard,
If you’re not sure.

Or you might invest,
In a bulletproof vest,
If you’re worried about,
A bullet in the chest.

Elbow and knee pads,
Prevent burns and scrapes.
Defend the Castle,
Put on those Capes.

Wear a cup,
If baseball’s your sport.
Or a “jock strap,”
If the game’s on the court.

And always be sure,
To give it support.
Regardless of whether,
It’s long or short.

Keep it from getting,
A girl in trouble.
Wrap it in,
A plastic bubble.

Safety is about,
Maintaining protection.
It can also keep you,
From spreading infection.

And if you decide to wear,
A kilt and be a Kelt.
Don’t forget to put on,
Your Chastity Belt.

Umps wear a chest protector,
The same should go for HER.
When bumps in the road,
Cause them to stir.

Goal keepers don masks,
But if one’s at your door.
Unless it’s Halloween,
Their knock please ignore.

Mouth and shin-guards,
Cover those assets.
Get a Junk Yard dog.
And keep snakes as pets.

Don’t Roll the dice,
Or make foolish bets.
You can always dig a moat,
To discourage any threats.

Life Guards at the beach,
Police proud to serve.
For gaining Peace of Mind,
That we all so deserve.

Rubber Gloves,
Steel Toe Shoes.
Just hope you don’t,
Blow a safety fuse.

Baton down the hatches
Wear protective glasses.
There’s always new things,
To cover our asses.

These are some of the ways,
To keep us safe and sound.
And shields and cushions,
Yet to be found.

Knight’s wore armor,
Now there’s Armor-All.
Forget that notion,
Of building The Wall.

My bones are brittle,
And I worry about a fall.
I don’t wear a helmet,
Like they do in football.

So when it’s icy,
I strap on crampons.
But at my old age,
I call them “Grampons.”

Old Sport Shorts: Basketball Nightmare #848

February 21, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

I was raised a Hoosier basketball fan and had little choice in the matter. Both of my parents went to I.U., met there and got married. While they were in school, I.U. won their first National Championship. The year I was born they won it again, so it was all I.U. merchandise for Christmas. There are many photos of my in I.U. gear at an early age. I tried to break the family mold by going to Albion College, but soon transferred to Bloomington and the main Indiana University campus.

I eat, sleep, and drink I.U. basketball. It can make or ruin any day. I’ve watched them in person win two National Championships and lose in one Final Four. I followed them on TV for another National Championship banner and just when I thought they were invincible in the final game I found out they weren’t. Through the years, I’ve invested a lot of my time and sweat equity into the program. I’ve also sat in the stands twice in Maui to watch them play, so I can say I’ve stalked them to the corners of the earth.

The last 20 years have been tough. The teams have been hard to watch and success has waned. Coaches have come and gone in conjunction with embarrassment, cruelty, and cheating. I often have to leave the room if they are playing on TV, although a simple victory still lifts my spirits. Unfortunately, there have been too many losses.

There was a surge of hope with Coach Archie Miller and the recruitment of Indiana Mr. Basketball Romeo Langford. Everything looked promising on paper, but in reality the team chemistry is as bad as I’ve ever seen. They simply can’t shoot and scoring output in the 40’s have been norm of late. They somehow beat Michigan State in East Lansing (See Post #829) to end a losing skid, but then quickly started another one. Poor fundamentals and inexcusably inaccurate free-throw shooting have added to their consistent inability to hit big shots in the BIG Conference. The were blown out by in-state rival Purdue in West Lafayette, but had a chance to beat them in Bloomington. Predictably, they missed the last shot. To curb my growing frustrations, I wrote this “humorous” poem, rather than scream.

Nightmare On Hoosier Street

It’s a basketball nightmare,
We can’t hit a shot.
Not a single player,
Can find their sweet spot.

It looks so easy,
When other teams play.
But we can’t seem to click,
On any given day.

We miss underneath,
And can’t hit a three.
We don’t make a bucket,
Even if it’s “Free.”

There’s a lid on our rim,
And a hole in my heart.
For a win at the buzzer,
Bring back Keith Smart.

Do the players need glasses?
Or more practice time?
To lose at I.U.’s,
An unforgivable crime.

When you wear the stripes,
Of Crimson and Cream.
March Madness,
Should be more than a dream.

You’ve played all your life,
Hours in the gym.
It’s the same old ten feet,
From the floor to the rim.

Please wake me up,
Tell me it’s not real.
To play for the Hoosiers,
Should be a big deal.

My wife tries to tell me,
It’s only a game.
But when you can’t score,
It’s more than a shame.

Where’s the fundamentals?
Hold on to the ball.
Why don’t our attempts,
Ever seem to fall?

It’s not a peach basket,
But nothing goes through.
Percentages show,
We’re long overdue.

It’s called a net,
And not in a knot.
It makes a “swoosh,”
When you hit the shot.

Instead it’s a “clang,”
Or an “Air Ball.”
That just shouldn’t happen,
At Assembly Hall.

It can’t be the coach,
When you’re 00h for ten.
Then somehow you manage,
To miss once again.

I try to wake up,
But my team is cursed.
To make it even worse,
Purdue is tied for first.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Valentine’s Day #841

February 14, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

I expressed some of my less than positive sentiments about Valentine’s Day last year (See Post #429), so there’s no need to further elaborate. I do like the fact that the day is all about silly love poems, and I enjoy writing poetry.

Fortunately, I get two attempts to get Valentine’s Day right, starting with the 20th anniversary of our first “date.” We celebrated last week and I presented her with a traditional Limoges Box gift, including a poem. She did not like the fox character that I selected, insisting that I had already bought her one a few years ago. No problem… I sent it back and got a prompt replacement just in time for Valentine’s Day.

I hope tonight goes better. As a precaution, I had her select a few options prior to placing my order. She chose the Texas capitol building, a pair of raccoons, and a martini glass. I thought the most “romantic” option was the raccoon Limoges, rekindling some childhood memories of her unusual pets.

My wife grew up around Lake Manitou, and was always surrounded by dogs, cats, and even raccoons as precious pets. I’ve often said that if I get a second chance to come back to this world, I would want it to be as one of her pets since she treats them so well. I wrote this silly poem to accompany the make-good raccoon Limoges, as my second attempt to make Valentine’s Day special this year.

Raccoon Love

“Take back the FOX,
And don’t buy more.
I have one already,
It’s raccoons I adore.”

A porcelain make-good,
For Valentine’s Day.
This pair can now play,
While the fox is away.

Childhood memories,
Of Lake Manitou.
Of all the raccoons,
You once got to know.

To go with your Zebra,
It’s Rochester Raccoon.
Unlike cousin Rocky,
There’s no Beatles tune.

The baby is Bandit,
What better name?
I understand yours,
Were really quite tame.

Some raccoons are famous,
Rocket’s a movie star.
A Guardian like Chris,
From a Galaxy afar.

Roni was the mascot,
Of the Winter Games.
Ranger Rick of the comics,
Are other raccoon names.

You don’t want to hear,
Some call them “Coons.”
And wear a fur cap,
Like Daniel Boone’s.

With sharp little claws,
And tiny little hands.
Clearly distinctive with,
Black and brown bands.

Curious creatures,
With eyes that glow.
And they can be sneaky,
As you well know.

These were your pets,
As you were growing up.
To feed, train, and love,
Just like any pup.

Retirement is not without Hassles: 50 Degrees of Gray #840

February 13, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Today it wasn’t the time, the dogs, cat, or the alarm that got me out of bed but rather the temperature. I purposely stayed in bed until the outside thermometer function on my Iwatch finally read over 50 degrees. It doesn’t seem like much in the way of warmth, but after dealing with ice and snow for the past few weeks, the dry Arizona weather is a vast improvement. I arrived in Phoenix yesterday, greeted with blue skies, sunshine, and 70 degrees. My wife had flown in a few days earlier for business meetings. We reunited at the Marriott Canyon Villas, our first experience with the Marriott Vacation Club. The only problem is I’m stuck here with nothing but Diet Pepsi.

It will be cloudy for my run this morning but I won’t have to worry about slipping on ice or getting soaked. I was stuck on the boring treadmill for three straight days, preserving my ten-year-plus consecutive day running streak. Tomorrow will mark day 3,700. It may be a bit gray outside here in the desert but at least it’s not raining, as I wait for my wife to get ready. She will walk while I run in loops to avoid getting too far ahead. Once I reach 3.1 miles (5k), I will then walk back to the room with her. For a pleasant change of pace, we did not wake up to dogs begging to go with us.

“50 Degrees of Gray” is a heat wave compared to the Portland slop that we live in this time of year. I have to keep reminding myself that the constant rain and occasional light snow enables everyone to enjoy the spectacular, lush, green summer months ahead. Don’t worry they’ll be here soon. In the meantime, we escape when we can to a sunnier spot. However, with only one of us retired, we’re limited on our time away from home, unlike the “snowbirds” here at the resort who stay for three months or longer. Yesterday, poolside activities included a tequila tasting. They taught us this toast: “arriba (glasses up), abajo (glasses down), al centro (glasses to the front) y adeeentrooo (just gulp it down)!”

Tonight we will dine at Roy’s, one of our restaurant favorites for misoyaki butterfish and famous chocolate souffle. Tomorrow night our Valentine’s dinner will be at Ocean Prime, another “healthy” dose of gourmet calories. This afternoon we’ll walk to a nearby In-N-Out Burger for lunch (they also have Diet Coke – rejoice). Dining out is one of the main reasons for “The Streak.” As I often like to say, “run like a maniac, eat like a pig, then run again.”

Retirement is not without Hassles: Happy Hunting #836

February 10, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

I put on my chauffeur’s cap this morning, as I awoke from a deep fog. My poor working wife had gotten up at 4 a.m. on a Sunday morning to catch an early flight. I had planned on sleeping in and taking the dogs out in the morning sunlight for a change. It’s been cold here in Portland, with some snow flurries and icy roads. My wife’s boss thought it would be a good idea to arrive early for their budget meetings in Phoenix and get ahead of more anticipated snow. She was probably right in being diligent about their responsibilities. Unfortunately, there were no Uber drivers to take my wife to the airport this morning and I got the nod.

It’s no big deal since I’m retired and therefore do not distinguish Sunday from any other day of the week. They’re all the same in my world. I’ll fly out in to join her in the warmer climate once her meetings have concluded. In the meantime, I’ll save us a few bucks in pet sitting fees and enjoy life as a homebody. I’ve got an I.U. basketball game to watch in a few hours and I hope it doesn’t lead to late morning drinking. It’s been that kind of season, but at least with the West Coast early start, it will be out of the way for the day. I had honestly not planned to leave the house until my flight, but instead I got an early startle, dogs out, airport visit, daily run, and some writing in by 8 a.m. I’ll even have some time to do some “hunting” for Banister relatives on the Ancestry.com site. In all, that’s more than most people do all day…even the U.S. Army,as they like to boast!

I’ll probably need a nap after the game, but basketball adrenaline will boost me until that time comes. It’s been a tough week of bad decisions on my part that have only added to my wife’s work stress. Even an attempt to humor her with a Limoges box and poem went wrong. It was supposed to be a celebration for the 20th anniversary of our first “date,” when we typically observe Valentine’s Day. At least that way I get two chances to make it right, so there’s still time for a make good.

I have several themes that I follow when I gift my wife a Limoges Box. It’s been another of our 20-year traditions and I have bought hundreds for her collection. There are holiday boxes, those that are travel-related, romantic, and whimsical categories that I look for. I typically purchase them on-line from reputable sources since it’s rare to see them in the stores any more. For those of you that are unfamiliar with Limoges, they are French, hand-painted, porcelain boxes that are hinged to sometimes reveal a surprise inside. I put a poem inside each one that I give her and once proposed with a hidden diamond ring. In that particular case, the design included a rabbit with a carrot (or karat). (See Post #146). They also each feature a distinctive clasp as part of the hinged lid. The FOX BOX had a gold HEN where it opened and hens were painted on the inside. I enjoy “hunting” for the right one to fit the occasion, but I’ve also made a few mistakes.

I was probably trying to be too clever in selecting a FOX themed box. However, she used to enjoy collecting peacocks when she worked for the NBC affiliate. A Limoges box, on the other hand, is a bit too pricey for our $50 limit on this type of whimsical collecting. When she left NBC, she gave them all away, except for the Peacock Limoges. She now works for FOX, but the budget meetings, especially the early arrival, had her in a bad mood. As a result, she did not think the Fox Limoges was funny, plus apparently I had already given her a “Hunting FOX.” This is one of the predictable casualties of too much in a collection, despite the fact that I keep a list. The search function failed me, as I failed her. I sent it back for a replacement, but here’s the poem.

Fox and Hen

It used to be peacocks,
But those days have passed.
It’s amazing how many,
Of those we’ve amassed.

Now the channel has changed,
And it’s time to start anew.
The FOX transition,
Is two years overdue.

With the Valentine display,
Full of porcelain hearts.
The collection of foxes,
Now officially starts.

This box an exception,
To the less than $50 rule.
But the HEN on the clasp,
Makes this one cool.

The FOX & Hound,
Was an early rendezvous.
Back when I was quickly,
Falling in love with you.

Your love of Broadway,
As I learned to know.
“Light in the Piazza,”
Our first FOX show.

The Fabulous FOX,
For Spamalot, too.
Like the Jersey Boys,
“Can’t take my eyes off you.”

You have A FOX coat,
But fur it’s not.
Unlike those that I,
Paid Bill Wallace a lot.

You’re my FOXY Lady,
I’ve always thought,
A vixen of beauty,
That I finally caught.

Maybe you’ll see me,
As your “Fantastic Mr. FOX?”
While our love story continues,
Through another Limoges Box.

FOXES mate for life,
Let’s hope that’s true.
Now twenty for us.
With many more due.

That night at Eddy’s,
Opportunity Knocks. ‘
In a FOXY “Tan-T,
Red Sweats, & White Socks.’

We met through our work,
And it led to play.
You’ll join me in retirement,
And we’ll cruise away.

Throughout your career,
It’s been your tradition.
I know you’ll continue,
To OUTFOX the competition

Happy Valentine’s Day,
To the love of my life.
You’re a proud mother HEN,
And my FOXY LOXY wife.

The are references to several famous FOXES in this work of silly rhyme, including The Fox and Hound – a now shutterd Indy restaurant, St. Louis’ Fabulous Fox Theater, Chicken Little’s Foxy Loxy, and the George Clooney movie, The Fabulous Mr. Fox. There is also a reference to a poem that I wrote for her after that first “date” 20 years ago, and her love of Broadway shows. Ironically, I had also bought advance tickets on Fandango for a movie last night at the Regal Fox Theater that I forgot to include in the poem. As it turns out, the weather was bad so we couldn’t drive downtown to the movie. Just as I thought that I had made another foolish purchase, Fandango kindly issued me a credit. As we discussed, it did not make sense to spend $50 on an Uber ride for a $20 movie (Senior Citizen discount). I might not have been able to even hire an Uber, considering their lack of availability this morning.

With a new Limoges box on the way, a new poem to write, and the real Valentine’s Day yet to celebrate in Phoenix, I still have a chance to make this right. Let’s just hope that the budget meetings go well. At least she’s there in plenty of time, while I’m trying to be as constructive as possible in her absence.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Nobody #824

January 29, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

There was a car dealer in Indianapolis, Indiana that did his own commercials. “Nobody will sell you a new Buick for less than Bob Catterson Buick….No-o-o-body” He’s listed as one of 15 local celebrities that only a real Hoosier would know. Several of them were heavy television advertisers with a sales gimmick like “No-o-o-body.”

Every once in awhile when I’m experiencing a bit of writer’s block, I like to go back through some of the poetry written years ago. It could very well be that I’ve already posted it, so forgive any redundancy. This one’s from ten years ago, and for some reason I might have been feeling a bit overlooked and unappreciated in life. Or maybe it was from hearing “No-o-o-body” too many times?

Nobody

I am Nobody,
Just humble old me.
So if Nobody’ s Perfect,
Then I can’t be.

Yes, I am Nobody,
And Nobody loves me.
So I must love myself,
It’s plain to see.

I am Nobody,
Only Nobody cares.
I’m very giving,
Because Nobody shares.

I am Nobody,
But Nobody knows.
Can Anybody guess,
Where Nobody goes?

A knock on the door,
Only I am there.
So there’s Nobody home,
If Anyone should care.

Is Somebody out there?
Anybody but me.
Because I’m Nobody,
Or would you disagree.

Someday you’ll know me,
I’ll be Somebody.
I could be Anybody,
But today I’m Nobody.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Blisters and Pimples #818

January 24, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

I’m not really sure why I wrote today’s silly poem? With my sedate retirement life, it’s not as if I’ve been chopping wood, raking leaves, or performing any other activity that might lead to blisters. I also haven’t had one in years as the result of even running or walking. Blisters can be seen as badges of honor after a tough workout or hours of hard manual labor. I don’t even have any rough callouses on my hands to prove that I’m a hard worker. I do, however, remember some nasty, painful blisters from years long past.

As far as pimples, this is more of a teenage problem, but we as adults occasionally have to deal with this unexpected visitor. The older you get, the less likely the occurrence, but you’re never really free from these embarrassing skin irritants. They also usually “pop-up” at the worst possible times, perhaps stress related. As a retiree, I’m not faced with much stress anymore. However, I still can’t just leave a pimple alone – I have to constantly touch it and this simply prolongs its annoying presence.

Blisters, pimples, cold sores, and boils are some of life’s cruel tricks. You can in many cases prevent friction-related blisters by wearing gloves and extra protection, but you simply can’t avoid the rest of these skin anomalies. Blistering can also be the result of extreme temperature, chemical exposure, crushing/pinching, and medical conditions. Fever blisters, dermatitis, pemphigus, chickenpox, herpes, impetigo, and eczema are not as easily avoided. However, given an option of two of the less serious varieties of a blister or a pimple, which evil would you choose?

Lesser Of Two Evils

I’m just a blister,
And not here for long,
It just goes to prove,
You did something wrong.

I popped up unexpectedly,
And ruined your day.
Something you did,
Rubbed the wrong way.

It’s a bit sore,
Soon I will go away.
With everything you do,
I will get in your way.

A Band-Aid can cover me,
But the pain is still there.
You could have avoided me,
So next time beware.

I’m just a pimple,
And not here for long,
Wherever you go,
You’ll take me along.

I’m big and I glow,
I’ve ruined your day.
You can’t explain why,
And I won’t go away,

You didn’t pick me,
So don’t start now.
I’ll just get bigger,
As space will allow.

Make-up won’t help,
Only time makes me heal.
A zit on your nose,
Doesn’t have much appeal.

Blister or Pimple,
I’m an unwelcome guest.
I come for a visit,
Under protest.

Either way, I’m annoying,
But if you had a say.
You’d take a blister,
Any old day.