Category: POEMS (Page 19 of 30)

Rhymes of all kinds

Retirement is not without Hassles: Noises in the Night #649

September 1, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Although I like to keep most of my poems family-friendly, I occasionally my style drifts-off into a dark place, especially as I talk about uncomfortable subjects around toilet humor. My poor wife must have had a miserable night of sleep last night: fortunately it wasn’t a work night. I had eaten a couple of bowls of chili the night before and went to the track yesterday for beer and polish sausage. Also, we went to Outback for dinner where I had baby-back ribs and two martinis – extra dirty, extra dry, extra olives. I must have an iron stomach, but apparently the gas was unbearable, even though I slept fine. Every once in a while, I’ll find my wife on the couch in the morning, and I know I’m in trouble. In this case, there was some initial snoring, but the gas was the biggest reason she evacuated the bedroom.

I have a category of poetry called “In Questionable Bad Taste.” I would definitely put this apology to my wife in that section of my catalog of poems, although I doubt that she will be impressed or proud of my work:

Noises in the Night

When your bedroom,
Becomes a barnyard.
Getting any rest,
Has to be hard.

You moved to the couch,
While I kept on dreaming.
I’d hate to know what,
You might have been scheming?

When I go to sleep,
Noises must come out.
I might as well,
Just lay there and shout.

It keeps you awake,
While I’m out cold.
I know that it must,
Be getting quite old.

They’re often unpleasant,
And come out both ends.
Sexy and considerate,
Isn’t the message it sends.

It can’t be me,
I’m too damn sweet.
I’m sorry just in case,
And hope never to repeat

What comes out,
Once went in.
That guy in your bed,
Must be my evil twin.

I need to eat flowers,
And drink perfume.
Chili and beer,
Are the problem I fear.

Snores like boars,
And the gas I pass.
May soon get me kicked,
Out of bed on my ass.

Creature Features: Tummy Attack #648

September 1, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

My wife came into our bedroom this morning and our dog Tally was on her back on top of our bed, begging for attention. She suggested that I write something about it, implying that perhaps I spend too much time focused on our other dog Tinker, “The Poopingest Pup on the Planet.” Although both schnauzers are adopted, Tally has only been around half as long, so there will come a time when she’ll be all I’ll have to write these Creature Features about. Most days, Tally lays around the house like I don’t exist, just waiting for my wife to come home from work. When she hears the garage door go up in the evening, she springs into action. She loves the weekends and starts to get excited when my wife doesn’t get dressed for work, and she knows it’s time for a long walk; what we now call “Schnauzerthons” since princess Tinker has a carriage to ride in and I often push it while running.

One of Tally’s endearing habits, that is very much like a cat, is asking for her tummy to be rubbed. She now calls her “Tummy Attack Tally,” and this is my poetic tribute to her:

Tummy Attack

For undivided attention,
She gives you a poke.
You can start,
With a gentle stroke.

Her ears perk up,
Her tail begins to wag.
There’s the subtle rattle,
Of her dog tag.

She growls to be noticed,
And starts to stretch.
She definitely not asking,
For something to fetch

She lays on the floor,
Her paws in the air.
Her stomach exposed.
As if to dare.

A puppy moan,
Her eyes open a crack.
She’s asking for,
Your hands to attack.

“Scratch me right there,”
She’d say if she could.
“A little bit lower,”
“That feels good.”

Rub it in circles,
Tickle my fur.
Some playful roughness,
She’ll gladly endure.

“Itch my soft belly,”
“My tongue can’t reach there.”
“You don’t know what it’s like,”
“To be covered in hair.”

It’s an invitation,
Not an invasion.
It doesn’t even need,
A special occasion.

Her eyes filled with need,
She’s posed on her back.
Tally just loves,
A Tummy attack.

Creature Features: The Mooch #646

August 30, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

I recently saw a You Tube video of a little dog that would stare longingly at its owner any time he went to put food in his mouth. The dog was there every time he went to the refrigerator or sat down at the table to eat. It reminded me of our Schnauzer/Poodle mix with bat-like ears, Tinker. She is always hungry and follows me wherever I go during the day, looking for scraps. Her dog bowl is always empty, and then she moves on to Tally’s food. I have not found anything that she won’t eat, and because she stalks me whenever I try to eat something, I’ve resorted to calling her “The Mooch.” She’s already earned the reputation as “The Poopingest Pup on the Planet,” and being a mooch is the reason why. Here’s another poetic tribute to our dog whose bottomless stomach is really nothing more than a doggy bag.

The Mooch

Out of nowhere,
She appears.
At first you think,
“She’s all ears.”

She hears you unwrap,
And open food.
She’s a starving dog,
With an attitude.

Quickly at your side
Every time you cook.
Those needy eyes,
Convey “the look.”

Open the fridge,
And here she comes.
You’ve seen less greed,
From hungry bums.

A piece of meat,
Falls off your lap.
She doesn’t miss
A single scrap.

With every bite,
As I recall.
Around the corner,
Her hairy eyeball.

No need to look,
As you eat.
Chances are,
She’s at your feet.

Her persistence,
Will never stop,
Just waiting for,
A crumb to drop.

A land shark,
Without a dorsal.
Just anticipating,
The next morsel.

You sense her presence.
With each mouthful.
Then see her staring,
At an empty Bowl.

She licks her lips,
As you go to dine.
You know she’s thinking,
“That should be mine.”

The tongue comes out,
The tail starts to wag.
When we come home,
With a paper bag.

Yes we love,
Our furry pooch.
But as we munch,
She’s a Mooch.

What happens later,
There’s little doubt.
‘Cause what goes in,
Must come out.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Texas Suits Me #644

August 30, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

It’s been over four years now since we moved from Austin to Portland. Keep (insert city name) Weird! The cities have similar liberal politics, food trucks, and great restaurants, but the weather is vastly different. I’m beginning to see the days grow shorter here in Oregon, as sunlight no longer greets my 6 a.m wake-up call. In a few months, a seemingly endless drizzle will begin with only spotty sun breaks. Next week, we head back to Austin for a wedding, where I’ll get an opportunity to see a few old friends.

I had a tough start in Austin after abruptly losing my leadership role back in Illinois. My wife took a sales management position with our former company and moved us to Texas. I had a fairly generous severance package, so I wasn’t in a big hurry to find a new career path, and spent some time writing by the pool at our temporary apartment complex. I had a few wounds to lick and the Lonestar State sunshine helped the healing process. It was only after I became a popular poolside fixture that my wife encouraged me to find a job…any job. It was a big step down, but I found work selling men’s suits in a town that preferred not to wear them. This is where I met my two best friends in Austin, who we’ll be meeting for a reunion dinner in seven days.

One of these friends will be joining me in retirement in the next six months, while the youngest of our trio now owns a men’s clothing store of his own. He was the only one of us that was really serious about the clothing business. The name of his business is “Where Men Shop,” the same as the fictional store we were writing a humorous Broadway musical about in our down-time together waiting for that next customer or “up.” If you’ve ever worked in the retail business, it’s a thankless job of being on your feet all day and trying to maintain a smile when nearly everyone you deal with is impossible. You simply bite your tongue so you don’t say these words:

Just Get Out

Just Get OUT!
We stand all day,
We’re in retail sales,
When our feet hurt,
Our patience fails.

Service is key,
We aim to please.
Not to mention,
Commission fees.

We wait all day,
For you to arrive.
You always show up,
When we close in five.