Category: POEMS (Page 20 of 30)

Rhymes of all kinds

Retirement is not without Hassles: If Some How I Could #594

July 9, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

This morning as I ran my usual route through the neighboring streets, the battery died on my radio. Yes, I still use a transistor radio when there are so many other options to listen to music. It seems less complicated, except when the battery fails. However, I was not disappointed, as it left me with different ways to pass the time instead of the five or six songs between chatter that it normally takes to complete my daily run. Without the ear buds, I listened to my footsteps and counted out the 900 steps that it took to complete a half-mile. My slowing stride is now down to less than a yard, so it takes 1800 steps to complete a mile, if my math is correct. When I think about ten years of doing this every day, that’s a lot of steps. (See Post #590 for another poem). Here’s the sequel:

If Some How I Could

Playing mind-games,
When I run.
Hoping somehow,
To keep it fun.

But then the pain,
Gets in the way.
I count the steps,
And plan my day.

Diversion works,
Distraction better.
Sometimes I write,
A poem or letter.

My feet keep moving,
Never fast enough.
Each and Every morning,
The course is rough.

If there was a way?
If somehow I could?
If only I could make,
The strain feel good.

I start to sweat,
I’m half-way there,
My muscles ache,
I’m sucking air.

It’s hot outside,
I see Mount Hood.
I’m all alone,
The rain feels good.

Jumped out of bed,
Slept-in if I could.
The road was calling,
Insane feels good.

I just want to stop,
And rest for awhile.
But I’ve got to run,
Anotherlong mile.

If there was a way?
If somehow I could?
If only I could make,
The pain feel good.

I’m almost done,
I think I’ll make it.
I’m tired and sore,
But much more fit.

I’ve exercised,
As others should.
My body hurts,
But my brain feels good.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Steps #590

July 6, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

When I’m out running every morning, I usually am thinking about steps. Sometimes when I count them it helps to pass the time, but today I was trying to construct this poem. The Police came to mind with these familiar lyrics: “Every move you make, Every bond you break, Every step you take, I’ll be watching you…” I guess we all wonder when that last step will ultimately happen, but it’s the steps leading up to it that define our lives, starting with our very first.

Every step I take every morning is one less that I have to take to complete my 3.1 miles. I had some fun with this poem, including everything step-related from Cinderella to the Three Stooges. I hope you enjoy it:

Steps

Every great distance,
Is nothing but steps.
Made up of thousands,
Of arm and leg reps.

The quicker the steps,
The faster you go.
Just step-it-down,
To gradually slow.

Or Step-it-up,
Pick up the pace.
Whatever it takes,
To win the race.

Some might say,”step softly,”
Go forth only if you dare.
But if you take just baby steps,
They may never get you there.

Step carefully over this,
And please don’t step on me.
Step over this way,
If you agree.

Step up to the plate,
Then step-in to the ball.
You can always step back,
But never quit or stall.

Watch where you’re going,
Don’t step on the cat.
And whatever you do,
Don’t step in that!

Also, they say.
Don’t step on a crack,
That step might break.
Your mother’s back.

“One small step for man,
A Giant leap for mankind.”
Never has a single step,
Been more “top of mind.”

Put some “Spring” in your step,
Try not to trip and “Fall.”
“Summer” steps-in-between,
Then “Winter” comes to call.

Put some pep-in-your-step
Add “get-up” to your gait.
Take a step forward,
Why ever hesitate?

Just put one foot,
In front of the other.
Take some steps,
To serve your brother.

If you somehow think,
You’ve got “The Blues.”
Then take a step,
In another person’s shoes.

But if your next step,
Involves eviction.
Take 12 more steps,
And fight addiction.

You probably don’t remember,
The first step that you tried.
But your biggest supporter,
Was close by your side.

But learning a Dance-step,
Takes even more grace.
Don’t step on your partner,
Or fall on your face.

The Stooges made famous,
Turning slowly they crept.
Inch-by-Inch.”
“Step-by-Step.”

Cinderella overcame,
Her evil Step-Sisters.
Stepping-out in glass slippers,
Can give your feet blisters.

On the “Stairway to Heaven,”
Missteps can really suck.
When you face the StairMaster,
You’re sadly out of luck.

Stay on the Stepping Stones,
Walk a straight path.
For if you slip-up,
You might take a bath.

String your steps together,
For miles of progress.
One stride forward,
Means one step less.

Don’t step in the deep end,
Or try to move too fast.
Look before you step,
Or it could be your last.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Just to be Done #581

June 28, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

After a tough morning run in Omaha, feeling the effects of high temperatures and humidity, I put down the words to a poem once I finally got back to our hotel room. My bright orange Oregon State t-shirt was soaked, and my times slow, but I followed the Missouri River up to the Riverboat and looped back towards downtown. It was day 3469 and I continue to be ranked #203 on the runeveryday.com website that explains the details of participation. I have nearly ten years invested in this streak, and regard it one of my great accomplishments in life, regardless of how long it eventually lasts. I consider myself lucky every day I get it done.

Just to be done

I know it will be,
A glorious day.
Once this run,
Is out of the way.

The run comes first,
As I hop out of bed.
It’s the first indication,
That I’m not dead.

Breathing hard,
And covered in sweat.
How much worse,
Can it get?

The finish line,
Seems far away.
But just how far?
Is hard to say.

Just keep going,
Ignore the pain.
Feel those muscles,
Start to strain.

Left foot forward,
And then the right.
Just keep moving,
Prove your might.

Pump those arms,
Climb those hills.
Where’s your form?
Show some Skills.

Your legs feel heavy,
Your lungs may burn.
And it magnifies,
With every churn.

Engage your mind,
Think pleasantries.
Try telling that,
To your knees.

Whoever said,
That this is fun?
It sure feels good,
Just to be done.

Retirement is not without Hassles: It’s a Wrap #568

June 18, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

We wrapped-up our 1,100 mile drive through the Midwest, with a Cubs victory over the Cardinals and a flight out of St. Louis. This included an unexpected stop at the Route 66 museum in Litchfield, Illinois. With my 66th year of life coming to a conclusion in a few short months, this famous road has been an unplanned lure during our travels throughout the country. (See Post #235). Next month, I will get a picture at Lake Shore Dr. and Jackson Street in Chicago where the highway originally started. A Cubs game will also be part of that trip.

Speaking of baseball, Litchfield turns out to be the home town of Chicago White Sox Hall of Fame catcher Ray Schalk, who preceded Sherm Lollar by 25-years behind the plate at Comiskey Park. Both were known for their defense, but Sherm never made it to Cooperstown (yet). Ray made his debut with the Sox on August 11, 1912 and played in the 1919 World Series loss that became known as the “Black Sox Scandal.” He also coached the Chicago Cubs in 1930 & 1931, and served as a scout for the team in 1944, and spent the last 18 years of his career as the baseball coach for the Purdue Boilermakers.

The drive to and from St. Louis passed through Indianapolis, Rochester, Kokomo, and Decatur, Illinois. We stayed two nights with my wife’s sister, one night in a Quality Inn, and 5 nights in a variety of Marriott properties, using a bank of points I received for joining the Marriott Vacation Club. My wife claims that I love my Marriott points more than her, so I wrote this poem to recap our adventure:

Marriott Tour

A week together,

Back Home Again.

It ends with the Cubs,

Who pulled off a win.

Their “Arch rival,”

Didn’t play well.

All that Cardinal red,

Randy and Noelle.

Started and ended,

With nights at The Grand.

Would have rather,

Had our toes in the sand.

Mom business,

Had us on the run.

Errands and Appointments,

Were not much fun.

But there were moments,

Like meeting Cole.

And dinner with friends,

Your fav Dover Sole.

Blasts from the past,

More plans for travel.

Cemetery moments,

Emotions unravel.

A run on the Nickel Plate,

And through the canals.

Food and beer,

With my old pals.

Two Dyer nights,

Plenty of wine.

Murphy’s for steak,

Family time.

Ribs on the grill,

And at the Roadhouse.

Dietary support,

From your Spouse.

Some bad Chinese,

Near the Courtyard Kokomo.

Plus a ton of silver,

In our luggage to stow.

A few surprises,

Along the way.

“Would you give up your pay,

For a view of the Bay?”

Covington Beef House,

The one-hour tower.

Animal Shelter,

Boob-friendly shower.

A room atop Indy,

Then the fall to Fairfield.

The smell of Decatur,

Great friendship its yield.

Dinner at R-Bar,

With Ray as our host.

Just one of many a,

Shared Facebook post.

Kit’s retirement poem,

Talk of Rubberware.

Ninety-three degrees,

Humidity in the air.

Robbies for a nightcap,

Will we ever return again?

And If we do come back,

We’ll book the Residence Inn.

Museum in Litchfield.

Route 66 detour.

In my 66th year,

This road is a lure.

Father’s Day finish,

San Diego’s on our route?

With this Marriott Tour,

The points have run out.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Happy Birthday, Baby #567

June 18, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

It’s my wife’s birthday today, and one of my favorite holiday songs is “Merry Christmas, Baby.” The song was originally recorded in 1947 by Johnny Moore’s Three Blazers, featuring the singer and pianist Charles Brown, but my favorite version is by B.B. King. While we already did some major shopping a month ago on the Big Island, I also bought her a Limoges box to honor the day. She’s now Social Security eligible, with a goal of joining me in retirement a few years from now. Two years ago we went to Bora-Bora to celebrate, hoping to make up for a disastrous 50th that put me in the emergency room with a kidney stone. Tahiti was the #1 travel destination on her travel list and where we unexpectedly spent the first night of that memorable trip. When she’s retirement age, we plan to do a world cruise, and will celebrate her birthday as part of that voyage.

Her birthday and Christmas are two favorite days each year, and Limoges box giving is part of both traditions. They come from the porcelain factories in Limoges, France, another memorable trip that we took 15-years ago. Birthday Bear, an American Greetings cardboard toy, will also be part of the celebration that will involve a casual dinner with her daughter & me tonight and a gourmet extravaganza for just the two of us at Nomad.PDX tomorrow evening.

We acknowledge the anniversary of her birthday every month, and the day itself often lingers on for weeks. I know that when it’s time to give our pups their monthly dose of Trifexus medication, it’s appropriate to acknowledge her fractional-birthday. She recently won a “Super Woman” award at work, and was honored with a custom bobble-head. She also drives a classic 2005 Lexus convertible that she will probably keep forever, hopefully like me. Pearls have taken priority over bling, but she’s never disappointed with anything shiny. I give you this background so you’ll better understand this poem done in the spirit of “Merry Christmas, Baby:”

Happy Birthday, Baby

On the mantle,

Sits birthday bear.

Your birthday suit,

Is ready to wear.

We celebrate monthly,

My babe in her Lexus.

With a calendar reminder,

It’ s time for Trifexus.

Social Security,

Knocks at your door.

A few more years,

Of work in-store.

There’s so much more,

A world to Explore.

With the Super Woman,

That I’ll always adore.

The pearly girl,

Longs for an encore.

Daddy’s “Needer Bug,”

Always craves more.

She’s my Gemini,

Twice as nice.

More to love,

Double spice.

The main gift given,

Months before.

While shopping in,

A Big Island store.

Some Angel cream,

A sapphire ring.

Only the song,

Left to sing?

A gourmet dinner,

Is yet to come.

The PDX Nomad chef,

Fills your Tum with Yum!

Could there yet be,

Another thrill?

The Limoges display,

Has holes to fill.

So one more gift,

To make you gay.

A porcelain bag,

Happy Birth Day.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Hometown Fever #563

June 14, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 1 Comment

I had some drinks some former work friends the other evening. They are all still working while I lead a life of leisure. Each of them is approaching that age of making decisions for retirement, but sometimes fate leads you down a different path. I was struck that one of them, after living in much bigger cities, wants to return to his small town roots. Does he have hometown fever? With all due respect, I would never want to go back to my hometown, and thoughts of an upcoming 50th high school reunion only reinforce that notion. Everything has changed since I left, so it’s not really home any more. I hope the best for my friend as he opens a business back home, and wrote this poem in honor of the difficult life choices that all of us make.

Hometown Fever

You Can’t Go Back!
Some might say.
The road of life,
Goes just one way.

Home, others scoff,
Is where you hang your hat.
Some find that comfort,
Wherever they’re at.

Once you leave home,
Leaving nothing on the rack.
You best think twice,
Before you go and pack.

She’s your shelter,
Where you’re well known.
Your port in a storm.
Where you’re not alone.

People there know you,
And may beg you to stay.
But you can’t wait.
To get on your way.

Before you remove,
That safety net.
And run as far away,
As you can get.

Will you someday catch,
Hometown fever?
Wishing you had never,
Taken steps to leave her.

Not everyone,
Flees the nest.
For some of us,
Home is best.

Homesickness is,
A lesson to learn.
From those who leave,
And try to return.

Had you stayed,
With hat on head.
A different life,
You would have led.

Or had you gone,
And said goodbye?
At least you could say,
“I gave it a try.”

Is coming back,
The answer then?
Or will you always wonder,
How it might have been?

Retirement is not without Hassles: Bob & Tom #562

June 13, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Another day in Indianapolis with friends and relatives, as part of our summer Midwest tour. On this morning’s run, following the same route where I prepped for my running streak over 9-years ago, I reminisced about its inception over a dinner with my wife’s newest hire. She and her husband, who was also a runner, familiarized me with the website runeveryday.com and challenged me to give it a try. I planned on starting this new quest on the first of the year when we got back to Austin and the holidays were over. Instead, I started two-days early, counting to the current total of 3,454 days on December 29th. As I ran in a light, Indiana snowfall that morning, I was listening to the same radio station that caught my ear this morning. They were my competitor for advertising dollars when I first worked in Indy, but eventually grew to be my favorite – WFBQ Q-95. The station features the raunchy humor of the Bob & Tom Show that was created in Indianapolis and slowly evolved into a nationally syndicated program. I heard a silly joke this morning that made me laugh, and turned it into an even sillier poem to make you blush:

WARNING SEXUALLY EXPLICIT:

Two morticians,
With a body on the table.
Is this story true,
Or a frivolous fable?

The toe tag reads,
“Stephen L. Smythe.”
They pull off the sheet,
And can’t believe the size.

“Is that what I think?
I’ve never seen another.”
It’s so big and thick,
Unlike any other.

“Ripley won’t believe it,
Get me the knife.
We’ll put it on display,
But first I’ll show my wife.”

He took home the jar,
And here’s what she said,
“Oh My God…,
Steve Smythe is dead!”

Creature Features: Poop #547

June 1, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 1 Comment

I have a twisted mind, so toilet humor is right up my alley. When you take the dogs out five times a day and go through roll after roll of “doggy bags,” you have to chuckle. Our schnauzer Tinker is “the poopingest dog on the planet,” with absolutely no modesty filter. On the other hand, our younger schnauzer Tally will only hide in the bushes or the ground cover to do her business. I like to laugh at a good poop joke, so movies and TV shows like American Pie, South Park, and Beavis & Butthead appeal to my juvenile tastes. I wrote this shi**y ditty to reflect my silly mood today, and will file it under “poems of questionable bad taste:”

Poop

Poop is a “dirty,”
Four-letter word.
But not as offensive,
As calling it “a turd.”

Privacy is crucial,
We’re a proud species.
We’re modest beings,
And ashamed of feces.

If we’re under stress,
The anus shrinks.
And we can’t help it,
If it stinks.

Was that last crack,
The butt of the joke?
What would we do,
If the toilet’s broke?

Holy Crap!
Now Pass the TP.
And when you wipe,
Charmin is the key.

Was Caddyshack,
Funny or uncouth?
Was that a floater,
Or a Baby Ruth?

If you experience,
Unexpected defecation.
There’s no such thing
As a good explanation.

Please be thoughtful,
Post-excrement.
Remember to give it.
A Fabreze treatment.

We are early-schooled,
That it’s not very cool.
To loudly belch & fart,
Or talk about your stool.

Keep it in your pants,
Don’t stick out your tongue.
Never cuss and swear,
And stay away from dung.

Like Road apples,
Or cow pies.
Mucking stalls,
And Pig styes.

Honey Bucket,
While on the go.
Fertilizer,
Helps things grow.

Bird droppings,
Manure pit.
Compost pile,
Makes good sh*t.

It’s bound to happen,
Since you’re a consumer.
But there’s nothing funny,
About toilet humor.

Sometimes we call it,
“Number Two.”
From where that derives?
No one has a clue.

Clean up after pets,
Don’t leave it “behind.”
It’s stinky, smelly stuff,
Someone’s shoe will find.

A surprise ending,
As you go to scoop.
Pups can leave a brick,
Or sometimes soup.

What goes in,
Most comes out.
That’s what bowels,
Are all about.

With sudden urge,
Find a filling-station.
Do your business,
And hope for ventilation.

When it comes out,
Keep it hush.
Don’t say a word,
Just Flush.

Squirts or runs?
“Montezuma’s Revenge?”
Don’t make a mess,
Depends are your friends.

Or if constipation,
Makes you unfit,
Try a laxative,
And Give a sh*t.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Happy Wife Poem #544

May 30, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

A few days ago, I wrote a post emphasizing the importance of keeping your wife happy. (See Post #540). This is particularly important if she is part of your retirement plan, as is my case. It doesn’t seem right that she is still working and I am not, but I’m five years older and benefit eligible, while she still seems to enjoy her career. We would both like more time together, especially when it comes to travel, but we also need to accumulate more retirement funds. Until that time, my daily challenge is to keep her from feeling any resentment against my freedom. I don’t want to be caught sleeping in later than she does or making more work for her around the house through my laziness. I want to be a supportive, helpful, loving companion for the rest of our lives. But first, I’ve got to get through these first five years of being selfishly retired, needing badly to improve on my domestic skills.

Most of the time when I write my silly brand of poetry, it comes together quickly. Other times, it rattles around in my brain for a few days before I’m satisfied that I’ve chosen the right words. You might also check-out “I’m Sorry, You’re Right, I’m Wrong” for an additional take on this subject.

Happy Wife, Happy Life

If you have
A Happy Wife.
Then you’ll lead,
A Happy Life.

Don’t upset her,
Try not to rile.
But instead,
Make her smile.

But most of all,
Don’t treat her crappy.
It will always,
Make her unhappy

Let time together,
Pass by untroubled.
Or simple problems,
Will soon be doubled

Being disrespectful,
Will get an ear-full.
It’s very beneficial,
To keep her cheerful.

Show she’s equal,
Once you marry.
Give all your love,
Make her merry.

Don’t you ever,
Make her sad.
Do everything,
To make her glad

Once you say, “I do,”
To your new bride.
Project great pride,
When she’s at your side.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Billions #538

May 23, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

I’ve been watching the Showtime series, Billions, on a recommendation from a fellow retiree friend. The wealthiest couple is in their home safe right now, with piles of cash and bars & coins of gold just laying around. They are prepared to leave the country should a Federal investigation against them escalate. They have a bigger homes, a larger safe, more luxurious cars, a spacious library, a helicopter, private planes, yachts, and a lot more problems that we do. At least, that’s the way it’s portrayed on TV.

We have the Marriott Vacation Club and Marriott Rewards points, should we need a second residence, a few Alaska Airlines rewards to get there, Hertz if we need a larger or more luxurious car, credits on Viking Cruise Lines as I get the urge to sail, and a Washington County library card for when I need to be surrounded by books. I really don’t have anything valuable enough for a safe, but I could certainly rent a safety deposit box should the need arise. There are billions of ways around not having billions. I also probably sleep better than a billionaire, even through the thread count on my bed sheets might not stack up. Everything is equal once we fall asleep, and this is exactly why a billionaire can’t sleep for long. And what do the wealthy dream about? Being less wealthy or even poor? I at least have the luxury of dreaming that I might win the lottery.

Is being rich a privilege or a curse? Would I want to stay up later or get up earlier to have more time to spend my money? I do know that I would be constantly paranoid that someone would try to steal it and that my friendships were based solely on my bank accounts or connections. No matter how much wealth each of us have, there is a degree of concern about losing what we have. I will never lose billions because I will never have them to lose. Financially, all I have to lose is my freedom to be retired, and I’m confident that having all the money in the world would not change my homebody ways. I would just have a bigger retreat with a larger office to write my words, watch my TV, and play with my zillion dollar dogs. (See Post #440).

Ranks of Wealth

Having great wealth,
Is a burden to bear.
Would I really care?
If I was a millionaire.

I’d try to be humble,
But people would stare.
What would I wear?
If I was a billionaire.

I’d sit on a throne,
Instead of a chair.
Trumpets would blare.
If I was a bajillionaire

The dirt would fly,
It wouldn’t be fair.
Trapped in a snare.
If I was a bazillionaire.

“Filthy Rich” they’d say,
Oh, the bling I could wear.
But I’d need to share,
If I was a trillionaire.

Does money mean smart?
As they start to compare.
I’d have a special air,
If I was a gazillionaire.