Category: POEMS (Page 21 of 30)

Rhymes of all kinds

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.

Retirement is not without Hassles: New York for Two #531

May 17, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 1 Comment

Back from NYC with this poetic recap of our five days:

New York for Two

6 a.m. arrival
With red eyes.
Lobby couch,
A compromise.

Nap in room,
Junior’s bite.
Cheesecake taste,
Plus Black & White.

Mean Girls show,
My “Cool Mom” spouse.
Meet Barry & Carol,
At The Strip House.

The Band’s Visit,
Lulled me to sleep.
No need that night,
To count sheep.

A next day Bistro,
Brought us back together.
Greeted by our usual dose,
Of damp, rainy weather.

Barry charmed,
The French snob.
A final Au Revoir,
To see SpongeBob.

M&M store,
Platinum Elite.
Drinks with a view,
But wet feet.

You saw stars,
I ate steak.
Then your sweet tooth,
Was stating to ache.

Magnolia Bakery,
For a late night fix.
Not much luck,
With Half-Price Tix.

St. Pat bagpipes,
Central Park art.
Slice of Ray’s,
Hot dog cart.

Bolognese for two,
Martinis for me.
Dear Evan Hansen,
Last to see.

We’ll be back,
There’s more to do.
You love New York,
And I Love You.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Beached #524

May 11, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

When I got to the beach pool the other morning and took my shirt off to expose my pasty, white skin to the sun for the first time in months, I felt very exposed and self-conscious. Regardless of how good of shape you’re in, your semi-naked body feels twice as big and your swimsuit twice as small. Maybe this is what everyone was thinking?:

What’s that thing?
Out in the sand.
That’s not a fin,
It’s got a hand.

It’s too large,
To be just bait.
I hope that chair,
Can hold it’s weight.

It’s not moving,
It’s turning red.
I just pray,
It isn’t dead.

Even though,
It’s got no tail.
It looks to me,
Like a pale whale.

Though as big as one,
Something’s not right.
It’s not Moby Dick,
His skin is too white.

Think the tide,
Brought it in?
It also has hair,
And a double-chin.

It should be buried,
Before it starts to stink.
No wait, I think,
I saw it blink.

Not a pretty sight,
Hard to ignore.
It’s rolling over,
And starting to snore.

Endangered species?
Let’s all hope so.
Physically unfit,
And in a Speedo.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Like Poetry #515

May 3, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

As it turns out for me, retirement life is like poetry. Here’s what a typical day-cycle looks like:

Log
Fog
Sog
Tog
Dog
Jog
Egg
Cogs
Blog
Dog
Hog
Dog
Hog
Dog
Grog
Dog
Hog
Xox
Log

If you need an explanation, the day begins and ends with sleep. For me, about 7 hours every night, a few more when my wife sleeps in on weekends. “Log” is short with “sawing logs,” an annoying habit of mine, controlled only with a Breathe Rite strip. It’s unfortunate that we don’t hear ourselves snore. because then we wouldn’t do it. When I do awaken each morning I’m in a “Fog” and it takes some effort to get going. The steps include to “Tog” which means get dressed (perhaps derived from the word Toga), “Jog” for three sweaty miles, brushing my pearly white “Cogs,” and a soapy “Sog” under a hot shower.

You may notice that the word “Dog” appears five times in this routine, each time I take them out to do their business every day. The word “Egg” at first does not seem to fit, but not all poetry has to rhyme. However, it is three letters ending in a “g” so it seemed appropriate in my cycle, since I complete the daily puzzle “7 Little Words” religiously each and every day.

Food wise, I do enjoy an “Egg” each morning as a light breakfast before I “Blog.” I also eat or “Hog” down some food several times throughout the day. Perhaps I should savor my food more! “Grog” translates to a beer or two, multiple small goblets of wine, or a few XXX martinis during my daily retirement happy hour. “Hog” also extends into “ham time,” the traditional bedtime snack for the dogs before we all start to “Log,” and share some “Xox” or goodnight kisses.

All of this poetry repeats like clockwork the next day and the day after that until time away from home eventually breaks-up the daily poetic cycle.

Have a Poetic Day!

Retirement is not without Hassles: Happy Anniversary #502

April 20, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Sunshine, sandy beaches, and blue skies. We’re no longer in Portland, Toto! “They said California is the place we aught to be… to celebrate our Seventeenth Anniversary”…plus 7,061 days of being together. I arrived at our Le Merigot J.W. Marriott on Hotel on the Santa Monica beachfront, while my wife was finishing up some business calls. I did the unpacking and ordered our first tray of traditional chocolate covered strawberries. We were married at 12:30 p.m. in the East Chapel at the Bellagio Hotel in Las Vegas in 2001, while attending industry meetings of the National Association of Broadcasters (NAB). It was far from our dream of a destination wedding, but circumstances called for compromise.

The ceremony was beautiful and we were the only couple in attendance, but a jackpot on the way to our vows nearly derailed these plans. It was long before the time when winnings were digitally added and the sound of quarters rattling in the metal collection tray was simulated. We had to patiently wait for each quarter to fall, with the time we set aside to get dressed for the ceremony rapidly ticking away. Suddenly, the flow of coins stopped and a red light at the top of the machine started to flash. The attendants were not responding quickly enough to the alarms calling for them to refill the machine so that the remainder of the jackpot could be paid. It took seemingly forever to finally get our money, and we rushed back to our room to get ready, barely “getting to the church on time.”

My wife was pleasantly surprised at how classy our ceremony turned out to be, especially after watching a video years prior of my first wife and I being remarried by a fake Elvis comedian. A photographer then took photos of the two of us in the beautiful Bellagio rose gardens and conservatory. The night before our wedding planner had arranged for a limo to take us to the courthouse to get our marriage licence. We dined at Delmonico’s in the Venetian, where a cake was presented with a Limoges bride and groom topper. I pulled out a silver serving knife from my tux pocket to finish off the presentation. Finally, we enjoyed a Bellagio Honeymoon Suite where we called friends and family to spread the news of our union.

The next day we had to move all of our flowers and luggage to a standard room and a couple of nights later to the less impressive Rio, more in-line with the company convention budget. Before we knew it, the glow of being newly weds was behind us and we were suddenly back at work. Each night after the wedding seemed like a giant step down to reality that culminated with a tearful parting. One night a mutual boss took us to Michael’s at the Barbary Coast for an elaborate celebratory dinner, and I stole one of their pink embroidered napkins as a souvenir (it had my name on it!) After four days together, she caught a plane back to Indianapolis, and I started attending business meetings, so there was no time for a fantasy Vegas Honeymoon – in fact, there really wasn’t one at all. We justify this decision by reminding others that the honeymoon never ends if you don’t have one.

We’re still on that honeymoon here in Santa Monica and celebrating tonight with a romantic, sunset dinner at The Lobster, on Route 66 overlooking the Pier. It seemed an appropriate spot for the sunset, more chocolate covered strawberries, and a martini or two. We’ve already exchanged gifts so I will simply read this poem as a toast to seventeen years:

Sweet Seventeen

We’ve now been married,
For seventeen years.
And still in love,
Despite any fears.

We fondly dreamed,
Of a beach ceremony.
A romantic location.
For vows of matrimony.

It became complicated,
To include our kids.
So our best laid plans,
Hit the skids.

Vegas could work,
Meetings to attend.
An exotic place?
We could pretend.

A slot machine,
Nearly got in the way.
But it was truly,
A special day.

We said “I Do,”
At half past noon.
With little time together,
For a Vegas Honeymoon.

The East Chapel ours,
At the Bellagio.
The Rose Garden,
Took on our glow.

The fountains danced,
As I kissed my bride.
The night before,
Was our limo ride.

Delmonico dinner,
A cake to cut.
Strawberries dipped,
In milk chocolate.

The NAB Convention,
A manager perk.
A Honeymoon suite,
Then back to work.

We celebrate our love,
Happy Anniversary, dear.
On Route Sixty Six,
Lobster near the Pier.

Santa Monica Boulevard,
We’ll have some fun.
Enjoy the pool,
And get some sun.

Reminisce about,
How it all began.
Steal a kiss,
Whenever I can.

Spend some time,
With the woman I adore.
Snuggle in the sunset,
On the Pacific Shore.

Hundreds of poems,
Yet the words I can’t find.
To express how often,
You’re on my mind.

A greater love,
I can’t envision.
To marry you,
My best decision.

Jewels for you,
From gorgeous Santorini.
A toast to our love,
With this triple-x martini.

4/20
Day 7061

Retirement is not without Hassles: Belle of the Boat #480

March 31, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Here is my poetic recap of our Viking Cruise, in honor of my wife, the Belle of the Boat. We started in wintry Amsterdam with no incentive to get off the warm tour bus, so we circled until our Anne Frank tour. There were ticket problems at the airport, but we did finally make it to Venice, also with less desirable weather. High winds prevented us from visiting Slovenia and Ancient Greece, but we did get to see Corfu, Santorini and The Parthenon, three bucket list destinations. We also made arrangements to cruise the Nile in 2020. It was a great adventure, but it’s good to be home.

Belle of the Boat

Great direct flight,
We flew all night.
Greeted in Amsterdam,
With flakes of white

Hop On, Not Off,
No Red Lights.
St. Paddy’s Day,
Heineken Sights.

Anne Frank tour
Renaissance base.
Diary stories,
Hidden bookcase.

Then off to Venice,
With ticket snafu.
We paid again,
What else could we do?

My Bella Botticelli.
In a priceless frame.
Angels on your body,
Cupid take aim.

From the Hilton,
To Harry’s Bar.
Water Taxis,
There are no cars.

Grand Canal bridges,
But Soggy Gondoliers.
Pizza in the Piazza,
Gran Teatro Chandeliers.

Life vest drill,
Chef’s Table.
Panoramic views,
On a steel cable.

Belle of the boat,
Queen of the Nile.
Although that title,
Won’t come for awhile.

Walled cities,
Built at great heights,
Snow capped mountains,
Starry Starry Nights.

I feel as if I’ve been,
Dropped at Castleton Mall.
Souvenir shopping,
In an old Castle Hall.

Another church?
Croatian Charm.
What are we doing?
At a pig farm.

Mediterranean Mama,
My Corfu cutie.
Traveling with you,
Now my life’s duty.

Perched above volcanos,
White cave homes.
Santorini villages,
Blue church domes.

Weeble walkers,
Sunny deck.
Five-course dinners,
With no check.

Two ports short,
But Limoncello.
Too much Vicks,
On your sick fellow.

Sleepless nights,
Another cold, rainy day.
The Viking Band,
And fABBA four play.

My brown-eyed Athena,
Goddess of Love.
With special approval,
From Greek Gods above.

Parthenon Princess,
Winged Victory.
Forever together,
Like the Greek Key.

Love and Beauty,
My Aphrodite.
A superwoman,
With Powers mighty.

Gifts and Sacrifices,
To prove adoration.
Since I’m now retired,
And you’re on vacation

Grecian jewels,
For you, my dear.
Fourteen days,
To have you near.

Crystal clear Oyster,
Glass pearl.
Marble Columns,
Ancient Murals.

Stateroom cuddlin’
As the ship is rockin’
Lost two more hours,
So Don’t come knockin’

Traffic jams,
Athens is a Metropolis.
Modern Olympic venues,
Ruins of the Acropolis.

It went by too fast,
But more yet to come.
My Belle of the Boat,
From your lovable bum.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Retirement Requirement #463

March 17, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

In the last line of my previous post, I rhymed the words retirement and requirement. It led to this poem.

Retirement Requirement

When you start,
Thinking retirement.
Seeing the World,
Is a requirement.

Work now behind,
It’s time to play.
You’ve saved up,
For this very day.

Get in the car,
Or travel by train.
Drive the backroads,
From Utah to Maine.

Try Route 66,
Or Highway 101.
“Spend” your retirement,
Having some fun.

Maybe a cruise?
Or the National Parks.
A day on the beach?
Watch out for sharks.

But don’t stay home,
And watch TV.
There’s so much,
For you to see.

Visit a friend,
Or meet someone new.
You’ve reached the top,
Now enjoy the view.

Find a fresh challenge,
Complete your bucket list.
All those years working,
Think of what you’ve missed.

Set up a lunch date,
Learn a new game.
If you don’t explore,
It’s such a shame.

Fly in an airplane,
Go far away.
Don’t let yourself,
Get in your way.

Raid the Piggy Bank,
It’s that rainy day.
Can’t take it with you,
Blue skies not gray.

Show some love,
Share your wealth.
Do what you can,
To stay in good health.

Volunteer your time,
And your expertise.
Live like it’s your last,
And then die in peace.