Category: POEMS (Page 24 of 30)

I often tell my story of “The Hand,” as part of my brief experience as a Boy Scout.  (See Post #150).  Over the past month or so, I’ve been encouraged to retell this story many times, as people seem to enjoy it.  Keep in mind, I was about 10 years old when this actually happened, and I really don’t know or remember the people involved or the actual outcome.  It was the end of my Scouting experience, and I honestly don’t know if it was ever reported as an accident or even investigated.  I decided to write a couple of poems about the story, hoping to preserve its circumstances for years to come.

The Hand

Scouts gather round,

It’s the tale of “The Hand.”

It is a scary story,

As you’ll soon understand.

.

This Campfire tale,

Now much in demand.

As an old Indian warrior,

Lost his right hand.

.

All you little kids,

It hides in the dark.

Can strike at any minute,

In this very park.

.

It might grab your neck,

As you sit by the fire.

It’s out for revenge,

Your throat its desire.

.

You can hide in your tent,

Poised with Boy Scout knife.

Beware of “The Hand,”

It could take your life.

.

You can see the fear,

In the younger Scouts.

Is “The Hand” for real?

I’m sure there were doubts.

.

It’s quiet in the woods,

But no one can sleep.

No one really knows where,

“The Hand” might creep?

.

Flashlights shining brightly,

All huddled in one tent.

Impressionable kids,

A moment to resent.

,

An older scout,

But not very bright.

Sticks his hand underneath,

In the middle of the night.

,

There’s stab after stab,

And a scream in the night.

The ambulance is called,

His hand a bloody sight

.

What have you done?

Our scout leader cries.

We’re all in shock,

What if he dies?

.

The Scout Motto,

Is “Be Prepared.”

What else could we do?

We were scared.

.

We pack up the camp,

The Troop disbands.

For all I know that woods,

May now have two hands.

.

Did I earn a First Aid badge?

Or learn to camp out?

No, I never had a chance,

To be an Eagle Scout.

.

Copyright 2017  johnstonwrites.com

See my next post (#289) for the sequel called “Eagle Scout.”

It’s game day and I’m pleased with the way the ball bounced today.  I wrote this little poem to celebrate the game ball:

Some balls have laces,

Others sport stitches.

Both used in games,

With catches and pitches.

 .

Footballs are oblong,

Made with pigskin.

Basketballs round,

A Three for the win!

 .

Some balls have dimples,

Get it in the hole.

Others need a free kick,

To set-up a goal.

 .

There’s Field Goals, hoops,

Points and runs to score.

End Zone dances,

Slam dunks and more.

 .

Buckets and birdies.

Scrums and end runs.

Shut-outs, sudden deaths,

Even bleacher bums.

 .

Follow the ball,

No matter what size.

The one that wins,

Gets the big prize.

 .

Throw strikes,

Make blocks.

Double-plays,

Hard knocks.

.

Assists and risks,

Throw a no-hitter.

Steals and pick-offs,

Make teams bitter.

 .

Curves and fast balls,

Swinging a racket.

Don’t try to bunt,

Just whack-it.

.

Pine tar and stick-em,

Mallets and bats.

Bases and first downs,

Box scores and stats.

.

Picks and off-sides,

Is that a cricket stick?  

Maybe a Grand Slam,

Or a Hat-Trick.  

.

Hikes and Home Runs,

Triples and Doubles.  

Teamwork and Practice,

Celebration bubbles.  

.

It’s up and it’s good,  

A Hole-in-one.  

Going…Going…Gone,  

Wasn’t playing fun?

. 

Give me the ball,  

I can win this.  

I’ve got the hot hand,

I just can’t miss!  

.

Of all the game balls,

Passed, thrown, or pitched.  

I clearly prefer,  

The one that is stitched.  

.

Copyright 2017 johnstonwrites.com

My wife and I have a favorite phrase that we share when we’re apart:  “Angels on your body.”  She’ll be back from a business trip to D.C. this evening, so I miss her.  I’m sure, however, that she misses the dogs more than me.  It will be a bark fest when she walks though the door tonight.  Here’s a poem i wrote a few years back that gives meaning to “Angels on your body:”

Angels on Your Body

When you aren’t with me,
You’re always on my mind.
Just how much I miss you,
Words are hard to find.
.
We’re better when together,
With you at my side.
But when we’re apart,
Let an angel be your guide.
.
A kiss goodbye,
We go our separate ways.
We’ll be back together,
In just a few days.
.
Though my arms are empty,
My heart is with you.
Angels on your body,
And on mine, too.
.
A watchful eye,
From above.
Will keep us safe,
And deep in love.
.
Protective Wings,
Hold harm at bay.
A shield of strength,
While you’re away.
.
Angelic assurance,
For a quick return.
My thoughts are with you,
But your touch I yearn.

.

Nobody’s better than you,
No body’s finer than yours.
Until we’re reunited,
Anticipation stirs.
.
Angels on your body,
When I can’t be there.
Though we’re not together,
Loving thoughts we share.

.

Copyright johnstonwrites.com 2011

It’s a friend of mine’s birthday today, so I thought he might appreciate a tribute.  We go back a long ways, so many of our actions might be considered juvenile.   About 35 years ago, a mutual friend, who was an addiction councilor by profession, went to an out-of-the-way bar in a neighboring town.  For obvious reasons, he did not frequent our local taverns.  When he wanted some privacy, he would drive out of town, find a quiet saloon, sit at the bar, and always order a “Jack Daniels straight on the rocks.”    On one occasion, a bartender suggested that he try George Dickel, a comparable Tennessee whiskey, claiming that it was “smoother and cheaper.”  Our friend then delivered a bottle for us to share at the next party asking, “Have you met George?”  “He’s a friend of Jack.”

At future parties the question was always asked:  “Did you bring your Dickel?”   We thought the brand name was hilarious, and it became a party tradition.  Silly phrases were born like, “diving for Dickel,”  “Dickeled Pink,” “Dickel in the pool,” “Dickeled out,” and “Dickelmania.”  To this day, I still get photos of my friends posing with a bottle of Dickel.  Through the years, the brand has actually become very popular with the modern in-crowd.  I’ve actually visited the distillery in Lynchburg, Tennessee, in the same dry county where Jack Daniels is located. Since both brands can’t legally serve their spirits to visitors, they instead offer you a glass of lemonade.  Plus, I have a 110th Anniversary Powderhorn Bottle on my office shelf.  It looks like something Davy Crockett might have sipped in his time.

When I got in the business of selling sponsorships for the Indy Car Series, I once contacted the President of Schenley American Whisky Group, that owns the George Dickel brand.  I still have the initial rejection letter, personally signed by him.  My idea was to partner them with the Dick Trickle Racing Team and form Dickel-Trickle Racing.  Eventually, they did get involved in auto racing, but that was well after my association with the sport.  All those advertising dollars that were banned from television and radio found their way into sport sponsorships of this nature.  As part of my written presentation to the Dickel marketing team, I included some newspaper clippings of a publicity stunt we staged.  For the Halloween, Monday Night Football game at the Hoosier Dome, two of us dressed as Dickel bottles, while a third posed as Eric “Dickel”son.  Dickerson, of course, was the running back for the winning Indianapolis Colts that night.  We all wore pink tights and carried signs indicating we were, “Dickeled pink to be here,” as we stepped from our limousine.  A reporter picked up on it, and I positioned it to demonstrate how I could generate publicity for the Dickel brand at a time when cigarettes and alcohol were cut-off from utilizing traditional advertising.  Maybe it was the bucket on top of my head, designed to look like a screw-off cap, that got their attention?  An artist friend did the work, so the costumes were quite professional looking!

It’s funny how the silly things in life are what often bond us to our best friends.  I’m sure for most of you reading this, it’s probably a “you had to have been there” moment that I’m trying to share.  Young men coupled with whisky predictably leads to toilet humor and stupid dick jokes.  “Did you bring your Dickel?”  I once wrote a poem called the “Legend of Dickel,” to try to capture that child-like moment in time.  Since it was done many years ago on a word processor, I only have a hard copy. However, I did write this tribute to alcohol that I can share, along with my birthday wishes to anyone celebrating today:

Birthday Spirits

It’s your Big Day,

I nearly forgot.

A bottle of Whisky,

Just might hit the spot.

.

The perfect gift,

You won’t take back.

And I’ll wrap it up,

In a paper sack.

.

How about some,

Maker’s Mark?

Or a Fifth,

Of Cutty Sark?

.

Templeton Rye?

Worked for Capone.

To share with friends,

Or sip alone.

.

I got Ballentine,

For a Valentine.

And for Christmas,

A bag of Crown.

.

Got Comfort last year,

And hope for more.

Can’t keep it in stock,

At the liquor store.

.

Brought some Turkey,

For Thanksgiving.

A bit of a hangover,

But still living.

.

And when it came,

My time to get.

You got me a gift,

I’ll never forget.

.

I gotta little Dickel,

For my Birthday.

And a little,

Goes a long way.

.

A little Dickel,

And a lotta balls.

I’ll take a shot,

At whatever calls.

.

A little Dickel,

I know it ain’t Jack.

But now that I’ve got it,

Please don’t take it back.

.

It comes in a bottle,

And goes out in a shot.

It can cure,

Whatever you’ve got.

.

I gotta little Dickel,

For my Birthday.

And a little,

Goes a long way.

.

But when I opened it up,

I felt a bit stiffed.

I should have asked for,

A much BIGGER gift.

.

Copyright 2013 johnstonwrites.com

I’m back in the retirement routine today, enjoying my boring old self.  I got up at my normal time of 6 a.m. to do dog duty followed by my daily run.  I’m still a little stiff and sore, but stepped it up a bit from yesterday.  It’s a domestic duty day of vacuuming, dusting, and meal preparation, while my wife goes into work.  She was home sick yesterday, so what was initially planned as routine “my time” was really more “our time.”   I need to get my glasses fixed, but that would require a drive to Sears Optical that just isn’t going to happen.  Both sides of my glasses broke-off last Friday just before I did my first relay leg and everything was a bit fuzzy most of the weekend.  The only problem was at night when I literally had to be led by the shirttail from the finish line of my second leg of the race to the van.  We had to do the night runs with a headlamp and flashing vest for safety purposes, but once that light was turned out I could not see in the darkness.  Night vision seems to be the first thing to go in old age.  Fortunately, I had a second pair in my car that I was able to retrieve on the way home from the Coast Sunday.

I’m cooking a 5 1/2 pound whole chicken on the grill for dinner tonight.  A Diet Coke can will be inserted in its cavity to elevate it above the heat surface while suppying moisture from the inside.  This will assure a low and slow cooking process.  Technically, it’s Beer Can Chicken, but a pop can works equally as well, since it doesn’t add flavor only moisture.  I also get to drink two-thirds of the can, so the caffeine will help keep me awake.  A beer would have definitely put me in an afternoon coma.  I’ll get an opportunity to sit outside and read some more of the Bill Veeck:  Baseball’s Greatest Maverick book.  I finished both Y is for Yesterday and House of Spies to clear my busy reading schedule.

Because I just turned 66, the meaning of that number has captured my attention.  In numerology every number has its own specific interpretation, and if combined with other numbers, different messages are made.  These combinations are called “Angel Numbers,” as our guardians try to communicate with us.  6 alone is considered a maternal number and is used to deal with issues of compassion, charity, family, and relationships.  The number 66 duplicates the 6 message and becomes very powerful.  It means that I am entering a harmonious time in my personal life.  My spiritual guides are putting my mind at ease.  I share this year with Bill Murray, Anjelica Huston, Charo, Ed Harris, Jane Seymour, Joe Lewis, Kirstie Alley, Kurt Russell, Cheryl Ladd, Tony Danza, Dudley Moore, Indira Gandhi, Ken Kesey, Lynda Carter, Phil Collins, Ace Frehley, Al Franken, and Davy Jones to name a few of my more famous contemporaries.

These nosy spirits are certainly right today!  I’m no longer worried about training or running the Hood to Coast, an event that drained a lot of my energy.  I can start to develop a new focus and allow my spiritual side to blossom.  I already like the new me, as I’m “Back in the saddle again!” Gene Autry and Ray Whitley wrote it, while Aerosmith wrote and recorded a more modern version in 1976.  I’m riding that horse into the retirement sunset.

In some previous posts, I wrote about “What’s in a Name?”  (See #136 and #137).  In this case, What’s in a Number?  When I think of the number “66,”  I immediately recall Phillips 66 and Route 66.  They are, in fact, connected.  In 1927, the Phillips Petroleum company’s gasoline was being tested on U.S. Highway 66.  When the car’s speed hit the 66 mph mark, considered fast at that time, the new fuel was named Phillips 66, after the founders Lee and Frank Phillips of Bartlesville, Oklahoma.  Phillips  Petroleum, celebrating 100 years this year, is now headquartered in Houston, Texas.  I bet they wished they had stayed in Oklahoma, where it’s dry, instead of underwater in Houston.

“Route 66” has become my theme-song this year.  (See Post #220)  I also wrote this little poem:

Route 66

On Route 66.

Lincoln sites.

We got our kicks,

We’ve seen the lights.

 .

Tulsa and OKC,

Custard at Ted Drewes.

From Hollywood Stars,

To Chicagoland Blues.

 .

Haven’t driven this road,

From End-to-end.

But Route 66,

Is like an old friend.

 .

A TV show,

Main Street USA.

The Mother Road,

Show us the way.

 .

It’s my 66th year,

On the highway of life.

The best of this journey,

Is you, as my wife.

 .

I had some bad turns,

Spark plug misfires.

Got lost a few times,

Fixed some flat tires.

. 

It’s been a long drive,

But I’m nearing the end.

Would still like to know,

What’s round the bend?

.

There’s a lot yet to see,

And places to go.

We’ll travel the world,

Let our bucket list grow.

 .

When we run out of road,

We’ll take to the air.

Cruise over water,

An adventurous pair.

 .

See the wide world,

Hand-in-hand.

Travel the lengths,

Of this great Land.

 .

Copyright 2017

johnstonwrites.com

The Hood to Coast countdown continues……2d 20h 56m  10s until race start!

Back in my working days, I used the Toastmasters program to bolster my public speaking confidence and skills.  I first joined Toastmasters back in the mid 80’s through the encouragement of a friend.  I was involved in the weekly meetings on and off for more than 30 years, eventually achieving the highest honor, Distinguished Toastmaster (DTM).  Even after all of those years, public speaking was still one of my greatest fears, despite becoming very proficient at it and winning many awards.  I would sometimes dread my next presentation, searching for inspiration just to get through it.  Rarely do I have the opportunity to speak any more, but still remember that uncomfortable feeling in my stomach and the adrenaline rush associated with each speech.  What I found was that the feeling that I just might fail was all the inspiration that I needed.

In many ways, the upcoming Hood to Coast Relay is reminiscent of the Toastmasters experience.  Even though I have runs hundreds of races, including marathons, I approach every one with a fear of failing.  It’s that same uncomfortable feeling that challenged every speech that I made.  Fear of failing made me prepare more diligently and appreciate accomplishment. I’ve done everything I can to prepare for the upcoming race, and I’m glad I don’t have to give a speech to go along with it.   Here’s some words of inspiration that I delivered as part of a district Toastmasters meeting several years ago:

Inspire

.

My goal today,

Is to inspire.

Under each of us,

To light a fire.

.

It might be easy,

With a background choir.

That might lift,

Our spirits higher.

.

Or offer a bottle,

With the label INSPIRE.

And if it worked,

I could retire.

.

A magic wand,

Would be great.

I’d wave it once,

To motivate.

.

Flap my arms,

Jump up and down.

To make you smile,

Instead of frown.

.

Where do we find it,

You might inquire?

This elusive power,

We need to inspire.

.

Breathe it in,

Draw it out.

Set an example,

Show no doubt.

.

Just point the way,

Be someone’s guide.

It’s in each of us,

Just look inside.

.

Copyright 2013

johnstonwrites.com