Today's thoughts

Category: POEMS (Page 3 of 29)

Rhymes of all kinds

Retirement is not without Hassles: Island Christmas #2224

I bought a new/used computer, so most of my editing and posting issues are now behind me as I get back into the daily blog routine. I’ll start with this poem that summarizes our trip to Kauai where we dealt with some plumbing problems in our on-the-surface luxury resort:

Island Christmas 

A plunger by the toilet, 

And buckets to flush. 

Cheap toilet paper, 

But the condo was plush. 

 

Dancing Santa, 

There to greet us. 

No sign of Dinosaurs, 

That might eat us. 

 

A beautiful view, 

But screaming brats. 

Mother and daughter 

Poolside chats. 

 

Grumpy old man, 

And “broken face.” 

The tooth can be fixed, 

The first-not the case. 

 

A catamaran tour, 

With a puke nuke. 

Trampoline fun, 

Dinner with Duke. 

 

Looking to find, 

A Dive Bar clue. 

Nature abounds, 

Cock-a-doodle-doo. 

 

Dolphins jumping, 

SEA Turtles to SEE. 

Food and gas costly, 

But the Hula Pie free. 

 

World Cup Soccer, 

Chess to play. 

Waterfalls and rainbows, 

Though too much grey. 

 

“Wettest Spot on Earth,” 

The sign read. 

Gallons of wine, 

Early to bed. 

 

Spam for lunch, 

Too many hot dogs. 

Mini Van chariot,  

Flattened frogs. 

 

A wad of wasabi, 

By mistake one night. 

Hanalei Bay, 

A “magical” sight. 

 

Puka Dogs, 

Tiki torches. 

Folding glass panels, 

To ocean-side porches. 

 

Kalanipu’u,

Too many vowels. 

Code Name teams, 

Feathered Fowls. 

 

Secret beach, 

And elevator. 

We finally got here, 

Two Years later. 

 

Pipes third-world, 

At our first-rate resort. 

Family Christmas, 

But Time was too short. 

 

“Mele Kalikimaka” 

copyright 2022 johnstonwrites.com

Retirement is not without Hassles: Shot Crazy #2214

With my wife sick on the couch as a reaction to her third booster, I couldn’t help but think about the notion of whether or not these shots are really worth it? She was sicker from the reaction than she was from when we both came down with Covid. My only aftereffects from this shot was a sore arm.

After yesterday’s Turkey and Tequila poem, I apparently had Tequila on the mind and wrote another to pass away the time on a quiet afternoon:

Shot Crazy

A shot for this,
A pill for that.
We’re nothing more,
Than a lab rat.

A prick here,
A Band-Aid there.
The flu bug,
The Covid scare.

How about shingles?
Pneumonia yet?
How about your dog,
Have you seen the vet?

The common cold,
Can’t help you there.
And we don’t have a cure,
For losing your hair.

May I have another?
Are they two-for-one?
After this next booster,
Am I finally done?

Did you have a reaction?
We’ve got nothing for that,
And we don’t have a remedy,
For fighting fat.

Immunization,
Has swept our nation.
We’re all hooked,
On Vaccination!

Don’t make me bend over,
Not in the butt.
The need for a needle,
Has us all in a rut!

If there’s a shot,
To heal ya.
Forget the others,
Make mine Tequila.

Copyright 2022 blog.johnstonwrites.com

 

Retirement is not without Hassles: Turkey & Tequila #2213

I got my third Covid booster yesterday. It follows last month’s flu shot while the pharmacist also asked about pneumonia and shingles shots. All I ever wanted was a shot of Tequila. Years ago, a group of friends would get together around Thanksgiving for what we called “Turkey & Tequila.” One of them recently commented that “it sounded like a potential  Kenny Chesney song.” I don’t write songs but I do dabble with poetry, so I responded with this:

Turkey & Tequila

When Thanksgiving comes,
Guests don’t want Sangria.
Nothing’s better with turkey,
Than a bottle of tequila.

The turkey’s meant,
To fill ya’.
While Tequila’s buzz,
Will thrill ya’.

Turkey and Tequila,
A combo like no other.
But never served,
By my mother.

So, pass the gravy,
Salt and limes.
And get ready,
For good times.

Give me a leg,
You prefer the thigh.
How does Anejo,
Go with pumpkin’ pie?

But don’t go choke,
On that turkey bone.
Wash it on down,
With a shot of Patron.

Have no regrets,
Now will ya’?
Don’t drink so much,
It kills ya’.

Blue Agave’s,
Known to heal ya’.
And when distilled,
You have Tequila!

If the alcohol don’t,
The worm will keel ya’.
That’s the reason,
It’s called “Te-kill-YA.”

I’ll have seconds,
What a meal (yum)!
Let’s give thanks,
For Turkey & Tequila.

Copyright 2022 johnstonwrites.com

 

Retirement is not without Hassles: Cruisin’ & Boozin’ #2176

The much anticipated poem to summarize our recent lengthy excursion to Alaska and Hawaii:

Cruisin’ & Boozin’

First Class to Portland,
Are we set to sail the seas?
Already second thoughts,
Do we really want to freeze?

Time with Family,
Falco and Ham.
Lunch with buddies,
Suitcases to cram.

Nike campus tour,
Former haunts to rove.
Mitch has in-law-itis,
Megan with no stove.

Vancouver Sheraton,
For a pre-cruise rest.
But Wanted in Canada,
For evading a Covid test.

First stop for Totem poles,
Mendenhall Glacial ice.
Berg bits float by,
Scenery meant to entice.

Outdoor kitchen taking shape,
But mighty Ian on the way.
Helpful neighbors chipping in,
While out cruisin’ Glacier Bay.

Suddenly no power,
As hurricane winds blow.
But we’re got full stomachs,
At another onboard Show.

Taking in Munch Moments,
Seeing a Brown Bear live.
Sea Lions and otters,
As flooding rains arrive.

More Manfredi’s pasta,
Or a Chef’s Table treat.
When we get home,
There’s nothing to eat.

We still have a pool cage,
As we tour Valdez.
Another glass of wine?
Just find Tally please!

Cooking classes,
Champs at Bridge..
But spoiling food,
In our bad fridge.

Alaska is so beautiful,
From our comfy deck.
But our resort community.
Is an awful wreck.

Russian churches,
Grey Whale bones.
Mountain views,
No web or phones.

Puffins and eagles,
So much beauty to see.
Even some blue skies.
Where’s your ID?

The whales are jumping,
The ship badly rocking.
Hold on tight,
Seven days without docking.

Once we left Alaska,
The wildlife took passes.
The only Big Fish spied,
Were thru 3-D glasses.

Fake ABBA and Beatles,
Films on the BIG screen.
Surrounded by water,
Nothing green.

Land ahoy,
Kauai catamaran.
Surfing Dog,
Still fading tan.

Vacation Club scout,
Movie scenes.
Frig out at home,
Shorts not jeans.

Maui WOWIE,
Fleetwood memories.
Tender to Oahu,
Calm seas, Palm trees.

Last Stop,
Aloha Clock.
Red Eye home,
Jet Lag Shock.

But with our credits,
We Booked another.
Using Father Viking,
And Marriott Mother.

Copyright 2022 johnstonwrites.com

Diary of an Adoptee: Never Knew #2163

I sent a note to my half-sister telling her how often  we referred to her humorous quip after checking on our condition during hurricane Ian. When I told her we were in Alaska, she responded with: “Boy, you really know how to evacuate!!!” She must have been on my mind this morning as I composed this poem about the newly found sibling relationship with her and four sisters.  The brother died years ago in a car accident and the mother was not aware until 65-years later that her soon to be husband, now deceased, had fathered a child – me. Surprise! In all fairness, he probably didn’t know either. An Ancestry DNA test confirmed the bond and I’ve slowly gotten to know the family, starting with the “favorite.” Since our initial meetings, one of the sisters has sadly passed, and I got to meet “Fav’s” son, Gabe, who’s wife apparently initiated the test as a gift for his mother.

I Never Knew

I Never knew of you,
Didn’t have a clue.
But glad we finally met,
Now that I do.

If it weren’t for Gabe,
I might never have found.
My five secret sisters,
Scattered all around.

To meet you all,
My ultimate quest.
But “Fav’s” become,
The one I know best.

We were a match,
On the Ancestry test.
It was like opening,
A treasure chest.

Even Cecil,
Would be surprised.
Of this bond,
That he devised.

At the heart of the matter,
Is your mother so strong.
She’s lost three loves,
Then, I come along.

You’ve all stuck together,
As Bannister’s should.
In the eight-sided cabin,
Made of Scipio wood.

I’ll never be your favorite,
To your brother I concede.
But you can have another,
Should you feel the need.

Our twisted family tree,
With its hidden roots.
As I continue to search,
For yet revealed shoots.

This man I never met
Is in our hearts today.
He’s clearly in our eyes,
And in our DNA.

Copyright 2022 johnstonwrites.com

 

 

 

Retirement is not without Hassles: We’re Back! #2121

It took 23-days of driving over 4,000 miles, but we’re finally home. 10 different Marriott properties, thirteen different beds, beaches on the Gulf and Atlantic, The Great Lakes, and four Cracker Barrels took us full circle. I’ve summed it all up in a poem:

Four thousand miles,
Twenty-three days.
What could’ve gone wrong?
Let me count the ways!

Mother Marriott sheltered us,
Most of the way.
But there were three nights,
Where we had to pay.

Panama City first stop,
Selma Bridge walk.
Tuscaloosa BBQ,
“Roll Tide” talk.

Bannisters for dinner,
In Huntsville for Lunch.
You didn’t complain adding, 
A Cracker Barrel brunch.

It was one of four,
At your favorite travel stop.
You liked the dancing broom,
In the Georgia gift shop.

The Creeper struck,
And made you itch.
Highway construction,
Was our only bitch.

Adam’s Traverse,
Kept us going.
But your rash,
Kept on growing.

Clothes to consign,                                                          Vegetable Art.                                                                                Food and Drink,                                                                            Cross-Country to cart. 

The Hall of Fame tour,
Started in Nashville.
Grand Ole’ Opry,
A special thrill.

“Safe” travels,
Took a little twist.
We left for Bowling Green,
Your jewels suddenly missed.

Peter to the rescue,
His daughter’s home nearby.
We had stopped by,
Just to say “hi.”

Indy time with Debsie,
Another Banister lunch.
The highlight at The Mousetrap,
Reuniting our media bunch.

Morse Reservoir boating,
Eddy’s tenderloin.
Detour to Decatur,
More friends to join.

Night in Muskegon,
But Covid hits Ludington.
Drive-by wave,
After another short run.

Pizza in Petoskey,
Mackinac Bridge.
Crossing by ferry,
Where’s my fridge?

Grand Hotel porch,
True elegance.
Five-course dinner,
Despite no pants.

Ester Williams pool,
Sweeping Lake views.
Cupola for drinks,
A “deal” we couldn’t refuse.

More Fame in Cleveland,
Canton not as much Glory
Biltmore for more magnets,
And your fav -The Conservatory.

Hilton Head for some rest,
But the Concierge was rude.
He tried to spoil,
Our vacation mood.

The SERG card worth the fight,
All Y’Alls would have gotten old.
Packing and unpacking,
Finally put on hold.

Sun tans restored,
Test comes up clean. 
An extra night,
In St. Augustine.

Road Trip Limoges,                                                                          One of Each.                                                                                            Rock n’ Roll Drums,                                                                    Plus, a bag for the beach.

Thirteen different beds,
Now we’re finally home.
Just a few more weeks,
Until again we roam.

Copyright 2022 johnstonwrites.com

Retirement is not without Hassles: Butterfly #2062

I spent the year of my 66th birthday in photos behind Route 66 signs and landmarks. We’ll pass by a few more this year in honor of my wife’s 66th, now nearly 5 years later. When we were deciding on a celebratory Limoges box, she suggested a colorful caterpillar. I put this poem inside it’s hinged box, calling the birthday her Florida metamorphosis. I wish I could do more for this year’s occasion, but a service call on our AC system resulted in a totally unexpected $850 charge to install a UV bulb to thwart the growth of algae that was plugging up our cooling system. After last night’s restless sleep in a muggy bedroom, it’s well worth the investment. Plus, it extends our maintenance plan another two years. Oh, the joys of home ownership!

We are headed to Cassariano Italian Eatery, one of our local Venice favorites, tomorrow night for a Birthday dinner. The restaurant was founded by Luca Cassani & Antonio Pariano, and named as a combination of their two surnames.  The planting of the red crepe myrtle tree is on hold until we can find one after recently striking out at a couple area nurseries. The Birthday Bulb will have to do, for now! It sparkles and glows more than most diamonds….right?

Birthday Butterfly 

A caterpillar, you decided,
Would be the right one.
A butterfly to be,
Once a cocoon is spun.

4000 muscles,
Sixteen legs.
Twelve tiny eyes,
Hatched from an egg.

Red beanie on its head,
And a smiling face.
Blue stars painted,
On its hinged base.

A birthday candle,
Sits on its back.
Shoes on its feet,
Prepared to run track.

A match inside,
To light the wicks.
On Route 66,
You’ll get your “kick.”

Sixty-Six years,
We celebrate.
With this Limoges,
And a dinner date.

Even Superwoman,
Has nothing on you.
Curvy shape,
And silver doo.

You’ve made your Florida,
Metamorphosis.
And now enjoying,
Retirement Bliss.

We’ll also plant,
A red crepe tree.
And watch the sunset,
From the Key

Birthday Rainbows,
To you, my love.
Wishes granted,
From the stars above.

Eat some cake,
Sip Sancerre.
And commemorate,
With Birthday Bear!

Copyright 2022 johnstonwrites.com

Retirement is not without Hassles: Mother M #2024

A Happy Mother’s Day to all. I honored my wife with a Cracker Barrel lunch, her favorite, and a poem recapping our 21st Anniversary trip to Singer Island. It may be more of a tribute to Mother Marriott than my loving wife, since she isn’t my mother or the mother of my child. She does have two beautiful daughters of her own that are thousands of miles away, so I wanted to do something for her on this special day. 

I do make a reference to “rings” in this poem because I used to buy her lots of jewelry. Every anniversary occasion I would ask her to “marry me again?” She would always hopefully say “yes, but where’s the ring?” Unfortunately, I no longer have diamonds in the retirement budget, so we settled on this two week long cross-Florida trip. The only rings I could afford this year were Onion Rings at the poolside restaurant. 

Mother M

We drove cross-state,
For time together.
It wasn’t like seeking,
Warmer weather.

Tally couldn’t go,
We met old pals.
Hoosier Neighbors,
And a Pi Phi gal.

Jetty’s Lighthouse,
And Conchy Joe’s.
The rest of the time,
Had sand in our toes.

Netflix and Chill,
Billions and Ozark.
We never saw a gator,
Or even a shark.

Dinner at The Breakers,
For Lobster and steak.
After too much company,
We needed a break.

Live Aid memories,
And other BFF things.
On The Rocks,
For anniversary “rings.”

Unlike the old days,
When a finger it fit.
All you got this year,
Was a beach chair to sit.

A pricy seat,
On Singer Isle.
Two oceanside weeks,
Mother Marriott style.

Twenty-One years,
Since we said, “I Do.”
We didn’t do much,
From our lofty view.

Poolside Bingo,
But we don’t win.
Out of Haagen-Dazs,
Ham Salad again.

After all of these years,
Loving you is still a thrill.
And on our way home,
My Coke didn’t spill.

Happy Mother’s Day 2022
Love, MikeL

Retirement is not without Hassles: Deniseciation #2009

Twenty-one years of marriage on National Pot Day 4/20. We’re making the drive to Singer Island to celebrate this special occasion. Here is the poem I wrote in honor of my wife, a salute to the very first one I gifted her titled “De Feet, De Nose, De Toes” – long before I ever started penning this blog:

Deniseciation 

Twenty-one Years,
Plus a few more.
You’re the one person,
I absolutely adore.

A fabulous cook,
With little credit.
“No appreciation,”
There, I’ve said it.

I’m not so good,
At compliments.
And even worse,
At common sense.

I don’t appreciate,
What I’ve got.
When it comes to you,
My wife is hot.

Beauty and class,
My silver fox.
I miss the cues,
When opportunity knocks.

I’m well fed,
And greatly loved.
But thanking you,
I’ve badly flubbed.

You’ve built us,
A beautiful nest.
And filled it with,
Only the best.

I’m a lucky man,
With you at my side.
My life’s best move,
Making you my bride.

Yet, I often don’t say,
“I appreciate you.”
And words of love,
Are long overdue.

You’re the Belle,
Of Islandwalk.
As the most desirable,
You’ve defied the clock.

Not just the block,
The whole universe.
All you’ve given me,
I’ve failed to reimburse.

I’m grumpy and gruff,
Not worthy of you.
And I’ve always had,
The better view.

From De Nose to De Toes,
De Best of Sweetie Pies.
I hope that you can see,
De Admiration in my eyes.

Deniseciation,
Is what I send.
I love you more,
The end.

Copyright 2022 johnstonwrites.com

Retirement is not without Hassles: Cousins Unite #1994

Three poems in one day is probably a record but two of them have been in the works for weeks.  I just put the finishing touches on them and submitted them to my blog. I’m not supposed to write about this subject because I was a little vague with my sister about going to meet the cousins or not. At first, I thought that local family matters would interfere with my plans to drive to Bonita Springs. My sister was not included because of health issues and this was disappointing to both of us. We are all connected through my dad’s father, Grandpa J., who passed in 1992, thirty years ago. I am the modern day Grandpa J. 

The restaurant was called Traverna in their Vasari golf club subdivision. The sad and embarrassing moment was when I was shocked to discover that my eldest cousin’s husband passed last year. As a result, I had awkwardly put my foot in my mouth. The visit did inspire me to write the poem, “Dozens of Cousins.” (See Post #1993). They all heard the poems that I wrote for my parents’ funerals and asked if I would do one for our long overdue reunion. I’ve complied in short fashion below. 

Years ago, the family would gather every year at Simonton Lake in Elkhart or at nearby Oxbow Park. We’d have a picnic and play croquet or catch, as was the tradition. The only pleasant get-togethers in recent years have been the girl’s weekend that this year happened to be by our new Florida home. Two men were actually in attendance this year, while my cousin John was not included, and I crashed the party accompanied by my wife. 

By the way, the names may have been changed to protect the innocent – more poetic license. 

Cousins Unite 

Glad we reunited,
At Traverna this year.
The news was mostly good,
Except that one sad tear.

I crashed the “girls” weekend,
And now I must confess.
Glad Al could join us,
Cause I forgot my dress.

Vasari is beautiful,
And we’re not far away.
Maybe we can do it again,
Some other glorious day.

I think of you all often,
As cousins and friends.
Our Grandpa J. connection,
Will thankfully never end.

Though we have many cousins,
You’ll always be our “favs.”
And I refuse to rhyme this,
With the obvious “graves.”

I miss Simonton days,
And even Oxbow Park.
Sadly, our reunions,
Have been left in the dark.

But the Florida sun,
Brought us together.
While John was stuck,
In Hoosier weather.

Copyright 2022 johnstonwrites.com

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