It’s time for some Halloween fun, while combating the Covid Curse. I’ve seen some cleaver candy delivering systems to maintain social distancing protocols for brave Trick-or-Treaters. I doubt we will see many this year. We’ll just all eat our own candy, adding to all those pounds we’ve gained these past six months.

It’s been an October tradition over the last twenty-years to gift my wife with a porcelain Limoges Box in celebration of the holiday. However, not all of them have been Halloween themed, so her shelf display only numbers sixteen, as some overlap with Thanksgiving that are still in storage. With the pending move, we’re also not bringing out the other decorations. As a result, Halloween this year for us will be nothing but a  token gift of Dracula with this silly poem hidden inside:

Vampire

This Limoges coffin,
Your Halloween desire.
A shiny black box,
With a scary vampire.

It sleeps all day,
Sucks blood at night.
Just watch out!
It could well bite.

Big white fangs,
Coat of gray.
Keep the lid closed,
Or it might stray.

A garlic clove,
Or wooden stake.
Keep him at rest,
For everyone’s sake.

Count Dracula,
Long overdue.
October’s gift,
From me to you.

copyright 2020 johnstonwrites.com

It’s that time of year when my wife’s Limoges Box display changes from a summer to a Halloween theme. It’s an annual tradition to bring out all the porcelain trinkets that celebrate the season. I hauled the special container out of our apartment storage cage that sadly led to a lot of sneezing on her part after once they were all unwrapped and organized. It was also a reminder that I need to buy a new one for this year. Last year, I purchased a haunted house that was already part of her growing collection. In fact, after twenty years of collecting, it’s hard to keep track of the inventory. I do have a list of over 325 pieces, but obviously I missed the boat last year and ordered a duplicate. 

By the time I sent the original piece back and replaced it with a ghost, Halloween had come to an end. The ghost did not get much shelf time before Thanksgiving and Christmas were upon us. I also failed to write the customary poem that goes inside each hinged box. As a result, the cute little ghost with a Trick-or-Treat bag, was back in storage without a poem in its belly. I put this together quickly to remedy the situation:

Ghost of Halloween Past

This poor ghost,
Hasn’t been fed.
It’s gone a full year,
Without a poem read.

This porcelain spook,
From Halloween Past.
Wants words that rhyme,
And needs them fast.

It’s hungry and lonely,
Been trapped in a cage.
It’s probably haunted,
At least filled with rage.

All the other Limoges,
Have a poem inside.
But this one sadly,
Has been denied.

It arrived late October,
Too tardy to display.
Packed up for a year,
And hidden away.

To make matters worse,
It was an afterthought.
The first one I gifted,
Had already been bought.

It now gets its chance,
To shine on the shelf.
Until it’s replaced,
With a turkey or elf.

Twenty-twenty has been,
A very strange year.
Halloween’s cancelled,
Due to pandemic fear.

We wear a mask every day,
And smoke fills the air.
We venture outside,
Only if we dare.

Trick or Treat Time,
Has come at a cost.
There’s been some bad breaks,
And jobs have been lost.

But many good things,
Have also transpired.
Both of us now,
Are officially retired.

And this ghost moves next,
To our new Florida home.
And maybe by then,
We can travel to Nome.

Copyright 2020 johnstonwrites.com

The poem references a broken leg, virus concerns, travel restrictions, job changes, wild fire smoke, and cancelled Trick-or-Treating. We were not able to get into Canada or Alaska as planned this year and our Hawaii trip is questionable. Egypt and Bali were not to be, despite the fact that my wife and I are now both retired and we’re building a new home in Florida. Regardless, Happy Halloween to all!

I’m not sure where this one came from? I was sitting in the Dallas airport for hours, finishing up some partially written haikus from years past. It evolved into a personal protest against those who will argue with anything. 

Write A Poem 

Doesn’t go my way,
I guess I’ll show ’em.
When I get upset,
I write a poem.

To put my thoughts,
Down on the page.
Clears my mind,
Of anger, even rage.

Words that rhyme,
Calm my soul.
They keep my world,
In firm control.

I try to be funny,
But life’s often not.
Sometimes my words,
Don’t mean a lot.

The power of expression,
Is a wonderful right.
You can make your point,
Without a fist fight.

I choose the pen,
As my weapon.
But have to be careful,
Where I’m steppin.’

Too far to the left,
Or way to the right.
Sometimes the vise,
Can turn too tight.

Sparks can fly,
And tempers can flare.
When everyone agrees,
It’s extremely rare.

In troubled times,
Phrases get twisted.
Battles break out,
Grievances listed.

Some get offended,
When no offense is meant.
Too many times,
A mixed message is sent.

I wish we could all,
Just get along.
But someone would say,
That this is just wrong.

Copyright 2020 johnstonwrites.com

I like to recap all our trips with a poem to keep the travel memories alive. We drove the 4,000 miles in my wife’s treasured 2005 Lexus SC 430 convertible that she’s nicknamed “Lexie.” It’s now parked in my son’s garage, awaiting our future return. Along the way, we got to visit family in San Francisco, friends in Cambria, and a half-sister in Foley, Alabama. She’s of course, a huge fan of “The Tide.” 

After nearly three-weeks on the “Long Road” I’m back in my home office, poised to be a homebody for a few weeks. I got a new leather desk pad as part of my birthday gifts that also included a questionable pink dress shirt with a shark pattern. My run this morning was refreshingly cooler with little humidity but smoke in the air from the tragic area forest fires. I’m also still drinking water – not Diet Coke, still hoping to reduce my visits to the men’s room – the curse of old age. 

The Long Road

The first few nights,
We stayed at the Ritz.
A big step up from,
A room at the Schitt’s.

The Pacific fog,
Was really smoke.
Was our A/C,
Really broke?

Miranda and Ben,
Dining by the Bay.
Where no one can see,
The Giants play.

Moonstone Landing,
Hearst for wine.
Cambria friends,
And an “Antiques” sign.

Desert highs,
And Birthday dessert.
“Why don’t you like,
Your pink shark shirt?”

Through fires, heat,
and a hurricane.
Determined to retrieve,
The Weathervane.

Mother Marriott,
And swimming pools.
Friday Night Lights,
With local high schools.

Roadrunner sighting,
Cars are rare.
Prada Store,
Middle of nowhere.

Marfa Lights,
Giant James Dean.
Border Blimp,
Paisano scene.

Austin reunions,
Congress Street.
Ranch Six-One-Six,
Our favorite to eat.

Favorite Sister,
Throwed Rolls,
Paula Deen,
Florida tolls.

Island Walk Venice,
Site of our build.
The Long Road ends,
We’re very thrilled.

Not one Diet Coke,
Along the way.
Golf and swimming,
Grandchild play.

Model homes,
Pool design,
Interior options,
Seven to dine.

Coast-to-coast drive,
Full Flight back.
One last time,
To unpack.

Lexie will wait,
Until we return.
Four-Thousand miles,
A rest you earn.

copyright 2020 johnstonwrites.com

All my days do seem to feel the same in these pandemic times, but I’m always up for another one. Too many times I’ve failed to smell the roses and appreciate what I’ve accomplished. I somehow got the creative juices flowing and composed this poem to reflect my feelings.

Another Day 

None of us are happy,
About what’s going on.
Most of us are anxious,
For this year to be gone.

But no one wants to sacrifice,
A portion of their life.
There must be a way,
To lessen all this strife.

While we’re looking forward,
We’re also missing out.
On what mindful living,
Is really all about.

There’s always tomorrow,
Hoping for a better day.
But what if another sunrise,
Doesn’t come our way?

We need to live,
Like today’s our last.
And cherish memories,
From the past.

Treasure each moment,
Don’t look ahead.
Enjoy each breath,
Our daily bread.

Never wish a day away,
As bad as it may be.
Tomorrow’s never certain,
I think we’d all agree.

And when your head,
Hits the pillowcase.
Put a contented smile,
On your sleepy face.

Just be thankful,
And graciously say:
“I made it through,
Another day.”

Copyright 2020 johnstonwrites.com

With news of our trip cancellation to Egypt, I tried my best to keep a positive perspective. This is always tough for a pessimist like  myself. I had a porcelain box hiding in the Limoges closet and composed a short poem for it. Writing was much more constructive than moping about another three weeks of stay-at-home boredom when we should be going to the Valley of the Kings. My wife collects Disney boxes, so Aladdin on his magic carpet made the day memorable rather than disappointing. 

Magic Carpet Ride

The Corona bug,
Has taken a toll.
Delaying another,
Bucket goal.

The Pyramids,
Will have to wait.
We’ll settle on,
A future date.

No Canada,
Or Bali Hai,
Travel dreams,
Have been denied.

To sit at home,
Most every day.
Builds an urge
To get away.

“See the U.S.A,”
Goes the song.
But going by car,
Takes too long.

We need a way,
To move with speed
A Magic Carpet,
Is what we need.

Aladdin’s ready,
If Viking’s not.
Until we visit,
It’s all you’ve got.

So, come with me,
On a Magic ride.
Open the hinge,
There’s a lamp inside.

Despite the fact,
This bug has bit.
Maybe an extra,
WISH we’ll get?

Copyright 2020 johnstonwrites.com

Every once in a while I try to surprise my wife with a gift. She collects hand-painted Limoges boxes, so I ordered one that looks like a sliced apple and hid it in her fruit bowl. At one time, she would make me an egg every morning before she went to work. Once she retired, the daily routine changed to a sliced apple for lunch. My tradition has always been to tuck a poem inside the hinged box:

Apple

You’re the apple.
Of my eye.
‘Cause I Love You,
Sweetie pie.

“I Love You,”
To the core.
You say back,
“Love you, more.”

You’re my slice,
So much Ap-peel.
Awesome Sauce,
The Real Deal.

As your daddy said,
“You didn’t fall far.”
He made you,
Who you now are.

It stems from love,
And blossoms pink.
Oranges can’t compare,
Most people think.

The first bite happened,
In The Garden of Eden.
The Forbidden Fruit,
Was it worth eatin’?

Sleeping Beauty,
Ate a bad one.
If a witch offers,
It’s best to run.

An Apple a day,
Keeps Microsoft away.
If Stephen Jobs,
Has his way.

What is that,
On your head?
William Tell,
Might have said?

“Something rotten,
Has fallen on me.”
How Isaac Newton,
Found gravity.

A Golden Apple,
For the teacher.
Was that wormhole,
Made by a creature?

Why does Bob,
Have to work for his?
If you don’t like cider,
Try Apple Fizz.

If you don’t
At first succeed.
Johnny on the spot,
Was Appleseed.

Dip mine in caramel,
Put it on a stick.
Is Green Apple candy,
Worth a lick?

“How do you like em?”
The expression teases.
A shiny red apple,
Always pleases.

Copyright 2020 johnstonwrites.com