Nail the box shut and screw it down.
Bury me deep and bury me twice.
Spin me around and point me down.
For I'm a politician and I'll be back.
DELETE AND OUT
If I was younger,
I would do more email,
But I just don't have time.
Life is not infinite.
If I was younger,
I would even twitter.
People would know me better.
They might even like me.
But I am older and wiser,
I delete all my email:
No reading, no answering,
Just hit the "delete" key.
Being older, I have noticed,
Nobody pays much attention to me.
It really doesn't matter,
So one short tweet; "out".
Down boy, down - get off me!
Jesus, you got a big dog Charlie.
He sure likes to play a lot.
I hope the Postman is friendly.
Yeah, I saw him get the ball,
But didn't you see what he did?
He just knocked your tree down -
You ought to put an anchor on him.
Jesus, even when he's sitting,
He's bigger than most men.
Who do you feed to him?
He sure is strong dog.
Come the spring, I've got an idea!
Why don't you hire him out,
I'm sure he can pull a plow
Faster than any damn mule.
Down boy, down - get off me!
Come April first, I've got an idea!
We'll have a big barbecue,
Nobody will know the difference.
Maxim On Kissing
It really is quite foolish:
For people to kiss so much,
And so often on the mouth.
Why the mouth of all places?
If one really thinks of it,
There are better ways to kiss.
After all, the mouth isn't clean,
Think of all the things we eat.
I myself would much prefer
A more neutral singular place,
One more evenly balanced -
If only for a change of pace.
Certainly, one can think of where.
The bellybutton is just right,
It qualifies in all respects,
And offers much more in retrospect.
When one kisses bellybuttons,
It really is very nice.
The substance is firm and smooth,
One can even talk a bit.
Think of it before you laugh;
From there, where else you can go,
Up or down, or all around.
The thought is quite provoking.
So when the next time we meet,
Let us greet in this new way.
It's more the intimate way
Than kissing in the street.
It is a wonderful place.
All the people are marvelous.
They are here to provide you help,
And move you to help yourself.
They have already taught me to sing.
I'm the best soprano in the ward.
That Renee looks so attractive,
She really knows how to get a scream.
Renee can twist and pull your leg
Until you really hit a high note.
"Mama, if you could only hear me,
I really do know how to sing."
Where does she get all her devices,
Weights and pulleys with ropes?
Oh, she is an expert at what she does,
And all the boys sing soprano.
Oaxaca Cuckoo Clock
The cuckoo clock was broken
And it needed to be fixed.
So, I took it down to the town
And found the Watch-Repair.
He was Czech and he said:
"I love to hear a cuckoo clock,
And I will fix this broken clock -
For fifteen hundred peso."
Two days later, the clock on his wall,
I went into the Watch-Repair shop,
And listened to the cuckoo clock.
Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
I took it home and gave it to Luz.
She loved her cuckoo clock and said:
"Thank you! My son gave it to me as a gift.
It sounds so much like a cuckoo clock."
She hung it on the downstairs wall,
Cindy said: "I can't sleep with the cuckoo."
So it went upstairs and Windy said:
"Take it down, it cuckoos all night long!"
So next, it went to Mary's room,
She loved the "cuckoo", but one problem,
The chain made a dreadful noise;
And she said: "No thank you to Cuckoo."
So back downstairs it went again,
"Hang it in the closet! Close the door!"
And in the closet, you can listen,
Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
A Loose Screw
A bracket was loose in my closet,
The screw was pulled loose, not secure.
It must be the tightly packed clothes
That are all holding it together.
I'll have Mike take a look, he's good.
He'll fix it in a jiffy, no trouble at all.
While he's checking, I get a call.
When I return, he's holding it all up.
The screw popped, the system failed.
My clothes fell down except for Mike.
I helped, we cleared everything out.
This closet needs some serious endeavor.
New boards, straight this time with brackets.
Let's add a double shelf for my books.
New brass and a stronger pole to hold my clothes.
It's all cleared, fix it, paint it and make it nice!
Everyday, I spend some time in my closet.
Put oak baseboards around the bottom.
This closet will look better than a Cadillac.
One loose screw and four days later, all is done.
There is a land known
But to a few of us.
This land is Fenwich,
But do not seek it.
It is different
Than lands you may know,
And only us who know -
Live in this never land.
Where people are joyful,
The men are gentle,
The women loving,
And the music sweet.
The children all charm;
Playing their fun games,
Free to be children,
They smile their love.
No teardrops fall here,
Laughter is heard clear,
Happiness is near,
Life's moments are enjoyed.
This land has much more
Than you've seen before,
It has waterfalls
And gleaming rainbows.
It has ocean waves,
And lakes that glimmer.
The mountains are high
And the air is clear.
It is nearby here -
In the thoughts we think,
In the mood of life,
In the love we hold.
A call, a put, a straddle,
Or maybe even a spread.
It sounds like kinky sex,
But in reality, they are options.
The world of option trading
Is about leverage and risk.
A little money down will buy a call,
And if it goes higher, you win.
Up or down or both, you can do.
Close in trades or far out trades,
Straddle a position or spread it,
They are all option strategies.
You buy or sell the rights to a stock
For a limited period of time.
A punter will bet to win big,
Others to protect what they have.
Options can produce an income stream,
Or allow you to bet you know the future.
These trades are not for everyone.
People get poor, trying to get rich.
Oh! He is getting smart
For a boy of only seven.
He knows about dinosaurs
And he reads "Harry Potter".
Oh! He is indeed smart.
We may have a problem,
His head is not big enough
For all the smarts he has.
What'll we do with that brain?
It is leaking from his ears!
The solution is quite simple:
One new head please: "Supersize it".
Brain 101: Operating System
Having a brain isn't enough.
I need an operating manual.
How does it all work?
Has it been "beta" tested.
Is it want or logic?
Is it now or later?
Is it fair or unfair?
Do I fight or flight?
I need to know the answers,
Otherwise, half the time,
I may make the wrong choice.
Stupid is not what I want!
The Kid Tells A Fortune
It was a nice day at the Fair,
Judy and Marcus were there.
She said to little Marcus;
"Look there is a Foretune Teller".
"It says, he can guess my age,
And he can guess my weight too."
Marcus says: "He charges five dollars.
I can do it for only two dollars."
Judy says: "You're only seven,
No way you can guess my vitals."
"Give me two dollars and I'll guess."
Judy gave two dollars over to Marcus.
He, with a big smile on his face:
"You are old, and you are fat."
Judd Talking With Angels
O.K. I'll go on the trampoline.
I'll bounce as high as anyone.
I'll bounce up into the sky.
I'll even talk to the angels.
And higher and higher he went,
Way up into the very Heaven.
His smile got bigger each bounce,
And soon he talked with the angels.
He said: "I want to be bigger,
And I want to be much smarter,
And I want to be really nice,
And I'll not throw any tantrums."
The angels said: "What a nice boy.
He'll drink his milk and get tall.
He'll learn to read and get smart.
And he's already nice without tantrums.
Judd At Six
To be six years old,
It is a very big thing.
Now, you are a young boy -
Not just a little kid.
You get to go to school
With the big boys,
And you learn your letters,
And you learn numbers.
It is a time of passing:
From the world of fantasy,
To the world around you,
Where you must consider others.
You have a special window
To look out of every day,
Because, so much is new to you,
And you need to learn so much.
Whether you become a mechanic
Or a train engineer,
You must begin your studies,
And you must do your very best.
On his ninth birthday
Is growing tall and learning.
He has discovered his brain,
And is stuffing it full.
His voice is loud and clear.
He stands straight and proud.
His demeanor is confident.
He is definitely growing up.
Soon, he will write a poem.
He will read a book for inspiration.
He will discover his direction.
He is about to be, we know not what.
Judd is moving on
On the crest of manhood,
Judd is moving forward in all.
High school is behind him.
College is engaging his intellect.
The future is being determined.
His endeavors are in front of him.
This time of opportunity and promise
Are his to grasp and accomplish.
He marches forward in his endeavor.
He is tall, handsome and smart.
His self discipline is present.
His future is bright and shining.
Marcus Is Eleven
In the bookstore, his Mom says:
"These four books must last you longer.
I'm not coming back here next week.
You need to learn to read slower."
His schoolwork is excellent.
His efforts are focused on success.
Three programing courses completed.
He already knows more than I do.
He takes notes with accum.
He writes a poem now and then.
He is interested in all things.
His learning time is now.
A very young lady -
Makes her entrance
In a colorful sarong
And a beaded halter.
She catches the sound
And sways to the rythme,
And moves with the beat,
To a Tahitian hula.
With her hands she shows
The story of these lands.
With her hips she sways
To the far off breezes.
And soon her audience
Is captivated in her dance,
Feeling the tropical air,
As she enchants your senses.
And as she looks at you
With dark beautiful eyes,
Smiling at last with delight:
She captures you in her circle.
(by Marcus Plutowski, 7 years old)
Teacher, please don't look at me.
The answer is a mystery.
I'm staring into empty space.
I'm sliding underneath my chair.
I'm making myself very small.
I wish I wasn't here at all.
Teacher, Teacher pass me by,
Please pick on some other guy.
Teacher, Teacher call on me!
I know the answer, can't you see?
This one's a wrap, a snap, a breeze.
June 2nd, 2017
A ceremony of achievement
A passage into higher education
A mark in life's effort and progress
This is the day Marcus graduates
Monta Vista High School in Cupertino
It is a demanding school requiring effort
Only the brightest attend and succeed
In this Silicon Valley Academy of Achievement
Marcus excelled and made the grade
He founded a Robotics Club on his tenure
It will remain a legacy for future students
For these activities advanced his aspirations
Being selected to attend Berkeley University
Is an accolade to his academic accomplishments
The path ahead is shining and golden
The path ahead is challenging and rewarding
A cousin from the past has surfaced.
I last saw Dennis in Sixty-One,
We were burying my father then.
I was a young trooper in the Army.
Forty nine years later, I find:
I not only still have a cousin,
But that he had seven children.
They now are all my cousins too.
I've heard it before many times,
But now, I can really relate:
"Make love, not war." is for real.
Seven of his versus only two of mine.
No question about it at all,
He is better at this game than I.
Plus he has eleven grandchildren.
Wow! It's time for change:
less war, more love!
The Son Of Wasted Moons
I'll go to school later - not now.
Now, I want to enjoy my life.
I want to be free and have fun.
I want to play music and run loose.
I'll get a job later on in life.
I earn enough to get by on.
I don't need a lot of money now.
Maybe, when I am older, I'll work.
I'll start a business soon I'm sure.
I'm just not sure when it will be.
But, I like the idea of being in charge.
I'm sure that I will be successful.
Marriage encompasses responsibility.
You need a house and a steady job.
The next thing you know, you are a father,
And changing diapers is not my thing yet.
I'll retire someday, but first I need a job.
I need to plug in and become viable.
I need to demonstrate my abilities,
But today, I'm going on a biking trip.
Where has all the time gone to?
My friends are married with careers,
Some even have grandchildren to enjoy.
I'll never catch up - the moons are too few.
I live on the Pacific coast,
A Northeastern storm hit hard.
It rained and blew ferociously,
Gusts reaching ninety miles per hour.
Trees and fences blown down,
My roof had tiles blown off.
I'll call Mike, he knows roofing.
He'll fix it before the next storm.
Mike rigged up a pulley
On the edge of the roof.
He hoisted up two barrels
That were filled with tiles.
After finishing the roof tiling,
He hoisted the barrel up again,
And loaded the left over tiles,
Securing the line at the bottom.
He went down and untied the line.
The barrel of tiles was heavy
And started to drop down.
He held the rope and was pulled up.
Mike met the barrel on the way up,
Injuring his head as he passed it.
At the top, his fingers caught
In the pulley device he had in place.
The barrel of tiles hit the ground,
Breaking tiles and the barrel,
Mike now heavier, came down.
He landed on the broken tiles.
Mike was cut on the broken tiles.
His leg was injured when he landed.
Stunned, injured and bleeding,
Mike left a note on the door.
I'll be back tomorrow to clean-up.
Need to see Docter right away.
The roofs all fixed and solid,
It's me that is now broken.
The Robot Woman
She said: "The coffee is ready.
It works just like a robot."
The coffee maker gently perked.
The brews aroma pleasantly pleased.
She finally got something right,
That is definitely what I need.
Can you imagine a robot woman.
She talks only if you press the button.
Oh yes, this is the ideal woman.
We'll design her with curves and all.
No make-up need ever be applied.
She'll be beautiful to all forever.
She'll cook and actually be able to sew.
She will have only one pair of shoes
And one little purse - no make-up needed.
She will smile, love you and agree to all.
The time has come for the robot woman.
The technology is here and I'm ready.
No complaints, all is well, love is true,
With robot woman and my handy remote.
This poem came about as Grant Gayhart (12 1/2 years old) watched me write a poem and recite it to a family's daughter and her parents. Next thing, I looked over and Grant was writing and had completed his first poem in a few minutes.
Please read with pleasure, Grant's segue into developing as a most entertaining and insightful storyteller through poetry.
Release of the Shot
Soft as a feather
Release of a sphere
Just made of leather
Drops like a tear.
Flick of the wrist
As he raises the bar
Strong as a fist
Fast as a car.
As we watch the ball fall
And sink through the air
The big tall center
Boxes out like a bear.
Next thing we hear
Sound of the net
As the crowd cheers
Someone has lost a bet.
Sound of the buzzer
The shooter in his glory
He surely has written
His own story.
Without my illustrious presence, he wrote this poem on his own, the next day.
Low and deadly
Pounded hard and quick
Dribbled very aggressively
And as hard as a brick.
All you see is a blur
Of orange and black
It dissappears like a dinosaur
And blows by like a flashback.
The crossover not subtle
But as quick as a car
No time for a rebuttal
He just gave you a scar.
As he drives in the key
You know there ain't no stoppin'
The kid with the sting of a bee
That makes you be droppin'.
As he plants his foot
And jumps in the air
He puts the ball high
And down drops a prayer.
As the ball swishes
And goes through the net
Everyone now knows
Who's the biggest threat.