So, our house is supposedly haunted?
The rest of the crew laughed their petootsies off
Didn’t everyone watch Channel 5 News?
ghosts, monsters, ghouls, goblins and one witch resided here
She was the ringleader of the burglary ring
Sent them in and out of houses pilfering and looting
If anyone gives you trouble, use my cell number, she said
Homeowners always back down when faced with a flying witch
Their clubhouse was at 2300 Pennsylvania, and it was filling up
The gremlins had not paid rent for a year; they were getting tossed out
Two sheriff’s deputies were at the door now, demanding to see them
The witch stuck her head over the banister
Give the officers candy, she told the ghost who had answered the door
She wanted them to come back next month to kick out the gargoyles.
My brother wrote a story
Based on childhood, when we went
To the Catskills for the summer;
Those were joyous times we spent.
In his telling, though, he mentioned
“Night patrol,” which caught me short.
I’d forgotten all about it,
Something memory did thwart.
On the weekends, when the fathers
(Who remained at home for work)
Traveled up to see their families,
What awaited was a perk.
For at night, in the casino,
(Like a clubhouse party space)
There was music, booze and dancing;
Lots of fun was taking place.
All the children, unattended,
Stayed inside the bungalows
While some older teens on “night patrol”
Strode up and down the rows.
Everything was walking distance,
So if something was amiss,
Like a crying baby or a toddler
Needing mommy’s kiss
Night patrol came to the rescue,
Someone fetching dad or mom,
While another night patroller
Stayed and kept the kiddies calm.
Those were different times, for sure;
Doors were unlocked and not a soul
Ever worried ‘bout a problem,
Knowing there was night patrol.
Silhouettes know they’re loved, day and mostly nights;
When my ball sails the fence, I fetch—two blocks down
And when the dog walks the cat—dragged when she bites,
While ticketed, my name changed to a pronoun,
Love baseball, yet my golf ball, they can’t catch mines,
I’m in shorts and shirttails, she’s dressed to the nines,
She’s in the clubhouse, and I’m in the golf cart,
Begs I, she came; she’s there, I’m here, being smart.
Not a clock watcher, though, I’m told, “You’re still here?”
The wage is great, yet labor can be taxing
Staffed, forty years; polite—but can be austere
Wrote up some, watching union ranks relaxing
I hate writing up folks, or being strict, ugh!
Some tact, less frank, gets smiles, or a shoulder shrug
Double-shift, no-takers, no clock—“What’s with that?”
Worst, are those days, straight two days, I'm left at bat!
Wild raccoons came in and took over Uncle Steve’s birthday bash.
They did not bring presents, food, well wishes or any cash.
The rest of us scrambled away from the clubhouse in a flash.
Frankly, I did not know that Grandma Willie had that much dash
The glossy brochure made a promise,
To those maybe living with strife,
That by moving to their Senior Eden,
You’d find “wellness” the way of your life.
Though perhaps their apartments are lovely
And the clubhouse has classes and such,
To offer a life filled with “wellness,”
Is really, to me, just too much.
For no matter how shiny the pamphlet,
It all adds to a hill full of beans
When you bat around language like “wellness,”
Since I have no idea what it means.
they came to honor their fallen comrade with pride
every one of them had their own unique Harley to ride
He was our brother, our kin, our cousin, we loved him too
Sixteen of them spoke before the celebration was through
A celebration of life, then he was buried with his bike.
They all had something wonderful to say about their good friend Mike
They headed toward the clubhouse that was right down the road.
The only one who stayed behind was their newest member, Toad.
I did not know you well, he said to the coffin as it went into the ground.
But when I get to heaven, I hope to see you around.
Brochures arrive quite often
And they beckon with a deal –
It’s time for senior living –
You don’t know how good you’ll feel!
There’s a pool, a gym, a clubhouse
With so much that you can do
And you’ll make new friends, for everyone’s
A senior just like you!
I know folks who have transitioned,
Others soon to take the plunge,
Eager for a fresh new start,
Their former lives set to expunge.
Though I envy their excitement
And the purging of the past,
I don’t see that in my future,
For I think the die’s been cast.
bizarre stuff
in fact, she'd never visited a golf course before
in fact, as i took my daughter to the clubhouse toilet
i held the door open for her
the contents of the coffee was
all over the floor
i hit my tee shot against the trees
and the ball ricocheted back onto the fairway
'Good shot!' my mother yelled
there was a lot of top of the lungs stuff
MASHED POTATOES
i shanked it
mammy chops and bunkers like thunder thighs
my daughter wants to sleep in a bunker
i want to throw my clubs in the lake
worm burners
and municipal memories
this was meant to be a love sonnet
i'll be your caddy
i love you flagstick
Strolling through the Clubhouse 3 gallery,
Plenty of pretty pictures for me to see,
But one that especially caught my eye
Was a curiously attired bulldog guy.
I gazed closely into each brown soulful eye.
Is there some story that they might bely?
Was he a jester in a Pikachu hat?
Were his yellow shoes untied as he sat?
Was his costume designer a small boy?
Where’d he get his little Pokeball toy?
Why’d his artist give him a cute pink face?
If not for those two, might he self-efface?
As he sits in a foggy purple mist,
He’s as cool as anything that might exist.
Cheers to the artist and the costume boy
And to the mellow bulldog who gives me joy!
She gave it to me in nineteen eighty-five.
It was a beautiful mahogany horse.
Careless and clumsy, I dropped it on the floor.
In a blow, its leg was broken by the force.
I tried and failed to fix it so many times,
But where it broke at first, it would break again,
And so, my precious horse could no longer stand.
It laid sideways on my shelf to my chagrin.
Then one happy day in twenty twenty-four,
I took it to where I met three helpful men
In the Leisure World woodshop by Clubhouse One.
Now my gallant horse stands whole and proud again.
There is a group of us that live around
the cul-de-sac of our neighborhood.
Jimmy is ten years old, the same age I am.
He has a big tall live oak tree in the backyard
with a treehouse we use for a clubhouse.
Marty is twelve years old.
He always wants to boss everyone around.
He has a younger sister named Becky
that always wants to join in all the time.
We try to run her off, but she is always underfoot.
Marshal is ten years old.
He wears blue jeans with a large silver
western belt buckle with a galloping horse,
cowboy boots, and a black straw cowboy hat.
The hatband is adorned with silver conchos,
and it pretends to be a cowboy.
If the weather is nice, we gather and pretend
to be cowboys and Indians and chase each other around,
or pirates on a sailing ship.
Or play marbles and see who loses the most.
If the weather is bad, we play video games.
If we fight, after a while we are friends again like brothers.
2/23/2023
Run and Catch the Wind
Run and catch the wind, little one,
Fly on wings above the trees;
Make a clubhouse in the clouds
Let every dream soar like a breeze
Capture sunbeams in a jar
Like fireflies on a summer night
So no matter where you wander
You will always carry God’s light
Shake the stardust from the North Star
Gather up each sparkling light
Build magic castles on starry shores
Each day find new delights
Ride on waves of laughing foam,
A dolphin playing in the sea,
Happiness your forever friend
With gifts of blessings always free
Wake up each morning with the sun
Cuddle the moon in moonlight slumbers
Slide down rainbow afternoons
Treasure these and all life’s wonders
4-27-22
Contest: Nursery Rhymes 3
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Micky Mouse
Has his very own Clubhouse
His best intentions often go awry
Minnie helps with a smile, "Hello big guy"
Donald Duck,
Has a temper that makes him go amuck.
Often annoying Micky, he thinks he knows everything.
His temper tantrums rile him up to a fighting swing
9/1/2021
Cleritoons Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May
One of Micky mouse quotes :“To laugh at yourself is to love yourself”
Oh station , station
Yee of intermittent locomotive
thoroughfare
Once standing proud now
sadly scheduled surplus to
moderna
Redundant made it's ticket
booth , collector and so to
it's master
Resigned and destined for
graffiti spray to patch it's
walls
With it's clock battery powered
down
It's fate a clubhouse for tomorrows
youth to wreck and frequent gather
in and under
Smoke and try initial cigarette
plume cough and alcoholic
spirit drunken after shock
hangover
It's track's to be repatriated back
to nature 6 foot overgrown by
scrub , weed and bush
No click no clack no whisper
harking back
Visitation only by means of
historical scholastic dissertation
It's final lesson thus if willing to
accept
Everything once valued once
it has seved it's purpose and
past it's exasperation date
Will in fact so to in future be
cast aside and face this
exact fate
And maybe if nothing else
but for death will be saved from
Seeing all the things we
treasure and keep as memories
most dear
Disappearing before us and
and so to point out
That the light at the end of the
tunnel is fast becoming dimmed
by the milli-second
Clyde Rolf
Played golf
First nine
Went fine
Next nine
Not fine
He muffs
In roughs
Sand trap
Oh crap
Tough break
In lake
Bad hook
In brook
Blew putts
Some klutz
Hurled putter
In gutter
O'er par
By far
Disgust
He cussed
Clubhouse
To souse
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