Long Spring chicken Poems
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No more bare cupboards,
fridge, and deep freezer
since returning with more than
our share of daily bread
referring to this mister, who
frightfully squawks like an old geezer,
plus the missus
also ain't no spring chicken,
being locked within crosshairs
elderly stage, she doth dread
ample carload for us,
alleviating this bum searching
for crumbs to tweezer,
thus powdermilk raw bits of biscuits,
I need not scavenge, scrape, scrounge...
substantial commestibles
allows poet taster to breathe easy
inadequately satiates the missus,
(whose Godzilla appetite) defies
(cole) laws of nature to beef fed
predominantly healthy food,
that weighted our automobile like a led
zeppelin choking, intermittently
kickstarting, sputtering... along,
asper in (faux wheel) wheezer
putting utmost pressure
borne by taxing groovy tire tread.
Once mission (not so impossible,
but blessed relief) complete, I did aim
upon returning where we live
to acknowledge gratitude and claim
salvation for charitable deeds,
yours truly doth exclaim,
these volunteers, none I know by name,
nonetheless, a hearty poetic L'Chaim
afforded folks, who commandeer,
confidently coordinate quite efficient process
despite minor lament regarding
heavy toll stressing bulwark
quaking chassis, ripsnorting driveshaft,
shimmying entire automobile frame...,
hence no matter
our exhausted 2009 Hyundai Sonata
puttered along somewhat lame,
kudos to dedicated good samaritans,
worth their weight in gold to tame
hungrily growling, noisily rumbling tummies.
healthy choices allow, enabled,
and provided us to secure provender
eases glum countenance of this clown
gratuity finds me bowing down
paying metrical obeisance
versus depleting meager monies
engendering botox frown
nipping in bud
forestalling need going
grocery shopping
to the nearest town.
As the rain comes pouring down, and patters against my window sill,
I think of you, and how wonderful you make me feel. How much I truly
love you, like I love the rain; with all of my heart and all of my soul.
It (the rain) and you make me feel so young and vibrant. Even though I
am old and far from a spring chicken these days. I hear the wind blow the
storming skies around and think of how you breathe on my neck, giving me
soft kisses, and breathing quietly in my ear.
Then my mind wanders to your kiss. Your kiss that is so soul searching,
and passionate. Your blue eyes that look at me and sparkle, like they are
two sapphires on display for their brilliance.
As I wander through my memories of you, I think of how perfect our
bodies fit together, snuggling close, and nothing could feel more right.
You are the man of my dreams. The one I dreamed of often and asked for
from the Goddess & God on my 366th day and initiation of choosing my path.
The one man on the entire planet that matches my passion, intelligence, sexuality, and mindfulness of others in the world.
I find I need you more and more every day.
And oh how I miss you, so very much. My love for you goes deeper than
any ocean, goes higher than any mountain, and encompasses my entire existence, each and every day.
Yet there is a sadness in my heart, with teardrops streaming down,
as I remember and realize, we will never take this love of ours to the
next level. It will always remain a rendezvous. A stolen moment,
locked away where no one will ever see us together.
That golden moment is better than nothing at all, so I push the sadness
away for a short time, wipe my eyes dry, so that I might just enjoy
you for these stolen moments.
And the rain storm silently leaves the sky with thunder
echoing off the mountain tops...
And so it goes...
I absconded with reader rabbit (Peter), to celebrate Saint Patrick's Day
Ah Sheik Hog - Ho!
One "FAKE" Wingman
think Monty Python's
Flying Circus skittering
on thin ice - Skidamarink
a dink, a dink...
hither and yon, to and fro
Via O'hare To Dublin y'know
Cuz, The Leprechaun within
me, no spring chicken bro,
nevertheless oz offer friendship in toto
good day to thee with cheerful adieu.
Though nowhere to be found despite search team
loudly trumpeting thru depleting fresh air
supply terrestrially polluted atmosphere,
asper the unknown whereabouts, regarding
said royally titled quasi legally inherited bare
naked lady loving bastard oven heated affair
son last seen donning Herringbone Wool headwear
supplemented by Irish merrino wool sweater
and custom made Hemp (smoking hot) pants
informing observer with seedy, faux debonair,
and pseudo (reed "FAKE") suave cultured couture
clothing automatically camouflaging to disappear
without a trace, thee alluded to rival to the throne
(Irish to keep ye in the dark) like chocolate eclair
secret recipe (one takes to the grave), unless held
at gunpoint by bonafide Machiavellian consigliere
ruthless if necessary forcing captive to declare
high fidelity, indemnity, loyalty, et cetera to a
life of lawlessness adopting anonymous incognito
guise accepting bewig noggin with long knotty hair
tattoo skin with "FAKE" scars to accentuate fear
factor accepting (cryptic blood bonded) brotherhood till
death do you part loot, pillage, vandalize, et cetera
in a blitzkrieg effort (albeit violently) to repair
evenly distribute disparity between 1% and 99%
grassroots uprising (peopled with migrants) spear
writ ting their exploitation at the (Taj Mahal) bear
sized paws swiping at susceptibility, vulnerability,
inequality, et cetera series of unfortunate events
decreed, instilled, ordained clamped like ironware
shackling one generation after another, an outright
outdated, on par as anachronism, feudalism, stoicism
where stark difference between rich and poor unfair,
especially, cus the latter labor sweat of their brow,
which backbreaking toil essentially endows wealthy
at expense of grunt work signalling ominous nightmare.
The spouse betook monthly outing
today May 4th, 2022
to 3938B Ridge Pike,
Collegeville, Pennsylvania 19426.
No more bare cupboards,
fridge, and deep freezer
since returning with more than
our share of daily bread,
plus other sundry provisions
referring to this mister, who
frightfully squawks like an old geezer,
ruler of roost,
plus the missus – ole hen pecker
nevertheless, neither of us
ain't no spring chicken
being locked within crosshairs
constituting elderly stage,
she doth dread
feeling like a charity case
swallows her pride,
cuz ample carload for us,
alleviating this bum searching
for crumbs to tweezer,
thus raw bits of powdermilk biscuits,
I need not scavenge, scrape, scrounge...
substantial commestibles
allows poet taster to breathe easy
inadequately satiates the missus,
(whose Godzilla appetite) defies
(cole) laws of nature to beef fed
predominantly healthy food,
that weighted our automobile like a led
zeppelin choking, intermittently
kickstarting, sputtering... along,
asper in (faux wheel) drive wheezer
putting utmost pressure
borne by taxing groovy tire tread.
Once mission (not so impossible,
but blessed relief) complete, I did aim
upon returning where we live
to acknowledge gratitude and claim
salvation for charitable deeds,
yours truly doth exclaim,
these volunteers, none I know by name,
nonetheless, a hearty poetic L'Chaim
afforded folks, who commandeer,
confidently coordinate quite efficient process
despite minor lament regarding
heavy toll stressing bulwark
quaking chassis, ripsnorting driveshaft,
shimmying entire automobile frame...,
hence no matter
our exhausted 2009 Hyundai Sonata
puttered along somewhat lame,
kudos to dedicated good samaritans,
worth their weight in gold to tame
hungrily growling, noisily rumbling tummies.
Healthy choices allow, enabled,
and provided us to secure provender
eases glum countenance of this clown
gratuity finds me bowing down
paying metrical obeisance
versus depleting meager monies
engendering botox frown
nipping in bud
forestalling need going
to preferred market such as
Aldi, LIDL, Redner's, Target
or Trader Joe's grocery shopping
to the nearest town.
I absconded with reader rabbit (Peter), to celebrate Saint Patrick's Day
Ah Sheik Hog - Ho!
One "FAKE" Wingman
think Monty Python's
Flying Circus skittering
on thin ice - Skidamarink
a dink, a dink...
hither and yon, to and fro
Via O'hare To Dublin y'know
Cuz, The Leprechaun within
me, no spring chicken bro,
nevertheless oz offer friendship in toto
good day to thee with cheerful adieu.
Though nowhere to be found despite search team
loudly trumpeting thru depleting fresh air
supply terrestrially polluted atmosphere,
asper the unknown whereabouts, regarding
said royally titled quasi legally inherited bare
naked lady loving bastard oven heated affair
son last seen donning Herringbone Wool headwear
supplemented by Irish merrino wool sweater
and custom made Hemp (smoking hot) pants
informing observer with seedy, faux debonair,
and pseudo (reed "FAKE") suave cultured couture
clothing automatically camouflaging to disappear
without a trace, thee alluded to rival to the throne
(Irish to keep ye in the dark) like chocolate eclair
secret recipe (one takes to the grave), unless held
at gunpoint by bonafide Machiavellian consigliere
ruthless if necessary forcing captive to declare
high fidelity, indemnity, loyalty, et cetera to a
life of lawlessness adopting anonymous incognito
guise accepting bewig noggin with long knotty hair
tattoo skin with "FAKE" scars to accentuate fear
factor accepting (blood bonded) brotherhood till
death do you part loot, pillage, vandalize, et cetera
in a blitzkrieg effort (albeit violently) to repair
evenly distribute disparity between 1% and 99%
grassroots uprising (peopled with migrants) spear
writ ting their exploitation at the (Taj Mahal) bear
sized paws swiping at susceptibility, vulnerability,
inequality, et cetera series of unfortunate events
decreed, instilled, ordained clamped like ironware
shackling one generation after another, an outright
outdated, on par as anachronism, feudalism, stoicism
where stark difference between rich and poor unfair,
especially, cus the latter labor sweat of their brow,
which backbreaking toil essentially endows wealthy
at expense of grunt work signalling ominous nightmare.
I have got it half right,
I took on board,
The advice from an educational video,
As part of my advanced leadership training as a Cub Leader,
Obtaining my wood beads.
The video showed a clued up boss,
Talking about catching his staff doing things right,
And the lengths he went to catch them in the act.
I took that on board,
With my abilities to get the best of any staff,
Especially relievers,
As I did a lot of relieving as an ECE Teacher,
Including as relieving supervisor.
Yet when It came to,
Catching my now ex wife doing things right,
I never quite transferred the skill to that area of my Life.
Maybe it is not too late,
To do better at it in my next relationship,
As at 72 I am still a spring chicken,
With my marbles only slightly chipped.
According to my doctor,
And the test I aced to prove it.
.
How did the phrase “Spitting Image” originate
Seems kinda gross to me
Now here's something I've often wondered about
Do Queens expectorate... surely Kings do
For that matter, they pass wind too
Some people... okay some men...
Make a big production out of passing wind
Lifting one leg and doing a slow fist pump
Followed by a “whoooooeeeeee
That surely was one of my best ones ever!”
Strange how us so-called sophisticated humans
Sometimes pretend the foul odor was perpetrated
By someone else in the room
Suspiciously looking around holding our nose
And waving our other hand saying
“Wow! Something must have died up there!”
Bodily functions are as normal as apple pie
Uh, that's not really a good analogy!!!
We used to call it “passing wind”
Now a much more sophisticated definition has evolved
According to the dictionary, the word “fartology”
Is simply defined as the act of loudly expelling air
Through the aperture in one's derriere
You are not far from the end
Another sign that you ain't no spring chicken
Is when you repeat the same sentence twice in a row
Is when you repeat the same sentence twice in a row
Also when you forget to zip up after you pee
What's worse though is when you forget to zip down
When everything hurts and what doesn't hurt doesn't work
It feels like the morning after and you haven't been anywhere
Your knees buckle but your belt won't
You sink your teeth into a steak and they stay there
You sing along with elevator music
You have a dream about prunes
Your nose and ears are hairier than your head
In dog years you're dead
Growing old is mandatory, growing up is optional
And finally... inside every old person is a young person
Wondering what the hell happened!
Form:
No matter existence (mine) lamely, mostly, and nearly spent...
I barely experienced
getting clothed (think fashion wise
as metaphorically swiftly tailored
harried styled mortal)
approaching naked truth
regarding life, liberty
and pursuit of happiness..,
nonetheless yours truly forever gropes
in the darkness of ignorance analogous
to imagined (envisioned) asymptote
demarcating experiential enlightenment
heading toward verity of righteousness,
yet never subtending arc of enlightenment.
Quite the contrary woebegotten mortal
forthwith struggling to acquire
consciousness raising awareness
approximating essential virtue
offset (er... rather severely deflected)
toward pitfall of vice
(comprising gamut of lurid temptations),
which default status
exerts overwhelming, overpowering, overemphasizing
draw (think powerful magnetic force).
I frankly, grievously, and honestly attest
predilection finds this hoary beastie boy
scarcely able to tread water swiftly rising
above his hairless fabby, & doughy chest,
where left and right man boobs delineate
miniature (albeit sagging) Mount Everest
quite obviously feeble human specimen
(farcical) gentleman quarterly not hottest
male within Schwenksville, Pennsylvania,
nor anywhere upon oblate spheroid, he jest
I kibitz re: absent good humor lie bull lest
stubbornly refusing to leave debauchery
rather remain holed up within rats nest
steeped in familiarization re: egg guarding
hen pecking (matt er fact) Harris sing pest,
where no spring chicken thwarts impossible
mission (mother clucker sabotages rooster)
offsetting opportunities to experience nirvana
quaffing electric koolaid acid test brew rest
assured (me not snorting while typing) test
ting out (lit Miss, really haint no chore), and
merely sounding out prospects to make vest
head interest for prosperous friendship with
brio, extra mayo, sauteed onions and zest.
I want to live in a spaceship house he said.
His wife thought he was being silly, but he meant it.
He planned it for a decade or more.
She pooh poohed his idea.
Then he met a young enthusiastic spring chicken.
She encouraged him to build his dream.
He spent the next decade in the backyard.
Building his dream.
Always speaking of the spring chicken
And how much her encouragement meant to him.
Infuriating his jealous wife who did not realize
She was feeling ill will toward an unlucky soul.
The spring chicken was one of his students
Who died of lung cancer at the age of twenty-three.
Which is why she encouraged everyone to pursue and live their dream.
ALONG FOR THE RIDE
We race through streams of mud, looking like bank bandits,
our bandanas fastened around mouth and nose. Open-air
vehicles, look like skeletons, and the roar of its engine leaves
no room for conversation. But I exult in each bump, thinking
the best splash is this one, no this one, not even close. My
mind on the excitement and joy my husband feels, his
adventurous heart stirs mine. Not always so, but he has
elevated me - I hold his hand on mountain peaks.
One first ride — the banana boat, yellow and with
mischievous eyes, carrying youthful passengers
with brunette and blond innocence. They ask
the guides if there are any sharks. They chuckle
saying, “Of course! We are in open ocean.”
So our ride begins, and we bounce, spin, faster
and faster until they purposely throw us out
of the boat, and I no Spring chicken. My body
contorts and I’m afraid I might have hurt my back.
I glare at my husband — the kill shot.
Twice more our guides toss us out. By the third time
I’m resigned to the fact and have gotten over my terror.
And you see, I never gave the sharks a thought.
6/4/2019