Today I had my first golden shower,
As remarkable a rite of passage
As I’ve ever known.
While driving my tractor
Loading rock and gravel in the gravel pit
I busted the hydraulic hose to the front bucket
And all of a sudden
With a small popping explosion
I was under a spraying fountain,
A veritable geyser covering me
In thick golden oil
From head to toe.
At first I thought it would burn
But it was only warm.
It even tasted pretty good.
Earlier in the day
I’d wondered what it would be like
To break a hydraulic line on my new tractor.
I guess it wasn’t a matter of if,
Only a matter of when.
(8/16/26)
"Solos come and go, but riffs last forever." ~ Keith Richards
Mick and Keith just came out with a single,
and they say it's a pretty good jingle.
That's why it makes sense
that these elderly gents
have "Rock and Roll Legends" on their shingle.
A kid when they rose from obscurity,
now I've reached a state of maturity;
or said another way,
as of this very day,
I'll be taking social security.
The Stones say our destiny is in stars
to the tune of Keith Richards guitar;
and if you ask me,
I'd have to agree,
just because we've all made it this far.
Dancing out on a limb fits mighty fine with me
don't need no tango nor fandango
give me razzmatazz and all that jazz
the whole shebang to set my soul free
breaking out on the floor feels pretty good to me
don't want no rumba or no samba
give me a beat to move my feet
and set my soles free
I can rock with the best of them
roll with the rest of them
born to boogie I'm a rock 'n' roll man
the spotlight's the only place to be
anything less is second best
in the limelight's home to me
a rock 'n' roll man is what I am
The pot is melting...
The 'great melting pot'
This elaborately constructed pot holds a motley of colors and flavors
Once strong and pleasing to the eye, bustling with all of its aromatic juices, flavors, and textures
The great pot of RED, WHITE, and BLUE draws so many, and the few
Indigenous peoples and many others from great and small distances assimilate in this great pot
For a while, the cooking and eating were good, I mean pretty good
So good that still more ingredients desire to be added to this melting pot to bolster the flavor even more
But now, this great pot is disintegrating
Too hot now, is this pot
Too hot with deleterious elements that threaten the constitution of this great amalgamation
The pot is melting
The 'great melting pot'...
It is melting
Coffee
With a splash of cream
Delightful
I lie to myself and say I love the taste
I don’t
It’s alright
Pretty good, even
But I drink it just because
It keeps the day moving anyway
Then my fingertips smell like it
Earthy and dry
The day hasn't gone any faster at all
But it is something to do
Until one day I retire
And then I'll drink coffee for no reason at all
no one ever out-happy-s Santa but this faerie did.
With curly ginger hair, she was a pretty good- looking kid.
Her smile was so wide it didn’t fit in the room.
I had met her yesterday when conversing on Zoom.
Where do you live? This strange faerie asked me.
I told her, and she said “I’ll be there tomorrow for tea.”
I had to go to the store, and race home by three.
She had the best disposition, a Santa-want-a-be.
I tripped the light pretty well,
but not as good as I should -
It should have been fantastic,
but it was only pretty good.
Written By: D. Collins 12/19/25
He'd say "do good in school" and he'd do everything else.
"That's your only job" and he would handle the rest.
He'd do my hair with pretty berets all around.
Dress me up as the flyist little girl in town.
At cheering competitions he was the loudest in the crowd.
At my college graduation there was no parent more proud.
He made sure I was prepped for the complications of life.
And, passed on the lack of drama found in his genotype.
I wouldn't change a thing, even if I could.
Compared to some folks, I had it pretty good.
If I had to do it, I would do it all over again.
And ask God to please make more men like him.
Trixie, my muse whispered me awake today
pesky as a mosquito, but twice as brazen
I refused to open my eyes; not wanting to encourage her
she gave me the last two lines of a pretty good poem
My eyes popped open, and I unlocked my door
My two pony dogs had been waiting in the hallway to jump me
I had to dance around them to get to the bathroom
By the time I did my business I had forgotten both lines
Trixie, my muse, could not stop laughing
She has the weirdest, meanest sense of humor
William Shakespeare
is pretty good I hear.
I have but one critique -
I wish, in English, he would speak.
The Creeper
In sit behind the moon where you can’t see my face
“I wait and watch”
That uneasy feeling in your stomach
“I put that there”
Those haunting sounds in the back room
“Yea, that’s me”
Those shadows crawling across the walls
“Some of my best work”
That anxiety your fighting
“Pretty good dont you think”
Those images in your mind
“Took me years to master”
Hurry up and go to sleep
“Im ready to come in and play”
The fountain pen ran off giggling and lost his pants
Leaving a string of letters, none of them seemed by chance
How dare he think he can write? Said my non-amused muse
angry enough to give him some really mean reviews
He’s just a pen, a one-trick pony!
Blue and plastic, common, bony!
The pen came back to hear my thoughts
I’ve always wanted to write, my heart in knots
It’s a pretty good poem I told the fountain pen.
Muse Trixie was furious and nasty, hateful once again.
A chagrined clown hung his head in shame
for the disgrace of what he became,
when an opportune slip of the heel,
on a discarded banana peel,
got a pretty good laugh just the same.
Each year I make the matzoh balls,
Which come out pretty good.
My husband cooks the chicken soup;
Our roles are understood.
He always wings it when he cooks,
Just uses what’s on hand
And never needs a recipe,
Which I can’t understand.
I follow the directions
When I cook or when I bake
And measure the ingredients
So there is no mistake.
My time-worn recipes are stashed
In cookbooks or in files;
The drips and spatters dotting them
Evoke nostalgic smiles.
Yet always for the matzoh balls
What has the most appeal
Is the recipe that’s on the box
Of any matzoh meal.
That’s up until this year – there was
No recipe at all!
I Googled and saw dozens,
But not one my matzoh ball.
Until I saw a posting
From a woman who, like me,
Asked if anyone could help her
Find that box-back recipe.
Voila! Someone responded
With a picture of the box.
It’s amazing what technology,
From time to time, unlocks.
I made the matzoh balls
And hope they’re good as they appear,
But I copied down the recipe
So I’ll be set next year.
I never got to teach you Maths,
Or English, or to drive.
I never got to pick you up
From school when you were five.
I missed all the nativities,
Where your angel wings unfurl.
And never had the chance
To call you "Daddy's little girl".
I never took you to the zoo,
Or gave you piggy-backs.
Or helped you to appreciate
The world of QI facts
I never helped you through the painful
Years that girls go through.
Nor did I get to be the one
That came to your rescue.
Despite me missing all these things
You turned out pretty good.
And I love you to the moon and back
Just like a daddy should.
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