Head honcho's
Rain poncho
"At my bitter wits' end,"
was her mutter.
"Both of them?"
facetiously, I did utter.
"I'm beside myself,"
emotionally, she cried.
"A split personality,"
jokingly, I replied.
"No, I am but one,
and all tangled up I've become,"
instantly, her rebuff.
"At a loose end then?"
I questioned, off the cuff.
"Tied up in knots, more like it,"
in distress, her response.
"Prepared, like a Boy Scout, I'll be your undoing,"
I observed, feigning nonchalance,
"Give the word, and then, who knows,"
hopeful, I had half a chance,
she heard me suggestively propose.
Rather chewy a Girl Scout
cookie, laden
with coconut and chocolate
nipped, directly
from the fridge
chipped teeth
would not be delicious
so either wait for a Girl Scout
cookie, to thaw
or oh dear me
and
bless her heart
microwave the Girl Scout
treat, add
wholesome milk
or
diet coke, with bits
of ice, suffice
it to say
a Girl Scout’s
rather nice
Charming child, your apple cheeks
give an appearance which bespeaks
of girlish innocence.
I have ten dollars and ten cents -
Now that you have gained my trust,
do with me what you must.
Sell me cookies, 'lil booger,
and kill me with loads of sugar.
Today a black ant ran out of my C and H sugar bag
She was old, determined, mission-minded, a real hag
Trailing my sugar back to her well-attended ant nest
Ultimate scout, showing the way to my bag to the rest.
Mark’s bold forecasts were greeted with doubt
One of his hearers braving “Get out!”
Not just saying it: An exploded shout!
He’d seen, Mark with a bottle of stout,
A celebrant’s gulp and a drunk’s pout…
“Drunkard, no plant does well in harsh drought,
Just as no laborer with a gout.”
But - God! - What force had made him come out!
Hunger for the fame gods talk about
As things all men could do without,
Warning that taking it far rules flout
And whoever does “Consummate lout…
Ben Mark who would other’s views tout,
Letting his lips take on a pig’s snout.
He had the forecast heard from a scout
And now must beat others in a bout…
Some folk is ready for own forecast,
The farmers present for its broadcast
About Ben Mark he could still clout
For wanting to farms hurt and yield rout:
“This week, Mark shall be an outcast
On Earth as forecaster miscast.”
fresh and aromatic were her newest flowers
miniature daisy stamens within daisies
in ombre' too, fascinatingly innocent
no wonder you are the favorite flower of girl scouts
and Juliette Low
Overwhelmed rover
Yet I am not anywhere
Some days will be there
Though I am somewhere
Fighting thorns to discover
That thrones be conquer
A tenderhearted lad from Schenectady
Gave his elbow to an elderly lady
Helping her across the street,
While never missing a beat
Leaves her happy in a better spot shady.
Written May 18, 2022
He was a Mean Scout,
This showing with a pout,
His Upper Lip and The Lower out:
Just finer than a pig’s snout!
He was a Coarse Scout,
Readiness showing for a bout,
With knees at the mercy of gout;
An eagerness to a rival rout!
But should a well-groomed scout
The slogans of The Rash tout;
An integrity leave in doubt;
Shoulders rub with a lout…
Sacrosanct rules of scout
Flippantly flout?
We will visit your Girl Scout camp we promised our daughter.
Headed down to Tennessee on a Saturday morning like we ought’er.
Arrived around six a.m. thinking the campers would be awake.
No one was around in the empty buildings, for goodness sakes!
Where are they? My husband asked. It’s a ghost town here.
We finally drove around the camp honking until we heard “oh, dear!”
It was our daughter’s voice. She did not say it with cheer.
What is wrong? Asked a bunkmate. “My parents are here!”
We were asked to come back at a decent hour.
Which surprised us. No one had had a bath or a shower.
We came back at noon wearing our umbrella rain hats.
Your parents are hilarious! Said the founder, Miss Pats.
When I was a young lad
I was a boy scout
We went once a month
On a camping trip
With our father
Coming along.
Once we went
On a camping trip
Along Stinson beach
In Marin County.
We had a campfire
On the beach
A real bonfire
Welcomed
In the chilly night air
Fond memories
Of being a boy scout
50 years later.
I am proud
That I was a boy scout
In some quarters
In the hyper-liberal bay area,
Of the late 60s and 70s
Boy scouts were denounced
As being nothing
But training camps
For the fascist overlords
Of the universe.
But I disagree
And am glad
I was a boy scout.
Always regrated
Never becoming
An eagle scouts.
Fly in the kitchen wiping its feet
Spreading germs for anyone to eat
In charges the dog on hearing a buzz
Hunting and chasing as a canine does
Snapping his teeth with persistent chase
New game to play at a sprightly pace
Jumping high his head flitting fast
Senses alert no barks did he blast
Evading capture the fly flits by
Snap goes the dog with another try
Picture that scene few more times
Stanza less of near repeated lines
A precision snap he caught the fly
Spits it out and it's still alive
Along the floor it staggers and wiggles
Almost drowns from doggy goo dribbles
Went to remove it but wasn't there
Maybe hiding, could be any where
Set to cleaning as dog settled down
Vacuumed in case fly body laid around
Suddenly from nowhere flying in the air
Wings now wonky but didn't seem to care
Through an open window flying swiftly out
Skilled in evasion - an ace flying scout.
27.11.20
He raced confidently forward.
The adults seemed indifferent.
I had tripped and the hard fall
knocked me unconscious.
He turned me over and grabbed
the belt around my waist.
With man-strength he lifted me,
forcing air into my lungs.
I stood, wiping dirt from my face
and dusting off my clothing.
I dabbed a few bleeding scratches
And shoved my hair behind my ears.
The adults went about the chores
they’d been performing.
I was seven. He was twelve.
My hero. My brother.
There once was a girl scout named Daisy
She was just a little bit crazy
She ate magnets for lunch
They went down in a bunch
Luckily she was not at all lazy
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