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Michael Eastman Poem
The Duck That Lost His Quack
A Duck woke up late one day last week,
And all he could do was to squeak.
He looked everywhere and listened to different things,
Even heard sounds all around, from pings to zings.
For example, he tried many gates, stairs, and barn doors,
Then went and stepped on cracks in nearby creaky floors.
He visited several witches, doctors and some were both,
They prescribed everything from lemons to ginger troth.
In his travels, he came across a quaint woodshop,
Being so tired, he sat down with a solid plop.
A carpenter saw that the Duck was so very sad,
From behind the counter, he came to help the lad.
After hearing of the tale of a missing sound,
The carpenter leapt up with a double bound.
He said, “From within is where it comes,
Not outside, as most would sum.”
“I have made many instruments for music,
And what you need is something acoustic.”
He brought out a short board with a nail,
Then attached several metal strings to a pail.
The carpenter said, “Play away and listen to the sounds in your head.”
The Duck strummed everything from Enya to the Grateful Dead.
After a fashion, the Duck was soon lost in the tunes,
And started to dance and sing like a midnight Lune.
Who knew that this Duck had a knack,
And in the middle of it all started to quack.
So you see, it’s not external to what you seek,
In many cases, its internal and who you meet.
Written by Michael Eastman, 8-25-2015,
This, after listening to Bubbles the Mouse speak,
And hearing a long story composed of squeaks.
Copyright © Michael Eastman | Year Posted 2015
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Michael Eastman Poem
I was helping a customer with her internet issues,
and remarked that before we’re done, that she will be
like one of our field technicians.
She indicated that she did not want to be a network guru.
"When pigs fly,” she said. I told her that I had read an article of a
farmer that had done just that, he was able to get his pigs to fly.
He had strapped small jet engines and wings to the backs
of his piglets, started them up and away they went.
He had them launch from the barnyard with some geese,
horses, chickens, cows and newsmen looking on.
Lead heading on the local newspaper article said,
"PIGS FLY, GOOSE IS COOKED".
The farmer was sorry that the goose was too close
to the action, but had a great victory meal..
…and the customer was laughing so much that she
didn’t notice that she had accomplished the task at
hand, and was able to get her internet up and running.
Copyright © Michael Eastman | Year Posted 2015
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Michael Eastman Poem
Now, Where Were We?
Today a caller so nice and sweet, screamed in my ear,
Everything was going so well, and she was such a dear.
A big black spider was sighted, crawling on her wall,
The sounds of distress were heard big and small.
It went on for quite a while, my ears and head are still ringing,
Then I hear the sounds of the spider, getting a massive beating.
Several thumps and stomps later and the remark, “He’s still alive!”
Again the commotion continues, this shows a woman with drive.
Oh My Goodness, it’s like a madhouse on the other end,
Where everyone is taking a dive and going around the bend.
Then finally scattered objects and noise become less,
To the sighs of relief, and the statement, “What a mess.”
Suddenly it all goes quiet, and I ask, “Are you alright?”
This is hard to take, because I have to see it without sight.
Some more motion on the other end, and I start to blush,
Where I hear the sounds of a burial at sea, by a flush.
Items now being picked up, and put in their place,
I’m hoping that she hasn’t forgotten me in her haste.
And now I hear she is back on the phone with me,
Finally composed, she said, “Now, where were we?”
Written by Michael Eastman, 8-30-2014
Copyright © Michael Eastman | Year Posted 2015
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Michael Eastman Poem
Everyone wants free help from that Computer expert, Hubby of mine.
They want to know his computer secrets, on what he does, each time.
So let me give you some hints, for he’s brilliant, in what he can do!
Then, if you believe me… Well, that will be…strictly up to you.
Whenever the line SLOWS down, it’s FBSOW! What does that mean?
That there’s a Fat Bird Sitting On the Wire, hanging on so tight…
That he’s choking your signal off… So, you see! It’s time to call a tech!
He’ll be able to send a signal out to… Yep, to Kick that big ole’ Bird off!
When you try to turn your computer on, and it doesn’t want to come on?
Hubby will send a signal to kick it, in its’ illustrious little ole’, tin pants!
You see, there’s no better way to wake up… the Slug-A-Bug there…
That’s stopping it from coming on, cause he wants to snooze, a bit more!
You’ve a computer that squeaks and grinds, and isn’t acting very nice?
Then he’ll send it a little more juice that’ll oil, its spinning hinges up.
You’d be amazed what a little juice can do…to help those Hamsters’ out!
He’ll make it hum, as those Hamsters run, and enjoy themselves, all night!
Hey… Got Bug-A-Boos’ in the system? Having trouble with The Internet?
He’ll send another type of signal to send those amazing spider-bots out.
They can catch those spy-bots quick, within those webs they love to spin.
You know! Spy-bots that mine your info, and love to give it out, again!
But too many cobwebs can begin, to clog everything, slowing it, way down.
Then Hubby can sic that Fat Bird Sitting On the Wire to clean them out!
What!! What did you think make him so fat? Surely, you must of, seen that?
But Hubby knows, and that’s WHY, as a computer tech, he gets the big bucks!
And all this time, you’ve been none the wiser! Now, what do you think of that!
Written by Mike and Carol Eastman
Copyright © Michael Eastman | Year Posted 2015
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Michael Eastman Poem
We like to visit a pond nearby, a good place to be,
Egret, Heron along with the ducks and geese, to see.
One day we saw a smiling duck with dimples,
He looked so comfy, in the center of his ripples.
All around him, small bubbles rose,
It was apparent what went on, by a nose.
Farting to create ripples is known as fripples,
Best not look it up, you’ll get into a crimple.
Other ducks and animals riding the waves, who became disturbed,
On hearing of what the smiling duck did, were now perturbed.
Flying feathers all about, everyone was leaving the scene,
So much for our pond, that was once calm and serene.
Written by Michael Eastman, 8-25-2015
Copyright © Michael Eastman | Year Posted 2015
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Michael Eastman Poem
The Twelve-Step Process
I overheard Momma Bear telling Papa Bear to get a better job,
You remember him from the Goldilocks fame, yessiree-bob.
Our Trolls in Mayham Falls, in the quest, he came across,
And in my experience this could be his complete loss.
He asked for their help, and I have found this very clear,
That having Trolls on the Internet is something to fear.
He explained to the Trolls he would like his space,
So the Trolls understood?, and will give him a place.
At B-Air Aerospace Company, a position they did find,
Papa Bear was overjoyed and told them they were kind.
The Trolls were told that it would be a twelve step process,
Papa Bear was used to some hoops, no problem, more-or-less.
Step one, can he handle subjects that are quite hairy?
Papa answered that he knows, Shemp, Moe and Larry.
Step two, the company required, for background, a resume CDV,
The Trolls gave, understandably, a very funny DVD.
Step three, what it would be or if he knows, if he had a weakness,
Papa said, it was a long story, but he cannot run in The Preakness.
And so it went, questions and answers, he flew through each hoop,
Towards the end, he indicated, it was like eating a giant fruit loop.
The Trolls were happy, helping Papa Bear from a job drought,
So Papa Bear ended up getting his space, as B-Air’s Astronaut.
Momma Bear was elated, and wanted to throw a party, she decided,
All from Mayham Falls, Trolls, Dragon, even Goldilocks, were invited.
Written by Hubby, after woofy-poo encouraged him to write this story.
Actually, she laughed so hard that he had to buy her an ice cream to quiet her.
8-9-2015
Copyright © Michael Eastman | Year Posted 2015
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Michael Eastman Poem
It’s warm and cozy in bed when I detect a cat quietly sauntering in the room.
Up on the bed corner he jumps, and then sits, just staring at me I imagine.
Just a few minutes more I think, to stay in this bed, so I pretend that I don’t notice.
My eyes are still shut and next come the light tapping of the dog’s toenails on the floor.
Doggy Morse code trying to say, wake up, its morning again, we have places to go.
I try harder not to move, and then a whomp, it’s the second dog that comes to lie at the foot of the bed, just to reinforce what the first said.
Am I imagining this, or am I getting furrier while still in bed?
I try to not move a foot or a hand, a sure sign that they would all notice.
Then the third dog comes in and nudges his nose in my ear, wet and tickly from all the whiskers.
This makes me move, knowing its not my woofi-poo, but then again, its hard to tell.
I still have my eyes shut, trying to pretend.
Throwing the covers off, everyone jumps up at attention, getting ready for the great run down the stairs, but first I have to get some real clothes on, so I stagger around the room.
Even the dust bunnies from under the bed follow me everywhere I go, it seems that they also want to join the fun.
So we all run downstairs making a great noise, then stop just short at the bottom step, there’s woofi-poo, still sleeping, so it’s tiptoeing past to get outdoors.
I stop the third dog from trying to kiss her in the ear as we pass, she might think it’s me, but then again it’s hard to tell.
I’m all furry now as we fling the back door open, everyone’s out and it’s the start of another great Animal Morning.
Written by Michael Eastman 9/11/2015
Copyright © Michael Eastman | Year Posted 2015
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Michael Eastman Poem
Corporation Blues
Hubby works for a Corporation called the... Well, I’m not allowed to say.
He answers telephones. Really! EVEN with his great degree, every day!
But, now, remember this is a Corporation, and they do stuff differently!
They leave the air conditioners on, in winter at, 10 BELOW, you see!
A worker controls the temperature… from 8 states away, so has his fun!
Everyone works in parkas, gloves, and earmuffs, every single day, bar none!
It wouldn’t continue if the Uppity Ups, didn’t work in warmer rooms above!
Darn those Corporations, they have no common sense, what-so-ever, at all!
All the chairs are broken, that’s hard, since they’re rocks from a prehistoric age!
And all have to scavenge for working earphones, around the room, every day!
The computer tools aren’t working, someone mysteriously, turned them off.
But they still want one call resolution, of all problems in ten minutes or less.
The pay is next to nothing, so the Company stock looks SO good, by gosh!
Benefits and HR are in India, where they don’t understand English, at all!
All the pay increases were capped, oh, about eight or maybe, ten years ago!
Now they’ve quit hiring those who finished high school, and want to work.
There’s even been fights in what has now, been designated, as Hoodlum Row.
They’re here, for the long run, and don’t even bother, to answer their phones!
The entire town was shut down due to snow, and if you didn’t come in that day…
Well, you know the story, someone in another state, simply, docked your pay!
They had asked to use vacation time, but that took 2 months to fix, by the way!
Quitting time is obvious, as all the bosses mysteriously, suddenly, drift away.
The penguins came with Hubby one day, and have since came back, every day.
Their snowball fights, in the aisles, are legendary! What can I say, but… Amen!
They don’t complain, love the cold, answer phones, and people quickly hang up!
Since the customers don’t understand what they say, they’re handle time, rocks!
Hubby snuck a plastic spoon from the lunchroom, which he guards with his life.
It helps him tremendously, as he digs out thru the ice, at quitting time, so right!
Collaboration Carol and (Hubby)
Copyright © Michael Eastman | Year Posted 2015
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Michael Eastman Poem
My husband drives the highway past the old plane graveyard.
Permission to visit once a dream, now his reward.
He drools, as he studies the bounty before him to take.
First the one that comes closest, but none he will forsake.
He smiles as he watches the sun glint off the metal shapes.
He will climb around slowly with his measuring tapes.
To see in the cockpit he would give his right arm.
But needs it instead to draw the fuselage with all its charm.
He grunts and he groans as he crawls upon it’s length.
He’ll count the rivets later after he takes a drink.
Then back he’ll go to examine some more.
There’re switches and gadgets, and baubles galore.
He’s never been happier as he stares at the planes.
To disturb him now would truly be a shame.
He lithely runs between every plane.
And he spouts about symbols and phrases hard to explain.
He imagines them flying as only he could.
Piloting the planes would be better than good.
Occasionally his head pops up as he does research by the ton.
He looks like a gopher as he searches hither and yon.
Finally exhausted he packs up his gear.
Now he’ll do research on the computer to make it more clear.
He’ll know each it’s history. It’s date and it’s year.
Even whoever commanded it, plus their bombardiers.
The faces he’ll research to go with the names.
And emblems he’ll find that once adorned this old plane.
His friends from his club will go oh and then ah.
Then they’ll ask him to share with modelers one and all.
By computer the details will spread the world before dark.
It will travel to people in every terrain, no matter how stark.
And modelers will smile as they build a new plane.
With details, and beauty, and history explained.
Now officially remembered with a new life for the old.
People now made happy will remember stories so bold.
I end my refrain with a history newly rediscovered.
An old plane’s life brought back, now on a modelers’ magazine cover.
CSEastman and MAEastman
Copyright © Michael Eastman | Year Posted 2015
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Michael Eastman Poem
Kitty was sitting on my old computer monitor,
Where it is warm, cozy and oh - so popular.
She keeps an eye for the birds on the porch,
Always on the lookout, she’s my torch.
She then jumps down to attack my computer mouse,
And satisfied with that, she goes to wander the house.
Not so strange that Kitty wakes me like a recruiter,
So that I can go downstairs, and turn on the computer.
She acts more like my daytime activity director,
Telling me to pet her, feed her. I’m such an objector.
But throughout it all, she is always my guide,
And this makes me feel a whole lot better inside.
Copyright © Michael Eastman | Year Posted 2015
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