Getting Screwed

Some don’t know if day it is, or night,
Some cannot differentiate black from white,
Few talk, more should listen, open your ears,
Most of us do, as we add on the years,
Yet regardless of age some never know,
(This is very clear, as black tar on snow),
The difference between being screwed,
And getting laid, I can only conclude

Spring Ahoy !

Today is the first day of spring

I woke up feeling amazing like a king

As spring rings my doorbell, open the door

Last night was a great and lovely, minus four

The snow flowers blossom so handsomely white

Sway in the tornado at 100 MPH such a delight

Cannot wait for summer to be sunny and nice

Maybe by July we shall be rid of the ice


The Index is Gone

Since childhood I have been like a sponge,

From breakfast to dinner to teatime and lunch,

I read and studied and memorized all I could,

All my life this I did, since early childhood,

As a man I became and was a walking database,

I knew it all, an encyclopedia, a full bookcase,

I grew older, all the data still there no doubt,

Still I know the answers, but they do not come out,

I now understand, as you grow older your data stays,

However, your index, your table of contents lost its ways,

I am now as a book full of info, but the index is misplaced,

Between my ears, I might as well be keeping tomato paste,


Perfect love

 Birds that usually hover over the park,
Not here no more, not geese, doves, nor lark,
Must be the cold, the ice, winds that blow wild,
Soon spring returns and so a bird, mother and child,
Grass green will be, from beneath the frozen white,
Lovers holding hands find refuge in dark of night,
Youth run around holding on to flapping flying kite,
As sun scorches the world with light so bright,
A perfect scenery set for the perfect love,
As hawks above search for its next dove.


Cry Me a River

When I was a little boy, really wee,
My father would whistle aloud, to help me pee,
Usually a classical piece,  well known, easy streaming,
That whistle had an amazing effect on my youthful peeing,
Now that I have been growing in years,

a grandfather times five,

I am counting the minutes it takes,

for the pee to eventually arrive,

“Cry me a river” sang Ella Fitzgerald,

I second that call, and I can’t wait,

For that long trip of liquids from the kidney,

via my overworked prostate,



At the end of the day there is a night they say,

Then as night fades out dawn shows up, another day,

So is the tide comes and goes with the moon and sun,

There is order in the world, a place and a purpose for everyone,

Then human shows up, and order is gone for no logical reason,

All mixed up summer or winter, rain, snow, wind, all is one season,

Yet stupidity is here to stay, with high or low tide, day or night,

It strikes us all over with its full might, it takes its relentless bite,

Sleep well tonight oh world, tomorrow is another night and day,

I’ve given up, I shall go with the tide, I see no other way.