Monday, July 18, 2016

Speaking while hiking: a pronunciation guide for the trail

Put your foot
into a boot.
Check the map,
and choose your route.

If, on your hike in,
your route sounds like "boot,"
then, on your way out,
try to speak of your route.


Tuesday, June 14, 2016

Was it a Seizure to Seize Her?

The doctor will know,
I expect,
when he sees her.

It might be a seizure
that happened to seize her.

In Rome,
I am told,
It once happened
to Caesar.

"This exhibit's a bust."


With thanks to Jim and Jane for letting 'er rip when the lunch-time inspiration seized 'em

Tuesday, June 7, 2016

The Sewing was just So So

The sewing was just so so
on the field hand's dungarees.

So, after all the sowing,
and germination of the seeds,

When the time came for weeding,
He would bend down on his knees,

And, more often than not,
His dungarees would split,

Right up the backside,
And you'd hear him mutter,

"Aw, SH...

...ucks!"





Tuesday, May 31, 2016

Whether They'll Whither

Whether or not the flowers will whither

depends on the weather,

and whether the weather's been dryer or wetter.

And whether or not they can weather the weather,

Also depends on

whether or not

they've had enough water

(or too much).


Tuesday, May 24, 2016

Unless I'm Wrong, I'm Right.

Unless I'm wrong (or left), I'm right -

With pen in hand, I write.

A maker is a wright.

A priest performs a rite.



Tuesday, May 17, 2016

Underwear Shopping On the Isle of Guile

For some strange reason,

on the Isle of Guile,

the underwear aisle

seems to stretch for a mile.

And after you've browsed

for a little while,

you can tell that - 

here on the Isle - 

polka dots

are always in style.


Tuesday, May 10, 2016

Faithful Hound

Although we didn't know where to go,
or how,
or when,
or what to do,
but to march on...

"Ruff! Ruff!" barked the dog, when the going got tough,
and the weather got rough,
and we trudged through icky, sticky, stuff.

That dog got us through.

He knew what do do.

But how did he know the way to go?

Or how to lift the hearts of men,
who had lost all hope.

Emptied of pride,
grown men stopped in their tracks and cried.

And doubtless, many would have died,
but for our canine friend.

When, at last, our homeward march was done,
amidst the rising of the sun,
I marveled that each and every one of us was there.

The prize we'd sought when we'd begun
was lost to us.
We hadn't won.

And yet we did, by that return,
escape the ultimate defeat.

And so, on that night, and every night since then,
for his faithfulness to all my men,
the choicest cut of meat and bone,
I serve to him, and him alone.