When dad was bad
my grandpa said
"Quit it now, stop being crazy,
or you'll mine salt in Esterhazy."
True story...
Yep, he used to calm them down by threatining to send them to the salt mines of Esterhazy. Seemed to do the trick. All three kids turned out quite well.
My grandson, Dusty, used to calm down when we told him the police did not approve, that they would take him to jail if he persisted. It worked for a long time.
when I was a kid
What happened to:
"You will have to wash the dishes for a week"
"You must clean your room by dinner time, or else"
"You can't ride your bike for a week"
"No allowance for a month"
etc. etc.
Well, the salt mine threat had a hidden humour value, which all the kids appreciated years later. We are all a family of jokers to this day.
First I feed the children
Then we walk the dog
My kitty cat is on the roof
And his dinners on the log...
I wade toward the internet
With chores a winding down
And read you folks agrinnin' now
You help erase my frown!
This is so spontaneous that I don't think I claim ownership.
So the lad was confronted by some old guy
and the lad sort of grunted because his eye
had been cought unaware. Had he known he'd have fled
for he'd have guessed where this talk would've ended.
"Sonny, you practice voodoo and that's not good to do!"
"Geezer, it's just a shirt come off it 'fore you get hurt."
"Whippersnapper, blabberyapper, if ya knew better you'd respect elders!"
"Senile dotard, pile-o-retard, point your nose elsewhere or get it hit hard."
The old man tossed his cane and bore down on the lad.
Drop-kicked him near the brain because enough he'd had.
The lad was out cold but the old man was bold.
He up and brushed off, then he scoffed...
"These youngsters can't listen let alone wear or do anything sensible!"
Reporting to work
A man of pork
And portly quirk
Had forgot his cork
And lost his dinner
Proper things that rhyme
keep me up to zip
to the office and on time
I type this memo quick
Lunch is just another time
eat it fast and then
back to work, it's such a crime
my patience wearing thin
When Friday comes this final week
finally time to run and play
I have to do my work at home
and miss all Saturday
Edgar: Mary Anderson's poetry
Edgar, a dear friend of mine died of cancer in 1995. Mary Anderson was one of four friends who gathered each week to read the poems we had written that week. We did this for two years until Mary's death. In our grief, we could not continue meeting without Mary.
Mary Anderson had the most wonderful wit, which she expressed in her poetry. She never had titles for her poems, which she wrote on note pads. To preserve them, I typed them into my computer and added titles.
We four friends, and her husband, were the only people who read Mary's poems. She never thought them good enough to share with others.
I disagreed with her lack of confidence and read all of the poems she had written for our group at her funeral. It was the first airing of Mary's talent. I would like to post her poems here so it will not be the last.
Enjoy Mary Anderson's remarkable gift.
BumbleBeeBoogie
-------------------------------------------------
WRITERS CRAMP
By Mary Anderson - November 30, 1994
I started on a poem today,
using my new Pentel
when it dried
right beside
a couplet that wouldn't jell.
Not unheard of, I counseled me,
I have other things I'll say.
But nothing else would versify
except the odd cliche.
When even they ricocheted
from here to Samarkand
I knew that something spooky
was getting the upper hand.
Iambics went bananas
while stanzas went astray.
Sonnets retrofired and
Roget had zip to say.
Dismayed, my ego crumbled,
withdrew to puzzle why
everything I wrote
went alarmingly awry.
At last I spotted the answer
when I turned to the morning mail,
for there on the hallway table
a notice that told the tale.
"Enforced vacation
from versification
hereby is required,
for we're obliged to say
your poetic license has expired."
Mary Anderson: Score One---Lose One
SCORE ONE...LOSE ONE
Mary Anderson - October 19, 1994
Observe how every woman worthy of the name
prefers a man she cannot best.
Tho to try is woman's game.
Take heed
she has but scorn
for King reduced to Vassal;
she doesn't want to win the match,
she just like to wrassle.
Mary Anderson: Pride of Authorship
PRIDE OF AUTHORSHIP
Mary Anderson - December 28, 1994
If only I could find the time,
What lovely thoughts I'd set in rhyme.
But duty calls, in fact it shrieks,
You haven't dusted here for weeks.
My dishes never do themselves
Nor do dinners fly off the shelves.
A scant half hour I'd saved to think
Disappeared down a stopped up sink.
If ever the hurdles all fade from sight,
And I do indeed sit down to write,
I'll pen me such a prize that, having read it,
No doubt even Published Poets will wish they'd said it.
Mary Anderson: The Doppler Effect
THE DOPPLER EFFECT
Mary Anderson - July 15, 1995
He stays he
and I stay me,
usually that's a plus.
But if there's too much
he for me
or me for he
we shift to a restful
us.
Mary Anderson: Extended Forecast
Mary Anderson and I got into a discussion one day after I pronounced how amazing it was that all the water on Planet Earth was all we had ever had. So Mary wrote a poem.
BBB
----------------------------------------------
EXTENDED FORECAST
Mary Anderson - July 26, 1995
Among outstanding atributes
this old planet's got one so cute
I marveled when it dawned on me
all the water I'd ever see
had been around around for eternity.
The great recycler, the cosmic shaper
left no notes or hints on paper.
Just oceans and skys
and rains and rivers,
ageless duos of takers and givers.
New drops warming for their ascension,
wave tops entering cumulous mansions.
Steadfastly returning from when they came,
what's more designed to do it over again
until there's a world where legerdermain
is not required to make it rain.
Mary Anderson: The Move
THE MOVE
Mary Anderson - 1994
Me and my heart
ran away from Mudville,
nasty old place.
My little old dreams
took such a beating
I weren't sure
they could come along.
Can't figure why I stayed so long.
But here we are almost
good as new.
For certain sure
this won't be no picnic.
But who cares,
our treasure's bound to be around here
someplace.
We'll count the looking purely joy.
Mary Anderson: The First Day of School
THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL
Mary Anderson - September 1994
That first day of school
beautiful Miss Wilson
softly opened wide a window
and drew a little varnished chair
close by the sill.
She bade me to be seated
to look and listen until I'd had my fill.
I've thought of her quite often with gratitude
wondering how she knew
my little prarie heart was so so ready
to ask the universe to come in.
Mary Anderson: Guess Who
GUESS WHO
Mary Anderson - October 1994
There have been so many mes
I'm not the me I used to be.
For sure the me I am today
Some other me will be some day.
When all the mes I've been and be
Meld at last what will I see?
A me well known to me
Or one to greet and politely say
How do you do and turn away.
Mary Anderson: Bliss
BLISS
Mary Anderson - October 19, 1994
One afternoon,
through the silver curtains of rain
rollicking across the garden
and pattering at my beloved
upstairs window,
the joyous beauty of being
enwrapped me and I knew
somewhere in His universe
He heard my gladness
and, like me, was pleased
He'd made heaven and earth
and me.
