Tuesday, July 10, 2018
Medicines
"Wrong treatment
at the wrong time
and in wrong way!”
Murphs laughs at the
young doctor’s comment.
“Hey, lots of my medical
history runs that way,
methinks. But I recall
particular technique as
relatively effective in
the Hit or Miss World.”
“Ridiculous! How can you
say that?”
“Easy! Way I say most things.”
Labels: idealism, Medicine, realism, science and art, youth
Thursday, May 24, 2018
Bristols
-I went from Bristol Stomp to Bristol Chart!
-Clever enough. Best to stop there.
-Or from Merrie Olde to…?
-You were warned! Bristol in the song
is in Pennsylvania!
-Can’t be! Wouldn’t fit in my brilliant compendium!
-You won’t hafta rethink Chart. Knowing your erratic bowels, got that right!
-Ah the nature of what I get straight nowadays!
-Characteristics of various poops with
photos in various browns--mostly. Aesthetics is wonnerful!
-Not many songs about growing old, except the sloppy sentimental.
-The body presents most problems clearly.
-Not to say clinically.
-Too! So much that some folks opt out.
-Overdoses most common in that sad gang!
-Fight on! Courage wasted on the young anyway.
-Isn’t everything?
Labels: age, bowels, Bristol, medical, youth
Monday, April 30, 2018
Leadership
“Every day!” he beamed!
“And in every way!” rushed we!
“We’re getting better and better!”
We took turns embracing him,
clapping him on the back.
OUR ACKNOWLEDGED VERBAL LEADER!
Then sang to him after he asserted
“The impossible DOES take longer.”
Our exuberance would have lasted
the whole evening, but he, unfortunately,
expired.
Through grief unending, we still remembered to phone Police Commander Swirtzky.
Who later asked the requisite questions to determine absence of foul play.
Then entered DP into his tablet.
DEATH BY PROVERB
“Older they get, more the case,”
he added to us.
We pounded his back and sang to him.
Labels: age, group psychology, proverbs, sayings, youth
Friday, February 09, 2018
Rowing
Apologies
for missing posts.
Chunk flew
from Memory. & roosts
elsewhere? So
Docs did the major tests
to brain, but all is “functioning”
there. For Senior, that is.
Minimally. Age-mates assent
with resigned chuckle
following incurious shrug.
Youngers? Hey! it’s
a Foreign Culture
of the Not-Quite-Dead
to them.
They’ve turned
the boat around
& row furiously
a-WAY!
Labels: brain scan, dementia, forgetfulness, maturity, Old Age, senior, youth
Thursday, August 17, 2017
“Life’s a mystery!"
maintains Stelly’s younger sister.
“Hey!” Clifford laughs, “you just
find your moral and economic
niche.”
“How about Love?”
“Might arrive. Fifty-fifty.”
“I won’t live in a Fifty-fifty world!”
“It’ll care and won’t care.”
Labels: fifty-fifty, love, mystery, odds, romantic, romantic love, youth
Saturday, April 08, 2017
Men No Longer Young
-And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me down and die.
-Isn’t that doun and dee?
-Speak English! Don’t add to
the problem!
-Anyway...we've said it.
-But he meant it!
-His problem. They’re only bonnie
for starters.
-And what are we for starters?
-Who gets to start anymore?
Labels: Bonnie Annie Laurie, cynicism, experience, promise, Romance, youth
Saturday, January 28, 2017
Judging the Reply
-As an old man, may I answer?
-Please do.
-Wit and warmth, and the sheer comfort of having around!
-Please do.
Labels: ageism, Old Age, old man, prejudice, youth
Thursday, January 05, 2017
Down Memory Line
-What was that we sniffed, anyway?
-Common...Household...
-Then bullshitted each others
ears off with our “Highs!"
-When I became an Adult, I put
aside such...
-Did you now?
Labels: adult, sniff, youth, youthful experimentation
Monday, October 24, 2016
Gretchen
fell on boyfriend him.
Allied Fire Insurance it advertised in metal script above
wrought-iron roses.
Anyway, she couldn't think of the word clock in the emergency.
Oh well, yet another of her unconscious puns.
She made them and the rest of us went nuts, dancing
and singing.
This occasion: to Time On My Hands.
Except Budgee. She helped her get the clock off him.
“I’m not clever,” insisted she again. This time
to the busy dancers. “But I make everybody crazy!”
One thing she was, beautiful,
Acknowledged by all, youthful sacrilegious celebration
unnecessary.
Labels: beauty, frenzy, pun, unconscious puns, wit and fun, youth
Saturday, September 10, 2016
The Question
-Somebody wrote somewhere you become
what you hate.
-Meaning I did?
-If the shoe fits...
-Hey! Way back when, I was all exaggeration
and hyperbole and totally full of myself.
Grew up is all!
-Oh yeah? What are you full of now?
Labels: ego, friends, growing up, maturity, opinions of friends, youth
Saturday, January 24, 2015
All’s Well
Good Guy and Good Gal
go to a party
and nod off.
After that, every-
one does.
Drinks grow flat
and chips wilt.
Hostesses speeds back
from 7-11 w/ad-
ditional Diet Coke.
The sight brings her tears.
Her guides never detailing
how to keep people awake.
But she rallies: “Hey!
What is this? The Night
of the Living Dead?”
Her boyfriend, Murph,
shoves the sodas in
the frig while muttering
of his weird dream.
“I hope about me!”
“No way! For you’re my true
dream everyday!” His bullshit
revs up all, and they rouse
now to dance. An awfully fast
one, so some fall down,
the start of a victorious Do!
Labels: dancing, Do, dull party, lovers, party, youth
Thursday, November 20, 2014
Conflict In the Cancer Ward
When The Wit passes,
the doctors and nurses become doubly
morose.
The new patient, Bertram Runcey
Carruthers, strict in life and worse
approaching death, wouldn’t say shit
if he had a mouthful.
“Oh Well!” from Head Nurse, Frederika,
“They also serve, etc. And, a little nobility
won’t hurt this time.”
“Fuck nobility!” counters assistant, Delsey,
too outspoken for her own good.
“You’re too outspoken for your own good!”
reminds Frederika.
Labels: authority, Cancer, hospital, nobility, nurses, wit, youth
Saturday, February 01, 2014
As Childhoods Lengthen
Trio
“One thing we will never miss is a college
graduation or a wedding.”
Rudd didn't respond at first. He still smarted
from her goose-step with horizontal finger under
the nose.
All to demonstrate what she took for his Hitlerian
sentiments. Well, he WAS our Righty. The Rolling
Righty!” she proclaimed several times.
I got into her line of sight as a Lefty. She'd ask,
“How many did you kill today, Uncle Joe?”
Then a Cossack dance, faster than possible.
Ever since childhood, she had entertained us, starting
with puppet shows.
Of course, as we got older she showed more edge.
When we left for college, Rudd was too sick.
"Well, Rudd, then the three of us must talk."
I winced.
She went on. "You're gonna die, no reason to think
otherwise, Honey. On the exit ramp. We love you and
all of that, so let's get that out of the way. But when
you're invited to our graduation or my wedding,
you must RSVP.”
“There should be a code. It's nobody else's business!”
I added.
So we decided on 19. Meaning very very sick
and can't make it. Or 7: I'll be there by hook
or crook.
Two sevens for graduation. He’s more wasted in
the wheelchair but getting by. Almost could slide
between the cushion and the steel.
Like a playing card.
When she got the 19 at her wedding, she showed it
to me during the reception. "He dead by now.
He's simply dead." She had been a red-eyed bride,
and I wondering why.
Labels: children, college, death, graduation, Hitler, Left, Right, Stalin, wedding, youth
Monday, September 30, 2013
Taking One For Old Glory
The Patriotic Pill
The endless wars produced a crop of lustful
young persons, their given being they'll be
likely killed in the next one.
The Conservative government insisted we had
peace, then just half-engaging in only three, and
that they would deal with this too-sexual hangover.
Thus came The Patriotic Pill, which curbed
or eliminated lust. Marrieds were exempt.
(Naturally, sham marriages were tried, but
that dodge was just about ended by requiring
monthly education courses taught by sour clergy.)
Unmarrieds had to report once weekly to large
venues such as stadiums and shopping centers,
where the pill was ingested in front of watchful
robots and human officials.
A side-benefit lauded by Chambers of Commerce
and manufacturers was a certain frenzy which
propelled many to work faster.
Of course, Liberals railed against the pill, and
Moderates asked for it to be cut in half, but
President Dankhorse informed them that
elections have consequences: “The American
People have chosen the whole Patriotic Pill!”
Black Markets of Placebos have arisen and
been as quickly crushed–-the system that
Conservatives have set in motion being not
as surpassingly incompetent as in the past.
“We finally got it right!” bragged Dankhorse.
And Senator Helbore claimed, “We wuz turning
into ancient Rome under the anything-goes
Lib-ruls. When something must be done, we-uns
Conservatives bite our lips and freakin does it!”
Labels: Conservative, patriotism, sex, youth
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Most Youthful Curiosity
The Very Young Bride and
Her Younger Girlfriends
LIL
Is it wonderful, Jen?
ROSE
Tell us about it!
JEANETTE
At times, yes.
LIL
Then do tell us about THEM!
ROSE
Nobody ever pulls up the darn curtain!
LIL
That's cuz there nothing behind it!
JEANETTE
Is and isn’t
ROSE
You’d drive a saint crazy!
LIL
Two saints!
JEANETTE
Three.
ROSE
Do you drive yourself crazy, Jen?
JEANETTE
Doesn’t everybody?
Labels: girlfriend, girls, idealism, marriage, youth
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Wrinkling the Universe
When Lucille left Bucky for the last time, he metamorphosed
into a sexual idiot.
The girls he bribed with presents should have spent
their time with the studs they craved, but they did think
he was funny. Funny.
At the end he hooked up with a real criminal, a woman
who extorted many before. Had served some time.
Unjustly in her intricately articulate view. Insanity!
His health, no wonder, went to shit.
Internist, of course, informed him he was killing
himself.
At this stage I met him again–-after mucho avoidance.
He asked for my sister’s number. I didn’t politely
withhold it, I told him flat out that he had lost his
character, and I wouldn’t inflict him on anybody I loved.
Or anybody, really.
He told me I wasn’t a friend. And that it was easy to be cold
with puny inexperience. And that girls were looking for
fun and sex and not quotes from Wallace Stevens!
So that last stung? Many have done as well.
He was stopped with his criminal on the Blue Route,
trunk of her powder blue Cadillac loaded with high-end
watches lifted from Sansom Street jewelers.
And toasters. Toasters!
Cocaine in passenger door. He rode next to it,
knowing or not. So, in deepest shit.
I don’t say this lightly, but better he should die.
Narcissus cannot rehab, knowing more than
the rest of us combined.
No, I’m not just nursing the hurt he gave me...maybe a little.
But the issues are larger here if we wish to continue with
some kind of moral, and not animalistic, world. Okay,
sounds pretentious. I must own it though, since I do feel
that way.
There always exists the risk everywhere that “cool”
people will call you asshole. Courageous individuals
relish it. I’m not there yet.
But I call them as I see them, however tremulously.
When Lucille left Bucky for the last time, he metamorphosed
into a sexual idiot.
The girls he bribed with presents should have spent
their time with the studs they craved, but they did think
he was funny. Funny.
At the end he hooked up with a real criminal, a woman
who extorted many before. Had served some time.
Unjustly in her intricately articulate view. Insanity!
His health, no wonder, went to shit.
Internist, of course, informed him he was killing
himself.
At this stage I met him again–-after mucho avoidance.
He asked for my sister’s number. I didn’t politely
withhold it, I told him flat out that he had lost his
character, and I wouldn’t inflict him on anybody I loved.
Or anybody, really.
He told me I wasn’t a friend. And that it was easy to be cold
with puny inexperience. And that girls were looking for
fun and sex and not quotes from Wallace Stevens!
So that last stung? Many have done as well.
He was stopped with his criminal on the Blue Route,
trunk of her powder blue Cadillac loaded with high-end
watches lifted from Sansom Street jewelers.
And toasters. Toasters!
Cocaine in passenger door. He rode next to it,
knowing or not. So, in deepest shit.
I don’t say this lightly, but better he should die.
Narcissus cannot rehab, knowing more than
the rest of us combined.
No, I’m not just nursing the hurt he gave me...maybe a little.
But the issues are larger here if we wish to continue with
some kind of moral, and not animalistic, world. Okay,
sounds pretentious. I must own it though, since I do feel
that way.
There always exists the risk everywhere that “cool”
people will call you asshole. Courageous individuals
relish it. I’m not there yet.
But I call them as I see them, however tremulously.
Labels: criminal, drugs, excess, integrity, mid-life crisis, personality, sexual gluttony, stealing, youth
Saturday, January 26, 2013
When TV Interviewed
the older artist,
he brought age
spots, mushed nose, pig
ears, & fanning hairs fey
director backlit.
Too late for him
who pushed fairest
beauty in flaming
prime? (How even men
started by haughty
candids then!)
Dashed as painter
through a slashing
world! & why not
reprise these now?
Get real.
Labels: art, artist, fame, fashion, TV, youth
Sunday, December 25, 2011
A Christmas Song
Actually smelled
chestnuts roasting
in New Haven. Drink-
ing club, ad hoc,
peripatetic. After
evening’s circuit, hit
the funky street.
Hot dog truck:
spice rockets on
soggy rolls with
incendiary mustard.
Aforementioned
chestnut roaster,
their blackening, be-
fore splitting on
a charcoal bed.
Our favorite, raw
clam man, opening
quick dozen under
open gas lamp, dousing
with chili and Mulligan--
stale beer with red pepper.
One upended the shell and
each slid down maw, leaving
sea flats and grains of sand.
This a whacked version of Where
are the snows of yesteryear?
Yeah, but substitute stomachs.
Actually smelled
chestnuts roasting
in New Haven. Drink-
ing club, ad hoc,
peripatetic. After
evening’s circuit, hit
the funky street.
Hot dog truck:
spice rockets on
soggy rolls with
incendiary mustard.
Aforementioned
chestnut roaster,
their blackening, be-
fore splitting on
a charcoal bed.
Our favorite, raw
clam man, opening
quick dozen under
open gas lamp, dousing
with chili and Mulligan--
stale beer with red pepper.
One upended the shell and
each slid down maw, leaving
sea flats and grains of sand.
This a whacked version of Where
are the snows of yesteryear?
Yeah, but substitute stomachs.
Labels: alcohol, Christmas, youth
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Dates, Bridgeport, CT
New to much,
but not bad
at snowing
each other,
we motor in rain-
y darkness and
finally spy
the dive to
serve us--
underaged.
Shiver in un-
heated dining
room and order
drinks. Waitress
leaves and a large
black dog enters,
craps middle
of dance floor.
