So Little Saturday
I’ve gotten one or two things off my list and underway
But there’s so much to do and yet so little Saturday.
I should clean the basement, but it’s beautiful outside
I go to mow lawn, but can only say ,“I tried”.
I should fix the mower, so the next time that it’s nice
I could mow instead of thinking that I’ve tried to fix this twice.
There’s a pumpkin patch, some party and some patience that is waiting
For me to take a hold of before this Saturday is fading.
Mac Packaging
If you’re a user of technology
Remember that it’s meant to be
A help to functionality,
Not packaging psychology.
Breakfast Sandwich: Eggs Over Medium on Toast
When the yoke’s about to burst
I do a simple action first.
A pre-squeeze makes my sandwich flat
So I’ll avoid the strayed egg splat
That shoots off from the sandwich side
To Rorschach shapes of yellow dyed
In dress shirts that now wear the joke
Of sandwiches that squirt out yoke.
Reminded of train set trees
I took a drive to the airport down a freeway lined with trees
That weaved between the hillsides, filled with color that one sees
Preserved in train set fashion in a perfect autumn blush,
Although the leaves of train sets aren’t replaced with winter slush.
I don’t plan on dying anytime soon, but if I were to go, I can’t imagine a better way to go. -Andy
Choking on the Eucharist
There might be some theology I’ve missed
But if I find my life has to be done
I hope that I choke on the Eucharist
If I’m to end this life without a list
Complete, or even one that has begun,
There might be some theology I’ve missed,
But I’d still welcome a death that was kissed
By the Real Presence of Jesus the Son.
I hope that I choke on the Eucharist.
I wonder if it’s a sin to insist
To die with Jesus and rise with the Sun.
There might be some theology I’ve missed,
If Hell tried to take me, I’d raise my fist
Victorious at the devil who thought he had won.
I hope that I choke on the Eucharist.
I smile at the thought of Satan pissed
If I died at the instant his work was undone.
There might be some theology I’ve missed.
I hope that I choke on the Eucharist.
Horses
The horse throws you.
He knows you
As the type of person who stays on the ground
And so you take the time to look around
And decide you won’t let up,
So then you get up.
He’ll throw you down to remember-when
But he now knows you’ll get up again.
End-Standers
I laugh to myself at photos
Of end-standers who suppose
They wouldn’t make the cut unless they lean,
If they evened out their weight, they’d be unseen.
These end-standers lean in as if there was some pull
Of gravity or something at the time of the lull
In conversation when everyone jointly said cheese
Then smiled to wait for the moment to freeze.
But the capturer captures a good inch or so
Of background, around those who don’t even know
That their purpose in leaning is not to be seen
But grant me enjoyment in viewing their lean.
I guess you could say this is the English translation of Sum Thyme’s I’m ache Thai Pose. You’ll want to click that link if you haven’t read the original version of the poem.
Some Times I Make Typos.
Some time’s I make typos,
But I suppose
That’s a part of using
Computers. We’re losing
Our ability to auto
Correct or we’d rather
Machines somehow know
How words choose to gather
Letters in a specific order,
Which is better. And I’m,
a red squiggle supporter
who’s now saving time.
If it’s not under lined in red
There’s no sense in rereading
To check spelling for misleading
Things I might have said.
My apologies for yesterday’s typo. Here’s a poem on typos to make up for it.
Sum thyme’s I’m ache Thai pose
Sum thyme’s I’m ache Thai pose
Butt eyes up hose
Hats apart off fusing
Come pewter’s. Whirl oozing
Are ebb ill it he two ought toe
Core hector weed rat her
Ma sheens um owe no
how herds chews too gat her
let hers inn us pacific hoarder,
Witch his beater. En dime,
air head squid gills a porter
whose know shaving thyme
Whiff hit snot hunter limed inn read
They’re snow since inn re reed ding
Too Czechs peeling four miss leading
Thinks eye mite half’s ed.
Now CLICK HERE for the easy to read version of this poem
Where does the day go?
I haven’t checked things off my list
Look around, there’s tons I’ve missed,
The garden still needs weeding
The baby still needs feeding
I’ll let Jodi handle that one
But there so much more undone.
The cluttered chaos on the ground
Doesn’t make me feel unwound
I don’t want to pick up my shoe
and place it neatly out of view
But when you act on “I don’t want to”
Then it’s just left out to taunt you.
BonjourPoetry 