Two protesters , breaking some laws
To convince folks to notice their cause,
Threw two cans of red soup
And stood by as the goop
Trickled down a Van Gogh without pause.
It was “Sunflowers,” and, worst of all,
They then glued themselves fast to the wall.
The tomato soup’s aim
Only damaged the frame,
Though the act in itself did appall.
Still, I wonder, did nobody see
What was obvious, clearly, to me?
Flinging soup at Van Gogh
Makes no sense, since we know
How appropriate Warhol would be!
A little story caught my eye
About
a very fussy guy
Who,
though he really seemed to try,
Just
couldn’t find his match.
His
friends and family liked to tease
About
how hard he seemed to please
But
everyone at least agrees
He’d
make a decent catch.
But,
tired of waiting for a date
With
qualities to captivate,
He
chose himself to be his mate
And
so a plan did hatch.
He
bought a ring that he would wear
And
very proudly did declare
No
better partner could be there
For
Cupid to dispatch.
Today I might just sing a song;
A
day ago, I sang it.
I
bring this info now, but
Yesterday,
I didn’t brang it.
Though
if I hang a picture,
In
the past, I likely hung it,
But
if I want you seeing it,
I
never would have brung it.
When
grammar rules confuse, it’s best
To
make things much more pleasant
And
speak as if you’re foreign,
Sticking
to one tense – the present.
I
try this when I travel
And
it helps me, even though
The
locals likely wonder
If
I’m just a little slow.
Our insides are inside of us
So
we don’t have to see
That
maybe something isn’t quite
The
way it ought to be.
A
lump or an obstruction
May
be lurking out of sight,
So
doctors order tests just to
Make
sure that we’re all right.
Results
can offer comfort
If
the test results are good,
Then
those insides can go back
To
being hidden, like they should.
Once upon a time I thought
I’d
never see the day
When
age would bring me wrinkles,
Creaky
knees and hair of gray.
Once
upon a time the years
Stretched
out, without an end,
Without
the need to know what waited
Right
around the bend.
Once
upon a time the world
Seemed
welcoming and kind,
But
that’s a different picture
From
what most today would find.
Once
upon a time is how
A
fairy tale might start,
But
after that, reality
And
fiction drift apart.
The air is cold, the sun is warm;
In
autumn, sometimes that’s the norm.
The
river’s choppy; white caps break
As
speed boats trail a frothy wake.
The
sky is clear, just wisps of cloud,
The
promenade devoid of crowd.
A
spotted lanternfly alights,
A
stomp preventing future flights.
The
leaves, still green, sway in the breeze,
Not
ready to abandon trees,
As
dogs on leashes stop and sniff
Then
circle back for one more whiff.
A
sunny Sunday’s what I’ve got
To
rest up from my Covid shot
And
as I watch the ferries glide,
I’m
grateful for a seat outside.
My grandson’s in the band this year;
He’s
playing the trombone.
We
wondered how he’d handle it
Or
get those deep notes blown.
The
instrument within its case
Seems
hard for him to schlep,
But
we watched as he assembled it
To
practice, step by step.
He
played the notes of “Hot Cross Buns”
(We
couldn’t really tell)
With
sounds that he produced emerging
From
the trombone’s bell.
He
recognized mistakes, but then
He’d
have another go,
Remaining
calm and focused
‘Til
the notes began to flow.
How
wonderful to witness
The
beginnings of a skill
Which
may grow or not, but currently
Gives
all of us a thrill.
The
calendar’s already marked –
There
is a concert date
To
hear the 4th grade band perform
And
we can hardly wait!
